Pretty Ugly Promises

PRETTY UGLY PROMISES Copyright © 2023 by C.W. Farnsworth LLC All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a piece of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Beta Read by Melanie Yu Editing by Tiffany Persaud Proofreading by Jovana Shirley Cover Design by Kim Wilson ALSO BY C.W. FARNSWORTH Four Months, Three Words Kiss Now, Lie Later The Hard Way Home First Flight, Final Fall Come Break My Heart Again The Easy Way Out (The Hard Way Home Book 2) Famous Last Words Winning Mr. Wrong Back Where We Began Like I Never Said Fly Bye Fake Empire Heartbreak for Two Serve For Now, Not Forever Friday Night Lies Truths and roses have thorns about them. HENRY DAVID THOREAU CONTENTS Pretty Ugly Promises Prologue Chapter 1 Nine Years Later Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Epilogue Acknowledgments About the Author PRETTY UGLY PROMISES When people choose to leave, you should let them. That’s a lesson Lyla Peterson has learned over and over again. Abandoned more than once, her focus is on ensuring her son never experiences that familiar sting, not on lingering questions from the pain-filled past. Until the opportunity arises to seek elusive answers and Lyla seizes it, opening old wounds and revealing dangerous secrets. He chose to leave. She should have let him. PRETTY UGLY PROMISES C.W. FARNSWORTH PROLOGUE LYLA Most people probably can’t point to one moment from their past and recognize it as the second the trajectory of their entire life changed. I can. Life is an intoxicating mixture of scenarios we can’t control and decisions we make. Chance and choice. Predictable and uncontrollable. I promised myself I’d learn from others’ mistakes. Promises are easy to make. Problem is, they’re also easy to break. CHAPTER ONE LYLA As soon as we step from the porch’s slatted floor inside, past the red front door, I know this is the wrong house. A rap song is blaring, loud enough that I can feel the beat pulsing against my skin and rattling my bones. The hardwood floors, stained with spilled drinks and muddy shoes, are vibrating beneath me. It’s crowded and hot inside. Loud and smelly. Sweat and smoke swirl in the sticky air, adding substance to the intangible. Each time I breathe, I have to suppress the urge to cough. I glance at Kennedy, who looks as shell-shocked by the scene we’re standing in as I feel. Her tawny skin is flushed, her eyes wide as she takes in the throng of people packed in the room. My wildest college experience so far was passing around a bottle of cheap merlot in Pembrook Hall’s common room late on a Tuesday night, knowing I had an eight a.m. interviewing skills class on Wednesday. I’ve never attended a party like this. I didn’t even know parties like this existed in real life. The term rager seemed like a product of Hollywood and its unrealistic expectations about…basically everything. But here I am, awkwardly standing and experiencing it firsthand. There’s an honest-to-God disco ball attached to the ceiling at an awkward angle, sending glints of light spinning around and dancing off the bodies filling the room. Kennedy mouths something to me, but I can’t catch a word of it. Reading lips has never been a strength of mine, especially when I’m already overstimulated and overwhelmed. I shrug in response, then wave a hand toward the door we just entered, silently asking if we should head back out into the cold. There’s no way to pinpoint exactly where the music is coming from. It seems to be emanating all around us, pressing in and making conversation impossible. My wave whacks a passing football player’s arm. The one and only reason I have any clue he’s on the football team is his attire. His backward ball cap, sweatshirt, and sweatpants all have UPenn Football embroidered on them. He looks like a football player too, tall and broad. And he’s clearly used to taking hits packing more force than my hand is capable of. There’s no acknowledgment of the contact or of the apology that gets lost in the high decibel of the music before he keeps striding forward, unbothered. The crowd parts for him in a way I haven’t seen it do for anyone else. Kennedy nods toward the opening, and this time, unspoken communication works. We follow the path that’s been carved before it disappears, through the first room and into the kitchen, whose cabinets are painted the same garish shade of red as the front door. It’s quieter in here, but not by much. The music is audible, just slightly muffled. “I’m going to find somewhere quiet to call Ellie and find out the right address. Be right back.” That’s all Kennedy says before she disappears in a swish of curly hair, leaving me alone. It’s not as crowded in here as the living room was, but it’s far from empty. I’m standing between the fridge and the dishwasher, amid a small sea of strangers. A few of them eye me curiously, although at a school this size, I know I’m not the first unfamiliar face they’ve seen. I glance anxiously in the direction Kennedy disappeared, but there’s no sign of her. I’m confident she’ll