Page 65 of The Promises We Were Never Meant To Keep

He’s smiling, but there’s only raw honesty in his voice when he tells me, “I might be ready, but I’m perfectly happy just being with you. Just holding you and kissing you.”

His eyes drop to my mouth when I smile a shaky smile. I don’t know why I’m so nervous.

This means everything to me. Being with him means everything to me.

“I love you, Holt.”

He grins down at me. His hand finds mine and he thumbs the rose quartz of the ring he bought me for my birthday last year. The one Tate delivered because Holt was away in Nashville at a hockey tournament.

His eyes roam my face as his thumb continues running over the ring I wear. “I’m going to marry you, one day, Faye Foster.”

Everything inside me pauses. My soul takes a snapshot of this moment that I know I will forever keep tucked safely away in the most treasured box of my memories.

“Promise?”

“Yeah, baby. I promise.”

29

FIRST TIME

AUGUST 26, 2008 – 17 YEARS OLD

Micha stands, stretching his arms over his head. “I’m calling it a night. Andy?”

She finishes her drink, standing with Micha. “Yeah.” Her eyes move between me and Shy and she gives us a salute. “See you on the flip side, ladies.”

“Night,” me and Shy call.

Holt leans forward in his chair, angling his head to peer at me. “You wanna call it a night, baby?”

My heart is so swollen with nerves, it feels like it might clog off my air way. Still, I nod.

Ricky claps his hands on his thighs as he stands. “And that’s my queue.” He looks at Holt. “You have fun doing—her.” My face gets red-hot. Ricky looks at Elijah. “And you have fun doing her.”

Holt claps Ricky on the back of the head. “This shit is why you’re alone, man.”

“With that I bid you adieu.” Ricky giggles a high-pitched sound as he half dances, half sways to his van. He’s tipsy. And high.

“Idiot,” Elijah mutters, but he’s wearing a small smile so it’s all in good fun.

“You good to put out the fire, man?” Holt asks Elijah as he starts to pull the chairs under the little shelter the campsite provides for the group sites in case of rain. Then he takes my hand.

“We’re good,” Elijah assures, and that’s it.

Holt leads me from the fire and away from the other tents to where he’s tucked ours in a nook of trees. He unzips the tent and gestures me inside. When Holt flicks the switch on the lantern, illuminating the space, my nerves balloon with it.

My hands tremble, and I try to hide it by busying them with the zipper on my bag before I pull out my pyjamas. I’m not confident like Andy or brave like Shy. It’s not easy for me to strip down in front of anyone. Especially not Holt.

I think Holt senses it because he tosses his thumb to the door. “Gonna grab us a couple bottles of water, yeah?”

“Yeah, thanks.” I really don’t know how I manage the words past the nerves clogging my throat.

As soon as Holt is outside, I race to change into my jammies. Short shorts and a tank top, which suddenly feels ridiculous for camping. I’m going to freeze my ass off.

I hurry into the sleeping bags, but don’t lay down. I’m contemplating grabbing a sweater to sleep in when the zipper begins to fall, and Holt appears with two bottles of water. He offers me one and I take it, cracking the cap and taking a sip. It’s more something to do than it is out of want.

And then it’s because my throat goes bone dry when Holt’s hands move to the buckle of his jeans. He doesn’t let his gaze drift from me as he watches me watch him remove his pants. When he’s in nothing more than his boxers, he flicks off the lantern and crawls into the bed beside me.