Page 37 of The Promises We Were Never Meant To Keep

“Not of him, I guess. More of all that he’s capable of.”

He leans forward to study me closer, elbows planted on his knees. “I’m lost, Faye.”

“He’s great, Tate.” I swing my eyes back to his. “Like, really great.”

Understanding tightens his expression. He nods. “Yeah, he is.”

“He’s going to make it big in hockey,” I tell him what I’m confident he already knows.

He nods, confirming as much. “Yeah, he is.”

I feel like I’m confessing something terrible when I whisper, “I don’t know if that’s the life I want, you know?” He rolls his lips, but says nothing. I blabber on, “It’s his dream, and I want it for him with all that I am. But I love him, too.” A shadow falls into the sea-glass green of his eyes. This is Holt’s brother, I remind myself. I’m confessing my biggest fears to the brother of the boy I love. My hand touches my chest, fisting there as I push all my feeling into my words.

“I love him so much, Tate. I love him with all of me.” Emotion pricks at me, and I think maybe Tate flinches. It's so small, I can’t be sure. I push on. “I love him, and I don’t know that I’ll fit into that big life he’s rushing headfirst for. So, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of growing up and finding out that it’s all just a dream. I’m afraid that in the end I’ll be the one who sacrifices everything—and that one day my lack of big dreams will make Holt realize he’s made for so much more than me.”

There’s a long pause. A deep moment of silence where he simply watches me with those seeing eyes. Finally, Tate speaks. It’s rough and gritty enough to rattle my bones. “He loves you. The only thing I’ve seen Holt love like he loves you, is hockey.”

His words are meant to make me feel better. But they crush a little bit of my soul, because I already know that. So, I force a smile and say, “I know.”

Tate doesn’t return my smile and I force myself to my feet. And that’s when it happens, the thing to snap the camel’s back, so to say. The little anklet I’ve had since forever snaps, falling into the sand. It’s amazing it didn’t happen a lot sooner, considering I’ve had it for years.

It might have only been braided threads in peach pink with beads that spelled my name, but my bestie from before I moved made it for me. The threads are totally worn.

There’s no fixing it.

And I can’t help it. I cry.

I already know the tears are because of more than the anklet. They’re for the boy I love so much—the boy I’m terrified of losing.

16

THE WAY HE THINKS OF YOU

AUGUST 2007 – 15 YEARS OLD

Istarted receiving invites to Holt’s family movie/game night every Thursday mid-way through last year. It’s a late event, usually starting around eight and ending around half-past ten. But Herman works late most nights, and Elise can usually be found at the Wilder office in town. Now that Tate has finished school and is working full-time for his dad at Wilder Builds and Reno’s, he’s no longer chaperoning the goings-on between me and Holt pre movie/game night.

Sometimes, Mom and Dad even join, especially when one of the family nights turns into outdoor games and a fire. Dad brings a pack of beers for the guys and Mom brings wine for herself and Elise.

I love the way our families fit together. Living across the street, the good relationship we have, it all feels like the set-up to a picture-perfect Hallmark movie.

Or a Shakespearean tragedy.

I guess it depends on how you look at it.

This tight relationship could go super sideways if things between me and Holt don’t work out. But they will. We’re solid.

He promised.

“How much do you need?” I giggle as Holt tosses another shirt into the suitcase, again, unfolded. Like I’ve done to the others, I pluck the shirt from the pile and fold it. Unlike with the others, Holt notices.

With a raised brow, he turns from his dresser to stalk slowly toward me. My heart jitters with every step. “Are you folding my clothes?”

“Someone has to.” I’m not giggling anymore. In fact, I’m pretty sure I can feel my heart thudding in my throat.

“Am I not packing to my girlfriend’s satisfaction?” He drops his hands to the bed on either side of me, his voice pitching low as he moves in closer until I’m toppling back against his pillows.

A rush of anxious breath tumbles from my chest as Holt pulls the folded shirt from between my hands, tossing it back into his suitcase, again, unfolded. And then he’s kissing me.