You Promised Me Forever

  “I didn’t have someone waiting in the wings when we broke up, Jordan,” I say irritably. “There was no backup plan.”

  “Then why did you do it?”

  “I thought it was the right thing to do!” I cannot believe we’re having this discussion over FaceTime. So embarrassing. “You were so busy, off living your life in college, and there were so many opportunities being thrown at you. I didn’t want to hold you back.”

  He’s looking at me like I’m crazy. Or like there are horns sprouting from my head. “Are you serious? Did you really believe you held me back?”

  “I don’t know! I was so confused and worried and sad all the time. I couldn’t take it anymore.” I throw my hands up in the air, feeling stupid. Hating that we’re confronting each other with all this old bullshit. Can’t we just pretend it never happened?

  Not that forgetting our past is the right thing to do. I guess we need to confront our mistakes if we want to—oh my God—make another attempt?

  Is that what we’re doing?

  No way do I want to get my hopes up. I’m not even sure if that’s what I really want. Do I want another chance with Jordan? Sometimes, I think yes.

  And other times, I think…

  No. Absolutely not.

  “Why were you sad?” he asks, his voice gentle.

  “I missed you,” I confess, heaving a big sigh. “I thought I was losing you. I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

  “You never lost me,” he says firmly. “I lost you. You’re the one who didn’t want me anymore.”

  My gaze meets his as I stare at my phone screen. Everything comes back at me, all those horrible old feelings, the memories, the tears. So many tears. Having a new daily reminder of how much you epically fucked up your life really sucks.

  Jordan is that new daily reminder. I don’t know if I like it.

  “Don’t you have anything to say?” he asks when I still haven’t replied.

  Fine. He wants to hear what I have to say? Here I go.

  “That’s the biggest problem you have with me, right? I’m the dumbass who broke up with you. I’m the idiot who cut you off, who hurt you before you could hurt me. It’s all my fault.”

  “Amanda, no. That’s not what I’m saying—”

  I end the call before he can finish his sentence.

  And pull the covers over my head, too many painful thoughts running through my brain.

  It hurts too much. Talking to Jordan. Remembering what I gave up, how I believed that’s what he wanted as well. It hurts too, thinking that he could want me back. Knowing that I broke his heart—that’s all on me.

  Can we really pick up where we left off? Can we—he—forget I broke up with him?

  Or our there too many years and too much distance between us?

  I show up at work the next morning dragging ass. I didn’t get much sleep, tossing and turning the entire night, thinking about Jordan and our stupid argument. How he offered me the chance to make the next move and I…didn’t do it.

  Yet again, I’ve ruined everything. I’ll probably never see him again.

  I even teared up a little on the commute to work, enough to make my mascara run and ruin my entire look, but who’s really paying attention? Cade is too busy with endless appointments, and Lena’s assisting him today, which is pretty typical. We swap out, assisting the various therapists each week, though our schedule is fairly regular. I like the change, though. It keeps me from getting bored.

  Today, I’m not bored—I’m sleepy. It’s hard for me to focus and more than once, whoever I’m working with has to repeat him or herself. Lena avoids me, doesn’t even sit with me at lunch. Instead she must’ve gone out, because I’m left mostly alone in the lunchroom, eating a dry sandwich and watching Dr. Oz while I skim my phone.

  I hate that Lena is keeping her distance, but I respect her unspoken wishes and keep my distance too, though I desperately want to talk to her. Tell her my Tuttle troubles, let her know she can have Cade.

  Will she believe me? God, she’ll probably hate me for having two men supposedly chasing after me. One of them the guy she has a just-admitted crush on.

  Turning off my phone, I slump in the chair and stare up at the TV. Dr. Oz is talking about a new lifesaving procedure and I sort of don’t care. All I can focus on is myself. I’m having a pity party and no one else is invited—how silly is that?

  Since when did my life get so complicated anyway? I swear, things were downright boring before I watched that episode of Inside Football. I send Jordan one innocent message—that’s what I’ll keep telling myself—and now it’s like I’m living in this surreal world where nothing makes sense.

  The Dr. Oz episode concludes and dejected, I go back to work. I’m in the rehabilitation room, setting up for the next patient I’m assisting with, when my phone buzzes. It’s from our receptionist Rhonda.

  There’s a delivery here for you! The text is accompanied by a bunch of blushie faced emojis.

  Curious, I pocket my phone and head for the front desk, racking my brain. Did I order something from Amazon in the last few days and forget? That’s about the only packages I get here at work. Sometimes I order clothes too, but that’s rare. I have to watch my budget, and really I don’t need a lot of clothes. Wearing the various Atlas polos I own five days a week takes care of that.

  As I round the corner and start to enter the lobby’s parameter, I spot what looks like a gigantic flower arrangement before I can even see the front desk. I slow my steps, savoring the moment as I come closer, knowing exactly who the flowers are from before I even read the card.

  “Look at these flowers!” Rhonda says, bouncing in her chair when she spots me. She actually claps her hands. “Aren’t they gorgeous?”

  I stop in front of the counter and stare at the wild arrangement. There are pink and yellow and white flowers of all shapes and sizes, mixed in with bursts of greenery. The vase is huge—it looks heavy—and when I see the card clipped to the plastic insert sitting there, waiting for me to rip into it, I hold back, letting myself soak up the anticipation.

  “Who are they from?” Rhonda asks when I still haven’t said anything. She leaps to her feet, her hands on her hips as she glares at me, dying for me to speak.

  Ignoring her, I touch a soft pink petal with my fingertip, then lean forward and breathe in the fresh, floral scent. It’s a riot of color, a mountain of blooms contained in one arrangement, and I almost want to giggle with happiness.

  But I don’t. I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m a responsible adult who just got sent the biggest floral arrangement I’ve ever seen in my life.

  “You’re holding out on us,” Rhonda says, her gaze meeting mine as she plops back into her chair. She scoots it closer to where I’m standing on the other side of the counter. “Is it from Cade?” she whisper-shouts.

  How does she know about me and Cade? I was trying to be discreet. Work romances are usually frowned upon.

  I glance around, thankful no one is nearby. “Nope.”

  Rhonda appears surprised but recovers quickly. “Ooh, a secret admirer then.” She pushes away, wagging a finger at me. “Naughty girl, working two guys.”

  “Um, I’m not working two guys.” I’m mildly offended by what she just said. Working two guys? She makes me sound like I’m doing the nasty with both of them.

  “You know what I mean!” Another casual wave of her fingers. “I’m just being nosey.”

  She’s being totally nosey, and I find it totally irritating. But I like Rhonda so I offer her a smile, grateful when the phone rings, saving me. While Rhonda answers and talks in her usual upbeat chirp, I pull the tiny, cream-colored envelope from its clip and open it, recognizing the slash of bold handwriting within.

  He didn’t just call in this flower order. He actually went there and paid for it. Plus he handwrote the card himself.

  Fuck the first move. Go to dinner with me tonight.

  I bite my lip so I don’t break out into a shit-eati
ng grin, but there’s no use. I’m smiling like my life depends on it. Maybe I should be offended by his boldness, but…I’m not.

  I’m so not.

  “Must’ve said something good,” Rhonda says with a low whistle after she completes the call.

  I say nothing. Just pick up the heavy vase and start carrying it to the little office area where the assistant physical therapists have a shared desk. I carefully set the arrangement in the center of the mostly clean desk, then take a step back, admiring my flowers.

  They’re absolutely gorgeous. No one has ever given me flowers before. Not like this at least. I received flowers from my parents when I graduated eighth grade and high school. Mom would bring me bouquets for our last band performance of the year. Jordan gave me a beautiful corsage on the night of our senior prom, but he never brought me flowers. Not that I can remember. Honestly, I didn’t need the gesture. If I’m being honest with myself, I just wanted him.

  But now, the gesture feels…awesome. Like Jordan Tuttle is making this grand statement that he wants me.

  That’s heady stuff.

  My phone buzzes and I check it to see I have another text from him.

  What do you think?

  Pressing my lips together, I contemplate what I’m going to say. I go for simple first.

  They’re beautiful. Thank you.

  He answers me quick.

  I mean about dinner tonight.

  So impatient. I ignore his question and tell him:

  I don’t know how I’m getting these flowers home.

  What do you mean?

  I commute to work. I don’t own a car.

  Seriously?

  I start to laugh. Yes. Seriously.

  I’ll come pick you up, he says.

  You don’t have to do that. I’d rather go home first and change. You don’t want to see me in the Atlas polo again.

  I’ll take you any way I can get you.

  My skin goes warm at his words.

  He’s typing again. I see the gray bubble, the little white dots.

  What time do you get off work?

  Five.

  I’ll be in the parking lot waiting for you.

  “Wow, did Cade get you those flowers?”

  I glance up from my phone to see Lena standing there, gaping at the giant arrangement sitting on the desk. I shove my phone into my pocket and offer her a tentative smile. “No.”

  “Oh.” She sends me a confused look. “They look expensive.”

  “I think they are,” I agree.

  “Who sent them?”

  “You’ll never believe me.”

  “Uh huh.” She approaches the desk, bends her head to breathe in the flowers’ scent. The smile on her face can’t be contained, they smell that good. “So. Are you seeing someone else?”

  Her voice sounds downright hopeful.

  “I don’t move that fast.” Well, someone else is moving fast, I’ll give him that. “It’s…complicated.”

  The smile disappears. “What about Cade?”

  “Listen. Cade and I—he’s nice. I like him a lot.” Lena’s face falls a little. “But I don’t like him like that. More as a friend.”

  She backs away from the flowers, the doubt on her face clear. “Are you saying that because of what I told you?”

  “No, not at all.” Well, sort of. Our timing is all wrong. He’s a nice guy. Probably a good catch. But I don’t think we’d work out. Not now. “He’s not my type.”

  “Really?” Even more doubt colors her tone. Clearly she doesn’t believe me. “Who’s your type then?”

  A hot professional football player with dark hair, ice blue eyes and a brooding stare.

  “I’m not interested in Cade,” I say firmly. “You should go for it.”

  Lena’s mouth drops open. “Are you serious? You just went on a date with him last night.”

  “It wasn’t a real date. I just—I had tickets to the Niners game and asked him to go with me,” I say with a small shrug. “Two friends going to a football game. That’s it.”

  “Well, you might not think it was a date, but Cade definitely does. He was telling everyone outside earlier about how you two went to the game, and how you introduced him to Whittaker and Tuttle.”

  Okay. This isn’t good. “Work relationships are frowned upon at Atlas Wellness Center.”

  Lena starts to laugh. “You sound like the company handbook.”

  “That’s because I’ve actually read the company handbook, and it said exactly that.”

  “But they’re not completely forbidden, right? I’ve gone out with someone who worked here before,” Lena says with a little shrug. “It’s no big deal as long as you’re discreet and don’t let your relationship affect the work environment.”

  “If Cade is telling everyone what a great date we had last night, then he’s not necessarily being discreet,” I say wryly.

  “Then maybe you should’ve said something to him last night so he didn’t get the wrong idea,” Lena retorts.

  She starts to walk away, like our conversation is finished, and I follow after her. “Wait a minute, are you mad at me for something?”

  Lena turns, her eyes blazing. “If you don’t want him, you should let him know. Not lead him on.”

  I take a step back. “I’m not leading Cade on.”

  “You so are. You’re being incredibly selfish right now, Amanda. Cade’s already halfway in love with you, but some other guy is sending you expensive flowers. It’s making you look…” She clamps her lips shut and shakes her head.

  “It’s making me look what?”

  Lena’s upper lip curls. “Trashy.”

  And with that nicely dropped bomb, she walks away.

  Amanda said I should arrive after five at her work, but fuck it. It’s 4:48, I’m already here and I’m walking inside.

  The moment I enter the lobby, the receptionist sitting at the front desk stares at me with wide eyes, and rises unsteadily to her feet. “Aren’t you Jordan Tuttle?” She breathes my name like a prayer.

  I nod as I approach her desk, then lean against it, wondering if I should smile. I decide against it. “That’s my name.”

  Her hand goes over her heart, like she’s ready to say the Pledge of Allegiance. “Please tell me you’re not injured.”

  “I’m not.”

  She breathes a sigh of relief, shaking her head. “Oh, thank God. How can I help you?”

  “I’m guessing you’re a Niners fan?” I lift my brows, tilt my head in her direction.

  She nods, her eyes still wide and a little wild, her lips clamped shut, like she can’t even speak. I tend to do that to people, render them speechless, and I don’t mean to. It’s why I say so little.

  No one can hold your words against you if you don’t say much.

  “I’m looking for Amanda Winters,” I tell the receptionist.

  Her eyes are somehow even wider. “You are?”

  “Yes, I am,” I say slowly. “She works here, right?”

  “Amanda? Yes!” She blinks. “Of course she does! Let me see if I can find her.”

  The receptionist bustles away before I can say another word.

  I wander around the lobby, looking at the photos on the wall. A group photo of what I assume are the Atlas Wellness Center employees, everyone posing in their red polos. I squint as I study the photo, searching for Amanda, and I finally find her. Second to the last row, on the far right. Her face is scrunched, like the sun is too bright and her eyes are narrow slits, her nose wrinkled, though there’s a smile on her face. She looks cute.

  When was the photo taken? During a time when I didn’t really know her, didn’t talk to her. It hurts to realize that, not that I’d ever tell her. But it’s kind of mind blowing, how we’ve gone for years without talking to each other. She went from being the most important person in my life to never seeing her again, just like that.

  It took me a while to recover. I swear I fell into a depression, and those who knew me blamed it on g
oing away to college. The readjustment to my life, the constant pressure I was under. That all made sense, so I didn’t protest. No one would have believed me if I told them I was heartsick.

  So I kept my opinions—and feelings—to myself.

  The receptionist is back, Amanda trailing behind her. My ex-girlfriend stops in her tracks, blinking repeatedly as she studies me. “What are you doing here?”

  “I told you I’d be here at five,” I remind her. It’s a shock to my system every time I see Amanda, each time I hear her voice. Having her in front of me makes me instantly crave more. More looking, more talking, more touching…

  She turns me into a greedy dick.

  The look on Amanda’s face tells me she didn’t think I’d really show up, and I’m blown away. Does she really lack that much faith in me? “But you’re early.”

  “Only by a few minutes.” I take a step toward her, my gaze roaming, taking her in. She looks…frazzled. Tired. Her hair is pulled into a low ponytail today, and hangs bone-straight down her back. She’s got faint dark smudges under her eyes and her polo shirt is halfway untucked from her black pants. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Um.” She glances over at the receptionist, who is watching us like we’re a live-action movie playing out right in front of her. “Give me a minute.”

  The moment she’s gone, the receptionist is sighing loudly, her lips curled into a smug smile. “Are you the one who sent her the flowers?”

  I ignore her question. “You saw the flowers?”

  “I’m the one who signed for them.” Another sigh, this one softer. “They were pretty hard to miss. Such a romantic gesture.”

  Impulsive gesture, I want to tell her, but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t even know this woman. Why tell her something personal? She’d probably sell the story to TMZ or whatever the hell gossip site is hot at the moment. For all I know she’s covertly taking photos of me with her phone. I wouldn’t put it past her. Shit, I wouldn’t half blame her either.

  Being grateful for success is one thing, but it’s hard to celebrate the good times when you don’t have many people in your life you can trust. This is why I’m glad Cannon and I are on the same team. I know that guy. He’s my friend. He knew me before everything blew up and I became an actual celebrity.