Page 92 of Promise Me Forever

There have been a lot of toasts tonight, and they started off a lot more personal. We toasted little baby Luke, our dad, the memory of our mom. Then we toasted each other and the city of New York and our childhood dog, a red setter named Rupert. Since then, though, things have gone a little off the rails. We’ve toasted our colleges, our favorite diner, Mason’s new tattoo, and Russell Crowe’s fucking fantastic husband-to-a-murdered-wife speech fromGladiator. We’ve toasted everything in the whole damn world, and now we’ve included Julia Roberts’s incredible smile in that.

I fall back against the seat and realize that I am totally shit-faced. It hasn’t made the pain of seeing Amelia with Chad go away, but it is anesthetizing it for the night. My brothers, emotional surgeons.

“You remember that New Year’s after Mom died?” I ask, pouring myself another whisky and spilling about $50,000 on the table. “When Dad poured us all a Macallan, even Maddox when he was, like, sixteen, and gave us that advice?”

“Yeah,” Elijah answers, eyes hazy. “He told us to never fall in love. Said that if we obeyed that one rule, we’d never know a day’s heartache in our lives.”

We all fall silent, the easy laughter lost for a moment. “That was fucked up, man,” Mason says, shaking his head.

“Nah.” I down my whisky in one gulp and savor the burn in my throat. “He was one hundred percent right. I shoulda listened to the old man.”

Visions of Amelia pour into my mind. The first time I saw her in that bridesmaid’s dress that made her grimace every time she moved. Her shocked face when she walked into my office on the first day of her new job. Her moans and whimpers as I made her come on that fire escape. Her perfect skin, crossed and shaded by my knots and ropes. The way she looked at me when she told me she loved me.

The bright smile she gave Chad earlier tonight.

Nathan clasps my shoulder, dragging me back to reality. “He wasn’t right, bro. That was his grief speaking. Life is nothing without love. Don’t ever give up on it.”

My vision blurs with tears. How do I not give up on it when the only woman I’ve ever loved is currently falling back in love with her douchefuck ex-husband? How do I not give up when I’ve lost the other half of my fucking soul?

Chapter

Forty-Eight

AMELIA

Ipause outside my apartment building, narrowly dodging Kris with a K’s boys as they zoom past me on their skateboards. They give me a wave, and I laugh at the sight of their pants hanging down over their skinny asses.

Juggling my groceries, I search for my keys in my purse and almost drop the other bundle I’m carrying: a massive bunch of gorgeous yellow Grandiflora roses. I decided to take a leaf out of Miley Cyrus’s book and buy my own damn flowers. It’s a declaration of self-love and a pat on the back—because today, I went on a job interview. Technically, I haven’t handed in my notice at James and James, but I am planning to. I started casting around for vacancies and saw a position at a law firm in Williamsburg, right here in Brooklyn. The pay isn’t as good, and the place isn’t as prestigious, but on the plus side, the commute is tiny. And the plusiest side? Drake James doesn’t work there.

I feel hopeful about it, and it’s nice to have hope about at least one aspect of my life. The rest? That still pretty much sucks. Drake abruptly stopped trying to contact me, so I guess he’s decided that I’m not worth the effort. Our alleged break has now become a breakup, and I am devastated. I’m functioning, and on the outside I am doing fine. But inside, I’m in pieces. Everythingfeels wrong without him, and I still cry myself to sleep every single night. That’s if I sleep at all. Sometimes, I prefer not to because my dreams are a horrible blend of Drake and my mom, and occasionally one of them chasing me down a long corridor wearing aScreammask and brandishing a knife.

Still, I tell myself as I finally find my keys, at least I had a job interview. I dressed for the job I wanted, talked them through my resume, and answered all their questions in a way that portrayed me in a positive and professional light. In short, I completely faked my way through it. Go me.

I’m lost in thought as I walk up the stairs to my apartment, wondering when I might hear from the Williamsburg firm and what might happen if they approach Drake for a reference. I don’t think he’d screw me over out of spite, but who knows. I’ve proven to be a pretty crappy judge of character more than once in my life.

I pause, looking around me. Something feels wrong. I can’t put my finger on it, maybe an unfamiliar smell, but a warning bell goes off in my brain. Straight away, I turn to go back the way I came.

Before I can get to the stairwell, I’m grabbed from behind and thrown hard against the wall. Someone takes hold of my wrist and sharply bends my arm up behind my back, making me yelp in pain. The flowers and the groceries hit the floor, and I watch a tub of Ben and Jerry’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough roll away along the rug.

“Don’t be screaming now, girl, or I’ll have to break this pretty little arm of yours in two. We don’t want to hurt you, but it won’t bother us if we have to either.” The voice in my ear is Irish, and his breath stinks of cigarettes and cheap booze. I struggle, managing to slam my other elbow back as hard as I can. I connect with something that crunches, and when I whirl around, I see a short, slightly overweight man clutching his nose. Bloodpours out from between his fingers, and I have to fight the urge to apologize. He glares at me, his piggy eyes mean, and I run back along the corridor.

I don’t make it far. My hair gets snatched up and used to stop me, and the pain is unbelievable. The next thing I know, I’m slammed face-first onto the back of a door and then thrown to the floor. A second man kicks me hard in the ribs. I double up and retch, gasping for breath as bile fills my mouth.

“Who are you?” I manage to mutter, trying not to show how terrified I am. “What the hell do you want from me? My boyfriend will be home soon.”

It’s a bare-faced lie, and the second man grins at me. It’s not a nice grin, revealing a row of crooked yellowing teeth.

“We don’t want anything from you, darling,” he says, looming over me. “It’s actually the man in your life we’re interested in. You’ll be coming with us now, and the less fuss you make, the better it will be for us all.”

The man in my life? Drake? What has he?—

My attacker holds a white cloth over my face, and the last thing I remember thinking is that it smells like the hospital.

Chapter

Forty-Nine

DRAKE

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