Forgotten Promises (The Promises Series Book 2) (30 page)

I look at our hands intertwined in my lap, and my tears drip onto our skin. Ethan gives me a small smile, and I look across him to my mom. Her own tears are sliding in a steady stream down her face, and I know hearing this will be pulling back all the memories I have just experienced for her too.

I watch as he takes a hold of her hand like he has mine before turning to press a soft kiss to my temple. I’m not sure what my mom said to him outside but she somehow managed to change his mind to come inside. I’m more thankful to her than I’ll ever be able to express, for my sake and his.

I glance at Ethan’s face to see how he’s doing and my eyes are instantly drawn to the side of his head where the stitches are still all visible from his surgery.

When Mom and I flew out to the hospital after Moira’s phone call, she, along with the help of one of the doctors, explained to us what had happened. Ethan had suffered from a chronic subdural hematoma. The doctor said that it was normal after experiencing a head injury, as Ethan had in the crash, to have headaches. The symptoms of a chronic subdural hematoma don’t usually appear until a few weeks after the initial head injury, and then progress gradually. We all knew that Ethan was suffering from headaches, but thought it was normal. He’d been feeling dizzy more and more, and didn’t have an appetite, but with everything going on it was overlooked as stress. I certainly hadn’t picked up on it, and I’m the one person that spent the most time with him. Sitting in that hospital realizing that almost ate me alive with guilt. The doctors—and even moreso, Moira—had assured me that a chronic subdural hematoma can be difficult to detect and can go unrecognized for some time. I was so mad that no one had warned me to look out for signs that I shouted at the doctor before breaking down in floods of tears. It was only luck that he happened to be in the hospital when he collapsed, and he had access to treatment so quickly.

He catches me staring and squeezes my hand again. The side of his head had to be shaved, so now he’s sporting a cut that’s super short at the back and sides, and then messy and longer on top. Only Ethan could make post-op hair look sexy.

The minister finishes his reading and invites one of Frank’s superiors up to speak a few words. Ethan stiffens as the gentleman in uniform talks of what a well-respected police offer, member of the community, husband and father Frank was. I’m half-expecting that he may stand and leave, but he doesn’t. Instead he sits and listens, and I can tell that he’s trying hard.

“I’m going for a drive with Blair,” he announces to his mom, after the millionth person comes to speak to him at the wake, telling him how sadly missed his father will be and what a great guy he was.

“Okay, sweetheart,” she replies and my mom, who’s sipping a cup of tea next to her, smiles her approval. He takes my hand and wastes no time leading me out towards my car in a hurry. We step out onto the lawn, and he pauses and takes a long deep breath.

“You okay?” I ask.

“I am now. I’m so glad to be out of that damn house! I don’t think I could have stood there a second longer and listened to anyone else tell me what a great guy he was.”

I don’t blame his eagerness to get out of the house, and in truth, it was getting to me too. It’s hard to stand back and listen to people speak so highly of someone that you know is undeserving of their ill-placed praise.

“Jackson and the guys are still in there; do you want me to go and tell them we’re leaving?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll text them. I just want to get out of here now. Do you mind driving?” he asks, and I smirk.

“You’re going to let me drive your car?” I ask hopefully, knowing full well he doesn’t entirely trust me in his Camaro because I suck at driving stick.

“Not a chance, Princess, that’s why we’re standing at yours.”

“Huh, fine.” I sniff and then stick my tongue out.

“You’re acting like a child, Ms. Thomas,” he states mockingly.

“Whatever—you know you love it.” I smile and open the passenger door for him.

I’m grabbed by the waist as he pulls me tightly into him, slamming his lips against mine and pinning me against the side of the car.

“Yeah, I do,” he murmurs through our kiss and I feel myself melt into him. He taps my butt and instructs me to drive him to the beach, so that’s what I do.

We sit on the cooling gold sand for a long time, staring out at the ocean before he decides to finally speak. “I talked with my doctor yesterday,” he informs me, and I pause. He’d never mentioned that he had an appointment. “I told her how I was feeling, about some of the morbid thoughts I had. I told her about the abuse with Dad and she’s referred me to a psychotherapist.”

I whip my head around so fast in surprise that I unbalance myself and have to throw my arms out, to keep from toppling over. He smiles down at me and nudges his arm against my shoulder.

“Relax, that doesn’t mean I’m a psycho,” he says widening his eyes in a demented fashion and I laugh.

“I know it doesn’t!”

“She thinks that I’ll benefit by learning about my feelings and thoughts towards my dad. I told her that when he'd died of the pneumonia, the night after I’d collapsed. I wasn’t upset, but relieved and she said that psychotherapy would help me learn how to deal with feelings like that, to take control of my life and respond to ‘challenging situations’ as she called them. Honestly I had to kind of smile. Who talks like that about death? Anyway…yeah, apparently it should help to teach me healthy coping skills, and how to process all the negative thoughts I have in association with him.”

“Ethan, that’s amazing,” I tell him and watch the apprehension drain from his face.

“Yeah, you think so? You’re not worried that your boyfriend needs therapy?”

I move and straddle his lap and cradle his face with my hands.

“I am so proud of you; you have no idea. The fact that you’ve decided to get help with this astounds me. Your strength astounds me. So, no baby, I’m not in any way, shape, or form worried about my boyfriend being in therapy.” I kiss his forehead and then lean back and watch his dimples pop as he gives me a genuine, beautiful smile. “You’re kind of amazing,” I tell him.

“Yeah, most chicks think that.”

I narrow my gaze and he winks.

“Okay, I’ve changed my mind; you’re a jackass!”

“Maybe, but I’m all yours,” he tells me, before flipping me over and pushing me down into the sand as he kisses me breathless.

“I’m yours, too,” I murmur against the softness of his lips.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“HELLO AND WELCOME to the commencement ceremony for West Point’s graduating class of 2014.”

I pause and look out over the sea of purple caps. My palms are sweating and I realize that although I’ve been leading up to this point for my whole high school career, being up here now is slightly terrifying. Especially since the speech I’ve had ready for the best part of ten months is sitting in the trash can in my bedroom, and the one I’m looking at now was written last night.

“Can you believe that we actually made it? Or most of us, at least. Before I get started I’d just like to ask the guys who are busy posting random graduation selfies to kindly let me steal your attention and please listen to this speech. It won’t take long. I hopefully have some insightful words of wisdom to impart. Although, don't feel like you have to switch off your cells—I’m more than happy for you to upload this speech onto YouTube. I’m sure anyone who knows me will confirm that it’s highly plausible I’ll mess up and say something inappropriate, or fall getting down from this podium, and you wouldn’t want to miss it. Be sure to hashtag my name. It’s Blair without an E.” I let out a nervous laugh as the auditorium is deathly silent. I’m half-expecting a tumbleweed to materialize and blow across the stage.

“Anyway, moving on. I want to take a second and ask you all to think of how much it’s taken for you to even be here right now. There are a few people I know who would have loved to be sitting and experiencing this day with the rest of us. My best friend Emily Wilson, you’ve no doubt heard of her, wanted to make it to this day badly. It was her goal and one that she fought hard to achieve. But fate had a different plan.

I want to share something that Em once wrote in her journal, and I think it’s pretty apt for today.

I once heard someone say that life begins at the end of your comfort zone, but what they didn’t take into account was people like me. I’m completely out of my comfort zone. I take seven different types of medication every single day, I’m slowly killing my body, poisoning it with chemicals in a bid to save it. I’m eating myself from the inside out, so I think that qualifies as being out of my comfort zone. But life isn’t guaranteed to begin just beyond this…Life is now, right this second while I’m sitting here breathing, my lungs inflating and my heart beating—this is my life.

People shouldn’t constantly strive to do things that scare them in a bid to live, otherwise their lives will be filled with fear. Similarly, they shouldn’t sit around waiting for something epic that sparks their realization that their life has just begun.

Life is what happens while you’re waiting for it to happen. It’s not always extraordinary. Most people won’t get to realize all of their hopes and dreams, but they’ll be living out new ones they never knew they wanted. Spending time worrying about the future, about getting into college and carving out a meaningful life won’t empty tomorrow of its plights, it will simply drain today of its vitality.

I haven’t always believed in destiny, but today I was told mine: my cancer has won and science can do no more. My destiny has been pre-written, and no matter what I do now, I can’t re-write it. But I can live until my heart stops beating. I WILL live. I’m going to start each day smiling and extract every molecule of happiness it has to offer, because my life may be short, but I’m determined to make it full.

I pause to collect my thoughts and steady my breathing; my eyes are welled and I need a second for the moisture to disappear and stop blurring my vision. I look out to the crowd and spot my mom sitting between Emily’s parents and Moira.