The Promise (Magnolia Grove #3)

by J. B. McGee

  “Cammie, you don’t have to pay rent. You stay as long as you need.”

  Cammie shrugs, continuing to rub my dick. “I don’t want to impose.”

  I tilt my head and give her an incredulous look. I mouth, my eyes rolling, “You’re never an imposition.”

  “Of course not.” Good job, Mom. Good job.

  “Holden, you still have your key, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Mi casa es su casa then, Cammie.”

  “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”

  “Sure thing. Bye now, you two.”

  “Bye, Mom.”

  “Bye, Ms. Masters.”

  I can still hear her moving through the sound system when I eagerly disconnect the phone. “You. Are. So. Naughty.”

  Cammie lets out a small laugh. “You make me wanna be a rebel.”

  No. That’s not what I want to hear. That’s not how this is going to go down. There are warning flags all over the place. Her flaws, faults, her caring about social standing, all of it makes her her. I don’t want to change who she is. I need her to just be the girl I’ve always wanted. Fuck. Does she think she needs to change to be with me?

  Violet storms in my room and slams the door shut. She’s across my room in just a few small strides before her hand connects with my cheek. “I hate you.”

  Putting my hand over the area that is surely red, my mouth gapes open. “What? Why? What did I do?”

  “You told her. You promised you wouldn’t and you did. I told you it’s not what you think.”

  Biting my lip, I close my eyes. I can’t believe Mom would have told her I snitched. “I didn’t tell.” I can’t believe how easy it is to lie to her about something so important.

  She crosses her arms. “You did,” she says, her voice not nearly as strong as she’s projecting to be at this moment. Her chin quivers and tears fill her eyes. “I told you it’s not what you think. Why wouldn’t you believe me?”

  Instead of engaging her, I just stare blankly at her. I’m totally screwed no matter what I say.

  She shoves my chest. “Why, Holden?”

  Again, I’m silent, but it just fuels her fire. “Say something, you coward.”

  I shake my head. “Get out. If you want to have a conversation, you can start by acting like a civilized human being. Go away. Calm down and come back later. Try again, Vi.”

  Over the last few weeks, I’ve spent a lot of time reading about eating disorders. I knew this was coming. I may not be handling this the best way, but she freakin’ slapped the crap out of me. What I’ve learned over the course of my entire life is there’s no rationalizing with her when she’s like this. She’s too emotional. What I think is she’ll say anything to cover up her problem like an addict, so her denial means very little to me.

  What I’ve learned over the last several weeks in researching eating disorders is to avoid power struggles. This would be one.

  “I hate you, Holden. I hate you for this.”

  Those words stab my heart. I know she’s just being my emotional little sister, that siblings say they hate each other all the time, but this is different. Because I snitched because I care about her. So much. Even though she’s been doing ridiculous things to my toothbrush since the whole bathroom incident.

  I shrug. “That’s too bad. I love you, Vi.”

  That really pisses her off. She shoves my chest again, hitting me a few times before I grab her wrists and pull her into my chest. “Stop.”

  She screams something, but I can’t hear it.

  “Stop.” That’s all I say. When she was little, she’d have these meltdowns because she couldn’t communicate effectively. She’d get so frustrated, and she’d lash out at us. The only way we could calm her down was to hold her tight and repeat the same command over and over. They said it works well with autistic kids. Violet isn’t one of those, but she ended up with a lot of sensory issues from being a preemie. She thrashes against me. “Stop, Vi.”

  She slows, and eventually begins to relax in my arms. Thank God it isn’t taking as long as it used to for her to settle. This could go on for hours when she was little because once she was riled up, it all snowballed. “Stop,” I whisper. We sit like this for a long time.

  “It’s not what you think,” she says, barely audible.

  “I don’t care what you call it. It’s not normal, and I just want you to get better.”

  She pushes off my chest. “I knew you did it.” She narrows her eyes at me, giving me a look filled with venom. “Go to hell, Holden.”

  I shake my head. “Only if you come with me, Vi.” I smirk at her in an effort to lighten the mood.

  She huffs before letting out a frustrated scream. “Why doesn’t anyone believe me?” she says as she stomps to my door. She glances over her shoulder at me. “You’re not even a good snitch, you loser.”

  “Ah, there’s my little sister.”

  She narrows her eyes, giving me the finger as she walks out. When did she start cussing and throwing the bird at people? At me?

  “Violet, Holden. Come eat,” Mom yells from the bottom of the stairs.

  After having some time to cool down and reflect on the words I spoke to her as she was leaving my room, I can’t help but feel a little bad. Maybe I was too harsh about saying I didn’t care what she calls her problem. Even if that was harsh, I did tell her I love her, which should count for a whole heck of a lot. But no matter what I do or say these days, I can’t get through to her. I want her to know she’s not alone, that I do care about her.

  I can’t help but get the vibe she thinks she’s all alone in this. Why she’d feel that way, I don’t know. Everyone’s always given her far more favoritism than me. But regardless, I guess it’s hard when your parents always believe you over your sibling, and then for them not to all of the sudden.

  She said she hates me. Those words that haunt me the most. It’s not like she’s never said that before. It’s typically over stupid stuff, but this time, she acted like she really meant it. If only she could see it’s the opposite of not caring. How do I show her instead of telling her because everything I say goes in one of her ears and out the other?

  “Violet, Holden,” Mom yells from downstairs. “Come eat.”

  Tossing my physics notes aside, I make my way to her door. I lean against the frame and wait for her to open it. It’s been hours since our spat. She’s not left her room for anything, not even to go to the bathroom.

  “Vi, Holden,” Mom screams. “Now!”

  I tap my knuckles on her door lightly. “Vi. I’m sorry.” Nothing. Not even crying. “Mom’s going to get pissed if we don’t go down there.”

  She swings the door open, and we’re face to face. The area around her eyes is puffy. The whites around her blue irises are bloodshot.

  “Is that my shirt? Did you cut it off to make a crop top?” After everything, that’s the only thing I have to say in this moment? Seriously, Holden?

  “Since everyone thinks I have an eating disorder, I just figured I’d act the part. Show off my bones, skip meals…” She shrugs. “I’m not eating. Your apology is not accepted. It’s probably as good as your word, your promise. Go. To. Hell.”

  I’m not sure whether to laugh or pick her up and throw her over my shoulder and march her downstairs. “If Mom heard you talking like that, you’d be in deep…well…shit.”

  “Holden Masters. Grounded,” Mom says sternly. Are you freaking kidding me? Where was she five seconds ago? “Two weeks.” Two weeks for saying shit? I let my head fall back and stare at the ceiling in an effort to hide my eye rolling. When I look back at Violet, she has an evil smile plastered all over her face. She slams the door on me, and I turn to my mother’s confrontation.

  See, this is precisely what I’m talking about. Violet can say or do anything. But half the time, she doesn’t even get caught. I call her out on her BS and I’m the one who gets in trouble. I’ve been through this enough times to know there’s no use in arguing
with my mother. It’s hopeless. Even if I claimed I was repeating words Violet already said, the punishment would be the same. Instead, I shove my hands in my pockets. “Fine.”

  “What did you say to her?”

  What did I say to her? Ha. Walking away from my mother, I mutter, “Figure it out yourself.”

  “Holden Jaxon, you do not speak to me that way. And don’t you walk away when I’m talking to you.”

  This time, though, I don’t even care about the consequences. “Then, I guess you should come down the stairs with me so I’m not technically walking away from you because I’m going to eat. Something Violet apparently isn’t going to do. Shocker.” I immediately regret those words. I know from what I’ve read about eating disorders Violet can’t help it. My passive aggression isn’t directed at her. It’s more at my mother, at this situation, the one where everyone’s concerned about Violet all the time. Instead of people considering that maybe I’m struggling with this information, they just assume I don’t have any needs or feelings.

  “Do not say stuff like that when she’s in earshot.”

  I stop in my tracks and twist my torso to look at her. “You just want me to not mention it all, right? Pretend it’s not happening? Because that is better for optics. Or is it because Violet is frail and fragile? Are you scared she’s going to break?”

  Mother takes a few steps closer to me. “Watch. Your. Smart. Mouth,” she says through clenched teeth.

  “Or what? You gonna ground me longer? I don’t care about being punished. I don’t care about anything.” With that, I walk downstairs and grab my wallet and keys. I’m hungry as hell, but I’m not eating here, and certainly not with her at a table alone because Dad is away on business.

  Holden removed my hand, effectively ceasing my seduction as soon as he ended the call from his mother. Giving me a weak smile, his demeanor has completely changed. Gone is the cocky, arrogant guy who’s been seducing me for the past day. Back is the infuriating and confusing Holden I grew up with sending me mixed signals. “Are you okay?” I ask.

  His arm is casually draped over the steering wheel. He gives me a weak smile. “Yep.”

  “That wasn’t very convincing.”

  “Just trying to get my emotions in check so I don’t assault Oliver.” If he wanted to assault him, I would think he would’ve done it last night when he was fuming mad. Having known Holden my entire life, I’m not buying this. Not even a little bit. But I let it go because there’s a sinking feeling already in my gut, and I don’t need any additional emotions coursing through my body, especially right now as we’re pulling in the parking lot to my apartment complex.

  Scanning the parking lot, it only takes me a few seconds to see Oliver’s BMW missing. While it’s somewhat comforting to think about moving my things out of his place without him whining, begging to explain like he did last night, it means there won’t be an opportunity to tell him to his face this is really over. If he had any sense at all, he’d know that I did that last night. I just want to make sure it’s clear, though. No lingering questions. No doubts.

  Of course, a note may be the best possible option. Just a “Go fuck yourself (or whomever you want) forever.” Then, as if that’s not statement enough, I can use my ring as a paperweight. That eases any nausea that’s been creeping up each second that passes.

  Holden parks the car. Unlike at Rind ‘N Grind, he doesn’t open the door for me, so I let myself out. Maybe he didn’t notice Oliver isn’t here to care. And even if he were, I’m still not sure he’d give a rat’s ass. Oliver surely didn’t seem to put up much of a fight for me last night, confirming I’ve been nothing more than an extra character in a story he’s made up to cover his plot twist.

  Holden shoves his hands in his pockets. “What apartment is yours?”

  “You mean you don’t know?” I ask, starting to walk in the direction of our unit. Scratch that. Oliver’s unit.

  He hangs his head, staring down at the ground. “I knew you lived here.” He glances up under his lashes. “But I tried to avoid thinking about it beyond that.”

  I nod. “This has to be so awkward for you. You don’t have to come in, but he isn’t here.”

  He shrugs. “I’ll help you get your stuff to your car.”

  Any doubts I had about something bothering Holden are just being reinforced. He can deny it or make excuses all he wants, but he’s far too serious. It reminds me of that day at the pool after I got hurt, after he punched Brody. He’s not acting like he’s won me. In fact, he’s acting defeated. What is up with that?

  We climb the stairs, shrouded in more silence. Occasionally, our bodies touch. Despite his mood, the sparks still bounce off us, sizzling in the air. When we reach the unit, I stand there in total disbelief, gazing into Holden’s eyes.

  He shrugs. “You gonna open it?”

  “I…uh.” I shake my head. “I just realized I don’t have a key.”

  His lips tug at the corners. “You mean it’s not in your bra?”

  “That was just the cabana key. Oliver and I rode together last night. He had the keys, my compact, and lipstick. The only thing I had was my phone, which I left in the cabana the whole night or he would have had that too.” Holden purses his lips together and sighs before pulling his wallet out and taking a credit card from it. I furrow my brows. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing? I assume you don’t have a spare because you don’t even have a potted plant by the door or a mat that says welcome.” His voice is low and laced with irritation. How observant of him. I cross my arms, glancing around, making sure no one sees us. “Don’t act like I’m fucking breaking and entering. You live here, Cammie.”

  “It doesn’t feel that way. I don’t feel welcome here. And where did you learn how to pick a lock with a credit card?”

  He jiggles it around a bit and then turns the knob. It’s unnerving how easily he just did that. “You still have a key. We’re not breaking in. I’m just helping you because you were locked out.”

  Walking into the space, I take in the mess. It looks like someone really did burglarize the place.

  Holden whistles. “I pegged you for more of a clean freak.”

  Narrowing my eyes at him, I elbow his side. “It wasn’t like this before we left last night, so either someone broke in or Oliver’s temper got the better of him at some point.”

  “That’s one hell of a temper.” He lifts my chin so our eyes are connected. “Has he ever hit you, Cam?”

  My face twists. Oliver’s a lot of things, but abusive isn’t one of them. Negligent, sure. Of course, that all makes sense now. “No. Never.”

  His jaw tightens before he nods. “Maybe you should call him and make sure he did it before we mess with anything in case you need to call the cops.”

  I laugh. “What would you suggest we tell them? That Oliver and I broke up last night, and you and I just broke and entered because technically I didn’t have a key. Do you know how bad that looks?”

  He nibbles on his cheek. “That’s the truth, so I’d say it’s a pretty good start. Thought you didn’t have any fucks to give about whether things look bad anymore?”

  Pulling my phone out, I shake my head. “I’m gonna need to re-reference Webster’s.”

  “Why’s that?” he asks.

  “Because I’m pretty sure maybe you do have a place under asshole after all.”

  Sometimes it’s comical when she references the dictionary. Other times, it’s sexy as fuck. This time, it hurts like a son of a bitch. I’d be lying to say I’m not scared shitless that this is becoming my worst nightmare. Her comments in the cabana, and then what she said in the car. Her hesitancy to go ahead and spill the beans to her father about what’s happened since yesterday. Calling a fucking Uber because she was afraid of the consequences of leaving with me. All of it. What if I’m really just her rebound?

  That this is temporary.

  As I was standing outside of her door attempting to give her en
try because she was locked out, she made me feel like a fucking criminal. Who was I kidding thinking she could change the view she’s had of me for the past nine years overnight even though I’ve never broken a law other than assaulting Brody that day at the pool?

  All this is screwing with my head. Am I actually pushing her away? It’s all moving so fast, so out of order from the way I planned it. Nothing is the way it’s supposed to be. Right down to how I pictured us showing up here.

  I thought Oliver would be ready and waiting for us. I’d need to shove my hands in my pockets to keep from punching the hell out of him like I did with Brody for hurting her. She’d tell him it’s over, and we’d leave feeling like we were the alternate ending to Bonnie and Clyde where they ride off into the sunset instead of dying together. That’s probably not the best analogy since we’re not actually career criminals. It’s the team made up of lovers I was thinking about. That’s what I want us to be.

  Instead of explaining to her yet again why I’m not an asshole, why her definitions are so far off base, I let it go in favor of surveying the damage to her place. She taps on her screen before the ringing echoes off the walls. She’s put it on speaker. Does she really think I want to hear the conversation? I’d be just fine if I live the rest of my life never having to hear his grating voice, see his shit face ever again.

  “Cammie,” he breathes, relieved, into the phone.

  Fucking gag me. Turning around, I start to pace back and forth.

  “Where are you? We’ve been so worried about you.”

  “We?” she asks.

  “Yeah, your mom and I. We looked everywhere.”

  I whip my head back and tilt it. Blowing out a breath, I roll my eyes. What I want to say is, “And you think I’m the asshole?” But I don’t. I can’t. Of course, the thought also occurs to me to grab the phone from her, tell him just what I think of him, and then pack her bags so I can get her out of this mess. That’s what has me in trouble to begin with, though. I’m confused as to whether Cammie is saying and doing all this because she really wants me or if she’s just acting out to mask the pain she’s experiencing. Or is it because I’ve basically made her feel like she has to? Have I done that?