The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1)

by Martin, R. C.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, turning toward the stove to start warming the skillet.

  “Beck and Addie have been together forever and ever. They talk about the future and it’s obvious that they want to be together, but he’s afraid to propose. It’s silly, really. Especially considering the crazy amount of sexual tension in their relationship. I mean, I respect their decision to wait—but they wouldn’t have to if he just married her already.”

  She has a point. Beck and I have had more than one conversation about his future with Addison. I don’t understand it, but he’s sure that he doesn’t want to be with anyone else while, at the same time, he’s afraid to propose. I’m not even sure he understands his fear well enough to explain, which is why I can’t argue against Claire’s statement. Though, I’m suddenly struck by how perceptive she is, knowing Beck wouldn’t open up to her about his thoughts on the matter.

  “As for you and Ave,” she continues, “you guys are obviously into each other.” I turn to say something but she holds up her hands, signaling me to keep my mouth shut. “It doesn’t matter what you say. Your actions speak so much louder than your words. So do hers. Which is why I can sit here and say that regardless of how much or how loud you deny your feelings to me, I know you are both crazy about each other.”

  I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. She lifts a single eyebrow at me and I turn away as I start grilling the first sandwich. Claire-2. Grayson-0.

  I kind of assumed Avery had a crush on me almost since the first time we met. It was a guess based off of how easy it’s always been for me to make her blush. Beck doesn’t have the same effect. At the same time, I never really chalked it up as serious. She’s not an overly flirty person. I know when a girl is really into me—not to be arrogant, but I’ve had a pretty successful football career for the past seven years, which ultimately leads to my pick of females. When a girl wants to get my attention she will. Chicks have been throwing themselves at my feet since I hit puberty. I came to learn that they were more interested in my body than anything else, but for a while I could tolerate that truth. Avery has never put herself out there like that. That’s one of the reasons I like her so much.

  It wasn’t until I started liking her that I really began to notice that our feelings are mutual. I remember exactly when it hit me that she had my heart. It was the beginning of fall semester—just this past August. I had officially become CSU’s starting quarterback and I was pretty excited about it. I told everyone and made them all promise to come to our first home game. Avery had been to a game or two before, but she never really got into it. Then, the week before the season opener, she came over and told me she was ready to learn football. She said if she was going to start coming to every game, it was time she knew what she was watching. I can’t help but smile now in remembrance. She had brought a book—Football for Dummies—and it was filled with sticky notes. She made me sit down with her and answer all of her questions and explain the things she didn’t understand. We talked for hours. When she hugged me goodbye that night, I swear she walked away with my heart.

  She waited for me after that game. I spotted her as I was coming out of the locker room. Despite the fact that we had won, I played a pretty mediocre game—but she was so excited for me. She had all of my stats recorded in her phone and she was rattling off numbers with this adorable grin on her face. I wanted to kiss her right then and there—because that is Avery. She’s never going to be the girl who throws herself at me. She’s the girl who will tell me when I play a crappy game but still manages to point out all the things I did right. She’s the girl who will take something she’s not particularly interested in, and find the part that she can relate to—for her, football is about numbers—in order to share it with me anyway.

  More than that, she’s also the girl who will study with me—and actually study. She’s the girl who will sit up and watch movies with me when I can’t sleep or I need to get away from the sexcapades that are happening on the other side of my bedroom wall. She’s the girl who will invite me over to play games when she’s all alone in her apartment and she just wants some company. She’s the girl who decided that she was going to call me Sonny because Gray was not a suitable nickname for me, in light of the fact that my hair is too brilliant and my smile is too bright—her words, not mine.

  Avery cares about me in a way no one ever has before. Even though we’re just friends and we’ve not had a conversation about being more, she’s never given me any less than her whole self.

  Basically, Avery Jade Grant is the girl of my dreams—if only I deserved to be the man of hers.

  Before I head down for my study date, I swap Addie’s skirt and my cowgirl boots for a pair of jeans and some flip-flops. I extend an invitation to Sarah to join us, but she declines on account of she has no intention of filling her afternoon with homework and she thinks Sonny and I should have some alone time before movie night. I roll my eyes at her but I secretly—or possibly not so secretly—appreciate her decision to stay home. Since Sonny is expecting me, I only knock twice before inviting myself inside. The guys’ apartment has a floor plan almost identical to ours; while the decor and the clutter is a reminder that this is the home of three college boys, it’s still cozy and welcoming. I slip my feet out of my shoes as I’m greeted by Sonny and Claire.

  “Hey, guys,” I reply, dropping my study materials on the couch before heading to join them in the kitchen. Claire appears as if she just woke up and for a second I’m jealous at how hot she looks. My jealousy is soon replaced with amused appreciation—because hot is exactly the right word. Not cute, not adorable, not beautiful—just hot. When I reach her and give her a hug, she squeezes me right back and then I occupy the barstool beside hers. “What are you guys talking about?”

  “Nothing, really,” answers Grayson as he hands Claire a sandwich. She grins at him as she accepts his offering and thanks him when her first bite sits steaming on her tongue.

  “Did he tell you about movie night, tonight?”

  “Hmm?” she hums, directing her attention to me.

  “Pizza and a movie tonight. You and Jack must come.”

  “I’m in,” she agrees with a nod. “Since we did what he wanted to do last night, he has no choice but to do what I want to do tonight,” she says with a wink.

  “Is that so?” Sonny and I turn our attention behind me at the sound of Jackson’s voice.

  Jack and Claire, ladies and gentleman—hot in the morning, hot in the evening, hot just about all the time. Seriously, though, Jack rounds out the count to three, making this apartment some sort of unbelievable haven of attractive men. You’d think after three years of being in a group with these guys that I would be over it, but I’m not—and I hope I never am; God’s work should be appreciated always!

  Jack is Sonny’s wide receiver and he’s built like a statue. He’s five-eleven with milk chocolate colored skin and muscles for days—triceps, biceps, shoulders, and have I mentioned his washboard abs? He’s got a few tattoos, too, on each of his upper arms and one on the back of his right calf. It would be appropriate to say that I’ve seen way too much of his body. He’s got a bad habit of walking around without a shirt on first thing in the morning. Or, rather, his mornings which are sometimes my afternoons; at least on the weekend.

  As he makes his way to the kitchen, he scrubs his hand across his head—which is covered in the thin layer of hair. He’s got his glasses on, proof that he just rolled out of bed, the only time I ever really see his dark eyes behind those frames.

  “We’re staying in this evening. Movie night,” says Claire. Knowing that he’ll come straight to her, she doesn’t even bother to look back at him. Sure enough, he keeps walking until his chest is pressed against her back. He drapes one arm around her and she leans against him as he lifts his hand, signaling me to give him a high five.

  I smile as I acquiesce. “What’s up?”

  “Babe, are you walking around half naked right now?” Claire protes
ts before he has a chance to answer me. “Go put a shirt on.”

  “You’re wearing it,” he whispers before kissing the space below her ear.

  “You say that as if this is your only shirt.” She playfully taps his cheek before she turns and then stands. She holds up her sandwich and he takes a bite just as she begins to head back to his room. “Come on. There’s a lady present—you need clothes on.”

  I giggle as I watch them go and then shift my attention back to Grayson. “So, need any help in there?”

  “Uh—” he looks down at the skillet, which holds two sandwiches, and then back at me. “I guess you could grab some plates if you wanted. I’m almost done.”

  “Sure.” I head directly to the cabinet that houses their dishes. I know their kitchen just about as well as I know my own, so I need no more than his invitation to fulfill my task; but when I open the swinging door, I notice that all the clean plates are out of reach. As I contemplate the best course of action from this point, I hear Sonny laugh softly beside me. I shoot him a playful scowl and am formulating a smart remark when he takes me by surprise. Before I know it, his hands are secured around my waist and I’m being lifted from the floor.

  For a moment I can’t breathe. I’m too overwhelmed by his touch. It’s not his hands alone that make my heart skip a beat—rather, it’s my enjoyment of his familiarity. I don’t read into it, though. He’s giving me a boost, that’s all. Plates! That’s why I’m up here—plates! I grab a couple and then he returns me to my feet. “Thanks,” I murmur, turning to give him a smile. When our gazes meet, I feel my cheeks warm and I curse them for giving me away.

  “Anytime,” he responds.

  Now I have to turn away. I duck my head, too, allowing my hair to form a barrier around my face. Gosh, what am I, twelve? “Um,” I stammer. “Do you want to eat here or in the dining room or…?”

  “You pick. Just wherever we can eat and study at the same time.”

  I opt for the dining room. After I set our plates down and grab a couple napkins, I head for my stack of work that I discarded on the couch earlier. By the time I’m seated at the table, there’s a sandwich on my plate and two on Sonny’s. He joins me a minute later with his own stack of work but then promptly jumps up to grab something else from the kitchen. Two glasses of water. I thank him when he sits in the seat next to me.

  “What’s on your agenda this afternoon?” he asks, nodding at my notebook as he takes his first bite.

  “Music theory. You?”

  “Accounting.”

  “Hmm—our future big-time CPA in the house,” I say, speaking around the delicious bite of gooey cheese and toasted bread that’s in my mouth.

  He chuckles and shakes his head at me. “Your confidence in me is appreciated.”

  “Of course, I have confidence in you.” While our conversation is lighthearted, I know his comment means more than it appears at face value. I don’t know a lot about his past, because he doesn’t like to talk about it, but I do know that he doesn’t come from a family that ever offered him much support or encouragement. It’s not something I can relate to—because my family, while far from perfect, is really incredible, loving, and stable. I can’t imagine having anything less; and while I don’t know just how bad things were for him growing up, I have enough of an idea to know that I should never be shy about praising him. He deserves that sort of support and love from his friends—his family away from home.

  Truth be told, it’s beyond my ability to understand why he would want to be an accountant; personally, I think that sounds a bit boring—but that’s in comparison to my aspiration to play in a world renowned orchestra one day. Not everyone can have the same dream. I simply admire him for being unapologetic about his. I know he works hard. He’s not like Beckham. Hammy is naturally smart; not to say that studying to be a doctor won’t be hard for him, but up until this point, he’s been able to breeze his way through his undergrad studies. His goal is centered more around finishing—getting to the end of the crazy requirements that entail becoming a doctor. With Grayson, it’s different. He wants to succeed and with him I know nothing is taken for granted—hard classes, easy classes, it doesn’t matter—he puts in just as much effort. He has to. I admire that.

  “I know you’ll be working for some big firm one day,” I continue. “You’re determined and driven and you never give up.”

  “Qualities you recognize because you have them yourself,” he says softly as he reaches for his water.

  I nod slightly, unable to disagree. “We’re the only ones who can make our dreams come true, right?”

  “Yeah,” he answers simply.

  “Although, how you got stuck with the dream of becoming an accountant…” I scrunch the features of my face to playfully express my sympathy and he laughs. The sound brings a smile to my face.

  “Well, if it doesn’t work out, I can always just pack a bag and become a groupie—follow you and your cello all over the world.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I say with a grin. “It’s always good to have a plan b.”

  We banter back and forth for just a few more minutes before we both shift our focus to our studies. I’ll admit that I miss our conversation almost as suddenly as it stops, but there’s also something nice about just being in the same room with Sonny, each of us doing our own thing but still sharing each other’s company. It’s also not lost on me that Jack and Claire haven’t resurfaced since they left us a while ago. I’ll have to give Claire a hug for that later.

  This week seems to have disappeared right before my eyes. I try not to rush as I double check my bag for all my necessary study materials. I’m sure we won’t be back from our visit home until late Sunday afternoon or early Sunday evening, and my first final is Monday morning. I’m not worried, but I’m also not overly confident. I’ll need to squeeze in some studying at some point this weekend. My focus has been a little…off for the past few days.

  While I try and shake the unease that has lingered in the pit of my stomach since my walk with Beckham last Sunday, I’m not very successful. Every spare moment I have, the memory of our conversation creeps into my head and the dreadful discomfort that is my newly conceived insecurity rests heavily inside of me. I’m baffled by the possibility that in a year’s time, I might not be married.

  It is true that we’ve never really talked dates whenever we’ve discussed our future marriage. Someday implied after college and that was enough. Naive, maybe, but enough. What mattered most to me was that we wanted the same thing. I know Beck is fully capable of making future plans—he’d planned for college very well and he’s already decided on the ten different medical schools he plans on applying to before the end of the calendar year—so I had no doubt that he’d have some sort of plan concerning our relationship…or at least a partial plan. I don’t know what to think knowing, now, that I was wrong.

  But he loves me—my current mantra. He loves me and he wants me and that’s his promise. We’ve seen each other throughout this week, of course, and he has been his usual self. I really feel like I need to get a grip. Just because things might not turn out the way I think they should, that doesn’t mean that I should doubt him. Doubt us. That’s enough for right now, isn’t it? Honestly, I’m not sure anymore; but for at least another week, it has to be.

  I shake my head, wanting to rid my mind of such thoughts, and take a deep breath. I need my mom. Growing up, both my mom and my dad had what they liked to call an open door policy. They always wanted Ave and I to feel comfortable talking to them about anything and everything. They promised never to judge, no matter what. Remarkably, they held up their end of the deal. Granted, that didn’t always mean we didn’t get in trouble when we admitted something that they didn’t approve of, but they somehow managed to handle the situation in such a way that would always leave Ave and me going back to them again and again.

  We also learned which parent we should go to and when. Dad is good with spiritual advice and big decisions; he was also Avery’
s go-to whenever some dumb guy broke her heart. Mom is who we go to when we’re having trouble with relationships—friends, boyfriends, or when Avery and I were at odds. This situation with Beckham—is it really a situation or am I overreacting?—definitely falls into mom territory. This weekend couldn’t have come at a better time.

  “AJ, you about ready?” Avery calls from the living room.

  “Yeah, coming!” I grab my backpack and my duffle before heading out to join her.

  “Are my Twinkies leaving?” asks Sarah as she emerges from her bedroom. Her blonde, wavy-curly locks are loose around her shoulders and she’s wearing pair of sweat-shorts and a t-shirt. I know just by looking at her that she’s already hunkering down to do some studying of her own. “Drive safely. Text me when you’re home?”

  “Absolutely.”

  The ride down is a couple hours. We manage to beat most of the traffic on I25, until we hit a bit of congestion in Denver; but it doesn’t last long and soon we’re at cruising speed. We opted to take Avery’s car because she’s the better driver—or, at least, the most efficient. As soon as she turns her music on, she’s lost in her focus on the road. Driving, to her, is relaxing. That, and running. The only thing that eases her more is playing her cello. While I’m not a bad driver, I’m usually mildly anxious and uncomfortable, especially when there’s traffic.

  We don’t talk much throughout the duration of our journey, but I’m alright with that. I haven’t opened up to Avery about my current insecurities in regards to my relationship with Beckham and I’m happy to let my mind wander a bit. It’s not that I wish to keep anything from her. I know she would try and give me her most objective advice. Just because we shared a womb for eight months doesn’t mean that she’ll always take my side if she thinks the opposing side is right. It’s just that I know that if I tell her, I’ll only be fueling my anxiety. I don’t want to do that. I don’t think that’s fair. Especially considering Beck and I haven’t talked about it again.