Forgotten Promises (The Promises Series Book 2) (22 page)

It’s funny how random things like making a sandwich or hearing a song can trigger memories. I’ve spent most of the evening listening to Mom defend her actions about lying to me—or as she likes to dress it up, it wasn’t lying, it was omitting.

Blair and I came up to my room, and she’s been withdrawn and quiet. The atmosphere in here was pretty bleak, so I scrolled through my iPod, hit play and suddenly, BAM! I’m transported in my memory to the reception area of the police department with Blair…

Dad burns holes into my back with his scowl as we finish signing the paperwork. I can’t believe he came all this way to bail us out. He’s definitely going to make me pay for it the first chance he gets. He looks utterly furious; his arms are crossed over his chest, and his gaze is narrowed. He glances from me to Blair and then back to me again with nothing but disappointment and anger in his eyes. There’s no ‘hello,' no ‘how are you?’ No pleasantries at all. He turns and walks out, expecting us to follow silently, and that’s exactly what we do.

Blair has my hand in a death grip as we walk towards what I’m assuming is a rental car. Dad opens the back door and stands aside to let us both in. His jaw is working back and forth, and I’m sure that if I were alone right now he wouldn’t be so quiet. Blair climbs in, and he closes the door, stopping me from following.

“You’ve got some explaining to do once your girlfriend’s gone,” he tells me in an eerily calm voice.

“Yes, sir,” I answer and make my way around to the other side of the vehicle and get in. We drive for a little while before Dad finally cracks.

“What the hell happened? I’m dying to know why I had to get on a plane and come bail your sorry ass out of jail. You’d better have a damn good explanation.” His voice cuts through the already frigid atmosphere in the car and I see Blair tense from the corner of my eye.

“It was my fault, Mr. Jamison. A guy came onto me at the bar and Ethan was just trying to protect me.” My head snaps to Blair’s and she’s pleading me with her eyes to go along with her story. She’s trying to protect me and as much as I love her for doing it, I hate that she feels like she needs to.

“Do I look stupid to you, girl? I was talking to Ethan!” he barks out and Blair flinches back in her seat.

“Don’t talk to her like that.” I can handle him talking to me like I’m a piece of shit but not her. Never her.

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? I’ve just come to bail you and your little whore out, and this is how you talk to me?”

I see red and ball my fists at my side. “If you ever call her a whore again I swear to god I’ll make you regret it.” My words filter into the calm and quiet of the car, but they hit their mark as intended. The road we’re on is empty, so he pulls to a stop and turns in his seat with eyes blazing like fire. I know what’s coming next; at least I would if we weren’t all strapped into a car. This would be the point where he loses his shit and beats the crap out of me until he feels better. Thing is, he can’t do that from where he’s sitting, and he’s not the kind of guy that likes an audience. Blair’s eyes are wide as she takes in the stalemate that we’ve come to.

“What the hell did you just say to me?”

“You fucking heard me! Don’t disrespect her and talk down to her. Your problem is with me, no one else. And you know what? My whole life I’ve wondered why you seem to hate me so much, put me down, make me feel worthless. Well, now I know. Mom told me about my real mom. What kind of a man does that make you, huh? I’m the only thing you’ve got left of a woman you supposedly loved, and what do you do? You beat me. Your own flesh and blood; part of you and her. Most people would cherish the only reminder of a person they once loved, but oh no, not you, Dad. No, you preferred to kick and punch and beat the hell out of me for reminding you of her. I can’t help how I look, or mannerisms that I may share with her. I’ve never intentionally tried to bait you or upset you. I’ve spent my whole fucking life trying to live up to what you expected, and it was never going to be good enough, was it? Because what it all boils down to is that you hate me. You hate me for living and reminding you of what you’ve lost. I’m never going to be able to change that, am I?”

“Get out of the car, now!”

I look to Blair who’s shaking her head.

“Guys, you need to calm down,” she pleads as we both unbuckle and make a move to exit the car. That’s when I see the look of pure horror flash across her face. I hear her scream just as I turn to see the truck heading straight for us and showing no sign of stopping. I throw myself across her to unbuckle her belt, and then darkness.

It’s as much as I recall before waking up in the hospital. The realization hits that it’s my fault that we stopped in the middle of the road arguing, and I lunge off the bed and into my bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet before my stomach empties and the guilt creeps in, consuming my whole body and pushing out everything else.

“Ethan, what’s wrong? Baby, are you okay?”

Blair looks as panicked as I feel. She rushes to the sink and dampens a washcloth, placing it on the back of my neck.

“You completely zoned out on me and then started shaking. I thought you were having some sort of seizure.”

I want to answer her, but I don’t trust my voice not to break. I let go of my grip on the toilet and raise a hand, trying to indicate that I need a second.

The cold cloth she has pressed on me is dripping beads of icy water down my back and making me shiver. I pull it from her grasp without saying a word and reposition it on my forehead as I twist around and lean my back against the wall. She’s knelt in front of me now, and the worry in her eyes does nothing but add to the mountain of blame I feel take up residence on my shoulders.

“You want me to get you some water?”

What I want is for this nightmare to end, but I can’t exactly ask for that.

“I’m not thirsty,” I clip, and I’m pretty sure I couldn’t keep anything down at the moment anyway. My stomach is still in knots.

“You wanna tell me what this is all about? ‘Cause I’m going to be honest with you here, Ethan, you’re starting to freak me out. Should I go get your mom?”

“No!” I blurt out. “I’ll be okay in a minute. I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m fine.”

“’I’m fine’ is the universal code for anything but fine. I’m a girl, I should know. Please…just talk to me.”

I can’t look her in the eye. My dad…the trucker…her operation…it’s all my fault.

“I remembered the crash,” I mumble, focusing my attention on the tiny cracks in the glaze of the ceramic tiles on the bathroom floor. There are millions of seemingly insignificant hairline fractures, barely visible until you look hard enough. The tiles themselves look almost flawless from a distance, but if you tried to remove one, it would crumble. Those fractures have all played a part in weakening the hard exterior. One firm knock and it would be irreparable, leaving the person who delivered the blow stunned wondering how one seamlessly uneventful knock could destroy the whole thing. I feel like that tile.

“What exactly did you remember?” she asks, but the sound of her voice tells me that she already knows.

I take a deep breath and then tell her what I remembered from the police station leading up to arguing with my dad. “I should have stayed quiet until we got back home. Why did I choose that moment to finally say something? It’s because of me that we stopped the car; it’s all because of me.”

Her arms fold around me, and she holds me like she knows I’m about to disintegrate.

“It’s not your fault; none of this is your fault. Your dad, Ethan, he’s the one that treated you bad, he’s the one that started the argument that day, and ultimately, he’s the one that stopped the car—not you. You can’t blame yourself for this, for any of it.”

I want so badly to believe her, to kiss her and look into those beautiful dark emerald eyes, and tell her that I know she’s speaking the truth. But I can’t, because it isn’t. I’m as much to blame for that accident as he is. He may have stopped the car, but it was me that drove him to do it.

“Baby?”

I can hear her heart beating through the cotton of my t-shirt. My head’s pushed tightly against her chest as her hands draw small lazy circles across my shoulders and back. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to deal. I just want to stay here and let myself forget that my life isn’t a bowl full of cherries.

“Yeah?”

“You’re still shivering. Come get into bed,”

Her arms fall as I push up and take her hands to help her stand. She walks backward, never letting her focus drop from me as she pulls me over to my bed, throws the comforter back and climbs in. I slip in beside her, tuck my face into her neck and shoulder, and then breathe her in. Neither one of us sleeps; instead, we hold on to each other in silence. Blair is facing away from the door, and at one point I notice it crack and my mom peer in. I instantly close my eyes in fake slumber. I’m not ready to face anything else today. I wait until finally I hear footsteps on the stairs before I press myself deeper against Blair and try to make sense of this mess.

MONDAY ROLLS AROUND entirely too quickly. The morning sun is warming my face through the cracks in my curtains, and when I turn to shield my eyes I notice that my cell is already lit up with a message from Ethan, I left his house late Saturday night and spent all day Sunday with my mom at home. It was good to have a day where I could just process my thoughts and not have to deal with anything else, as selfish as it sounds. I needed that time. I think Ethan and Moira needed some time too. My mom was amazing but then, she’s always amazing. I had a complete meltdown at one point, and she listened to me vent without judgment. I’m not your typical talker; I like time to prepare my thoughts and ideas on the situation at hand, and attempt to have it clear in my mind before voicing anything about it. But I can always count on her to be right there when I do decide I want to confide in someone.

I wish Ethan had that.

I’m desperate to convince him that seeing a therapist would be a good thing. My mom agrees, but it has to be his decision. Ultimately, he needs to be the one to decide that talking to somebody is the right thing for him to do. I don’t want to push him; if I’m honest, I don’t dare. I think if he had a chance to sit down and talk with his Dad that might help too. Their relationship is so screwed up, I think gaining some closure would benefit him, but I don’t see that in their future anytime soon and it scares me. If Frank doesn’t make it through his surgery and the two of them don’t talk, it will always be an unresolved issue, an open wound that won’t heal.

I reach out and snatch the phone from my nightstand.

From: Ethan

Pick you up for school? X

I’m about to text back ‘yes’ until I notice the time and realize I’m going to be late if I don’t get my ass into gear. I reply that I’ll meet him there and then take the quickest shower of my life. I throw my green
Obey gravity it’s the law
tank on with my skinnies and chucks, leaving my hair down to air dry and skipping breakfast to make it to school before the first bell.

It’s times like this when I miss being invisible. I used to be able to walk these halls and not a single person other than Em would register my presence. Now, not so much. Everyone in this school is aware of Ethan Jamison, and by default, Ethan Jamison’s girlfriend—although I don’t think any of them could actually tell you my name. That’s what happens with couples: the less popular of the two loses what identity they had, no matter how obscure. I’m no longer Blair to these students; I’m Ethan’s girl. There are exceptions, though; some of them have bothered to find out who I am, no doubt in an attempt to make false allegiances with him and his friends. Everyone wants to be friends with the popular kids and I must look like an easy ‘in’ to them.

I weave my way in and out of the crowded hallway while replying to a bunch of
hello’s
and
how are you’s
from people I’ve never spoken to before. It’s awkward when strangers make conversation with you or use your name, and you have no clue of theirs. Emily would have loved watching me panic. I’ve always had the socially inept ‘please don’t approach me’ vibe down pat. I perfected it after
Billygate
, as Em used to so affectionately refer to it. I smile at the memory.