Page 1 of The Promises We Were Never Meant To Keep

PART I

THE PROMISES WE MADE

PROLOGUE

MARKING THE SPOT

JULY 2006 – 14 YEARS OLD

Isaw Tate first. Hard not to, really. The guy was, at least, a whole three years older than me. And he was shirtless.

The sound of the mower chewing through grass was the thing that caught my attention. But it was the boy-man pecs of a sixteen-year-old boy on the cusp of seventeen, with shaggy golden hair and a barely-there smirk on full lips that whispered of things I’d not yet experienced, that kept it.

Even from all the way across the street, I could see that his eyes were green. Not the vibrant green of the fresh cut grass or even the deep blue-green of the evergreens that speared from the Rocky Mountains surrounding this sleepy little town. They were the green of the sea-glass in Victoria. Beautiful, and mystical, and, in my opinion, prettier than diamonds.

I can’t count the number of mornings I’d hunted for that rare jade glass that seemed to feast on the early morning fog that hovered over a calm water, filling its glassy belly with the ethereal mysteries of the sea.

His eyes were like that. A foggy, sea-glass green, set in a face of hard lines and boy-man integrity. The kind of integrity Mom said was hard to find.

I was caught, like a fish on a hook. I couldn’t look away. Could hardly breathe.

I’d had crushes on boys, but never something so quick as this. A strike, like lightening. A crash, like thunder. I was shook.

That’s when it happened. The moment of change.

The trench between sidewalk and lawn snagged hold of my bike tire, and my world tipped. Literally.

I hit the pavement hard, my knee skidding, flesh tearing. The change Mom gave me hit the ground like a cowbell, calling the attention of everyone.

Tears sprung to my eyes as red-hot heat stained my face the color of a burning coal. Humiliation threatened to cleave me in two.

I didn’t dare look at the shirtless boy-man.

“Damn, girl. You fall hard.” A blue jean-covered knee hit the ground in front of me, and a boy my age filled the frame of my blurred vision. He cocked a confident grin, dark chocolate eyes spearing mine deeply. His voice speared even deeper.

Or maybe that was his next words—because what? “Bet I’m going to make you fall harder.”

I blinked. My lips parted. His eyes dropped, and my breath caught.

We were stuck like that, boy and girl ensnared in big new feelings.

I’m not sure I breathed for a whole minute.

He let out a big breath though, and a low chuckle clung to the tail of it.

His eyes dropped again. This time to my knee, scraped and raw.

“Aww.” His hand came out to hook me around the side of my knee, thumb carefully sliding around my wound. His touch was like fire. In the best way. “You’re hurt.”

Even hurt, tingles exploded under my skin.

“It’s not so bad.” I somehow found it in me to reply, though my voice shook. I’d never had a boy hold me like this, his open palm on my leg, like it was meant to be there. Like he had a right to touch me like this.

Maybe that was why I loved it like I did. There was something forbidden in that touch.

No, forbidden wasn’t the right word. New. Exciting.

Yes. It was exciting, the way this boy touched me so innocently and yet—not.