Forgotten Promises (The Promises Series Book 2) (6 page)

I need to gain some control, think of something to kill my semi… Jackson’s granny—yeah, that oughta do it. Jackson’s granny naked on a cold day, Jackson’s granny naked on a cold day, Jackson’s granny naked on a cold day!

“I asked if you were allowed to leave the room. I thought we could go and get a coffee,” she says, chewing on the corner of her bottom lip. It’s undoing the work my little mantra was achieving.

I feel the corners of my mouth lift a little and something tells me I’d agree to go just about anywhere with this chick if she asked me.

“Why are you smirking? What are you thinking about?”

“Jackson’s granny naked on a cold day,” I hear myself answer.

I freeze in realization and immediately want to retract the words, but it’s too late.

To say that she looks shocked would be an understatement. I panic and stand up from the bed. Her eyes zero in on my junk and then she rears her head back looking completely mortified. Her jaw drops before she scrunches her nose.

“Oh shit, it’s not what it looks like!” I practically shout. “Well, it is, but…damn, okay, so this is embarrassing. I was thinking about Jackson’s granny to calm my dick down from you laughing.”

Her features begin to smooth before morphing into amusement. She shakes her head a little and looks up at me, then back down to my crotch, before her eyes flick back up to mine. She’s sporting a huge ass grin.

“At least someone remembers me!” she squeaks, and then lets out a full-blown belly laugh. Her head’s thrown back as she clutches onto her stomach.

“I’d love to grab a coffee with you, but I’m gonna need a minute,” I tell her, nodding towards the bathroom. “I have to go splash some water about and cool the hell down.” I’m not shy, but I feel like a complete tool at the moment.

Her chuckles continue as she leans forward. “Shit, it hurts to laugh,” she breathes, trying to rein in the weird giggle snort thing she’s doing.

I smile at her in amusement. “Why does it hurt?”

She rubs gently at her side and then pulls her shirt up slightly. She’s careful not to expose anything other than giving me a glimpse of the dressing covering part of her abdomen. “The stitches haven’t healed fully from my surgery.” She shrugs and then lets her shirt fall back into place.

My smile slips and my stomach plummets as I realize that the whole time she’s been in here, I didn’t once think to ask if she’s okay. The image of her holding a drip stand floats to the front of my mind.

Fuck!

Okay, so I’m failing at being a boyfriend right off the bat. I can hear my dad’s voice in the back of my mind telling me what a selfish little prick I am.

“Blair, shit…I’m so sorry, I haven’t even asked you if you’re okay.” I sit back down beside her on the bed and let my head drop. “What happened?” I motion to her stomach. “I know you were in the crash—are you hurt bad?” I ask, attempting to swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat. I can feel myself break out in goose bumps. This girl elicits reactions from me that I have no control over. I don’t know if I should love or hate that. What I do know is that I feel like crying and it’s scaring the crap out of me. I don’t do emotions, and I certainly don’t do crying—not ever. I do numb, but I’m feeling anything but that at the moment.

“My spleen ruptured in the accident.” She smiles, but it’s sad. “I got off pretty lightly, unlike you and your dad.” She sucks air in through her clenched teeth and then grimaces looking at me. I’m assuming she didn’t mean to say the last part.

“I haven’t heard anything about him yet.” I try to pull off nonchalance, but I don’t think it’s working. I wonder how much she knows about my relationship with my dad? Would I have told her? I don’t need to ask, though, because the look on her face somehow confirms that she knows.

“Do you want to know?” she asks as she pinches her top lip between her fingers waiting for a response.

“Honestly? I don’t know if I care.” I watch for her reaction. Waiting to see if I’ve read her wrong and she doesn’t know about that aspect of my life.

She takes a hold of my hand and laces her fingers with mine; she draws her knee up and rests it on the bed then twists her body so she can face me.

“I can see you wondering…I know about him Ethan. You told me everything.”

My stomach churns as I force myself not to look away. I feel ashamed, weak and pathetic all at once. I hate that she knows. There is nothing I wouldn’t give right now for this whole situation to be reversed. Why couldn’t I have forgotten about him and still remember her?

I sit mute:
what can I respond to that?
I open my mouth to speak before I’ve even processed what I’m about to say. Then I pause; she leans in and everything happens in slow motion as she places her lips lightly over mine. They’re so soft. Damn.

She doesn’t move them at all, just holds them in place, and I’m mesmerized. She’s kissing me but it’s not making out. In fact, it’s not sexual at all. This kiss—it isn’t really a kiss; it an unspoken message. She’s letting me know it’s okay and that I don’t need to try and make excuses. She moves her head back and looks directly into my eyes. She’s so beautiful; her huge green eyes are fixed intently on mine. She looks unsure of herself, like she doesn’t know if she’s crossed the line and her head starts to drop along with her gaze.

Oh, hell no
.

I take a hold of her face with both of my hands and bring her lips back up to mine. This time I’m the one in control and I kiss her like she should be kissed. The only message I intend to send is that I need to do this. I have to do this, just like I have to breathe. It’s not a question of wanting; it’s a necessity. I move slowly but deliberately, acutely aware of the sensation of blood rushing in my ears, my heart slamming painfully into my chest as she begins to kiss me back. Her hands rise and grip my wrists and I wince as pain shoots up my arm and I think for a second she’s going to stop me, but she doesn’t move my hands from her face. Instead, she holds on like she doesn’t want to ever let go. It’s painful, but I like it. I relish the sensation of her wanting my hands on her. I apply a little more pressure, and her mouth opens as I trace the seam of her lips with my tongue. Kissing her feels amazing. I’ve made out with plenty of girls but this is on another level, I can’t get enough. Desire pools in the pit of my stomach as her teeth graze and nip at me, sending a shiver racing like lightning down my spine. I groan as a hot flush spreads across my chest and then slow my pace, placing a few chaste kisses at the corner of her mouth.

I finally find the willpower to pull away completely and look at her. We don’t speak; there’s no need to. I’m not sure I could even if I wanted to; I’m turned on to hell and completely confused with this whole situation. My chest hurts, but I think it’s in a good way and I have to focus on calming myself down and trying to regain the breath she’s just stolen from me. I’m still reeling in the sensations of our actions; it’s never been like this before. She closes her eyes, and I watch her, waiting for her to do or say something—anything.

I know that this isn’t our first kiss, or at least I’m assuming it isn’t. But damn, it definitely feels like it to me. No kiss has ever tasted or felt that good. I’m trembling from head to toe, and that’s certainly not something I’m used to. She’s reduced me to thinking like a chick, over analyzing everything, I stare at her mouth that’s all bruised from our kiss and smile internally. There’s no wonder I made this girl mine; I feel like I could kiss her forever.

When her eyes finally open, they’re glistening with unshed tears. I tense as I wait for her to get mad and start shouting at me. Worse still, she could reject me and ask me what made me think I could kiss her like that.

“Hi,” she whispers, “I’ve missed you.”

Thank you, god!
I let out a long exhale.

“Blair,” I pull her into my chest and rest my chin on the top of her head. I sigh as I squeeze and pull her tighter to me, inhaling her as I push my face into her hair.

“I know I don’t remember us yet…but I’m pretty sure that I’ve missed you too.”

“MISS THOMAS,” THE burly male officer states as I walk back into the stark, sterile confines of my room. One of the nursing staff had come to track me down; she’d interrupted Ethan and I to tell me that there were two police officers wanting to speak with me about the accident. It’s the last thing I wanted to do as I was sitting wrapped up in Ethan’s embrace, but I knew it was coming.

I offer a weak smile as I sit down on the bed nervously. My mom and a female officer enter the room seconds later; Mom perches on the end of the bed as the officer pulls the only remaining chair in the room closer to us. The feet drag and bounce across the floor, letting out a horrid screech that echoes through the eerie silence.

“Miss Thomas,” the officer begins again. “I’m Officer Murphy, this is Officer Speight,” he motions to his female colleague. “We’d like to ask you some questions regarding the accident you were involved in, if you’re feeling up to it?”

“Sure,” I answer, looking at my mom for confirmation. I’m not even certain why. She seems to sense my unease and shifts closer to me, placing her hand on my leg that’s bouncing wildly. What is it about moms? One simple touch has the power of complete reassurance. I exhale and try to let go of the anxiety that’s been steadily building in the pit of my stomach as I walked back from Ethan’s room.

“Excellent; let's get straight to it, then,” he says, taking a pen from his crumpled white shirt pocket. He proceeds to scrawl illegibly across the clipboard resting on his knee. His pant leg is bunched up and I can see the black and green sock he’s wearing with a huge L for left on it. I like it; in a strange way it makes him seem more human.

The questions start thick and fast, hammering down like a torrent of rain from a pregnant grey storm cloud. I’m interrogated for over two hours about every single aspect of the accident that I can recall. Why were we in Arizona? What happened at the bar the night before? I have no qualms about telling the officers that Frank stopped the car in the middle of the road to pick a fight with Ethan. My mom sits quietly by my side with a pained expression as I retell the argument Frank and Ethan were engaged in when the trucker hit us.

I’m exhausted by the time the officers finally relent and decide to leave. I’m told that they will be ‘in touch’, and they’ll be speaking to Ethan and Frank in due course. My blood runs cold as I realize that it’s yet another promise that I’ve not kept. I promised Ethan that I wouldn’t tell anyone about the situation with his father. I sang like a canary once Officer Murphy asked me to elaborate on Ethan and Frank’s argument. Both officers sat staring at me and then glancing at each other, as if they were in some silent conversation while Mom kept squeezing my knee. I’m not sure whether it was in reassurance or sadness over what I was confessing. Once I mentioned the abuse the questions came faster. I got the feeling that they didn’t believe me and it was frustrating as hell. Why would I lie?

Apparently the truck driver had died of head injuries at the scene. I’d been told he hadn’t made it, but didn’t know how or why until now. I remember seeing him on his cell shouting for help covered in blood. I squeeze my eyes tight and try to remove the image. The cops said he’d been talking to his wife on his cell phone when he hit us. Turns out the truck had veered slightly without him realizing. If we hadn’t been stopped in the road like sitting ducks, we’d more than likely have been able to swerve and avoid the whole thing. They didn’t say that, but I know it’s true. I could have done without knowing he was on his cell to his poor wife. I’m pretty sure that I’ll be revisiting that little piece of information in my dreams tonight. I can’t imagine how awful it must have been for her to hear everything play out over the phone and not be able to do anything. The thought makes me shiver.

The officers leave the room, the soles of their shoes squeaking down the hall until finally they fade and silence descends once more. Before I can breathe a single word to break it Mom stops me.

“Why on earth did you not tell me what was going on, Blair?” She crushes me to her chest as she shakes her head over my shoulder chanting, “That poor boy,” over and over. My eyes fill as I realize that all I’ve accomplished by keeping Ethan’s secret is letting this whole situation escalate to where we are now. If I’d done the right thing and told somebody sooner, this wouldn’t be happening.
Why do all the promises I make end up hurting?