Because I Love You

by Tori Rigby

  When we reached the house, he shut down the engine and paused before glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. “I’ll be right back.”

  He pushed the truck’s door open and half-jogged inside.

  I waited in the dark truck for a good ten minutes. The trees surrounding Neil’s house blocked out almost all the starlight. My feet burned, and I adjusted my position a few times to try to get the throbbing to stop. No luck. My heart raced. What was taking him so long?

  The front porch light flicked on, and I sat up straighter in my seat. Neil rushed out of the house, and I relaxed—until he opened my truck door. A flaming red handprint glowed on his cheek.

  I touched his face. “Oh my God. Did your—?”

  “I’m fine.” He slipped an arm behind my back and the other under my knees, just like he had when he picked me up the first time.

  “Neil—”

  “I’m fine.” He pulled me out of the truck and then kicked the door closed. With my arm around his neck, he carried me into the house, through the foyer, and up the stairs. Like the rest of the rejuvenated rooms, the second story was in good shape, its Victorian design kept intact. Neil took me to a room at the end of the hall and pushed the door open with his back.

  A queen-sized bed, made of dark wood, rested under a window on the far side of the room. A navy blue comforter covered the mattress. Straight across from where we’d entered, a keyboard was positioned next to a guitar, and on the wall opposite his bed hung a poster of John Lennon. I knew Neil could sing—I’d heard him in the truck the day he took me to the zoo—but I never would’ve guessed music was his passion.

  My pulse quickened as I glimpsed another piece of the real Neil. The guy who would run out into the night for a pregnant girl he once dated. The guy who took care of his mother, even though she hit him. The guy who put on a façade so people wouldn’t see the pain he went through every day. I leaned into him, my chest fluttering. Unwillingly, I was falling for him all over again. Crap.

  Neil sat me on the bed, and I winced when my raw heels touched the fabric. “Sorry,” he said. “Make yourself at home. But, you know, don’t claim a drawer or anything.”

  I rolled my eyes, then he left the room, and a light switched on farther down the hall.

  A dark dresser that matched his bed was pressed against the right wall of the room. There wasn’t much on the dresser except for a trophy and a picture—a young boy with dark hair, on a boat, a fishing rod in his hand. An older man sat next to him, almost identical to the boy. My throat cramped. Neil couldn’t have been older than six or seven in the picture. Was this the last one taken of his dad before he died?

  Neil returned seconds later with arms full of medical supplies and dropped them on the bed.

  “I’m guessing you know what you’re doing?” I asked.

  “Unfortunately. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to patch up Mom. I’d make one hell of a plastic surgeon by now.” He sat on the other end of the bed, near my feet, and crossed one leg under the other.

  I frowned. He’d been taking care of people his whole life. And I was adding myself to the list. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why? Plastic surgeons make really good money.”

  “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  A corner of his mouth rose as he pushed up my pant legs. He lifted my more-injured foot onto his knee, and his fingertips lingered on my ankle. My skin tingled under his touch. He swallowed, not meeting my gaze, then bent back my big toe. I yelped.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’m going to have to clean your foot. You going to be okay?”

  When I nodded, he drenched a cotton ball with rubbing alcohol. “You might want to grab a pillow.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “It sometimes helps if you have something to squeeze.” He shrugged, holding the cotton ball in his right hand, and grabbed a towel with his left. “Okay, this is going to hurt. I’m gonna count down from three. Ready?” When I nodded, he started his count. “Three, two—”

  I clutched the pillow to my face to muffle my shriek as Neil not so gently scrubbed the bottom of my foot. I bit down hard, stifling another shout as burning pain rolled down my leg with each stroke, then finally soft fabric pressed against my sole as Neil delicately held the towel to my foot. Warmth radiated from his palm through the cloth, easing the burn the rubbing alcohol had left behind. I took the moment to breathe.

  After wrapping my foot in gauze, Neil rested his fingertips on my other ankle. His light touch sent a chill up my spine, even though the foot he’d cleaned still felt like it had stepped on hot coals.

  Beneath the pillow—thank God—my cheeks warmed as he lifted my other foot to wipe down any spots I’d rubbed raw from my barefoot, miles-long trek. Again, intense heat spread from the sole of my foot into my hip, and I ground my teeth to keep from shouting in pain. He repeated the action with the towel then the gauze, and then stood and gathered the medical supplies.

  “Next time, remember shoes,” Neil commented before the sound of his footsteps left the room.

  Uncovering my face, I leaned against the headboard and clutched the pillow to my torso as my stomach churned. This was so humiliating. I never should’ve called him.

  Neil returned minutes later, carrying a glass of water and a medicine bottle in his hands. “You can take Tylenol, right?”

  I nodded, and he plopped a couple pills onto my hand. Taking the cup, I swallowed the painkillers and finished off the liquid. Man, I was thirsty.

  “You want more water?” he asked.

  I shook my head. Neil set the cup and the medicine on his nightstand before sitting on the floor, his back against the table. With hands clasped in his lap and legs straight out in front of him, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

  I wasted no time apologizing. “I’m sorry. Again. You shouldn’t keep having to come save me.”

  “Just call me Sir Donaghue. Knight of the round table, slayer of dragons, saver of damsels in distress.”

  “Neil.”

  He smiled. “You’re welcome.”

  I played with the hem of my shirt. Now was as good a time as any to bring up what happened—what I’d done—when he showed up to rescue me. “About the kiss—”

  “Right. Well, on a scale of one to ten, I’d give it a seven.”

  “Neil!”

  He smirked. “What about it?”

  I bit my lip. “It was a mistake.”

  He opened his eyes and looked right into mine. “Was it?”

  My breath quickened. His gaze was intense. No, I hadn’t meant to kiss him. He said I was loopy, and I was. Right?

  I turned away from him. “You play guitar?”

  He didn’t answer right away, and I silently begged him to respond.

  “Yeah. My dad taught me.”

  Looking at him, I expected to see pain on his face. But he’d closed his eyes and leaned his head against the nightstand again. I mimicked his position on the bed. Except I kept my eyes open, glancing around the room at all the pieces of Neil. The music falling off the stand behind the keyboard. A towel haphazardly tossed into a corner of the room. A dent in the wall that I guessed had been made with his fist. Was I one of the few people who’d been in here, who’d seen this side of him?

  Not ready to let the conversation close up, I spoke in a quiet voice, “I always wanted to learn to play an instrument. Just never got around to it, you know?”

  “I can teach you, if you want.”

  A soft smile crept onto my face. I would like that. A lot. But maybe later. I had too much on my mind. I wanted to forget that I was adopted, that I was pregnant, and relax.

  “I’m pretty good, you know,” he added. “You’d be learning from the best.”

  A corner of my mouth twitched. “Naturally, you’d think so.”

  Neil opened his eyes and smirked at me. “Hey, one day I’m going to get a business degree from Harvard and open my own studio. Just you watch.”

  Wow. Tal
k about ambition. “Fine then,” I played along. “Prove how good you are. Play for me.”

  “Right now?”

  “No, I asked because I wanted to hear myself talk. Yes, right now.”

  Sitting up straight, he laughed. “Wow. A witty comeback from you. That’s a first. Guess I’m gonna have to.”

  After pushing himself off the floor, he grabbed his guitar and pulled the chair out from under his keyboard. He sat then stuck a pick in his mouth and thumbed one string after another while twisting the nobby-things at the top.

  “It’s not going to be in tune, but whatever. What do you want to hear?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Anything.”

  Neil tuned the guitar strings for another few seconds, pulled the pick from his mouth, and then began to strum with his right hand. The fingers on his left moved like lightning as he played random notes, then he moved into chords. He looked up at me with a smirk and started to sing, “This is a song that I made up. You said anything. So I made it up.”

  I laughed. “Play something I’d know.”

  Neil’s smirk softened. His gaze fell to the strings. A familiar melody rang out from the guitar, and, at first, I couldn’t place it. Then Neil started to sing, and by the end of the first line, I knew what I was listening to: “Hallelujah.”

  I leaned my head back and shut my eyes. Neil’s voice was one of the best I’d heard in a long time. A deep, smooth tenor. I knew he was good when he sang in the truck, but he was goofing around. Now, goosebumps rose on my skin, and, soon, I was squeezing the pillow like it was a tube of toothpaste on its last drop. Neil’s emotion rang through with every note he played. He sang each lyric like the song belonged to him. He hadn’t picked the tune randomly.

  Would my baby be able to play like this? Maybe when I was older and had a bad day, would my son or daughter say, “Mom, I love you; let me play you a song because I know how much it calms you.”

  When Neil played the last note, I kept my eyes closed and grasped the pillow a bit tighter, my hands clammy.

  “That bad, huh? Must’ve lost my touch,” Neil said.

  I shook my head. “No, that was beautiful.” My voice broke on the last word, but I held in the tears. Pregnancy hormones really, really sucked.

  The guitar made a clink, then I tipped sideways as Neil sat next to me on the bed. He slid his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. Normally, I’d tell myself this was a bad, bad idea, but, right now, the closeness was comforting, and even Neil’s normal musk of soap and cigarettes—a smell that, at first, had annoyed me—was soothing.

  “I heard the heartbeat today.” I couldn’t avoid telling him about my day any longer.

  He stroked my arm with his thumb. “So it is human.”

  I snapped my head up, scowling at him.

  “I’m kidding.” He smiled softly. “I bet that was intense.”

  Sitting as close as we were, every speck of color in his irises glistened. Not only was the blue speckled with silver, but around the edges, the shade deepened to the color of the night sky. Tingles ran down my legs, and I slid out of his hold. Warmth flooded my cheeks, and I tucked my hair behind my ears.

  “Yeah,” I replied to his comment, avoiding eye contact. At least I didn’t feel like crying anymore.

  “Is that why I found you barefoot and in pajamas in front of the Mini Mart?”

  My cheeks burned hotter. I was wearing pajamas, wasn’t I? And no bra. I squeezed the pillow to my chest. Idiot. “No, that’s not why.”

  “Well, look, I was going to wait until you were ready to tell me. But I have to ask: What’s going on?”

  I bit my bottom lip, replaying tonight’s revelation in my mind. Heat flushed in my gut again, and when I spoke, my words were coated with anger, “I’m adopted.”

  Neil slightly tipped his head. “So?”

  “So, my mom waited until tonight to tell me.”

  “Oh. Well, she does have really poor timing.”

  I glared at him. “That’s all you have to say?”

  Neil scrunched his eyebrows. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I don’t know. Like, maybe, ‘I’m sorry,’ or, ‘yeah, your mom sucks.’” I chucked the pillow to the floor.

  “Okay. I’m sorry.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, well, now I know you don’t mean it.”

  Neil leaned against the headboard and ran both hands down his face. “You know, sometimes you can be so aggravating.”

  “Me? What about you? You’re always spouting off some joke right and left when, sometimes, I just want to hear some honesty or sincerity from you.”

  He turned to me. “Okay, fine. You want honesty? Here’s some: So what if you’re adopted? The only parent I have left doesn’t give a shit about me. Your mom loves you, and you have at least one other biological parent who loved you enough to give you a chance at life. Be thankful for what you have, because some of us don’t have the luxury.”

  My mouth fell open. Sure, I’d asked for honesty, but did he have to be so blunt about it? The worst part was he was right. Although I felt abandoned and lied to, I still felt loved. And here I was complaining to him, of all people. God, I was such a fool. A selfish, egocentric fool.

  I turned away as my eyes watered.

  Neil swore. “See, this is why I pick humor.”

  I shook my head. “No, you’re right. I’m being a whiny bitch.”

  “Hey, look at that. Andie said a bad word.”

  I couldn’t help but smile the moment I caught sight of the lopsided grin on his face. Sometimes, maybe humor was the way to go.

  “I should probably let Mom know I’m okay, shouldn’t I?” I asked.

  “Probably.”

  “Will you take me home?”

  “Anytime, Princess.”

  When he smirked, I rolled my eyes and jumped off the bed. Five minutes later, we pulled out of his driveway. The clock in the truck read 2:00 a.m. Man, I was going to have a lot of groveling and explaining to do.

  chapter thirteen

  The lights were still on in the house when we pulled up. At least there weren’t cop cars in the driveway. Not that I’d be shocked if someone had called them.

  Neil grabbed my hand. “I can come in with you.”

  I shook my head, watching the front window for any sign Mom saw us. I’d made Neil turn off his headlights, but I couldn’t be too sure. Knowing her, she’d checked the front yard for signs of me every five minutes.

  “No, I don’t want you to get dragged into this,” I said. “She’s going to be mad enough that you didn’t bring me home when you found me.”

  “Well, just as long as she doesn’t keep me from seeing you again.”

  His expression was bright and unwavering. Hopeful. My stomach knotted. “Neil—”

  He squeezed my hand. “We’ll talk later. Have a good night.”

  I nodded, frowning. When he let go of my hand, I climbed out of the truck. Each step felt like walking on porcupine needles. It was a good distraction from the gnawing pain in my chest.

  In my condition, was I wrong to want to get close to someone? Carter’s mom said she wouldn’t let her son go down with me. If I didn’t squash the feelings cropping up for Neil, would I take him down too?

  I couldn’t call him again. He deserved so much more. My eyes burned. Never thought I’d say that.

  The front door was unlocked when I pushed the handle. I stepped inside and breathed in the burnt vanilla scent of Mom’s reed diffusers. Footsteps pounded above me as soon as I closed the door.

  “Andie?” Mom peeked her head over the railing of the landing overlooking the foyer. Seeing me, she burst into tears and sprinted down the stairs, enveloping me in her arms.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, hugging her. The sweet smell of her ocean-breeze shampoo filled my nose, and my throat tightened. I never should’ve left the house.

  Mom stepped back and brushed hair from my face. “Please tell me nothing happened.”

  �
��Nothing happened. I walked to the Mini Mart and called a friend to pick me up.”

  She nodded, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Normally, I’d be angry you didn’t come right home, but I’m just glad you’re okay.” Mom put an arm around my shoulders. “What do you say we talk about this more tomorrow?”

  I nodded. Now that I was here, exhaustion was setting in. I would’ve passed out in the middle of a conversation anyway. Between all the walking and the crying, I didn’t have energy left to even be mad at her.

  I leaned into her as she led me upstairs and didn’t even notice the pain in my feet. I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow. And I didn’t wake up again until after suppertime, hungry as a bear after hibernating. I stuffed my face and apologized to Mom, promising that I wasn’t naïve when it came to the baby and would start searching for a part-time job. Then I sat on the couch and watched sitcoms with her until I fell asleep. Next thing I knew, the clock above the TV read 4:00 a.m.

  Mom wouldn’t be awake for at least another hour, so I winced my way to the bathroom—I could feel my feet again—and took my time in the shower. I washed off all the grime of the last two days then wrapped a towel around my waist and finished my beauty routine before returning to my room. There, I pulled out my uniform, determined to return to school. I’d missed a week and a half already, and I couldn’t take another moment of being holed up in the house.

  Pulling my shirt on first, I groaned when it barely fit across my boobs. Had they really grown that much? My breathing hitched. Would my skirt fit?

  Turning sideways in front of the floor-length mirror, I lifted the bottom of my shirt and placed a hand on my abs. They weren’t as flat as I remembered, but maybe I was being paranoid. There was only one way to tell for sure: I grabbed my skirt and stepped into it.

  Holding my breath, I zipped up the side and let out a sigh of relief. It was a little snug, but it wasn’t popping at the seams. Maybe that was a good sign for how the day was going to go. My classmates had to be used to the idea of me being pregnant by now. Right?

  I stuck my face in a book until Mom’s bedroom door opened. Finally. Picking up my blow dryer, I styled my hair in long, loose curls, like I would any other day. Then I took my time with my makeup until I was positive I could prove to my classmates that I still belonged at River Springs Prep.