The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1)

by Martin, R. C.

  “I don’t know that I was taught anything. When I was in high school and I started dating, girls just wanted to call themselves my girlfriend during football season because I was popular. I couldn’t ever get them to want me for me until I slept with them.”

  “But Sonny—you know I love you for you!”

  I shrug, at a loss as to how else to explain myself. “It’s like you said. Something pulled my trigger and I went into auto pilot.”

  She shakes her head at me as if she’s unsatisfied with my answer. “You said this was something you’ve always known—but if you knew this before high school, if you knew this before the first time you tried it, you had to have learned it from somewhere. Did Patrick teach you that? Did he give you some twisted version of the sex talk?”

  “No,” I scoff. “All Patrick ever told me was to not get any girls knocked up.”

  “Does this have something to do with your mom? Are you just afraid that all women leave? I guess I just don’t get it. I don’t understand how your mind could go there unless it knew to go there.”

  “I don’t know, Ave. I mean, it’s not like it ever really mattered. We’d always end up breaking up anyway. Sex only ever worked once, but—” I say the words before I think about them and regret them almost instantly. I don’t want to expose Avery to this even more than I don’t want to expose her to any of the other dark parts of my past. The truth that sits on the tip of my tongue has never been shared with anyone and that doesn’t have to change today.

  “When? When did it work?” she asks, as if right on cue.

  “Don’t make me talk about this, Ave.”

  “Grayson, I’m not going anywhere, alright?” She emphasizes her point by crawling into my lap, where she knows I like her best, and wraps her arms around my neck. “Whatever it is, I can handle it. I’ll help you through it, no matter what.”

  I want to believe her. When I look into her eyes, I see a conviction behind her words like I never have before and my vow to be the man she deserves turns its ugly head at me and demands full exposure. Reluctantly, I decide to be honest. I’ll just spit it out as fast as I can—it’ll be like ripping off a bandaid. I open my mouth to speak and then chicken out. “Ave, I—”

  She cuts me off with a kiss. It’s not a long kiss, but it’s a powerful kiss. Just the feel of her lips against mine, after four of the longest days that I can ever remember, it’s enough to send a jolt through my entire body. “I love you, Grayson O’Conner,” she states as she pulls away. “To leave you would be like cutting my own heart out. You can trust me. You can trust my love. So tell me. Please, tell me.”

  I inhale deeply and exhale slowly before I begin. “When I was five, after my mom left, we moved. That was the year I started kindergarten. The school I went to only had half days for our grade so my dad had to get me a babysitter to watch me in the afternoons until he got home from work.

  “I missed my mom and I didn’t understand why she wasn’t around and why she didn’t move with us—but Sharon, my babysitter, was nice enough. She took care of me and she didn’t drink so it was good to have her around. But—”A knot works its way from my stomach all the way up my throat. I haven’t thought about this in a really long time, and sharing this with Avery feels a little bit like torture. She’s too pure for this—too untouched. But when I look into her eyes, all I see is an intense desperation for the truth and I know I have to keep going.

  “After a few months, she started acting strange. She wanted me to do weird things—sexual things. She made me touch her.” Avery gasps, cupping both of her hands around her mouth. The look in her eyes now speaks of her horror but, now that I’ve started, I realize that I can’t stop. “I didn’t like it—I didn’t like the way it felt and I didn’t like the reaction I caused; she was very adamant about how she wanted me to do it. Whenever I told her that I didn’t want to, that I wished we could just play or watch TV or do anything else, she threatened to leave. She also told me that if I told anyone about what we did that she would leave and never come back, just like my mom. I believed her for a really long time. So I kept doing it. I didn’t want her to leave, and she didn’t.”

  “Did she—did she—” I can tell that Avery is trying to hold back her tears; she can barely get her sentence out as she works to keep herself together. “—touch you?”

  “No,” I state matter-of-factly. “Never.”

  “How—how long?”

  “Two years. In another town with another babysitter, I realized that I didn’t have to do anything to make the new woman stay. But, Avery, that’s not the same thing as consensual sex.”

  “No, it’s not—but love, that’s it. Oh, my gosh. That’s it.”

  Sonny, my tender-hearted Sonny. Good Lord—no wonder he despises his mother. She didn’t just leave him with an alcoholic father, she left him to be sexually abused. At FIVE! I could ring Sharon’s neck. I really could. What kind of woman does that to a motherless child? I hate her.

  “I hate her,” I mutter as the tears I’ve been holding back fall from my eyes. I don’t think I have a right to cry in this moment. Not really. He’s the one with the traumatic past; he’s the one who was practically forced to tell his girlfriend about something he clearly hates talking about; he’s the one who has to deal with the repercussions of his childhood even now—seventeen years later. He’s the one who should be crying—but instead he’s wiping away my tears. I can’t help it, though; it breaks my heart that anyone would do that to any child—but knowing that someone did that to Sonny? My Sonny? Ugh. I hate her.

  “It kills me when you cry for me. You shouldn’t have to carry the weight of my past.”

  “Neither should you, love. I’m sorry—I’m sorry for crying. I’m sorry you had to go through that. I’m sorry that I can’t possibly understand—”

  “Hey, hey, hey, stop.” He shushes me and then kisses my forehead as he slides his hands around the back of my neck. “You have nothing to apologize for, so stop it. I’m okay. I got through it. I’m here.”

  “But Sonny, you’re not okay,” I hiccup as I try and calm down. “You’re strong and resilient and determined and sweet and loving and amazing—but you’re not okay. It’s not your fault and I know that now but—if you don’t deal with this, you, me, and sex will never be all that we’re supposed to be.”

  “Deal with it? Ave, I’ve buried the Sharon thing. I don’t think about it at all, anymore. I won’t push you again, I swear.”

  “This is not about me.” I wrap my arms around his neck and slip my fingers into his hair, needing to be closer to him. I look into my favorite pair of brilliant green eyes and I thank the Lord for them, and the man who wears them flawlessly. “Sonny, I think you should see someone. I think you should talk to a counselor. There are so many things that you’ve been through that prevent you from being wholly yourself, free of the bondage that is your past.”

  He arches an eyebrow at me in amused defiance. “You want me to see a shrink?”

  “A counselor. Honestly, Sonny, I think it would be so good for you. Don’t believe all the crazy things you see on television—a counselor is just someone you can talk to; someone who can help you sort through the messy parts of yourself so that you can move on—really move on.”

  He furrows his brow, obviously uncertain, but aware that I’m being serious. “Why can’t I just talk to you?”

  I can’t help but laugh, which seems to confuse him further. I press a quick kiss to his lips before pulling away to answer him. “Hottie, we’re not very good at that sometimes. Besides, I’m not objective. I love you too much. Just—promise me you’ll at least give it a try? I can help you find someone. I’ll even come with you, if you want.”

  “For you,” he says after a pause. “I’ll go for you.”

  Admittedly, not exactly the response I was looking for—as I’d like him to go for himself—but I’ll take it. Hopefully somewhere along the way, he’ll take ownership and understand that it was a good move for him to m
ake for the both of us.

  “So—should we talk about you getting drunk last night?”

  “It won’t happen again,” he states matter-of-factly. “And I’ll say this much—it wasn’t worth it. I thought I had lost you and it hurt like hell. I drank to forget, but I didn’t forget; I only thought of you more.”

  I reposition myself in his lap, so that my legs are both stretched out toward the foot of the bed, and rest my head against his shoulder. He holds me and props his chin on top of my head. “I know we’ve said this before, but we can’t give each other the silent treatment. It makes both of us do crazy things.”

  “You’re right. I—wait, what crazy thing did you do?”

  I’m distracted away from his question when I notice a black spot on his arm, peeking out from underneath his short sleeve t-shirt. I reach out and rub my thumb across his skin and he flinches at my touch. I pull away from him, just enough to showcase my bewilderment. “I thought you said you showered. Looks like you missed a spot—did you let someone write on you last night? What kind of party was that, anyway?”

  “I got this before the party,” he informs me, pulling up his sleeve to reveal the entirety of his inked skin.

  My mouth falls open as I look from his face to the inside of his upper left arm, back at his face, and then again at his arm. “Is that a tattoo?!”

  “Yes.” I can hear the smile on his face.

  “You never told me you were thinking about getting a tattoo!” He shrugs and I reach out to gently run my fingers across his newly scarred skin.

  “Jack got some new ink last night at Trevor’s place; I decided I wanted some, too.”

  I can’t stop staring. It’s five words written in a font that looks to be a mix between cursive and print—neat but decisively imperfect. The words are stacked on top of each other, descending down the width of his impressive bicep.

  “What does it mean?” I ask, willing myself to look away from the ink so that I can see his face. He doesn’t answer me with words. Instead, he brings his opposing hand up to cover a portion of the tattoo. My eyes follow his and then I see it; the first letter of every word reveals its own word: A-V-E-R-Y. I gasp, pulling his long fingers away so that I can rub my hand over the letters. “You got my name tattooed on your arm? Are you sure this won’t come off?” I ask frantically.

  “Ouch, stop,” he insists, snatching both of my hands into his. “No, it won’t come off, you goof. I don’t want it to.”

  “So, wait—” I shake my head to scatter my thoughts so that I might piece them back together in a way that makes sense. “You got that sober? When you thought that I might break up with you?” He nods his response and I’m appalled at his nonchalance. “But—why?”

  “Because I love you, Avery, and I always will. No matter what happens between the two of us, you will always be the one who taught me what true love looks like. I won’t ever want anyone else the way I want you.”

  I’m so overwhelmed by all things Grayson, I feel like I might burst. I grab his face and kiss him. Honestly, at this point, I can hardly believe we spent almost a whole week fighting. Right now, all I care about is this moment and the way he makes my stomach do somersaults like there’s no tomorrow. “I love you, too,” I murmur, pulling away from him just enough to be able to speak. “So much.” I kiss him again. “But I’m not getting your name tattooed on my body.” He chuckles as I kiss him again, loving the sound that rumbles from his chest. “I do feel really honored knowing that you’ve branded yourself as mine, though.”

  “Always,” he whispers before pressing his mouth to mine, once more. He kisses me gently but intentionally, and yet I can tell he’s holding back and being careful. I grant him permission to freely shower me with his affection simply by opening my mouth and running my tongue along his bottom lip. He moans as he pulls me closer and kisses me deeper. My heart beats faster at the sound. I love that I have that effect on him. It’s only fair—he makes me feel that and so much more.

  I feel his growing desire beneath me and my body responds in kind. I understand his want for me, because I feel it, too. We’re not ready, though—especially after everything he just shared, I know neither of us is ready. Even still, I feel like I need to be closer to him. As if he can read my mind, his hands start to wander. Tentatively at first; but when I don’t stop him he becomes more confident. I don’t panic or worry that this time will be like before—I trust him; furthermore, I want him to know that I trust him. We don’t stop until we’ve managed to leave each other gasping for air. When he pulls away, I know he’s reached the brink of his self-control. I’m thankful for his will power, because I think I lost mine a few minutes ago.

  While we take a break, he reclines back onto his bed and brings me with him. He turns me around, so that my back is to his front, and I close my eyes as I enjoy the warmth of his embrace.

  “I missed you,” he says softly into my ear.

  “I missed you.”

  A comfortable silence over takes us before he succumbs to sleep; it’s not long before the lullaby of his breathing beckons me to join him.

  Logan: Hey, stranger! 1-10?

  I’m surprisingly relieved to receive her text. I’ve been back into town for two days now; while I thought getting my interviews over with would make me less stressed out, I’m more freaked now than ever. Considering the schools that had no interest in me, I can’t help but think that getting into Stanford is a long shot—even with my good interview. Baylor seemed like my best bet, until I totally bombed my interview there. Now, I have less confidence in my chances of going to med school next year than I’ve ever had in my life. And to add insult to injury, my traveling has put me behind in my school work.

  One more day until the weekend. Just one more day—not that I won’t have to do some major studying on Saturday, but I’ve got the Bronco game with Gray on Sunday to look forward to.

  Me: 3. You?

  Logan: 7…but I could totally go for a pumpkin spice latte. LB with LG?

  Me: LB with LG and HW?

  Logan: Haha. Yes, of course, oh-wise-one. 20 min?

  Me: On my way.

  I’m quick to gather my things and shove them into my messenger bag before grabbing a jacket and throwing on a beanie. It’s getting pretty cold in the evenings and with the end of October only a week away, I expect we’ll be getting snow any time now. It’s already been snowing in the mountains, which makes for the perfect snowcapped view. For a second, I stop to think how it’s a view that I might be enjoying a whole lot longer than I originally anticipated. Silver lining? Seems like a bit of a stretch to me.

  When I arrive at Little Bird, I’m quick to notice that I’ve beat Logan—which is unusual. I try and pick an available table that she would approve of and settle in. I’m lost in scientific text when a coffee is set in front of me. I look up and am greeted by my smiling blonde companion. Her hair is twisted up into a bun and she’s bundled up in a long-sleeved shirt with a pink puffy vest. “Pumpkin spice,” she says in greeting, nodding toward my cup. “It makes everything better, I assure you.” She winks at me before taking a sip of her own coffee.

  “Thanks.” I push aside my work for a second and sit back in my chair as I try my drink. It tastes like fall and I appreciate the warmth it provides with every sip I ingest.

  “So, tell me about this lame three.”

  I draw in a deep breath and then shrug. “It’s just been a long week. I’m stressed out about waiting to hear back from my schools. Honestly, as much as I don’t want to admit it, I’m beginning to think I had no right to be as confident in my ability to get in as I’ve always been.”

  “What?” she scoffs. “Take it back. You’re brilliant and everyone knows it.”

  A smirk tugs at my lips. “I appreciate your vote of confidence, but I don’t know.”

  “You’ve got two schools interested in you, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, all hope is not lost. Stop being so depressing.”

/>   I can’t help but laugh, which feels pretty good. “I’ll try.”

  “How long until you know whether or not you’ve been accepted?”

  “Anytime between now and the end of the semester. Unless I get put on a waiting list.”

  “Hmm,” she hums as she props her elbow on top of the table and rests her chin in the palm of her hand. She studies me for a minute. When she doesn’t say anything, I lift an eyebrow at her to express my curiosity as to what she might be thinking.

  “What?” I ask when I can no longer stand her silent scrutiny.

  “Hold on, I’m formulating a plan.” She lifts a finger at me before she reaches for her phone. I watch as she looks for something and anxiously wait for her to finally tell me what’s going on. “November fourteenth. That’s three weekends from now, so no one should have plans. CSU doesn’t have a game that weekend, so it’s perfect.”

  “What’s perfect?”

  “We’re getting you out of town. You need a little rest and relaxation. Everyone can come. Trips are more fun when all your friends are there, and we have plenty of room.”

  “Wait, slow down,” I insist, leaning my elbows against the table. “A trip? A trip where?”

  She grins at me as if she’s just won something. “Steamboat Springs. My parents own a house up there. I’ll just tell them that I want to use it that weekend.”

  “And they’d be alright with a whole bunch of us heading up there?”

  “Yes, of course. We won’t have to worry about a thing. The second I give my mom a headcount, she’ll be making a grocery list to fill the fridge before we even get there.”

  “Wow, really?” I ask again, still taken aback by her lavish offer.

  “Yes, really,” she says with a giggle. “Send a mass text and let me know who’s coming. I’ll invite Daph, Trevor, and Roman. We can leave Friday afternoon after everyone’s last class and come back Sunday evening.”