Because I Love You

  Contents

  chapter one

  chapter two

  chapter three

  chapter four

  chapter five

  chapter six

  chapter seven

  chapter eight

  chapter nine

  chapter ten

  chapter eleven

  chapter twelve

  chapter thirteen

  chapter fourteen

  chapter fifteen

  chapter sixteen

  chapter seventeen

  chapter eighteen

  chapter nineteen

  chapter twenty

  chapter twenty-one

  chapter twenty-two

  chapter twenty-three

  chapter twenty-four

  chapter twenty-five

  chapter twenty-six

  chapter twenty-seven

  chapter twenty-eight

  chapter twenty-nine

  chapter thirty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  about the author

  coming soon from Blaze

  Because I Love You

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  ISBN print:: 978-0-9970104-3-5

  ISBN ebook: 978-0-9970104-2-8

  Copyright © 2016 Tori Rigby

  http://www.trigbywrites.com/

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016930044

  Cover design by Michelle Johnson

  https://www.facebook.com/BlueSkyOverBoston/?fref=ts

  Proofread by Tia Silverthorne Bach

  www.ibgw.net

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use materials from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permissions must be obtained by contacting the publisher at info@blazepub.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Blaze Publishing, LLC

  64 Melvin Drive

  Fredericksburg, VA 22406

  Visit us at www.blazepub.com

  First Edition: May 2016

  For my parents,

  Who showed me that blood does not make a family,

  And who loved me unconditionally, even though I wasn't their own.

  chapter one

  The lights in Brad’s Mini Mart flickered as I swiped the pregnancy test from the shelf, tucked it under my arm, and sped out of the aisle.

  A woman smiled at me as I passed. I shrank back and shoved the box higher in my armpit. Could she see what I was holding? I stood like a statue as she turned into a new aisle, and when she didn’t look back at me, I let out a breath. I needed to get out of this store.

  My pulse hammered in my ears as I neared the counter. Every glance in my direction catapulted my stomach to my knees. I bounced on the balls of my feet, waiting for my turn to pay and dash. Come on. Any minute now, I was going to vomit all over the old lady in front of me who was taking her time counting each individual penny.

  I tapped my foot, glancing again and again at the storefront. The last thing I needed was for Heather or Carter to come in, wondering if I’d died, and spot the bright pink box. Especially since Carter was the whole reason I was taking the test in the first place.

  I nearly pushed the old woman out of the way when the cashier handed her a receipt.

  “Can you put that in a paper bag?” I asked, dropping the pregnancy test on the counter.

  The girl stared at me like I was counting my pennies too. Then she turned and yelled across the store, “Neil! I need paper bags!”

  My skin crawled, and I fought the urge to plug my ears.

  “God, Lacie. I’m just down the damn aisle,” a familiar voice said.

  Oh, no. My heart leapt into my throat. Neil Donaghue—town bad boy, the older brother of my worst enemy, and my ex-boyfriend—approached the register. Had I known he worked here, I never would’ve asked to stop.

  “You know what? Never mind.” I threw a twenty on the counter, grabbed the test, and ripped the package open as I raced from the store. Should’ve just done that in the first place. I tucked the two plastic tests into my purse—along with the directions—and tossed the rest in the trash.

  Carter’s red BMW idled near the front door. I plopped in the backseat, praying I didn’t vomit all over his leather interior.

  “God. You took so long that I thought we were gonna turn into pumpkins,” Heather said. “Did you even buy anything?”

  Carter peeled out of the parking lot. “Give her a break. She looks like she’s going to puke.”

  “No, seriously,” Heather continued. “I could use one of those antacids. I drank too much pop at the theater. Think I’m gonna be sprouting some nasty farts here soon.”

  Carter’s nose scrunched. “You never cease to amaze me.”

  “They didn’t have what I was looking for,” I said, answering Heather’s initial question. “Sorry.”

  “You going to be able to go to the party?” Carter asked.

  I knew enough about pregnancy to know you didn’t drink if you were. Although I wasn’t sure yet, I didn’t want to chance it. Which meant I would stand out like a cardinal in a flock of crows when I didn’t repeatedly fill my cup. And if anyone questioned why, I’d break.

  “No. Just take me home,” I said.

  “Aw, man.” Heather turned in her seat, pouting. “Now who’s gonna talk me down from sneaking upstairs with Brady Montgomery? Have you seen that guy? He’s h-to-the-double-t hot.”

  “There’s so much wrong with that statement that I don’t know where to start,” Carter replied.

  Usually, I’d crack a smile. This type of conversation was pretty typical, especially when Heather was tipsy. It wasn’t really pop she’d been drinking at the movie theater. Pre-gaming was her solemn ritual. But a smile was impossible. I tapped my shaking hands on my knees to keep Carter and Heather from noticing.

  When Carter pulled into my driveway, I refrained from jumping out of the vehicle so I didn’t look like someone poked me with a cattle prod. Gripping my purse, I told them to have fun and not to do anything I wouldn’t—which got a few snickers from Heather, who said I should know better—then hopped out of the car.

  She leaned out the window and screamed, “Bye, feel better!”

  And with a squeal of his tires, Carter peeled down the driveway and out of sight.

  I stared at my home, willing myself to go inside. My feet felt like they were sinking, as if my driveway had turned into quicksand. If I looked at my house the right way, a face stared back at me, the front door a gaping O. The same expression I expected my mom to make when—if—I told her I was pregnant. A face that said, “Oh my God how could you do such a thing? I thought you were better than that!”

  My stomach couldn’t take it any longer. I ran to the bushes along the right side of my house and puked until my guts turned inside out. Then I pulled a Kleenex from my purse and wiped my mouth before punching the security code into the garage door’s keypad.

  “Annie home!” Micah, my three-year-old cousin, yelled as soon as I stepped into the kitchen. Tiny arms wrapped around my legs, and I nearly toppled as my cousin bounced without unleashing me. My aunt and uncle were on leave from their missionary work in England and had been staying with us the past week. I’d hoped to sneak upstairs after a quick hello, but my mother was still seated at the kitchen table, grading papers. Which meant my aunt and uncle were still a
t the church after the Saturday night service. Uncle Doug was the weekend’s guest speaker—another reason they were home.

  And since they were apparently still chatting with attendees—or schmoozing people to empty their wallets to fund their missionary work—in ten seconds, baby duty would be handed over to me.

  Great.

  “Yes, Andie’s home,” Mom said weakly from beneath her curtain of dark hair. Man, she sounded tired. “Give her a second to breathe, buddy. She’ll play with you in a minute.”

  Micah somersaulted into the living room before jumping on the sofa like a baby kangaroo.

  “What happened to the football party?” she asked without looking up from her work.

  I dropped my purse on the counter and slipped off my lavender ballet flats, scrambling for a reason that would keep her from shoving a thermometer down my throat. “Just didn’t feel like going.”

  She glanced at me, and I kept my face as impassive as possible, though my heartbeat thudded in my ears. My act of indifference seemed to work. Mom started scribbling again.

  “Okay, well, can you help me with Micah, then?” she asked. “I need to get these graded by tomorrow. Doug and Kathy should be back in an hour.”

  I sighed. After Dad died two years ago, Mom had taken a teaching job at the University of Denver. Most nights, she had a lot of work, but tonight, her stack of papers might as well have been the Leaning Tower of Pisa. It was going to be a while before I could take the pregnancy test.

  I marched across the living room’s tan, plush carpet. Micah’s gaze stayed glued to the television as he held out his arms—still bouncing—and I rested him on my hip. He’s what my mom called “an unexpected gift from God.” My aunt had never planned to have kids, then, three years ago, she got married and—whoops. Would Mom think the same thing if I popped out a grandchild at sixteen?

  I re-entered the kitchen and pulled Chinese leftovers from the fridge. As the microwave beeped and Micah bounced in my arms, singing along with the Dora theme song, I silently prayed that Mom would stay away from my purse, that I’d make it through the next hour without puking.

  And that my missed period was just a fluke.

  But it was ten o’clock before I got a moment alone. After Aunt Kathy and Uncle Doug returned and put Micah to bed, Mom insisted I sit and tell her about my day. And, with Mom, a simple “it was good” never sufficed. She always wanted details. Details, details, details. That was definitely one trait I didn’t inherit from her. I would’ve hated to be a student in one of her English classes. She regularly marked off points for “not enough fluff.”

  After locking my door—which was against the rules; God forbid I wanted privacy—I pulled the two tests out of my purse with shaking hands. I entered my attached bathroom, read the directions, and then tried not to break into a fit of hysteria as I peed on “the stick.” That’s what Heather would’ve called it. Then I placed the test on the counter and plucked my cell phone from my pocket.

  Three minutes. How was I going to be able to wait three minutes? Sitting on the toilet lid, I watched the seconds count down on my timer.

  Two minutes. My legs jiggled, and my pulse raced.

  One minute. I bit my lip, hard. Sweat ran down my face.

  A second before my alarm went off, I hit the end button, stood on wobbly legs, and with a deep breath, I grabbed the directions off the counter. Two lines, pregnant. One line, not pregnant.

  “Okay, I can do this.”

  I shook my hands out at my sides, like I did before every cheerleading competition and half-time show, and closed my eyes. As I let all the air out of my lungs, I snatched the test off the counter and opened my eyes.

  Two lines.

  The room spun.

  My back hit the wall with a thud, and I slid to the floor.

  The edges of my vision darkened.

  Climbing onto my knees, I threw open the toilet seat and left my dinner in the bowl.

  I glanced at the stick again. Maybe I’d read it wrong.

  Still two lines. I bit my finger to keep from screaming.

  I was pregnant. Pregnant. With Carter’s baby.

  I rocked back and forth, my face in my hands, and hyperventilated into my palms. Any dreams I had of becoming a doctor were gone. My year as co-captain of the cheerleading squad was over. My clothes would stop fitting. My boobs would swell to the size of over-filled water balloons. And I would be the laughingstock of River Springs, Colorado.

  Heather’s going to kill me. She’d admitted to me the night after Carter and I slept together that she had a crush on him, but I didn’t have the courage to tell her what happened. Not only had the three of us been best friends since kindergarten, but we’d made a pact at the beginning of freshman year that we’d never date each other and ruin our three musketeer status. She’d told me she was only letting me know because she had to tell someone. That she’d never act on her feelings.

  Oh, God, what did I do?

  Another wave of nausea heaved through my body. Amazing that I had anything left in me. After another round of vomiting, I tucked the pregnancy tests deep in my book bag and made a mental note to throw them in someone else’s trash on the way to school on Monday. I unlocked my bedroom door, climbed onto my bed, and then burrowed under the blankets.

  Would Mom lose her job at the university if she had to pick up another to make ends meet? We lived in a tiny, conservative, church town. Would anyone hire me for an after school job, knowing I was pregnant? And my school was a private prep school. Would they kick me out?

  Burying my face in my pillow, I tucked my comforter under my chin as tears burned my eyes.

  My life is over.

  I didn’t stop crying until I fell asleep.

  chapter two

  “Up, Annie! Up!” Micah jumped on my bed, and my exhausted stomach roiled with seasickness. Or was it morning sickness?

  “Micah, stop. I’m not feeling good today.”

  “I tell An’ Soosie. You no get donuts.”

  Ugh. Just the thought of eating donuts after church was enough to make me almost spout puke like the girl from The Exorcist.

  Micah ran from the room, his little legs no match for his speed. He fell in the hall with a laugh. I rolled out of bed and shut the door before racing to the bathroom to gag into the toilet. After last night, I wasn’t surprised nothing came out.

  A patter of footsteps approached, and a cold hand touched my forehead. “You don’t have a fever,” Mom said. “I really don’t want you to miss church when your uncle’s speaking. We’ll pick up some ginger ale for you on the way.”

  Again, my stomach tried to jump out of my body. I’d have to be in a freaking coma to get out of church.

  “Get dressed, and come downstairs when you’re ready.” But don’t take too long, I attached to the end of her sentence. Mom hated dilly-dallying.

  When my bedroom door closed, I flushed the toilet and brushed my teeth. My skin was paler than yesterday, if that was even possible. My blonde hair stuck out of my ponytail every which direction, and my blue eyes were framed with glowing, red circles. All I needed were dry lips and skin falling off my cheek. I’d make the perfect zombie. What I wouldn’t give for Mom’s olive skin right now.

  After attempting to put on makeup, I dressed in a knee-length jean skirt and a long-sleeved, pink sweater. I slipped on white ballet flats and drifted downstairs where Mom attached a tie to Micah’s shirt. He looked up at me with a big grin, his cinnamon hair standing like someone had attached a feather to the back of his head. He’d gotten his dad’s looks, for sure. Aunt Kathy had spent every day this week trying to convince Uncle Doug to use hair gel to keep from looking like he just woke up.

  “And we’re all here! Time for church!” she said, as if going to church was more fun than Disney World.

  I wouldn’t know. Disney World was on my bucket list, along with ice skating at Crystal Lake and jogging through Central Park.

  The three of us piled into Mom’s yellow Jeep
, Micah snapped tight in his car seat in the back and me riding shotgun. My stomach twisted into infant-sized knots. Did I have any business going to church? Already, I could picture the congregation’s glares focusing on me, calling me “Sinner!” in their minds, and throwing mental stones at me, like I was some whore in Biblical times.

  I swallowed and tried to still my bouncing knees. I was never going to survive.

  Mom pulled into the parking lot of Brad’s Mini Mart, and a wave of panic shot down my spine—hot, like a bead of wax dripping from a lit candle. Would someone remember me from last night?

  She handed me a five-dollar bill. “Run in and grab a can of ginger ale. Try to hurry, please.”

  Hurrying would not be a problem.

  I stepped out of the car and marched inside, avoiding eye contact with as many people as I could. The cooler was at the back of the store. With drink in hand, I fought the urge to sprint to the register and drop the money on the counter like I had last night. Mom would notice when I didn’t bring back change, though.

  The can made a loud thunk on the counter.

  “Back so soon?” Neil asked.

  I looked up. Ah, crap. My cheeks burned. His dark hair was in that perfect I-made-it-look-like-I-just-woke-up way that still made my insides flutter. Then an image of his lips on another girl’s flashed across my mind. Don’t be stupid, Andie. I amped up the attitude. “Am I not allowed to come in two days in a row?”

  He smirked then leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s no rule that says you can’t. Though, if you’re back for your change from yesterday, sorry. Can’t help you.”

  I glared at him. “Would you just ring me up?”

  A playful—annoying—grin still on his face, he scanned the barcode and hit a button on his register. “That’s a dollar-twenty-five.”

  I handed him the five and sighed when he moved at a pace slower than a snail on Ritalin. Figures. Finally, he placed the money in my hand. I didn’t wait for his sayonara spiel and raced out of the store.

  When we reached the church a little while later, Mom took Micah to the playroom while I found my seat in the sanctuary. Third row on the left. Very center. Dad had picked this spot when I was in elementary school. Even after he died, we hadn’t changed seats. Today, I was extra thankful for being so close to the front of the room—there were fewer looks to catch as others sat. One or two people managed to single me out with their wandering gazes—like Aunt Kathy, who sat in the front row—and, each time, they offered a warm smile. I was in the clear. For now.