Page 56 of The Promises We Were Never Meant To Keep

He makes a noise that sounds disappointed and maybe even annoyed. I instantly feel terrible. “Yeah.” He mutters something under his breath. “Let me wake up Laura and we’ll be right there.”

“Oh, Laura’s there?”

There’s a pause. It’s heavy and long. Then, “Yeah.”

“It’s okay, don’t wake her. I’ll figure something out.”

“I said I’d be there, Faye.” He does not sound happy.

“Were you sleeping?” I don’t know why I ask.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.” I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so small.

“Yeah. Give me fifteen minutes.”

Tate disconnects, and I slide my phone back into my pocket. The drink in my hand holds no appeal anymore, and I dump it as I make my way back to my friends.

I tell them, “Tate is going to pick us up.”

Andy’s eyes come to me, looking suddenly sober. “You called Tate?”

“It was that, call my parents, or sleep in Shy’s car.”

“But—Tate?”

I don’t like the way she’s looking at me. “Yeah. He and Laura are coming to get us.”

Andy nods. Then she says, “Kay.”

24

HE LOVES YOU

JULY 2008 – 16 YEARS OLD

We’re standing in the driveway when I see the headlights of Tate’s new truck bumping over gravel. A lot has changed with Tate over the last six months. He moved out of his parents’ house, and got an apartment, which was huge. Also, apparently, he and Laura are really serious considering they’re spending the night together in that apartment.

I don’t know why, but I’m moody. I’m moody that Tate gets to be all grown up while I’m stuck in this in-between place. I’m moody that he gets to spend his nights with Laura while I get to spend mine missing Holt.

And I’m moody that he’s disappointed with me for calling him. For getting into a situation where I needed to call at all.

I’m just moody, so when the truck pulls to a stop in front of me and Tate gets out, I can’t quite check the scowl I flash at him. His brows arc high, like he’s surprised by the tude I’m dishing out.

Frankly, I am too.

All around, I’m pissed. I’m pissed that Holt isn’t here and I was stuck calling on his brother when I really wanted to call on him.

And the truth is that I’m sick of always feeling second to hockey.

Tate’s jaw pops as he opens the back door of his truck for Andy and Shy. Both girls mutter a quick ‘thanks,’ as they climb inside. I’m about to follow when Tate grabs me by the back of my shirt and pulls me away.

The truck door slams closed, and he spins me to face him, demanding low, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” I’m never drinking again.

“I’m here because you called me, Faye.”