The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1) (39 page)

I haven
’
t seen Beckham since Sunday and I hate it. Hate. It. It
’
s miserable. I know he feels it, too
—
I could see it in his eyes. This isn
’
t us. Not talking every day is like a foreign concept to me. It
’
s like I
’
m going through culture shock
—
except for I don
’
t want to adapt. Sarah and Avery keep trying to convince me that we
’
ll get used to it and that it won
’
t always be this hard. The logical side of me knows they are right. I know what he
’
s doing. He
’
s trying to help me. By distancing himself from me, he
’
s trying to make this less confusing. He doesn
’
t want to send mixed messages. I
know
him. I
love
him and he loves me and
that
’
s
how I know that he
’
s trying to play his cards right. He
’
s always been like that
—
just
aware
and mindful, especially of me.

But the logical part of me isn
’
t very strong
—
not in comparison to the emotional side of me. My heart doesn
’
t want to be treated like this; my heart doesn
’
t care if I
’
m confused or if being in the same room as him, but not being able to touch him, kills me. It doesn
’
t care
—
I don
’
t care
how much it hurts to keep from him the thoughts and the tears that I
’
ve been pouring out into my new journal, and how that pain is only intensified when we
’
re together, and the broken emotional intimacy of our relationship is obviously felt in the physical space between us
—
I. Don
’
t. Care. I want to be around him anyway. I feel like I need it.

I
’
m an addict. Beckham is my drug of choice. I know that sounds clich
é
, and I would never have phrased it like that before, but I
’
ve never been without him before. Now, I don
’
t know how else to describe it. I want him. Anyway I can get him, I want him. Unfortunately, he won
’
t budge. At least, not right now he won
’
t.

Sometimes, I stop and remind myself that he might need the space, too. He probably doesn
’
t want to be confused any more than he wants me to be confused. He might have initiated this breakup, but I refuse to believe this is easier for him than it is for me. If I admit that, if I let my mind go there, then doubt creeps in
—
doubts about the depths of his love for me. I can
’
t doubt that. I won
’
t.
Our future.
He said he was doing this for
our future
and I
’
m holding onto that. So, sometimes, I force myself to stop being selfish for one second
—
long enough to remember that he
’
s going through this, too.
I wanted him to be in the driver
’
s seat, right? And he is. So I guess for now, that means more days without him than with him.

I hate it.

I still haven
’
t been able to make it through a single yoga session without crying. I
’
m not really embarrassed about it anymore. At this point I
’
ve just come to accept it. I
’
m not sure what it is about the exercise that puts my mind in such a vulnerable state, but I
’
ve come to appreciate my crying-yoga practice as a therapeutic experience. I am also thankful that Roman simply encourages me to stay and then leaves me be. He doesn
’
t ask me how I
’
m feeling when the class is over; he doesn
’
t ask me to explain the status of my heart when we
’
re at work
—
he doesn
’
t have to. He knows. Or, at least, he knows enough to assume. I appreciate his tact and how he
’
s always making me laugh.

Our question game from Friday night has become something we do every time we see each other. He, apparently, doesn
’
t work Saturdays or Mondays; I don
’
t work on Sundays, so I haven
’
t see him much in the last few days, but the times when we do run into each other, I
’
m always learning something new about him. I appreciate this new friendship and the distraction it provides. The timing of our meeting is too perfect for me to
not
thank God for it, so I do.

It
’
s Wednesday before Roman and I make it back to Morning Glory for another breakfast. This time I go without argument and with every intention of treating him. Mostly, I
’
m anxious to hear about Kathryn and the story behind his broken engagement. As we wait for a table, by my request, we keep the conversation light. I finally remember to ask him his last name, Holloway, and he proceeds to ask what mine is.

“
It
’
s amazing what we know about each other at this point and yet we are just now figuring out what each other
’
s names are,
”
I laugh as we
’
re escorted to a booth.

“
Addison Jane Grant,
”
he says as he
’
s seated.
“
It
’
s a very grown up name.
”

“
You think?
”
I ask, scrunching my face as I consider his comment.
“
I never thought of it that way.
”

“
Does everyone call you Addie?
”

“
Mmm, it depends. My sister calls me AJ, sometimes. My mom calls me Addie Jane. Then there
’
s Beckham
…
he likes to call me Addison.
”
My voice trails off as I finish my thought and then I reach for my menu, pulling my attention away from Roman and down at my food options. I know what I
’
m going to get, of course, but I
’
m hoping my body language will express my desire to change the subject.

“
My sister calls me Corny.
”

My head shoots up and my eyes grow wide in surprise as a laugh bubbles out of my chest.
“
You
’
re
joking?
”
I can
’
t imagine anyone calling him
Corny
. With that face and athletic bod
—
Roman
actually fits him far better than I bet his parents ever thought it would.
Then again, his sister doesn
’
t care what he looks like
—
unlike the rest of the female population
.

“
Not kidding. I sort of hate it. But I love her more than I hate it so what can I do?
”

I
’
m still laughing when our waiter
—
his name is Kyle
—
comes to take our order. Since we both know what we want, we order our meals along with our drinks and then silence settles between us when we
’
re left to ourselves. I have no more patience, so I just dive right in.
“
Okay. Kathryn. I showed you my guts, now you show me yours.
”

“
That
’
s kind of gross,
”
he teases with a smirk. I raise my eyebrow at him and fold my arms across my chest as I lean back against the leather clad cushion behind me.
“
Alright,
”
he surrenders. He takes a deep breath and blows out a sigh before he begins.

“
I met her my sophomore year of college. We met at a Bible study on campus and became friends right away. She was easy to talk to. Smart. Beautiful. Outgoing. I fell for her before she fell for me, but she came around. Obviously. We dated for the rest of that year and then through our junior year. The summer before our senior year, I proposed and she said yes. She was so excited. I was happy, too; I mean, I thought that was what I wanted
—
to get married and start a life together with someone.
”

I uncross my arms and lace my fingers together as he pauses.
“
Thought?
As in, you don
’
t want that anymore?
”

“
No, I do,
”
he corrects me, leaning forward as he rests his elbows on top of the table.
“
But I didn
’
t want it then.
”

“
So, what happened?
”

“
It was just too much. I don
’
t know
—
it felt forced. I mean, I loved her. A part of me will probably always love her.
”
He furrows his eyebrows and stares down at his hands and I keep quiet, assuming he
’
s searching for the right words.
“
I guess I just felt like I was doing what was expected of me in the timeframe in which I was expected to do it. It
’
s hard to explain because it felt right and wrong at the same time. Like, right girl, wrong time.
”

“
Why didn
’
t you just wait, then? Why did you break up?
”

“
I thought about it. We talked about it. Man
—
we talked about it so much," he says, shaking his head. "But for us, there was no breaking the engagement without breaking up. It would have been a huge step backwards
—
which is what I needed; but that
’
s not where she was at. Even without the ring, her heart was in the same place and mine just couldn
’
t match that level. Or it wasn
’
t prepared to take that next step; I couldn
’
t make myself
ready
for everything that came along with marriage.
”
He runs his fingers through his hair, obviously flustered. Kyle comes back and delivers our drinks. Picking up on Roman
’
s emotional state, he doesn
’
t stick around. I don
’
t blame him. I
’
m at a loss as to what to do myself.

“
I wasn
’
t emotionally available, do you understand?
”
he asks, his gaze meeting mine. His tone is gentle, but I can tell that he
’
s really trying to make sure that I
do
understand. He continues speaking before I can answer.
“
Planning pieces of the wedding, talking about our future and where we were going to live and what jobs we were going to get
—
it all became so much more real than I was expecting. I realized that I wasn
’
t ready. I didn
’
t want to settle down right then. I wanted to travel. I wanted to explore. I didn
’
t want to get stuck. My reservations
did
not
include Kathryn. They didn
’
t. I just felt this pressure to take my degree, get a respectable job, work and move forward like everyone else
—
but I didn
’
t want to. I wanted a break from engineering. I wanted to just have fun for a while. I wanted to be able to do all of those things with her. I didn
’
t want to lose her; but that
’
s not what I had originally promised. When it became clear that we were not on the same page, things just started to unravel.