The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1) (91 page)

“
Don
’
t listen to her,
”
he says, batting away her comment.
“
Just think about it. We have time to decide.
”

“
Okay
…”
I know that I sing in front of lots of people all the time, but singing worship songs at church is not the same as singing
—
whatever it is that Roman writes
—
in front of a bunch of strangers who are looking to be entertained. Just considering it gives me butterflies.

Then I think of what Daphne said, about getting her brother to share his music. I wonder what it is that he writes about; and I
’
ve never heard him play before.
Maybe I really should think about it
.

“
Brandon, I
’
ll be back in a second,
”
says Daphne, pulling me from my thoughts as she picks up one of the four finished drinks and makes her way out from behind the bar. Roman and I grab the rest of our order and follow Daphne back to our table. I watch as she sets Avery
’
s drink down and then plops herself in my sister
’
s lap. She wraps her arms around Avery and pulls her in for a hug. When she whispers something in her ear, I hear my sister laugh and for a second, I think I might have died and gone to heaven. Of course, her laughter turns into crying, but hey
—
I
’
ll take what I can get!

Daphne holds Avery
—
or is Avery holding Daphne?
—
until her tears have subsided and then she heads back to work. I don
’
t know how long Gray is going to give my sister the silent treatment, but I seriously hope they sit down and talk
very
soon. If they don
’
t, I
’
m calling Beckham and we
’
re staging an intervention. I contemplate whether or not we should just call it a night, seeing as how Avery just had her own
public meltdown number one
, but when she reaches for her coffee, I know that it
’
s okay to stay. I don
’
t question her, I simply give her knee a squeeze, sit back, and enjoy another open mic night tradition.

My Shorty:
Sonny, I
’
m so sorry!

My Shorty:
Please, call me
…

My Shorty:
I love you, so much, and I never meant to hurt you.

My Shorty:
Sonny, are you okay?

My Shorty:
Will you please call me back?

My Shorty:
I
’
m sorry, Sonny. Please believe me.

My Shorty:
I miss you.

My Shorty:
Will you please say something? Anything?

My Shorty:
Sonny?

My Shorty:
I love you
…

My Shorty:
I know I hurt you. I don
’
t know how else to say that I
’
m sorry
…

My Shorty:
But you should know that THIS hurts, too.

My Shorty:
Your silence is killing me.

My Shorty:
This is torture.

My Shorty:
I miss you so much.

My Shorty:
I love you. Don
’
t forget that.

My Shorty:
I know you
’
re hurting and I
’
m so sorry. But I did it for you.

My Shorty:
You must know that
…

My Shorty:
I won
’
t stop. I won
’
t stop fighting for you.

My Shorty:
Do you hear me, Grayson?

My Shorty:
I love you.

My Shorty:
Sonny?

My Shorty:
Please
…

My Shorty:
Talk to me!

I should eat. I know my body needs it. I look around the room at the rest of my team as they eat and talk loudly amongst themselves. Everyone is hyped for the game tomorrow. Practice this week has been rigorous as we
’
ve tweaked plays here and there, but we
’
re ready. The coaches have been on my ass the last few days, but I honestly don
’
t mind. It helps keep me focused. That
’
s my only goal right now, is to stay focused. I refuse to think about anything else. I can
’
t. I just can
’
t. If I do
…

Tomorrow is the last big rivalry game against CU Boulder that I
’
ll ever play. As a starter, I can
’
t choke. If I think about Avery or Rhonda or the letter or
…
my
siblings
—
I
’
ve got to keep my head in the game. It
’
s because of the game that I know I should eat. My plate is piled full of chicken, vegetables, fruit, pasta, and salad. All I
’
ve managed to consume so far are a couple bites of my dinner roll. It didn
’
t taste like anything.
Nothing
tastes like
anything
lately, which has totally killed my appetite. The ache in my stomach isn
’
t for food
—
it
’
s for Avery.

I shake my head and cut off a big piece of chicken breast before shoving it into my mouth. I don
’
t taste it, I simply force myself to chew and swallow. Appetite or no appetite, my body needs the fuel.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I feel like I might throw up. I know it
’
s a text. I know it
’
s from Avery. I know I should ignore it and not even open it, but I can
’
t help myself. I reach for the device and slide my finger across the screen to open my new message.

My Shorty:
I love you.

Jackson nudges me with his elbow and I
’
m pulled from my trance.
“
Finish chewing that huge chunk of chicken you have in your mouth and then text your girl back, man.
”

I shake my head as I continue chewing.
“
I can
’
t,
”
I reply, talking around my food.

He snatches my phone out of my hand before I know what he
’
s doing.
“
Give me the damn thing.
”
I try and reach for it, but the effort is halfhearted and he
’
s up on his feet and out of reach in an instant. I follow suit but, before I can chase after him, he
’
s walking back with a satisfied smirk on his face. He hands me my phone and sits back down.
“
Now eat,
”
he demands.

Speechless, I sit. Unsure whether or not I want to see what he
’
s written, I opt to take a bite of broccoli instead. It doesn
’
t go down easily and I know that I have to read what he sent. When I look, I
’
m amazed at what I find. He said exactly what I couldn
’
t.

“
Come on, O
’
Conner. Don
’
t make me feed you myself,
”
he mutters with his mouthful.

I cut off another bite of chicken and proceed to eat it. I look at my phone one more time, needing to see the message. I didn
’
t write it, but it feels like it came from me, and the truth behind the statement seems to make it easier to breathe. Even after I put my phone away, the words circle my brain as if they
’
re circling a drain.

Me:
I love you too. It
’
s why it hurts so much.

“
I don
’
t care what she wants, she
’
s going!
”

“
But, Claire, maybe
—”

“
If she doesn
’
t go, she
’
ll regret it. Tell me I
’
m wrong?
”

I wake to the sound of their arguing. I
’
m not sure what they
’
re talking about, but I know I don
’
t have any desire to get out of my bed to find out. It
’
s Saturday, I don
’
t have class, and my boyfriend
—
he
’
s still my boyfriend, right? He said he loved me last night. That counts for something, doesn
’
t it?
—
is still not speaking to me, so there really isn
’
t any reason to get out of bed.