The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1)

by Martin, R. C.

  “And I have to get back in the kitchen. Besides, we all know who Gray would prefer to open that door.”

  I shake my head as they giggle and then make my way out to let our guests in. Despite the fact that I know who stands just outside, my breath catches in my throat at the sight of him.

  He’s tall. Very tall. Quarterback tall. So tall that I sometimes add that to the list of reasons why I’m in the friend zone. I mean, I wouldn’t want to date someone who was more than a foot shorter than me, either. In fact, his height was one of the reasons why it originally surprised me that I was so attracted to him. Hammy is tall, too—who isn’t, compared to Addie and me?—but Sonny’s even got him beat by three inches. He’s practically a giant and I’m like a squeaky toy in comparison.

  Then there’s his hair. I never thought that I would like a guy with long hair…but it’s so pretty. I’ve not seen such a beautiful shade of auburn on anyone else in my life. His intensely wavy locks are a rich red color so deep and burnt that it’s almost brown, but it’s not. It hangs loose down to his shoulders and I can’t deny that I’ve often daydreamed of sinking my fingers into it—but I have great self control.

  Unlike most red heads, his skin isn’t pasty or pale. He tans beautifully in the summer and the fall, as he trains with the rest of the football team. Instead of being covered in freckles, he’s only got a few that sprinkle their way across his nose. I swear, God took His time on this one.

  His broad shoulders and toned arms are not too overwhelming, but just big enough to speak of his strength; and when he hugs me—my Lord—his chest is like the warmest, safest place my body has ever known. Yes, that’s right, his chest is its own destination.

  When he smiles at me, his true green eyes sparkle and his barely-there-dimples make my knees weak. He’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of jeans that fit low on his hips. He looks amazing and I can’t seem to stop staring.

  Get it together, Avery. He’s not interested, remember? Say hello to the man—Sonny, your friend!

  She slays me.

  When she opens the door, the effect she has on me is comparable to being sacked on the football field—no joke. Every time I see her, whether the time lapse is a day, a week, or five minutes, it’s the same. She’s just so freaking beautiful.

  She’s identical to my best friend’s girl. They’ve got some crazy attractive combination of ethnicities happening, making them both unique and worthy of a double take. I think their dad is a mix between African American and some sort of French Canadian background, while their mom is of Pacific Islander decent. Avery always says that their mother is to thank for her long black hair. I do her one better and thank God for their mother, their grandmother and their grandfather, too.

  For a while, I couldn’t tell the difference between Avery and Addison. I’d always found them attractive, but because I couldn’t tell them apart, I never thought to pursue anything, from fear that I’d end up hitting on Beck’s girl. Then I got to know them—and while they are a lot alike, they are also incredibly different. Not that my ability to tell them apart mattered at that point. By the time I realized that I liked her as more than a friend, it was quite clear that she deserves far better than the likes of me…

  But that doesn’t mean that I can’t look.

  She’s more than a foot shorter than me; and even though I know she’s got her own little bit of strength, evident in her toned muscles gained from years of running and carrying that cello of hers, she’s so petite and delicate. Sometimes I wonder how her personality fits inside of her small frame. She’s incredibly talented, with a focus and determination that seems to be a reflection of my own. She can also be really shy, which I find to be just downright adorable. Then she’ll get really passionate about something and you can’t shut her up, but she’s always kind and genuine.

  When she looks up at me with those big brown eyes, like she is now, and smiles at me with her full heart-shaped lips, she owns me. She doesn’t know it—but she does. What I want to do is scoop her up into my arms and tell her how pretty I think she is, only I won’t. Instead I simple say, “Good Morning.”

  “Finally! He speaks,” says Beckham, nudging me with his shoulder. “I thought I was just going to have to stand here all morning and watch you two stare at each other.” I whip my head around and cast a warning glare at him. He chuckles and pushes past me. “Morning, Ave.” He greets her with a hug and I force myself to shake off my annoyance—first, in regards to his comment; second, in regards to the fact that he just stole my hug.

  “Morning, Hammy.” When he releases her and enters the apartment, she offers me a smile and, just like that, all my irritation has become null and void. “Morning, Sonny.”

  My arms are wrapped around her before I can even stop to think about it. I manage to control myself, enough to keep her feet on the ground, and pull away before I send the wrong message. As she steps away from me, I close us inside and she furrows her brow in confusion.

  “Where are Jack and Claire?”

  Beckham and I make eye contact, silently recalling why we decided to leave early. “They’ll probably be late,” he says.

  “They got distracted,” I add with a shrug.

  “Oh,” Avery whispers with a blush. The color in her cheeks turns my smile into a grin.

  “Hey, guys,” calls Sarah from the kitchen. “I’m guessing your early arrival means you’re quite hungry this morning.”

  “For your pancakes? Always,” I reply.

  “Morning, love,” Addie greets Beck as she emerges from her room.

  For a moment, none of us exist. That’s how they are, how I’ve always known them to be, and I envy them. No—envy isn’t the right word. I’m happy for them, I just wish I could have something like that—something pure and healthy and full of love...but regardless of all the things I’ve put behind me, I’m not sure I’ll ever have what they have. Not with the woman I wish to share it with. She deserves more than the mess that is my past—she deserves someone like Beckham.

  Growing up, it was just my father and me. Or should I say Patrick and me. He doesn’t believe in love. In fact, I’m not sure that he believes in much of anything, anymore. Not even me. He does believe in whiskey with his breakfast, microwave dinners in front of the television, and Saturday night bar brawls—but not love. The only exposure to affection I ever had growing up was from my Uncle Charlie. My mother’s brother. Or should I say Rhonda’s brother; she wasn’t really much of a mother.

  Charlie lived in Colorado for as long as I could remember and, two weeks every summer, my dad would send me out here to hang out with him. I remember those fourteen days were the best fourteen days I would have all year. I’d get drunk off of Charlie’s attention—I craved it in ways that I couldn’t even understand. He always treated me the way I wished my father would but never did. It broke my heart when he passed away a couple years ago. Having experienced so much shit in my childhood, I never imagined losing him could hurt as much as it did. He saved my life, all those years ago, during our time together.

  Charlie took me to church. Two Sundays. Two Sundays a year I would set foot in a church. Back then, it wasn’t enough—it wasn’t enough to compensate for the other fifty Sundays I had to endure with Patrick, or rather, without him. It wasn’t enough to help put the pieces of my shattered childhood back together. There were so many things that I longed to escape from and I always felt like Colorado was a safe place; Uncle Charlie was my safe place…but two weeks was never enough.

  To add insult to injury, I was a military brat. Being a marine was just about the only thing that mattered to Patrick, so we were moving all the time. My home was never a stable one and moving around the country every couple of years made it even worse—I didn’t have time to even figure out what it meant to plant roots somewhere. Patrick retired just before my freshman year of high school. We moved to Texas a couple weeks before school began. It was a blessing and a curse. It was a relief to be able to stay at one school for
four years—but living with that man was never easy. To make matters worse, he and Charlie had some sort of falling out and my summer visits to Colorado stopped. That’s when I decided, that’s when I knew, that if I was ever going to find my way back to Colorado—or anywhere away from Patrick—I had to make my own way. So I did.

  Football was my ticket out, so I gave it everything I had. I made sure to stay on top of my grades, as a backup and to make sure I was always eligible to play, but I was good at football. Really good. I always thought that part of my skill came naturally and the rest came from sheer determination. I tried to stay as focused as possible, but I definitely did my fair share of dumb stuff. Sometimes football wasn’t enough and I needed another outlet, another way to find escape…sometimes I needed more than the team.

  Anyway, my hard work paid off. I had a few colleges interested in me, but when Colorado State offered me a full ride, I knew that it was meant to be—like destiny. Then I met Beckham. I met Beckham and I realized that it was more than destiny that brought me here. There was something about him, something so genuine, kind, and accepting—something so subtle that I couldn’t place my finger on it; but I was drawn to it. We clicked in a way I’d never experienced with anyone. I trusted him. I trust him still, more than anyone. He’s my best friend and he’s taught me a lot about life—about family.

  Then I met Addie, Avery, and Sarah and I became a part of a community—something different than a team, something bigger than football. Nothing has been the same ever since.

  I wrap my arms around Addie and scoop her off her feet, holding her tightly against my chest. She hums a laugh, hiding her face in my neck, and the smile that pulls at my lips can’t be helped. She smells amazing and when she pulls away in order to align her gaze with mine, I’m reminded just how much I love this girl. Not that I really need reminding. I feel like I’ve loved her forever.

  Five years ago—actually, four years and ten months ago—my church youth group went to a statewide conference. That’s where I met Addie. I often wonder how my life would be different if Avery was in my small group instead of Addison. The two of them being identical, I would have been attracted to her, too. I wonder if I had met Avery first and then Addison later if our lives would be on the same course they are on now or if we’d be living separately. Luckily, such thoughts are just hypothetical. As it turns out, Addison was the one in my small group. Amazingly enough, I didn’t even meet Avery until the last day. I didn’t think much of it then. There were hundreds of us at the conference. Now that I know them so well, I think it’s crazy that they weren’t connected at the hip more often.

  In any case, Addie and I hit if off right away. She was fun to be around and easy to talk to; she was sweet and pretty and I loved the sound of her laugh. We soon discovered that we were the same age, in the same grade, and resided in the same city—Colorado Springs—but because our parents went to different churches and we didn’t attend the same schools, our paths had never crossed. Once they had, there was no way I was going to let her get away.

  We hung out all summer and, just before school started, I found the courage to ask her to be my girlfriend. I thought I was in love. Now, almost five years later, I know that wasn’t love—what I feel now, as I look into her beautiful brown eyes, alight with the happiness that always glows like this when she’s in my arms—yeah, this is love.

  “Hey, babe,” I say, returning her greeting before pressing a kiss to her lips.

  “Enough already,” chides Gray. “Put her down so that the rest of us can say hello.” I know he’s getting me back for a minute ago. I look at him over my shoulder before taunting him by kissing Addie one more time.

  He can’t do that with a woman he’s not brave enough to pursue.

  The guy has it bad. He refuses to do anything about it, even though I know Avery’s totally into him, too. Addie and I have been trying to convince them that the other is clearly interested, but neither of them will bite—this has been going on for months now. It’s ridiculous.

  When we first met, Grayson surprised me. I didn’t really know what to expect from the stranger that would be my roommate freshman year. My first impression was that he was a little intimidating—what with his height and his bulk—but then I soon found out that he wasn’t anything to be afraid of. He was reserved, definitely stubborn, and lost. Lost, but willing and eager to seek and find what it was he was missing.

  It has always been easy, being his friend, and it wasn’t long before I considered him to be the brother I never had. I trust him more than I trust anyone, except for Addie, of course. While he’ll always tell our story like he needed me, I think it’s the other way around. He challenges me, spiritually, mentally, and physically. He reminds me to laugh and relax and have fun because this is college, after all. And he encourages me not to take things for granted. These are all things I didn’t think I needed until I met him—until college became a reality and the pressure of my dream seemed to start weighing a little bit more than it did before.

  He really needs to start taking his own advice. He needs to stop worrying so much and go for it with Avery. Every day they fight it is a day wasted.

  “So, while you two fight over the twins, I’m going to start making pancakes,” says Sarah. “And since I’m starving, and hotcakes are best—well—hot, don’t be surprised if all the blueberry are gone by the time you decide to play nice and join me for breakfast.”

  “Wait, we get options?” asks Gray, drawn to the kitchen like a moth to a flame.

  “Like I would host a pancake breakfast any other way!” she scoffs.

  “Sarah, you’re amazing. Follow me to medical school. I’ll pay you in flour to bake for me any time you want,” I beg.

  “Hmm, tempting,” she teases with a laugh. “I’ll only come if you end up moving someplace amazing.”

  “Noted. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “La-la-la, I can’t hear you!” mutters Avery.

  Gray and I exchange a smirk, picking up on Avery’s insistence that we not talk about what will happen in a year and a half when I get accepted into medical school—a when, not an if as far as our group is concerned. She doesn’t like being confronted with the likely possibility that I will be moving away, which means Addie will be moving away, which would separate the twins for the first time in their lives. Not that Avery hasn’t also entertained the idea that her own professional career could possibly have the same effect, but we all know how hard it will be for them. Avery isn’t opposed to the idea, just opposed to talking about the idea until she absolutely can’t avoid it anymore. In her mind, we have a few months, yet.

  We switch topics, filling each other in on the rest of our weekend plans. The five of us usually go to church together on Sundays. Sometimes we get together with a bunch of the other college students in attendance and we grab lunch after; sometimes we meet up with Jack and Claire and do lunch at our apartment or the girls’ place; sometimes we go our separate ways for lunch and meet up to chill a bit later—whatever we do, we always make time for each other after church.

  It all started because Sarah—who insists that Sunday isn’t called the sabbath day for nothing—has all but demanded that we cut out some time to relax and just enjoy each other—without any homework—for at least that one day each week. No one likes to argue with Sarah, plus we all agree that making time to just hang out with the whole group is good for everyone. It’s been our tradition going on three years now. With finals coming up, Avery suggests a study lunch. Gray is quick to agree. Of course. Sarah scowls at both of them, reminding them about the no homework allowed rule.

  “How about we do a movie night?” says Addie. “I know finals are breathing down everyone’s neck these days, so I could probably stand to do some homework, too—if we meet around dinner time we could all chip in for pizza and then just hang out and watch movies.”

  “Works for me,” says Sarah, casting her vote. Everyone is quick to agree and then pretty soon we’re all sitting down
with plates stacked with pancakes. I enjoy it while it lasts, knowing good and well that as soon as we’re done, it’ll be back to studying.

  My man is dreamy, I admit with a lazy smile as I gaze at him from across the table. He’s tall and thin—made up of lean muscle and just enough body fat to make him comfortable to hold onto without feeling like I’m hugging a cold brick wall. He keeps his chestnut brown hair cropped short, because the longer it gets the curlier it gets and he’s never been able to manage his locks very well. As far as I’m concerned, I’d love him any way I could get him.

  Avery always says he walks a fine line between hipster and geek-chic. Sarah tells me all the time that I have the sexiest nerd on campus. I agree on both counts. He has no idea how gorgeous he is, especially when he smiles. I watch as he slides the tips of his fingers into his front pant pockets—like he does sometimes—leaning back in his chair. He’s full. I can tell.

  My lazy smile turns into a grin when he looks over at me. His dark blue eyes, framed by his hipster black rimmed glasses, meet mine. I relish the fact that I’ve been caught checking him out.

  He winks at me and I blow him a kiss,

  Good gracious, I love that man.

  I knew that I wanted to marry Beckham when I was seventeen years old. I know that sounds crazy. There are billions of people in the world and I’ve probably rubbed shoulders with fewer than a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of them; not to mention, I’ve dated even fewer.

  Correction. I’ve dated only one.

  Regardless of how it sounds, it doesn’t make it any less true. I remember the exact moment when I decided he was it for me. It wasn’t even special or romantic or anything, it was just an ordinary second—hardly distinguishable from the one that preceded it or the one that followed. We were out with friends. Bowling. And he laughed. I wasn’t in on the same conversation, so I don’t know what was funny, but, for just a second, I wondered what my world would be like without that laugh.