Promise by Dani Wyatt Read Free Book Online Page A

he’s been losing for years.
    I take a deep breath, crack my neck and look where the sheet falls flat on the bed just below his knee.
    I look back out the window and my mind drifts to her.
    The plan is in place. Now, it’s time to execute. I just need to find my target.
    6:59 AM.
    7:06 AM.
    No more sitting.
    I’m back on my feet, pacing, feeling like a pussy, stomach knotted, fingertips cold. I step outside Dad’s room every thirty seconds, my eyes darting from one end of the hall to the other. With every sound of a step or hint of a voice, my ears are focused like a damn owl.
    7:14 AM.
    A soft swish-swish of fabric. The rhythm of legs moving faster, and gravity grabs me like it always has.
    She’s here.
    This time, I’m prepared.
    Her hair is down today. It fucking glows.
    Promise. I can’t stop repeating her damn name in my head. Promise. Promise me.
    I mean, what is the likelihood? Almost nil. But, she’s here, and so am I. And today, I’m not a damn deer in the headlights.
    I want to ask her if she’s okay. I want to know that things turned out better than I've imagined all these years.
    But from the way her eyes immediately find the floor when she sees me, I know the answer, and it drives that stake back into my heart.
    “Morning.” I have to start somewhere.
    “Morning.” No eye contact, no inflection. She's polite, at best.
    I’m straining to get a better look at her face. It’s kind of hard not to be obvious, my monster frame bending like a pretzel as she tosses her hair over her downcast face.
    Why is it so hard for two humans to look at each other?
    It seems impossible that she doesn’t know me. She’s been a part of me for so long, yet I’m a complete stranger to her.
    I leave the doorway clear. I know I’m intimidating. It’s not on purpose, I just am. That’s not ego, honestly. I put zero effort into trying to be anything.
    Somewhere between snatching my first kiss from Carol Lynn Kelly in first grade and listening to Rebecca Spencer tell me I am the most unavailable asshole she’s ever dated (as stated in her Dear John letter . . . ), I figured out that when people first meet me, they instinctively move away when I come close.
    Women do it. Men, too. But, I noticed it the most with girls at first. Like an anti-gravity shield. Eye contact. Smile. I move in; they step away. Don’t get me wrong, eventually the women come back, but, at first, I have something that raises their guard.
    It doesn’t necessarily bother me, but it became a thing. A thing I would play with. They’d step right; I’d step right. They’d move left; I’d follow. It was a dance of sorts, but she’s not doing it now.
    She’s stopped.
    My heart stops.
    She’s standing in the hall right in front of me, squared off, and I have no idea what to say.
    “You’re up early.” I smile.
    What the Jesus fuck is that to say?
    My nuts just climbed up inside me, they are so ashamed.
    “I get here at seven. This isn’t early for me.” Her perfunctory answer doesn’t help me my man card.
    I detect the tone. She’s been through the trenches; I can hear it. Heard too many lines from too many assholes. But, she’s trying to stay professional.
    Fuck. I have no game around her.
    I see her forearms tighten around the folded, white sheets she carries against her chest. In her left hand, she has the black vinyl zippered pouch that holds his blood sugar monitor. I angle away so she can make her way into the room as I follow, my eyes thanking me for the view of her amazing ass.
    “Hey, I wanted to thank you for taking care of my Dad.” I lower my voice inside the still dark room as my dad coughs and shifts in the bed.
    “You’re welcome. It’s my job. No need to thank me. I get paid.”
    “Not enough.” I see the first glimpse of those eyes, and I want to ask her a thousand questions all at once.
    She sets the folded square of white linen and the monitor on the night table, then pushes her hair behind each ear.
    So fucking