Page 3 of The Promises We Were Never Meant To Keep

“I’m not easy, you know.” I told him, my nose wrinkling.

Dad told me that I should never give pieces of myself to someone who didn’t want to work for them. And this boy, handsome as he was, seemed to think I was a sure thing.

I was, but I didn’t want him to know that.

“For you, sweetheart, I’ll work. I’ll never stop working.” He flashed me another grin, and I swear, that was the moment he carved out the very first piece of my heart. Because he drew an X over his, marking the spot where his vow lay. “Promise.”

1

WHEN CRAZY DOESN’T FAZE

AUGUST 2006 – 14 YEARS OLD

The garage door opens, calling mine and Mom’s attention. Dad’s head pokes through the crack and he says through a grin he fights to hide under a bushy mustache, “That boy is here again. The one from across the street.”

I shovel another spoon of Fruit Loops into my mouth, hoping the flutter of my heart doesn’t show through the window of my eyes. I’m sitting at the island because Mom has overtaken the kitchen table with one of her puzzles. It’s halfway done. A picture of the sea and, I think, a pod of orcas.

I prefer turtles.

Across the island, Mom leans into the countertop with a grin she doesn’t bother fighting. “Oooh lala, Faye.”

I blush when she shimmies her shoulders. I groan. “Mom.”

“He’s quite the looker.” Her brows jump around on her forehead like—like jumping beans. It’s awful. I laugh, catching a dribble of milk as it escapes from the corner of my mouth with the sleeve of my sweater.

“Mom,” I protest again, weakly.

“Really, kiddo. That hair.” Her eyes twinkle. “Those eyes and the jaw.” She gives me a knowing head bob. “The jaw. All square-like. And I’ve seen his pipes.”

She’s trying to incinerate me for amusement. It’s cruel.

I’ve never been so hot.

“Oh, Goddddd. Mom. Stop.” Sliding from the stool, I take my bowl to the sink. I can’t look at her as I beg, “Please.”

“I’m just saying, I’ve noticed.”

I rinse the bowl. “You’re not supposed to notice things like that. It’s—” I shiver. “Ew.”

I think my face is on fire. It’s only half past nine, but it’s hot out already. I can tell by the way the AC pumps. I have no excuse to be this hot, though. This on fire.

“Why?” Mom demands, hands finding flared hips. Her eyes narrow. “Because I’m an old lady?”

“You are not an old lady, Candy,” Dad shouts from somewhere unseen now that I’m standing at the sink.

Damn, he’s still here, eavesdropping. That’s just like Dad.

Mom calls back, “Thanks, Doug. But maybe you should tell your daughter that. She seems to think I’m blind.”

Dad snorts. “Your mom’s not blind, honey. The boy’s sporting the pipes right now.”

I groan. And then I hear a deep chuckle that makes me freeze as I dump my rinsed bowl into the dishwasher.

Oh, God, he’s here. As in here in my house. Listening to this. He’s not sitting on the front step, waiting, out of earshot of this horrifying display that is the inner workings of my too tight family.

I can’t even. I’m horrified. Mortified.

My ears are burning. The tips are so hot, I wouldn’t be surprised, not even a little bit, to find them singed right off.