The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1) (102 page)

I like Roman. I like the way he makes me laugh and the way he comforts me when I
’
m crying. I appreciate the way that he listens just as much as he shares. I love the way he plays guitar and the vulnerability he expresses in his song lyrics. I adore the way he treats his sister and the bond that they have. Then, of course, his face
…
he has a very attractive face.
Above all that, I cherish the respect he has for me and our friendship. It
’
s been over a month since I inadvertently told him that I was falling for him and he allusively assured me that my feelings were reciprocated. We
’
ve hung out a lot since then, because we
’
ll be performing together at Little Bird in a couple weeks, and yet he has not pushed me to even
discuss
how it is that I feel, let alone act on it. Even though I won
’
t deny that I like him, he understands I
’
m not sure what I want to do about it.

Sometimes I feel like a total tease, which I hate, but I can
’
t help it! I know that it
’
s not fair to avoid the elephant in the room every time we
’
re together, but it
’
s all I can manage right now. My feelings for him are overwhelming all on their own
—
to talk about them and figure out what to do with them, and to add his feelings to the mix? Yeah, I
’
m not mentally or emotionally equipped to handle that. The truth is, it
’
s been
years
since I
’
ve liked someone other than Beckham.
Years
. As crazy as I feel to admit this, I think I might understand what Beckham was saying when he broke up with me and told me that he
grew up
as my boyfriend
—
because I grew up as his girlfriend. Now that I
’
m not his
—
the feelings that I have for Roman seem familiar and yet completely foreign at the same time. I
’
m beginning to realize that
’
s not
…
common
. It
’
s not common to be twenty-one and to have only had
one
boyfriend;
one
person who you
’
ve ever gone out on dates with;
one
person that you
’
ve ever kissed
—
that
’
s just not common. But that
’
s my story.

Now there
’
s Roman
—
or at least, the possibility of Roman.

“
Are you
sure
I can
’
t talk you into going out for some fro-yo?
”
he asks as he walks me to my car.

“
Sorry,
”
I reply with a shrug and a smile.
“
Girls night has already started without me. I
’
ve got a bride, a twin, and a bestie waiting.
”

“
Alright. Fair enough. Well, I
’
m glad you came tonight.
”

“
Absolutely; thank you for inviting me.
”
I
’
ve never been to Roman
’
s church before. I didn
’
t really know much about it except for they had an extra service on Saturday. It was nice to see where he attends; just like any other detail that helps define Roman, I was glad to be exposed to this one.

“
I knew you
’
d appreciate the worship tonight. The praise team does some really sick acoustic sets.
”

“
Yeah, it was great.
”
We
’
re interrupted by the buzzing of my cell phone from inside of my purse.
“
It
’
s probably Avery,
”
I explain as I start to dig for my device. When I see
My BMW
lit up across the screen, my heart skips a beat; a second later, I
’
m filled to the brim with guilt. I know that I
’
m not doing anything wrong, but in this moment, it doesn
’
t feel that way. Instead, it feels like I
’
m cheating on the man who
’
s trying to reach me.

Beckham is trying to reach me
. I wonder if something is wrong. We don
’
t have plans and his call is unexpected; a text would be one thing, but a call?

“
Are you going to answer it?
”
asks Roman hesitantly.

Roman.
Now there
’
s Roman
—
or at least, the possibility of Roman.

But there
’
s also Beckham.

I
’
m in love with Beckham. I love the way he makes me smile just by walking into a room. I love the way he holds me when I
’
m having a bad day. I love the way he listens to me when we
’
re in the middle of an argument just as much as when I
’
m simply excited about something that I want to share with him. I love the way he gets all nerdy and tries to explain scientific things to me even though I know I
’
ll never get it. I love the way he treats
his
sister and
my
sister and how he does so as if he
’
s known them and loved them for the same amount of time. I love the way he calls me
baby
and the way he makes me feel like I
’
m beautiful, no matter what I look like. And
his
face
—
those blue eyes, dark like a deep body of water I could swim in, and that handsome smile. We might be broken up, I might
—
no, I definitely
—
hate it, because it
’
s put me in this crazy, confusing place where I now reside, but I still
love
him.

I slide my finger across the screen and bring my phone up to my ear before his call goes to voicemail.
“
Hello?
”

“
Hey, Addie
—
it
’
s me. Are you busy?
”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, needing to gain control of this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach
—
the one that makes me feel like a terrible person for betraying Beckham by being with Roman, betraying Roman by answering Beckham
’
s call, and betraying
myself
for not simply owning up to my feelings and dealing with them.
“
Um, could you hold on for a second?
”

“
Sure.
”

I take another deep breath as I look up at Roman and press my phone against my shoulder.
“
I
’
m so sorry, I have to take this.
”

I can tell by the look in his eyes as he nods that he knows it
’
s not Avery on the other end of my call. Then again, my own eyes probably gave it away.
“
Okay. I
’
ll let you go. I
’
ll see you in a couple days, yeah? We
’
ll finish working on our song?
”

“
Yeah. I
’
ve got mid-terms, but I
’
ll let you know when I have some free time. Is that okay?
”

“
You bet,
”
he answers, wrapping me in an embrace. I only have one arm available to hug him back, but he doesn
’
t seem to mind. When he pulls away, we exchange our final farewells and I climb into my car and bring my phone back up to my ear.

“
Hey. Sorry about that.
”

“
Are you sure you
’
re not busy?
”

“
I mean, I kind of am. I
’
m on my way home to hang out with the girls. Are you okay?
”

“
Oh, I
’
m fine. I just
—
I was going to see if you wanted to hang out, but you
’
ve got plans so I
’
ll let you go.
”

“
No, wait,
”
I mutter instead of goodbye. I can tell by the sound of his voice that something is wrong, he
’
s just not telling me. I wish he would, though. It kills me that he won
’
t just come right out and say it.
“
Beck, what
’
s up?
”
He sighs and I relax into my driver
’
s seat knowing that if I pry for long enough, he
’
ll spill.
“
I
’
m here if you need to talk. You know that, don
’
t you?
”
Of course he does. Why else would he have called?

“
I just got another rejection today, that
’
s all.
”

“
Oh, Beck, I
’
m sorry.
”
That brings the count up to seven. I
’
ve been keeping track
—
and, who can blame me? No one! I
’
ve been thinking of following him wherever he goes for so long
…
and I can
’
t seem to let go of the possibility that I still might.
I shove that thought aside, unwilling to deal with the many layers of my curiosity on the matter, and focus on this particular moment
—
Beckham
’
s
moment.
“
Which one?
”

“
University of Washington.
”

Alright. Seattle is out.

“
So you still have a chance with Stanford and Baylor and you
’
ve not heard anything from the University of California?
”

“
You
’
re keeping track,
”
he says softly. His tone makes my stomach tingle.

“
Are you surprised?
”
I ask, boldly.

“
I shouldn
’
t be. I
’
m just glad that you are, I guess.
”

“
Beckham
—”
I start and then I stop.
No, he shouldn
’
t be surprised. In fact, I feel like he should be asking me how I feel about our potential options. Our! But he
’
s not. As much as I want to believe that it
’
s fine
—
that I knew this was coming and that just because we don
’
t talk about it doesn
’
t mean he
’
s not wondering or thinking about the possibility of us moving away together
—
it
’
s not fine. It just isn
’
t.