The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1)

by Martin, R. C.

  Out in the hallway, I’m greeted by our spectators. Grayson nods at me, as if to express his approval of how I just handled the situation. Avery, who’s shivering against Gray’s chest, looks as though she’s trying not to cry. Sarah looks stunned and Claire offers me a sympathetic smile. Jack looks at me like he feels sorry for me—but it’s Logan’s face that takes me by surprise. She looks hurt—an expression I’ve never seen on her before. Without a word, she brushes past me and heads to the master bedroom, where she slams the door behind her.

  Great. Now I have two girls mad at me.

  What I wouldn’t give to be in Gray’s shoes right now.

  I don't feel like talking to anyone. Neither do I feel like closing myself in a room where Roman might come in at any moment. I go and fetch my bag before I make my way past the hallway crowd and down the stairs. I don't stop until I'm in the basement, holed up in one of the extra rooms. I toss my bag on the floor and throw myself across the oversized bed. I don't cry, but I feel like no one would blame me if I did. The reality is, I'm so emotionally exhausted that I just can't take myself there.

  I gave her all I have. Literally. That journal is every hard day, every unspoken word, every lesson learned, every effort put forth to become more. I'm as much as I can be right now. I have nothing left to offer her. I'm ready now, but it's possible that she isn't. It's possible that she never will be. Knowing that breaks my heart. She's all I've ever wanted. I thought she felt the same way. With everything that just happened, I can no longer be sure.

  My head is having a hard time wrapping itself around that.

  I don't know how long I'm lost in my thoughts before my phone alerts me to a text. Since almost anyone I can imagine trying to reach me right now is above me, I decide to open the message in case they're just checking to see if I'm okay. I'm not, but I can at least acknowledge them. My chest fills up with nervous anticipation when I see Logan's name light up my screen. The look on her face after I left Addie is still fresh in my mind.

  Logan: Marco (top of the second story stairs)

  I relax and a smirk tugs at my lips. If she’s looking for me, maybe I have less to be worried about than I originally anticipated.

  Me: Polo (descend two flights)

  Logan: Marco (the den)

  Me: Polo (door #2)

  She knocks twice before entering. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure. It is your house, after all.”

  She’s no longer in her bathing suit. Instead, she’s in a pair of fitted sweat pants and a long-sleeved CSU t-shirt. She comes and lays down next to me. For a while, we both just stare at the ceiling. “You could have told me,” she states.

  “I know. I didn't want to.” I pause and tilt my head so that I can look at her. “I didn't want to drag anyone else into the bitch, you know?”

  “Yeah. Okay. I can understand that. Sort of.” She turns her head so that she can look at me, too. “Addie doesn't though, which makes me think I should have known. Considering the volume at which you were yelling at each other, it seems like whatever you two have, or had, or whatever, is a pretty big deal.”

  “I want to marry her,” I admit in a whisper.

  “Damn. That explains a whole lot. It also raises a bunch of questions.” I open my mouth, ready and willing to tell her anything she wants to know—I feel like she deserves it— but she stops me, slapping her hand around the bottom half of my face. “No, I don't want to know. Ignorance is bliss.” I nod and she releases me. “Think the two of you will work it out?” I shrug, showcasing my uncertainty. “Well, I don't envy you.”

  “Thanks,” I chuckle. She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. I don’t know what to make of her. Addie is sure that she has feelings for me, and maybe that’s true, but I’d like to believe that our friendship weighs more than anything else. In any case, I can almost understand why she would feel hurt that I would keep something so important from her. “I’m sorry.” She mimics my shrug and I sit up, pulling her with me. I wrap my arms around her and she comes willingly into my embrace. “Still friends?”

  She exhales dramatically before she mutters, “I guess.” I sit back away from her, unsure whether or not she means yes or no. Her tone says no even though her words say yes. When she leans over to kiss my cheek, I accept and appreciate the gesture for what it is. A peace offering. “Want to watch a movie?” she asks, abruptly changing the subject. “This weekend was supposed to be relaxing. I think you're doing anything but that at this point.”

  A smirk teases my lips, but I can’t bring myself to smile, let alone leave this room. “I actually think I want to camp out in here for a while.”

  “Want company?”

  “Sure. It is your house after all.”

  I don't sleep a wink. How I feel is actually very familiar; it’s as if I’ve traveled back in time to the moment when Beckham broke up with me in the first place. I can hardly move. In fact, I consider it a major accomplishment that I changed out of my bathing suit into my flannel pajamas. Thankfully, Sarah didn't feel the need to come back to the room for a while, leaving me alone to cry to my heart’s content. When she did drop by, she didn't stay for long. After she freshened up and changed, she simply kissed me on top of the head and left. I needed the solitude and I love her for knowing that. Ave sent me a couple texts, just checking in, but other than that, I was left alone. It wasn't until after Sarah came back and went to sleep that I finally found the courage to open up Beck's journal.

  I thought I was done with the tears before I started reading, but I was wrong. I cried on every single page. Deciphering Beckham’s chicken scratch made me feel both happy and sad. It was like I needed the intimacy of his inner most thoughts, because I had gone so long without them; but journeying through the last few months by way of his writing—where he is the version of himself that is without me—was hard. Not just because I saw that it was hard for him, but because I know it was hard for me too, and yet we experienced it separately.

  There were also lots of parts that made me smile. A few parts that made me laugh. Mostly, there were pages and pages filled with words that made my heart break for us. When I finished, it was like everything I missed about him over the last six months was replaced and restored. A few hours ago, when we were standing in the middle of the room yelling at each other, it felt like he was so far away from me. Now, after hours of reading, it feels like we’ve never been closer. Or, at least, I’ve never been closer to him. It seems only fair that I show him the same honesty that he has bestowed upon me.

  I know that what he will find in my journal will be hard for him to handle. Now, I understand why he would feel betrayed by me, in regards to my relationship with Roman. He was telling the truth about Logan. He never had feelings for her. She’s his friend. She’s been there for him in ways that I haven’t—in ways that he needed. I don’t like her anymore knowing that; but what the two of them share is nothing like the relationship that exists between Roman and me. I cannot apologize for it, though. I won’t. Roman means a lot to me, no matter what happens between me and Beckham. Yet, when all is said and done, he should know that he’s got my heart. He always has.

  In the past, that truth would have made things simple between us. Now, with everything that has transpired over the last six months, nothing seems simple or easy or straight forward anymore. I know one thing for sure, though—I won’t know what happens next until I go talk to him. I know from Avery’s text that he didn’t stay in the room with Roman last night. I’m not surprised. I’m unsure about where he ended up, but I’m prepared to go search for him. I know it’s early, early enough where the sun has not yet made an appearance, but I’ve got to do this now.

  I grab my journal as well as his before I slip out of my room and head downstairs. A light is on in the kitchen, so I have no trouble finding my way, but I stop the instant I see Roman sitting on a bar stool at the island. He’s got a coffee mug in his hand, but I know he must be drinking tea. He looks up, apparently sensing my presence,
and I realize I should speak to him. I know he witnessed the beginning of last night’s confrontation. If he didn’t hear the end of my fight with Beckham, I’m sure he heard about it. Now that my choice has been made, I have to tell him—even if I don’t know how things will end up after I speak with Beck.

  He watches me as I close the distance between us. When I reach him, I’m not sure what to say, so I take a moment to try and find the words. He beats me to it. “Are you okay?”

  My heart breaks a little. It kills me to know that after this moment, our friendship will never be the same and that—that question asked by this man is what started it all. Even knowing that Beckham has my heart, I can’t deny that I care for Roman, too. I want him to be happy and loved by someone far more deserving than me.

  I have to take a breath before I answer him. “I will be.” He nods in response. “Are you okay?” It isn’t until I ask the question that I notice the clock on the stove. 4:53. “It’s awfully early for you to be awake.”

  “I can’t sleep. But I’ll be okay, too.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper as my eyes fill with tears. I know that he knows what I mean without any further explanation.

  “I know.” He pulls his gaze away from me as he stares down into his mug. “Deep down, I knew I never stood a chance. Not really.”

  I don’t say anything in response. I know that if I do, it will fall short of what I mean to say. Either that, or it will just be a lame and failed attempt to make him feel better. Only God and time can do that. Instead of speaking, I reach over and squeeze his hand. He wraps his fingers around mine and squeezes in return.

  “Go. I know you need to.”

  I obey, not sure how much longer I can stand in his presence without falling apart. I descend into the basement, guessing that Beckham would opt to occupy one of the spare rooms just off the den. There’s only one bedroom door that’s closed, so I make my way over and knock softly. I enter before I receive a response. He’s awake, stretched out across the bed. The only light on at the moment is coming from the bedside lamp, but it’s enough for me to make out his face when he turns to look at me.

  “Come in,” he says softly. I shut the door behind me and make my way over to the bed. I don’t hesitate to climb up beside him. “What are you doing up?”

  “What are you doing up?” I ask, knowing my question will be understood as an answer.

  “Right,” he says, pushing himself into a seated position. Unsure how to begin, I hand him my journal. “What’s this?”

  “I kept one, too.” A small smile plays at my lips as it dawns on me that he’s the reason why I was gifted with the journal—not because he broke up with me and I was hurting, but because he was hurting, too, and he needed someplace to express his thoughts. Gray might have stolen the idea for me, but it originated with Beckham. He turns it over in his hands as if it’s the most precious gift that I’ve ever given him. I want to believe that it is, and maybe it will be, but it’s not merely a collection of good things. “I don’t know that you’ll like all that you find—but it’s the truth.”

  He offers me a solemn nod before he brings his dark blue eyes back up to meet mine. “Thank you.”

  I realize that, until he reads it, he might not know what I’m trying to say; but I’ve come down here to open my heart and offer it to him. I reach over and curl one my hands around one of his. “I love you, too, Beckham. I always have.”

  He adjusts his hand, lacing his fingers with mine. “I wish that was still enough—enough to give us permission to pick right back up from where we left off.” He shakes his head and the action evokes an ache that fills my chest. “It’s not.”

  “I know,” I whisper, my tears returning.

  “I don’t have a play book, you know? I can’t promise you what’s going to happen or when.”

  “I know,” I repeat. He doesn’t say anything else, which makes me anxious. Everything he’s saying seems so frustratingly ambiguous. I hate it. We have so much history; our knowledge of one another is profound—but we also have our separation, which has changed us. Not just him and me, but us. Even our fight from last night—we’ll never be the same. “What now?” I ask, needing to know.

  He reaches up and gently brushes away my tears with his thumb. He barely touches me, and yet my heart rate speeds up with his gesture. “What do you want, Addison?”

  His question takes me by surprise. It’s the same question I’ve been asking myself for weeks. Now that the answer is staring me in the face, I’m overwhelmed by all that my choice contains. Our hearts need mending. Our trust needs time to be restored. Our future, even whilst together, is unclear. There are so many questions that need answers and so many decisions that need to be addressed. We have our work cut out for us—but it’s the we that will make it all worth it. He is worth it.

  “I want you, Beckham.”

  “I want you, too,” he says, leaning forward to rest his forehead against mine. He cups both of his hands around my cheeks and I reach up to rest my hands around his wrists. I don’t know how long we sit this way, simply enjoying the nearness of each other, before he speaks. “I missed you. I’ve missed you so much, baby.”

  I practically moan in response to his words. “I missed you too, love.”

  “Will you come back to me?” he whispers, his breath kissing my lips. “Be my girlfriend, again?”

  It’s so crazy to me that six months ago, I would have given anything for him to ask me to be his wife; but now nothing would make me more happy than to be his girlfriend.

  “Yes,” I murmur, relieved beyond measure. “Yes!”

  He steals my breath away when he closes the distance between us and presses a kiss to my lips. My arms are around his neck instantly, begging for him to stay close. He breaks away from me just long enough to discard his glasses; then his arms are around my waist, pulling me against him, and his mouth is back where it belongs. After so many days without him—without this—I would imagine that it would feel different, but it doesn’t. I lose myself in this moment that speaks of our rekindling. He kisses me deeper and I’m reminded of the way he tastes, of the way his tongue plays with mine, of the way his lips tell me how much he wants me—how much he desires and hungers for me—but also how much he loves and adores me. Everything about this kiss is familiar and in his arms, I feel like I’m home.

  I surrender to him. For the first time since the last time—all those months ago—I feel safe and secure and sure. Finally. It’s so good to be home.

  One Year & Six Months Later

  I’ve never seen her so happy. Every time she looks at me, she smiles. It’s not just her mouth that speaks of her joy, it’s her eyes—her big, brown eyes that have never looked more gorgeous than they do today; it’s her laugh and the way she tilts her head and tucks her chin, making her seem both bashful and playful; it’s the way she holds onto me as we make our way around the room to spend a moment with each of our guests.

  If I could bottle her essence, this atmosphere, and my love, I would. I’d seal it up and keep it forever, just to hold it as a memory. I know that we will never be able to capture these moments ever again; they are precious. However, I do not mourn the seconds gone by. I know that every minute and every day, every week and every month, every year and every decade for the rest of my life will be filled with precious moments created with the woman I’ve loved for the past six years—the woman I will love until my last breath.

  It’s hard to believe that this day is more than half over. It’s taken us so long to get here. The past two years have been beyond challenging for us. I thought we had it bad when I broke up with her at the end of junior year—but that was just a preview of harder days to come. My first year at Baylor is now behind me, but I will never forget it.

  Right before I packed all my stuff and moved to Texas, I proposed to Addie. Timing is everything. I couldn’t leave her without promising her that I would come back for her. It blows my mind how often our engagement saved us. Long distan
ce sucks. Long distance coupled with my first year of medical school and her first year of teaching sucked. Some days I felt like, regardless of everything we had been through, we were still a fragile unit. We never broke, but the journey it took to bring us here wasn’t what I was expecting.

  I’ve learned so much along the way. To list it all would be borderline outrageous, but I will say this: God is sovereign. Knowing that truth, clinging to my awareness that God is always in control, has brought me through some pretty tough days. I don’t claim perfection; I am grateful that I am covered by grace—but learning to trust in God and in His timing has made me into the best version of myself that I could possibly be right now. It’s this version that is prepared to take on the world—to take on the role of husband.

  When I broke up with Addie a little over two years ago, I had to stop asking myself—and God—why. To this day, I’m still not sure that I know why. It felt right. I know that’s not an answer, but that’s all I have. Everything else is just choices, decisions, mistakes—lessons learned. I could say that it was God’s way of preparing Addison and me for our year of long distance. I could say that it was God’s way of showing me how to love Addie like He loves the church. He loves us so much that He gives us the choice to choose Him. I had to let Addie go for a while to see if she would still choose me. I could say it was God’s way of making me see that I was taking her for granted and she deserves better than that. The truth is, I could say it was God’s way of doing a lot of things—and maybe I’d be right or maybe I’d be wrong. In the end, I understand it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I did what I felt my heart was calling me to do and, after it’s all been said in done, I ended up here.