The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1)

by Martin, R. C.

  “I love you,” he rasps, pressing his forehead against mine. “And I can’t wait to make you forever mine.”

  “Me neither,” I admit with a blush. “I’m excited to tell everyone. I’m going to go wake Addie. Then I’m going to call my parents and—”

  “Oh, your parents know.”

  “They do?”

  “Well, they knew it was coming,” he starts to say, reaching up to rub the back of his fingers against my cheek. “So you don’t have to wake them. You can call them a little later, if you want.”

  “Wait—when—” All at once, I remember. The green sweater, the navy slacks, my favorite pair of brown dress shoes. “You drove down to see them,” I state, matter-of-factly. I feel like I might cry again. The fact that he knows how much it means to me to have my parents’ blessing, and to receive it before he even asked me, it’s just confirmation that he’s it. Simple as that. “I love you, Sonny. So much! And I would kiss you some more if I thought I might be able to stop, but I can’t make that promise. So I’m just going to go upstairs and wake Addie, okay?”

  “Okay,” he says with a nod and a chuckle, helping me down to my feet.

  Reluctantly, I pull away from him and kick off my shoes. “Don’t forget about that coffee you promised,” I whisper as I hurry my way toward the stairs that will take me to my other half.

  When I open their door, I find both Addie and Sarah fast asleep. For about two seconds, I think about waking them both gently. Then I realize, I’m way too excited to contain myself just now. I run toward the bed and start jumping. “Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

  “Whoa, Twinkles—you need to take it down a notch,” grumbles Sarah.

  “Yeah,” Addie agrees with a yawn. “What time is it? Why are you jumping?”

  “Because I’m ENGAGED!”

  “What?” they both gasp in unison. Sarah, who’s now sitting up on my left, wraps her hand around my wrist and tugs until I’m sitting in between them. “Holy shit—you’re getting married?”

  “Yup,” I sigh. Addison throws herself across my lap so she can admire the evidence with Sarah. For a second, they’re both silent—and then Addie screams. I’m talking full on, ear piercing scream. The next thing I know, she’s hurling herself at me.

  “What the hell?” grumbles Claire as she appears in the doorway, dressed in Jackson’s shirt and little else. It’s obvious that she just rolled out of bed, and yet she still looks like someone should be taking her picture. I’m not jealous, though. I’m far too happy and content to do anything but admire God’s handiwork. “Are you trying to wake the dead, or what?”

  I’m buried in a Sarah-Addie dog pile, my head being the only part of me that’s not covered, but I manage to lift my left hand and wiggle my ring finger. She gasps almost instantly—as if her ability to spot the difference is heightened due to her fiancee status—and then she’s squealing as she joins us in bed.

  “Um, hello?” I hear Hammy and can’t contain my giggle, as I’m sure all of us piled on top of each other is quite a sight. “Is everything okay in here?”

  I push myself up, managing to get as far as propped up on my elbows, and notice that while Beckham is the one who spoke, we’ve got a little crowd which includes him, Daphne, Logan, and Jack. “Everything is fine,” I reply with a grin. “Oh, by the way, you’re looking at the future Mrs. Grayson O’Conner.”

  In celebration of Gray and Ave’s engagement—holy cow, that’s so weird to say—Sarah and Daphne tag-team it in the kitchen and make a huge breakfast. They manage to find ingredients to whip up eggs, bacon, french toast, fruit salad, blueberry muffins, and mimosas. Logan’s mom seemed to think of everything when she stocked the fridge and pantry for our weekend.

  Spoiled much?

  I’m not jealous. Not at all.

  Honestly, though, I love it that we’re here and that it worked out in Gray’s favor, in terms of planning the proposal, and that all of us are together to revel with the two of them. In fact, for most of the morning, I’m able to bask in the excitement of my sister’s news without thinking about my own relational problems. It isn’t until we finally decide to get up from the table and clean up the kitchen that I start to wish my situation was more like hers.

  Grayson and Avery are excused from dish duty, so that they can go call our parents; Daphne and Sarah are excused because they made the food. Somehow Trevor gets out of it, because he’s basically an extension of Daphne—even though they’re still not a couple—which leaves Logan, Beck, Roman, Jack, Claire, and me. Logan sits on top of the counter and dries dishes as Beckham hands them to her. I get to watch from afar as they chat and he makes her giggle. Every time she throws her head back in amusement, I cringe.

  Beckham isn't that funny. Her shameless flirting is astounding.

  Jack and Claire take the lead on clearing the dining room table while Roman and I wrap up the leftovers. Every time he catches me giving Logan the evil eye, he pinches my side; since that tickles, it brings an involuntary smile to my face each time—I shake my head at him and he winks at me. His wink makes me feel better and worse—partly because flirting with him makes me no better than Logan; partly because it’s simply a reminder that I have to figure out who it is that I want, and I still don’t know! Unfortunately, by the time the kitchen is clean, I resent Avery and her relationship status. So, not only is my heart a two-timing slut, it’s also a selfish little witch.

  It’s almost eleven by the time everyone has showered and made their way back out of their rooms. Logan suggests that we all head into town to do a little shopping and grab lunch. Everyone agrees that it’s a good idea and we set out right away. Once we arrive, we split up, and I spend most of my time with Sarah and Claire. As horrible as it might sound, I’m content to put some space between myself and the boys, as well as myself and my sister. By the time we meet up for lunch, my ill feelings from this morning after breakfast are all but forgotten.

  Since it’s still pretty cold out, despite the shining sun, we decide to head back to the house to watch a movie. We make popcorn and eat candy—because, of course, Logan’s mom thought of everything—and we all cuddle up on two couches in front of the gigantic TV. Jack and Claire sit with Gray and Ave and Daphne and Trevor, which is just too cute to make me upset—that, plus my current sitting arrangement is far too distracting to leave room for any remaining jealousy in regards to the couch-o-couples. Somehow, I end up sitting between Roman and Beckham. On the other side of Roman is Sarah. On the other side of Beckham is Logan. The irony of the situation is just downright ridiculous and all I can think about, the entire movie, is how incestuous our couch is.

  Honestly, though, it makes me that much more aware of how amazing each guy is. They’re different in so many ways, but they are also both sweet, loving, smart, kind, gentlemen that would make any girl really happy. They might not know it, but each of them is sandwiched between two girls whose heart could belong to them.

  After one movie, I can’t handle it anymore. I have to get up. I have to get away from them and get out of my head. While they pick another movie, I offer to make dinner. I get a few offers from people to help, but thankfully I don’t have to argue too much to convince them I can handle it on my own. While I hunt for ingredients in the pantry and the fridge, I have a conversation with God. I tell Him what He already knows—that I’m conflicted and confused—and He says nothing in return. Not that I was expecting Him to. I know that this is my decision, regardless of how much I wish He would just make it for me. With a proper meal plan set into motion, I spend the next hour and a half not thinking about anything except what’s for dinner. I decide that after we eat, I’ll snag my journal and find a quiet place to write; but for now, I’m content to not think about anything.

  “Is there a rule about waiting a half an hour to get into the hot tub after you eat? Or is that just for swimming?” asks Avery.

  “Who cares? If you go, I’ll come with you!” chimes in Claire.

  “I was actually thi
nking of playing a different kind of pool,” says Trevor. “Anyone else?”

  “Pool sounds fun,” pipes in Gray. “I’ll play.”

  “Me too,” says Jack.

  It doesn’t take long before it’s been unanimously decided that the girls want to dip into the hot tub and the guys want to disappear into the basement. Our gentlemen offer to clean up the kitchen and the rest of us scurry upstairs to change into our bathing suits before they can change their minds. It dawns on me, as we are parading past them through the dining room and out the sliding glass door that leads to the back patio, why they didn’t mind having an excuse to stay upstairs for a few more minutes. I’m the last one out, so I’m left to shut the door behind us. When I do, I spot both Beckham and Roman standing at the sink, staring right at me. I’m in a towel, given that it’s freezing outside—but I suppose that’s not saying much.

  Good Lord. I’m in so much trouble.

  “Let me see the ring, again,” asks Daphne as I join them in the steaming water. “Why an emerald?” she asks when Avery holds out her hand.

  “It’s the color of his eyes. I love his eyes.”

  “You two are intolerably adorable,” mutters Logan. I can tell by the look on Avery’s face that she can’t tell whether or not that was a compliment or an insult; considering her tone, I’m not so sure either. Both of us look to Daphne as she interprets and responds.

  “Oh, please,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Deep down, I know you want the same thing.”

  “Daph, you know I don’t date. I—”

  “Play. Yes, and how’s that working out for you and blue-eyed-wonder-boy in there?”

  I stifle a gasp as my gaze fastens onto Logan’s face. They’re talking about Beck. She smirks and nonchalantly lifts one of her shoulders in response. “He’s different.”

  “Who? Beckham?” asks Sarah, who appears to be as aghast as I am.

  “She likes him,” Daphne says, as if she’s Logan’s spokesman. “She has a hard time admitting it, but it’s true.”

  “Hey, I’m just biding my time,” Logan responds. “There’s no point in me admitting anything when he’s still dealing with the bitch.”

  I shake my head wondering if I’ve managed to get water in my ears as I’m sure that she didn’t just call me something horrible.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa—who are you calling a bitch?” asks Claire, offended on my behalf.

  Avery, who’s sitting beside me, finds my hand underneath the water and wraps her fingers around mine in a tight grip. I squeeze back as the adrenaline Logan’s words have stimulated courses through my veins. Why on earth would anyone even bring Beckham up? Especially in conjunction with Logan. I’m sitting right here!

  “That’s what LG calls a complicated situation. She’s not referring to anyone in particular,” Daphne clarifies.

  “Well, she might be a bitch. His ex or whatever. I don’t know. He never talks about her. All I know is that he’s not yet ready to move on. So, like I said, biding my time.”

  What. The. Hell?

  “Um—you do realize that you’re talking about my sister like she’s not sitting right here, right?” exclaims Avery.

  Logan’s eyes find mine, which haven’t moved away from her since this whole conversation started. I see a flicker or emotion tug at the features of her face, but it’s gone in an instant. She covers up whatever it is she doesn’t want anyone to see when she lifts her eyebrows in surprise and then flashes me a smug smile. “So you’re the one who has his heart on lockdown. Any guess as to when you’ll be setting him free?”

  I can’t breathe.

  This water is too hot.

  Am I understanding her correctly?

  “He—he didn’t tell you? About me?” I choke the words out, but I know the answer before I even ask the question. By the way she’s referring to the status of his heart, I know she doesn’t know a single detail about our story. With every shallow breath I take, my heart seems to crack open a little bit more; as it opens, my eyes blur with tears.

  “Nope.” She pops the p in the word and suddenly I feel like I might lose it. I’m out of the water before anyone can say another word. As I wrap my towel around myself and hurry inside, I barely notice how freezing it is or how fast my tears are spilling down my face. As I stomp into the kitchen, every pair of eyes looks up from their task and zeros in on me. I, however, am only interested in catching one man’s attention—when I have it, I can’t stop the yell that bursts from my throat.

  “You didn’t tell her about me? This whole time, even after she made it completely obvious that she liked you, you didn’t think to mention me? Really?”

  “What? Addie, what are you talking about?” he asks calmly. His even temper makes me even more mad.

  “Logan! Unless, of course, there might be more pretty blondes that think it’s okay to kiss you because they have no idea that you’re saving your heart for someone else! Oh, wait, maybe you aren’t anymore! It was you who broke up with me in the first place.”

  I no longer know if the words I’ve just spit out are true or not, but saying them out loud makes me feel like complete shit. I know that Roman likes me, I know that he kissed me, I know that we’re essentially the mirror image of Logan and Beckham—but it’s not the same because Roman has known about Beckham from the very beginning because Beckham has always meant that much to me. The fact that Beckham never mentioned me to Logan hurts so much I can hardly stand it.

  He starts to respond to my last comment, but I shut him out as I make my way upstairs. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it together for much longer, and the last thing I want is to have a public melt-down in front of all of my friends. I know he’s right behind me, I can hear his footsteps as he follows me up the stairs, but I shut my bedroom door after me anyway. It’s pointless, of course, since he opens it not even two seconds later.

  “Addie, what is going on?”

  “Do you like her? Is that why you never mentioned me?”

  “Logan? No! We’ve been over this. I told you that I didn’t.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell her?” I think back to the first time I saw them together and I feel sick. He told me it wasn’t a date, but that’s what it looked like—and now that I know that Logan had no idea about me, I have no doubt that she considered it a date. It no longer matters what his intentions were; he wasn’t completely honest. I can’t help but wonder how many other dates they’ve been on.

  “Because!” He’s shouting now. I know it’s only because I’m shouting, but he’s never yelled at me before. We’re in uncharted territory, which is overwhelming. “I wanted to have a friend who didn’t look at me and wonder whether or not I was ready to get married every time I walked into a room.”

  Ugh! I could scream. How did this suddenly become my fault? “Well, excuse me for placing that expectation over your head. I just listened to her tell me that she’s just waiting for you to get over your ex so that she can make her next move. Maybe I should just unlock your heart so that she can finally have you.”

  He shrugs, as if he’s run out of words. “How was I supposed to know that she felt that way?”

  His ignorance baffles and infuriates me. “Because she kissed you!”

  I try and take a deep breath to calm myself down. We’re shouting at each other, something we never do, and I’m overwhelmed by our shared heightened emotions. She’s making me anxious just as much as she’s making me angry. I can only assume that she saw the kiss that Logan planted on me, because I haven’t told a single soul. But if she did in fact see it, then she should know that I didn’t kiss her back—which is more than I can say for her.

  “She kissed me and then I pushed her away and told her we were friends. It’s never been any different and I’ve never lied to you about it. I’m sorry to say I can’t ascribe the same truth to you. At least I’m not dating anyone behind your back!”

  She gasps as she clutches her towel, which is wrapped tightly around her chest. “I am not dating
anyone behind your back!”

  “Well, you’re certainly kissing him when you think no one is watching.”

  “Are you spying on me?”

  I cough out a sigh, caught off guard by the way my heart breaks at her accusation. “No, I’m not spying on you.” I can barely get the words out with the knot that’s clogging my throat. “I came to see you sing, which I only knew about because of Daphne. How stupid of me to think that you didn’t mention it because it slipped your mind or you were nervous. No—you didn’t tell anyone because then everyone would know the truth about you and Roman.”

  “Don’t even, Beckham! We wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place if you never broke up with me.”

  “I told you it wasn’t forever!” I protest, trying to ignore the fact that she didn't deny there's something going on between her and the man who shares my room. It’s one thing to see the evidence and another thing to have it confirmed by the subject, herself. “You told me you would wait. You’re the one who broke your promise, not me.”

  “And how long was I supposed to wait, Beck? A few more months? A year? A few years? One day short of forever?”

  Her words are like a slap across the face.

  I stare at her for at least a minute without saying a single word. She doesn’t speak either. Her silence doesn’t bother me. In fact, I’m relieved by it. I for one don’t have any more fighting words left. I shake my head as I leave her, knowing that only one thing will be able to express to her the gravity behind my decision to break up—as she seems to have forgotten. I walk across the hall, barely aware that we’ve accumulated an audience, and head straight for my duffle bag. I dig for my journal and make my way back to her room as soon as I’ve got it. She’s standing exactly where I left her.

  “Take it,” I instruct, holding out my leather bound pages. “I didn’t do this just for me. I did it for you. I did it for us. I can’t explain it any other way—I just needed some time. And maybe I’ve lost you. Maybe we weren’t the couple that I thought we were, maybe we can’t survive this, but I never gave up on us. Never. I couldn’t. I love you. It’s always been you.” I jerk the journal, signaling for her to take it away from me. “Take it,” I repeat. When she finally complies, I steal one last look at her. She looks as broken as I feel and I can’t help but wonder—how on earth did we get here? I leave her to herself, shutting the bedroom door behind me.