Forgotten Promises (The Promises Series Book 2) by Elle Brooks

mental inventory of all the things that should have been in my bag that was left at the campsite. My perfume, the girly underwear I packed, the bumper pack of protection, and that's when it hits me. I remember what else was packed—Em’s letter. The butterflies and eager anticipation from moments ago are demolished instantly by the weight of my heart tearing through my chest as it crashes down to my feet. Now all I can think about is what if he remembers.

 

     

     
     
    PRESSURE IS STEADILY building behind my eyes; I keep pressing my finger to my temple, hoping that I’ve suddenly developed a magic touch that will heal a migraine with a simple tap. I’ve only had a migraine once before, to my knowledge. It was after my dad had hit me in the stomach. I was fourteen and I remember stumbling backwards and hitting the back of my head on the corner of a bookshelf. The pain lasted for three whole days; Mom wanted to take me to the emergency room to make sure I hadn’t fractured my skull or something. He told her I was milking the attention she was showing me, that it was probably a ploy to get out of going to school and that I was a lazy son of a bitch for staying in bed. I couldn’t see straight, and the light hurt my eyes, which is kind of how I’m feeling now.
    “This looks okay, right?” I ask, pulling into the parking lot of a Motel 6.
    “Sure, I’m easy. I’ll sleep anywhere.”
    “That’s not something a guy wants to hear his girlfriend say,” I grin.
    “Are you kidding me? I thought that’s exactly what a guy would want to hear.”
    I smile and bob my head at her, instantly regretting it when a wave of nausea follows the throbbing that the movement causes.
    “Come inside with me. I’m not leaving you out here on your own,” I tell her, getting out of the car and making my way over to where the red neon sign flashes Vacancies. She jogs up beside me capturing my hand in hers as we go to book a room.
     

     
    “This is nice,” she grimaces, taking in the seventies decor and brown and green swirly carpet tiles. I toss my duffle bag on the king size bed and pull the comforter back.
    “Sheets are clean; that’s always a good sign,” I smirk.
    “Bathroom looks clean too!” she shouts as she closes the door behind her.
    I let myself collapse on the bed and toe my boots off, letting them fall with a loud thud. The only light in the room is coming from a dirty orange-colored lamp; it’s highlighting the dust particles streaming in from where the long green drapes don’t quite meet in the middle. By anyone's standards it’s dull in here, but there’s still enough luminescence to have me placing my arm over my face to try and shield it. I hear the door crack, and then the bed dips where Blair sits by my legs.
    “I’m retracting my last statement.”
    “Huh?”
    “The bathroom…it’s not clean. Well, the bathroom itself isn’t dirty, but the water out of the taps runs a rusty color for at least twenty seconds before morphing into a kind of cloudy chalky-colored stream. Just don’t drink any, okay?”
    “Noted. Hey, can you find me a couple of your pills now?”
    “Your headache still bothering you?” She frowns as I lower my arm and squint at her.
    “Yup, the doctors warned me I might have headaches though. I guess I didn’t realize how intense they might get.”
    I swallow the pills she passes me without a drink, and stretch out on the bed after flicking the switch off on the lamp.
    “You mind if we keep the lights off? It’s kind of bothering me.”
    “Not at all. Do you want me to keep my distance? I hate being fussed over and talked to when I’m feeling ill.”
    “I’ll take all the fussing you want to give, Princess,” I tell her as I reach out and pull her down beside me, tucking her under my arm. My shoulder and wrist ache, but the feel of her pressed up against me is enough to stop me from moving.
    “You realize that you neglected to tell me what’s wrong earlier. Want to