The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1)

by Martin, R. C.

  “Come on. This is our song,” Daphne says, pulling Avery to her feet. I don’t notice that the song has changed until they manage to get Avery to join them.

  Within seconds, the crowd parts for them. Or should I say, the crowd parts for Logan in that red dress…if it can be called that. It isn’t long until a few more girls gather along with them, swaying to the beat that fills the room. I cast a sideways glance at Gray and watch him watch his girl with a lazy smile. I follow his gaze and see that Ave is dancing with Daphne. I can’t help but smile, myself. Avery’s different, these days. More outgoing and more confident than I’ve ever seen her. I know part of it has to do with Gray—but I also think part of it has to do with her stepping out of her shell and learning to take what she wants, which is something I think she’s learned from Daphne.

  I watch them only for a moment and then I’m distracted by the woman in red. Her moves are a lot more seductive than Avery’s, and I’m not the only one to notice. A couple guys squeeze their way into the crowd and one of them pulls her toward him. She goes willingly, wrapping her arms around his neck as he brings her body so close, it’s as if they are two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle fitted together. I feel uncomfortable watching them—watching her allow him to run his hands up and down her back. I think of the story she told me the night before, about the guy from the bar, and I suddenly feel protective. When she giggles, I’m up before I know what I’m doing.

  “Mind if I cut in?” I ask once I’ve closed the distance between us. I don’t really care what this guy has to say—I don’t know who he is, and I don’t need to know—I’m ending this situation. Right now.

  “Yeah, actually, I do,” he mutters.

  “Aw, hi sexy! Did you come out here to dance with me?” Logan coos, flashing me a smile.

  I cut my eyes at the guy who’s still got his hands on her and he shakes his head before he lets her go. She clings to me, not even bothering to acknowledge her previous dance partner, and continues to move to the beat of the music.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Amazing now.”

  I nod and stifle a chuckle. “I think you were about to break my rule.”

  She gasps, clapping her hands around her mouth. “No!” she replies. When she starts to giggle again, she drops her hands and her eyes. “Maybe,” she admits, looking back up at me from underneath her eyelashes.

  “That’s what I thought. Come on. Let’s get you some water.” I place my hands on her shoulders and spin her around before gently encouraging her toward the bar. She doesn’t protest, which surprises me, but I don’t mention it.

  It’s standing room only at the bar and they’re still pretty busy so I have to wait my turn to request what I came for. I don’t mind, though, content with having gotten Logan away from that heavy petter.

  “You’re on your white horse, again,” she says, tapping her finger against my nose.

  “What?” I ask, taking hold of her hand in order to move it out of my face. I let her go as soon as she relaxes her arm at her side.

  “Playing Mr. Responsible. Looking out for me. I think you care about me.”

  I know that it’s mostly the alcohol talking and I wonder if she’ll remember this conversation tomorrow. Either way, I play along. “I’m your friend. Of course, I care about you.”

  “My friend,” she says, jabbing her finger in the middle of my chest.

  “Yup. That’s me.” Eric catches my attention and I indicate that I need a water and he nods before he goes to fill a glass.

  “I care about you, too, Mysterious.”

  “I’m glad,” I say with a smile. I look to my left, once more, just as Eric returns with the water. I reach for it, and when I turn to hand it to Logan, she surprises me first. Before I know it, her lips are pressed against mine. For a fraction of a second I’m so shocked that I can’t move—and then it registers that her mouth is the wrong mouth; her perfume is the wrong scent. With my free hand, I grip her bare shoulder and push her away. I can’t decipher the expression on her face when our eyes meet. Disappointment? Rejection? Surprise?

  “Logan,” I manage. “No.” Her shoulders sag and that’s when I realize that the look on her face spoke of her disappointment. She’s not thinking straight. I know she’s not herself right now. She didn’t mean to do that. “You’re drunk, Logan. It’s not like that with us. You’re my friend. I don’t like you like that.”

  “Right,” she states, taking her glass of water from me. “Because you’re still dealing with the bitch.” I know she means my complicated situation, which we don’t ever talk about, and not Addie, so I nod. She mimics me and then proceeds to gulp down every last drop of her water. I study her as she does so, curious and a little bit worried about what just happened. “Thanks for being my friend,” she says, handing me the empty glass. “I promise not to break your rule.” Before I can say another word, she turns and walks away.

  I was on my way to the bar to grab a couple waters for Sarah and Claire when I saw her lean in. He wasn’t expecting it.

  Neither was I.

  It only lasted a second—but I swear it was the longest second of my life!

  I force myself to keep walking, to make it to my destination; with every step I take, I relive that moment. I can’t erase the image of that kiss from my mind. I’m surprised by what I feel. Or, rather, the lack of what I feel. I think I’m in shock. I’ve never, ever, ever, seen Beckham kiss someone else.

  Then again, technically I think that’s still true.

  The clarity of that thought is brought about as I replay the scene in its entirety. He pushed her away. That means he didn’t want it. It means, when Beckham was given the opportunity to kiss one of the prettiest girls in the room, he pushed her away instead of kissing her back.

  I know that I should feel relieved by that truth—but I still can’t feel anything.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  I’m pulled from my thoughts at the sound of Avery’s voice. I run my fingers through my hair and draw in a deep breath as I bring my eyes to meet hers. For a second, I think about telling her. Then I don’t. I realize that I can’t. It’s like I can’t really wrap my mind around what I just saw and so I can barely process it, let alone share it.

  “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head in an attempt to clear it. This room is too loud and I’m suddenly far too exhausted to try and think about Beckham or Logan. I’ll just have to deal with it tomorrow. “I’m good,” I assure her, forcing a smile.

  “I’m going to get a water. Do you want one?”

  “Yeah. Um, three, actually,” I remember.

  “Four waters, coming up. Just don’t go anywhere. I only have two hands.”

  “I’ll be right here.”

  I look down at the other end of the bar, wondering if Beckham is still there, but he’s gone.

  My bottom lip is sore from my constant biting. Every other minute it gets pulled between my teeth until I remember that it hurts, at which point I release it only to pull it back in a minute later. I can’t help it. It’s hard for me to remember something so insignificant when I have something so much more important on my mind.

  I should be doing homework or practicing or something. School started a couple days ago. I still need to work on bits and pieces of my grad school applications, but every time I try and sit down to do anything, I get distracted—which is why I find myself sitting in the middle of my bed, flipping the photograph over and over with my fingers as I gnaw on my raw lip.

  I did something bad. Or maybe it was something good? My gut tells me I’m a fool if I think what I’ve done is good, no matter what my intentions were.

  It’s been three days since Sonny’s birthday. Three days since he got the birthday card from his mother. Three days since I fished it out of the trash. Three whole days that I’ve been lying to my boyfriend about something I know will upset him.
I’m not sure what compelled me to do it. In the moment, it just seemed like the right thing to do—like he wasn’t thinking clearly and I needed to intervene. He was upset and hurting, but he didn’t know what he was throwing away!

  I debated about whether or not I should open it for the rest of the weekend. I kept staring at it every time I passed by my desk, where I had hidden it between a couple books. I felt guilty for even having it, so reading it seemed like a bad idea. But when Monday morning rolled around, I woke up with an epiphany.

  Of course, I should read it. What if all it is is a stupid birthday card? There’s no point in him opening it if that’s all he’ll find.

  So I opened it. I opened it to spare him from any disappointment. I figured if there was nothing significant inside, then I could just throw it away and pretend like I had done so when I told him I would. Except, there wasn’t just a birthday card inside.

  No, what I found sucked all the air right out of me.

  There was a birthday card, but there was also a letter. In the letter, Rhonda explained why she hadn’t sent him anything since he was eighteen; she’d lost track of him. Previously, she’d always managed to get his address from her brother, Sonny’s uncle Charlie. When Charlie and Patrick had their falling out, she could no longer be sure where he was. After his eighteenth birthday, she assumed he would be off to college—which was obviously correct—but she didn’t know where. Then, before she could learn anything from Charlie, he passed away. It wasn’t until she saw something in the newspaper about the Colorado State football team that she realized her son was attending CSU.

  She didn’t write about why she chose to leave when he was five, but she did explain why she never left a return address on any of his birthday cards. She didn’t want Patrick to find her. She also never included anything personal in her annual card because she knew Patrick would get a hold of it. Personally, I think those excuses are malarkey! Outside of her poor reasoning, though, she offered nothing more. All she said was that she hoped Grayson would give her a chance to tell him everything face-to-face. She lives in Wyoming, now. The distance between them is almost nothing and that reality twists my stomach in knots. I can’t believe they’re so close.

  They. It’s the fact that Rhonda is a part of a they that has me reeling.

  While she didn’t see fit to include any details behind the betrayal of her first born seventeen years ago, she did endeavor to inform him that she moved on with her life after she left. She’s married to some guy named Keith, now, and they have three kids. Three kids! Sonny has two brothers and a sister. The little girl in the picture, who is the youngest at eight years old, has long wavy hair just like Sonny’s.

  Just like their mother.

  My heart aches every time I look at the image of the happy family. I hurt for Sonny and I’m so angry at the woman in the photo. She’s pretty, which shouldn't surprise me, given her son’s devastatingly good looks. Her eyes aren't green, though; they're a yellowish shade of brown and I childishly think that’s fitting, because she must be full of poo! Really, though, I'm glad that his green eyes—my favorite part of his face, next to his barely-there-dimples—don’t come from her. I cannot believe that she would leave one child behind and never look back. It’s a million times worse knowing that she just kept on living her life and made a home with a husband and children and left Sonny to deal with his alcoholic father. I won’t claim to know the environment in which her family lives in now, but by the looks of it, they’re a whole lot better off than Sonny was.

  The worst part, though, is that I know any of this at all. I feel overwhelmed with the burden of this news.

  I have to tell him. I don’t want to. I really don’t want to. I wish it could come from somebody else. I wish someone else had been stupid enough to not only open the letter but also read it. Three times! But it wasn't someone else. It was me. I know that he deserves the truth, I'm just so afraid of how he’ll take it.

  We promised each other no secrets!

  Ugh—and this is the mother of all secrets.

  To say that I’m scared of dropping this bomb on him would be like saying Addie and I look like we could be related... I went behind his back to get this information. I feel like the worst girlfriend in the world. Yet, part of me feels like I did the right thing by salvaging the envelope. If I hadn't, he would never know that he has a family. Then again, he might not ever consider them his family. If that's true, then if he was never told, it wouldn't matter if he read the letter or not.

  Honestly, I’m so confused. I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to him. I don’t even know how I’m going to bring it up. When I hear the front door open, I know it’s Addie coming home from the yoga class she squeezed in after dinner. I haven’t told anyone about what I’ve done, but I suddenly feel the need to confide in her. I know she’ll know what to do.

  I cried during yoga, tonight.

  I can’t say I’m surprised. My head has been so full, my heart has been so heavy, and my body has been so tense, I suspected it was going to happen. There was a reason why I felt the need to go tonight—I needed to release all my pent up emotions. I’ve been thinking about Beckham and Logan for days now. I keep trying to remind myself that the and is not glue between their names, but that kiss…

  I’ve been wondering if he did anything to make her think that he would want her to kiss him. I know what I saw. He pushed her away. Furthermore, he pushed her away unaware that he had an audience. But had he done or said something that gave her the courage to lean in and take what she wanted? Or was it just a reckless move on her part? Did she think he would reciprocate? What does this mean for their friendship going forward?

  She was drunk. I could tell. But being intoxicated doesn’t always excuse someone’s actions. In fact, that could have been the most honest thing she did all day—her liquid courage drowning out anything that would stop her while sober. I know that no one else believes me when I tell them that she has feelings for him, but that kiss proves me right. I haven’t told anyone about it, yet; I know that if I do, they’ll blame the alcohol and her flirtatious nature—but that’s not enough for me.

  I hate that I have so many more questions now. I hate that my doubts have resurfaced with a vengeance. I hate that I witnessed that moment. Most of all, I hate that Beckham and I are in a place where something like that could happen. The worst part is, I can’t talk to him about it. Every time I think about reaching out to him, my stomach twists in knots. It scares me to admit it, but I don’t think it’s any of my business.

  He promised me that there was nothing going on between them months ago. I believed him. I believe him. I have to. For the sake of my sanity. But—I’m beginning to lose track of what’s going on between us anymore. I think I'm afraid to talk to him about Logan because I don't know that I'll be able to handle what he has to say. Our breakup gets more real every day. The distance between us seems to stretch farther and farther as life goes on and time slips away. We’re growing apart and I can’t stop myself from wondering how long it’ll take for us to become strangers. He said that would never happen, but I know there are things I don’t know about him anymore. It also hurts to know that there are things he doesn’t know about me either. I don’t regret any of my new experiences or the people I’ve enjoyed them with. I’m grateful of the growth that I’ve gone through as I’ve become more aware of myself and how I feel through journaling. But it’s not supposed to be this way! Not exactly. We’re supposed to be together.

  I stifle a groan as I throw my things onto the floor and stretch out onto my bed. I wish crying and yoga made me feel better than it has. It’s been months since I’ve cried like that. It wasn’t the same without Roman, though. He always makes me feel better afterwards with a hug and sometimes a laugh. I miss him, right now.

  Thinking of him makes me think of Sarah. I tried talking to her about Saturday night and what she and Claire said about Roman having feelings for me, but she asked me to leave it alone. To say that
I feel like crap about the whole thing would be an understatement. I can tell the lie about her not liking him is starting to weigh her down yet, she refuses to do anything about it. Sarah! The most outgoing person I know. The fact that she doesn't want to talk about it with me makes me feel like there's a wedge between us. It's awful and I don't know what to do to fix it.

  As if God Himself wished to swoop in and give me a hug, Avery comes into my room and crawls into bed next to me. Without a word, she wraps her arms around me and snuggles really close. We both sigh as I return her affection and I thank the Lord for my other half, yet again. I wonder if this moment was meant to be—like it's finally time I open up to someone about all that’s in my head. Maybe if I get it out, I'll be able to see things more clearly.

  “How was yoga?” she asks, breaking the silence.

  “It was okay. Not as satisfying as I hoped it would be.”

  “Hmm,” she hums distractedly. I can tell by her response that what I said went in one ear and out the other and I wonder what she’s thinking. “I have to tell you something.”

  My heart rate picks up a notch at the tone of her voice. Whatever something is doesn't sound good. She's holding onto a secret, too. Maybe we're both meant to come clean right now. “I have to tell you something, too. You first. What is it?” She sits up and sweeps her hair behind her ears, avoiding my gaze. I wait a couple seconds and when she doesn’t say anything, I get antsy. “AJ, spit it out.”

  “I did something bad. I mean, I didn't mean to. Well, I guess I did. Either way—” she huffs out a breath as she fidgets with the ends of her hair.

  When I see her eyes fill with tears I get even more anxious and I sit up, folding my legs underneath me. “What is it, Ave?”

  “On Saturday, Grayson got a birthday card from his mom.”

  My eyes open wide in surprise. I wasn't expecting to hear that. I don't know much about Gray's childhood, because he doesn't like to talk about it, but I know that his mom left when he was five and never came back. “You didn't tell me that,” is all I can manage to say.