Forgotten Promises (The Promises Series Book 2) (11 page)

I’M SITTING ON the floor Indian-style as Mom lectures me on being safe, stopping when we need to, and not driving when we’re tired. Ethan is in the bathroom and Mom has pounced on the opportunity to go over the same details that she’s already drilled into me before Ethan arrived. To say she’s not entirely on board with letting me travel home with him is the understatement of the century, but having discussed it to the point of wanting to strangle each other over our differences, she finally relented. We had a forty-five minute showdown wherein she point blank refused to let me drive home. She listed everything from the fact that we had both been in a crash and were perhaps medically not ready to operate heavy machinery (she’d die of worry), to flat out begging me to just fly back with her. After tears on both sides we finally agreed that she would take us in her rental car to go get Ethan’s Camaro, and then he and I can go and see if our things are still at the campsite before we drive home. I get that she’s feeling anxious; I am too. In truth, I’d be traveling back with Ethan regardless of whether or not I have her blessing; at least this way it’s amicable.

Her speech is cut short by the sound of water powering against the bathroom basin, then shutting off abruptly seconds before the door creaks open and Ethan emerges rubbing his hands on a washcloth. We all stop and look at one another as the room falls silent.

“Am I interrupting something? I can leave you to talk if you’d like.”

“No, Ethan, it’s fine. I was just reminding Blair not to drive tired and to be careful. If either of you are feeling unwell make sure that you stop and call me. Just use your common sense, the pair of you, okay?”

“Yes ma’am,” he replies and I snigger. Mom looks over and rolls her eyes at me.

“She hates being called ma’am. Makes you feel old, doesn’t it, Mom?”

She leers at me, and then huffs, announcing that she’s going to go fill the ice bucket. I stretch lazily and move from my position on the floor to the bed.

“So what’s the plan then? You want to set off this afternoon, or first thing in the morning?”

“I don’t mind,” he answers through a yawn as he sits down next to me, leaning his back against the headrest.

“You seem pretty tired. I think we should go and collect your car, then come back here and set off tomorrow. Is that okay with you?”

“Sounds like a plan. Come here.”

I scoot back on the bed, shuffling in a completely un-lady like manner and making it look like a whole lot more effort than it needed to be. He pulls me into his side like I’m a teddy bear, and sinks down until his head is nestled into the crook of my neck. He doesn’t say a word as we sit in a comfortable silence, staring out of the floor-to-ceiling window that looks out onto the hotel pool. I’m not sure if it’s thirty seconds or thirty minutes, but the sound of his soft tiny snores interrupt the silence. I smile as I rub my fingers through his messy hair, and he moans his appreciation and shifts, pushing his face further into my shoulder. Mom returns, takes one look at him and gives me a knowing look before depositing the ice bucket and retrieving her purse from the cabinet. She leaves without a word, and I thank her silently with my smile.

We stay huddled together on the bed for an hour before my mom returns and wakes us both from the best sleep I’ve had in since arriving in Arizona. I stretch and rub my eyes underneath my glasses. I’m positive that I look a mess and quickly wipe at my mouth, worrying that I’ve drooled all over myself in my sleep. Ethan looks completely perfect as usual; messy hair and hooded sleepy eyes suit him—it’s so unfair. His plain navy Henley is crumpled from sleep and hitched up slightly, exposing the taught tanned V that leads down under his jeans. I have a hard time not staring at it, even though my mom is standing in the same room.

“Okay guys, let's go find your car and then we can go for dinner. I spotted a nice looking restaurant while you two were snoozing.”

“Excellent! I’m starving,” Ethan announces and picks me up, placing me on the floor so he can move to get off the bed.

“What about you, Blair, honey? Are you hungry?” Mom asks.

I am, but not in the way she means and I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t want to hear that. “I could eat.”

“Great! Let's go, then.”

An hour and a complete headache later, we pull up in Ethan’s Camaro alongside the Honda Mom rented. My mom is one of those women that refuse to listen to the satellite navigation system, and just assumes that she knows better, even if it’s somewhere she’s never been before. We’ve made so many U-turns getting here it made me dizzy. The three of us walk into the little hole-in-the-wall Italian together, laughing that the car was only four miles away, yet it took us this long to collect it. I’m no athlete, but I could have definitely run to go fetch it faster.

“What are you guys ordering? I can’t make up my mind. I’ve narrowed it down to pizza or fettuccini. I don’t want to make a decision first and end up with food envy when it comes out,” I announce to the table in a whiney voice.

“You’re so much like your father, you know? He would never order first, either.”

I smile at her observation. I’ll take that; Dad was awesome. I don’t mind the comparison she’s drawn; in fact, I like being told that I’m like him.

“I’m gonna go for the meatball pizza. No chance of food envy with that, right? Since you don’t like them.”

My head snaps to the side at breakneck speed, and I gape at him wide-eyed and open mouthed.
I must look so attractive!
I’m holding my breath and can feel my pulse picking up tempo, thrumming against my skin.

“What?” Ethan asks, looking perplexed at my reaction to his admission. He’s obviously confused. Mom too, who regards me through furrowed brows like I’ve just grown a second head.

“How do you know that I don’t like meatballs?” I ask cautiously, trying not to let the hope that’s evolving inside me sprout wings and take flight.

“Um…you told me.”

I smile, and it’s too late; the hope is set free, fluttering through me like an autumn leaf being carried by the wind. I clench my fists to stop from clapping and resist the urge to bounce my knees in an effort to dissipate the adrenaline coursing through me.

“When did I tell you?”

“When I took you to…”

Confusion morphs into realization across his face as the penny drops. My smile is straining the muscles in my face—it’s that wide.

“Holy shit! You told me the day we first met, and I took you to Marco’s Pizzeria.”

Mom is still looking utterly perplexed at our exchange.

“He remembers, Mom!” I almost squeal. My voice has climbed a few octaves and I sound like an overly excited toddler.

“Oh, that’s fantastic,” she beams. “Do you remember anything else?”

“I don’t know.”

Ethan looks to me, his concentration clear in the depths of his crystal blue eyes.

“I remember meeting you in the library at school. You had me acting like a complete stuttering fool,” he says as he winks, and I melt.

“I remember us going out for dinner.”

My whole body is tingling as I bask in the happiness that has made its first real appearance since the accident.

The accident…it’s a sobering consideration that has an ugly apprehension sliding over me and cloaking me in dread as I formulate the question I’m about to ask. I’m under no illusions that it won’t soberly dampen everyone’s newfound excitement.

“Is that all that you can remember? Can you not recollect anything more? The crash, maybe?” I ask tentatively. His smile falters and his shoulders drop ever so slightly, but I catch the movement.

“No—at least I don’t think so.”

“Well, never mind honey. This is a start,” Mom interrupts in her best cheery ‘fake it till you make it’ voice.

“I’m sure you’ll start to regain the rest of your memory soon.”

“Yeah, hopefully.”

I feel a little bad that he has no idea what he’s actually hoping for. I know with an unwavering sense of clarity that his memories of the crash will be an unwelcomed gift amongst the rest. I sit back quietly as I make a mental note to text Moira as soon as I can and let her know of the developments. I feel sneaky and I don’t like it one bit.

I LIE ABOUT what I can remember. It isn’t just meeting Blair and going to Marco’s that I recall; I remember what transpired when I returned home. Being locked in the garage with my dad, the beating he delivered all because I’d forgotten I had plans to help him. I can hear him telling me what a useless, selfish person I am as if he were right here beside me, whispering it to me at this exact moment. I shudder, trying to dislodge the thought. I can’t tell them this, it will only upset them and if I'm honest with myself, I don’t want to say it out loud. It makes it too real. I was telling the truth about the crash though: I still have no clue as to what happened or why; all I know for sure is how frustrated it’s making me. All this ‘we don’t want to cause any undue stress’ bullshit is what’s causing my stress. How ridiculously ironic. Surely everyone can see that! Whatever. If they don't tell me to my face, I’m sure I can manipulate some information out of them somehow. I’ve never had a problem getting what I want from women before; I don’t see why I would now.

“How’s your food, Ethan?” Susan asks taking a sip of her ice water. “You’ve hardly touched it.”

“It’s good, thanks. Guess I’m not quite as hungry as I thought.” I push my plate aside and lean back into the booth. “I’m going to step outside and grab some air if that’s okay. I have a headache.” I shuffle across the seat and maneuver past Blair, who’s studying me with a concerned frown.

“Want me to come with you?” she asks, already pushing her food away and wriggling her way around the circular booth.

“I’m good, Princess. Stay with your mom; I just want to clear my head.”

I leave before she has a chance to reply, It’s not that I don’t want her with me, it’s more that when she
is
with me she’s all I can focus on and it’s distracting as hell.

I make my way out to the front and lean against the rough red brick wall. The sight of traffic rapidly passing by makes me dizzy as it blurs into a continuous stream. My headache feels like a jackhammer beating behind my eyes. It’s rivaling the worst hangover I ever had when I was fifteen and Jackson and I drank a whole bottle of his dad’s whisky when his parents were out of town. The smell of exhaust fumes mingles with the aroma of the restaurant, lingering in the thick humidity of the afternoon. I’m standing here all of thirty seconds before I feel someone touch my arm.

“I told you I’m fine, Prin...” my words falter when I realize it’s not Blair. “What are you doing here? How did you even know where I was?”

“I called Blair. She told me where you’re staying, I was on my way over when I noticed you as I was driving by…look, I wanted to come and talk before you headed home.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic! I thought we were done talking back at the hospital, Mom.”

“Watch your language, Ethan,” she clips with a hint off pissed-off tone to her voice. It’s not often she gets like this with me. Probably because she feels like she has to be super nice to make up for everything she doesn’t do, like put me before him.