Because of You (13 page)

But then Gina didn’t say he was evil, she said he was kinky. I’ve decided I’m going to ask him about it, what it means. And I open my mouth right when Kyle walks to his door. He opens it and waits for me to walk through.

I sigh. Pick up Gina’s shoes. I’m not going to put them back on. My feet still throb.

“So where are we?” I ask, ignoring the pounding behind my eyelids.

His place is nice. Nothing fancy, but it isn’t disastrous. There are a few dishes in the sink. Empty beer bottles on the counter. The living room has a flat screen, a couch, and two recliners. They look worn, but definitely not trashy. There’s a half bath off the living room, and two more doors on the other side. I’m guessing behind them are bedrooms, and I wonder if he has roommates.

We walk through the living room and he opens the front door. A gust of cold wind blasts my face, making my eyes water. I step out, but he seizes my arm.

“Hang on.”

I close the door against the icy early morning air and raise an eyebrow. “Did you forget your keys?”

My uncle is forever doing that, especially since he bought a new Titan a few years ago. Now all he has to do is push a button to open the car door.

Kyle doesn’t answer. Rushes to his bedroom.

The kitchen has a counter with two stools underneath. So the person in the kitchen can cook and talk to everyone sitting in the living room. My aunt would say the space is functional.

“Put this on,” Kyle says, coming back. He hands me a thick red sweatshirt.

My eyes light up. He’s surprised me again. “Thank you, Kyle.” I pull it over my head.

He steps closer, and gently tugs my hair from the sweatshirt opening. “It’s way too big, but it’ll cover you up, keep you warm.”

For some reason tears fill my eyes. It shocks me. I’m not much of a crier. I can’t decide whether it’s because I’m glad or sad to find out he’s still so kind—the way I remember him.

Either way, I can’t resist flinging myself into his chest, wrapping my arms around him. He may not know me, but I know him. I know him so well. And I’ve missed him desperately. So much so that I can’t believe I ever thought I’d be better off without him.

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t do anything. Just stands there. Finally, I feel his arms encircle me. And it isn’t a courtesy hug. He presses me against him. For a second I think maybe he’s remembered, but he squashes that thought.

“You aren’t like regular girls, are you?”

I shake my head, but don’t release him. Inhale a deep breath and pretend he knows me, and that he’s overjoyed to see me.

I could tell him, look him in the eyes, and say, “No, I’ll never be normal. Because of your father. He killed my parents, and got away with it.”

Suddenly my heart jumps. Does he know what his father did? I’d like to think he has no idea. But I can’t be sure. And then I remember why we can’t be together. I’ll always doubt him. Seeing his face will remind me of his father, of the evil in his family tree, and I can’t live with that.

“I’d better go,” I say, pulling away and opening the door.

He looks confused, but swiftly recovers. “Sure.”

Kyle leads me to a black Jeep. Somehow I know it fits his personality—rugged, efficient, and intense. He opens the passenger door and helps me in. My uncle always said, “If a man gets your door, he’s a keeper. It’s a sign he’ll treasure you.”

Once he’s inside, Kyle starts the car and we drive in silence. Turns out he lives off campus, though not far.

“Which building is yours? McKinley or Irvine?”

“Irvine,” I answer, keeping my eyes facing forward.

He stops in front of the building and puts the Jeep in park. “Thanks for hanging out with me last night.”

I open the door, forcing myself not to look at him. I’m so torn. I want to smile, tell him I think he’s wonderful, and ask if he wants to hang out. But my brain won’t shut up. Because even if he doesn’t know what his father did, even if he’s completely innocent, it doesn’t change the fact that he is his father’s son. I can’t forget that.

“Thanks for taking care of me. I can’t believe I was such an idiot.” I step out. “See you in class.”

I move to close the door.

“Hey, you still haven’t told me your name. You owe me.” His eyes twinkle, and for a moment I think he actually knows who I am, but is pretending otherwise. “I could call you Lover Girl. You’re really, really affectionate.” He snickers.

I blush hot as a shooting star. I try to remember what I did last night that would make his say that. He said we didn’t do anything. Didn’t even kiss.

I almost lose my temper; tell him I don’t owe him crap. If he wanted to, he could easily figure out my name. It wouldn’t be that difficult. He’s the TA of my English class. But I decide to tell him the truth.

“My name is Maddie. Maddie Martin.” I want to add, “Remember me now? We were next-door neighbors for eleven years. Best friends. Up until your dad shot my parents.” I don’t, though. I slam the door and walk to the building entrance.

I swipe my keycard. The door clicks and I pull it open. His Jeep is still at the curb. I haven’t heard it pull away, and I wonder what he’s thinking.

Is he happy?

Surprised?

Angry?

I’m can’t be sure. Once again I realize a lot has happened in seven years. I really don’t know him. And as I walk to the elevators I mentally kick myself. I still haven’t noticed his shoes. They’ll tell me a lot.

Kyle

Even in rumpled clothes and her face smeared with makeup, she’s totally hot. When I tell her she owes me her name, her eyes light up like twin fires. Smoldering. And I have to shift in my seat. It’s crazy she can turn me on so easily.

She tells me her name and I get the feeling she wants to say more. I almost come clean, tell her that I already knew her name—that I chose to be an ass, and that I’m sorry for teasing her. It seems to hurt her that I’ve been pretending I didn’t. But now I don’t want to tell her because I’m worried she’ll be mad.

Maddie slams the door, and I don’t get a chance to say anything.

I watch her walk into the building. If she had a phone I’d call her, text her, tell her the truth. Apologize and ask her to let me make it up to her.

But she doesn’t.

At least not yet. And I get a brilliant idea.

Maddie

open the door to my dorm room cautiously. No point waking up Gina. But her bed is an untidy mess of covers and she isn’t amongst them. My throat constricts and I glance at the digital clock on my nightstand. It’s four thirty in the morning.

The party can’t still be going, and I’m worried. Gina wrote her cell number on the white board hanging on the door, and I walk to it. Write the number on my hand, and walk out to the commons area. It’s so quiet. Not a sound, except the rattling of the vents.

Sitting, I dial her number. It rings several times and I get her voicemail: “You’ve reached the voicemail of Gina St. James. I can’t talk to you right now because I’m out having fun, which is what you should be doing. So hang up and go party. Oh, and if you’re hard up to leave a message, do it now.”

I smile in spite of the tension in my body. When I hear the beep, I say into the phone, “Hey Gina. I’m back in our room and you aren’t here. I’m… wondering if you’re okay.” I pause. “Sorry I left. I won’t do it again. Promise.” I hang up, frustrated and worried.

I head down the hall and go into our room. Once the door clicks closed, I pull off Kyle’s sweatshirt and toss it on my bed. Carefully I remove Gina’s dress and hang it on a hanger. I’m not sure if she’ll want to clean it, so I don’t put it back in her closet but drape it against the door. I set her heels back in their box. The girl is very organized when it comes to clothes and shoes. Everything else, not so much.

Gina suddenly bursts into the room. Her eyes are wild.

I’m in my undies, and can’t help the screech that escapes my throat. She barely glances at me before falling on the bed.

“Gina.” I grab a shirt from a drawer, and rush to her bed. “Gina,” I say again. “Are you alright?”

She sits up and I see the rage on her face, feel it radiating off her body, through her pores—like tiny daggers, all aimed at me. “I’m fine,” she shouts. “Can’t you see I’m fine?”

I flinch. Her breath smells of cigarettes. And she’s most definitely not fine. The top of her dress is ripped. So are her leggings. Her makeup is streaked like she’s been crying. I don’t know what to do, what to say. Her breathing is ragged, and she sniffles. Tears fall from her eyes and drip on to her tutu.

Like an idiot I sit there, my hands in my lap, waiting. For what, I’m not sure. But I want her to know I care, that I’m here if she needs me.

Finally, I decide to do what I did last time. I hold out a tissue. She rips it from my hand and wipes her face, blows her nose.

“What the hell happened to you?” she asks through gritted teeth.

I tell her about the four shots, about Kyle, and him taking me back to his place. As I talk, her eyes get bigger, and bigger. And I know what she’s thinking. Exactly what Kyle said everyone would.

“Nothing happened though,” I finish.

“Right,” she says, standing, ripping her clothes from her body and changing into PJ pants and a tee. “Just like nothing happened with me, either.”