The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1) (124 page)

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?
”