Page 4 of The Promises We Were Never Meant To Keep

“Someone kill me,” I plead under my breath.

“Oh, Lord, now she’s begging for death. Doug, bring the boy in to fix the girl. I think we broke her.”

“No!” I squeak. “I’m not even dressed!”

Mom laughs and he appears. Holt. Looking—O.M.G. HOT.

His dark brown hair, a touch too long by Mom’s standards (not that she’s complaining, she obviously thinks he’s perfection), is mussed. Like he rolled out of bed, threw on his clothes, and happened over here.

Like he thought of me first thing…

My blush burns hotter, and my eyes roll over him again. He’s in black shorts and a white sleeveless tank. And, of course, his pipes (Dad’s words, not mine—I would never) are on display.

As for Holt, his dark eyes slide over me in the same way. But where my face burns, his eyes heat. His deep voice, touched with humor, murmurs, “Nice pajamas.”

I want to die.

I grumble, “Thanks.”

“Faye has a thing for purple daisies,” Mom says, explaining the design Holt can clearly see stamped on my too-short shorts, and too-tight top. At least I threw on a sweater, though it’s unzipped. I feel like a harlot, even though I shouldn’t. Mom’s always going on about body positivity. As a matter of fact, Mom is usually going on about something or other.

Case in point, Mom continues to blabber all my secret loves, “And sunsets. She likes those, too.”

The look Holt wears says he might have a thing for sunsets and purple daisies, too.

I swallow hard.

“Why don’t you go get dressed, honey, so the boy can take you wherever the boy plans on taking you.” Dad swings his head to lift bushy brows at Holt. “Where are you off to?”

Holt tears his eyes from me, hand clapping around the back of his neck as he inhales a deep breath, casting his attention to Dad. “I was hoping she felt like joining me down by the lake.”

“Just you?” Dad’s bushy brows slant inward.

Holt stands straighter. “No, Sir. My brother, Tate, too. And a couple friends.”

Dad’s hands find his hips. He pulls his shoulder blades toward his spine, puffing out his chest. “Any of these friends’ happen to be girls?”

“If Andy comes, yes, Sir.”

Dad’s brow arcs a notch. “Who is Andy?”

“She’s like one of the guys.” Holt grins a little sheepishly, shifting on the spot. He hurries to add, “But she’s a girl. She’s cool. I think Faye will like her.”

Dad opens his mouth to grill Holt some more, but I’m already halfway up the stairs, so I don’t hear it.

In my bedroom, I jump up and down like a lunatic as I let out a silent scream, clapping my hands quietly.

With a little of my excitement released into the ether of hopeful teenage dreams, I pull open my closet (still a mess from the move) and pluck a dress from the heap of clothes still in a box on the floor. It’s wrinkled, but I don’t care as I begin the hunt for the bikini I’ll wear underneath.

Teeth brushed, waves pulled back into a long ponytail and clothes on, I hurry down the stairs to the boy who stood to brave my crazy parents all alone. I feel another sizeable chunk of my heart chip away when he shoots me a grin that says he’s not been turned off by their crazy. Not a bit.

2

UNTIL YOU REALIZE YOU’RE CAUGHT

AUGUST 2006 – 14 YEARS OLD

We ride our bikes to the lake. The sun beats down on us, unrelenting as we challenge its power with all the gall of youth, peeling clothes from our skin to lounge as uncovered as possible by the glitter of clear mountain water. The high peaks of sunbaked stone peer down at us. The marbled veins are a blue-gray so deep, in some parts, the jagged lines glisten purple.