Forever Baby (23 page)

Real love, like what I have with Andres, won’t break my heart. It can’t.

But how can I be sure that it won’t?

I’m already in so deep. I don’t know how I would recover if our love didn’t last.

It’s a good thing I will never have to find out because true love lasts forever.
Right?

Another two days of uncompromised bliss pass, and it is already time to take Cara back to the airport.

I hug her tightly in front of the security line. “God, I don’t want you to go. It is so fun with you here. I love our little group of four.” I grin.

“Me, too! I know Hugo and I don’t have anything serious, but, man, that was some great sex. Just promise me that you’ll wait a few weeks before letting me know that he’s already in other girls’ panties.”

I can tell that the thought bothers her.

“I will,” I say.

“Okay, I better go. Make sure to keep me informed of all your juicy details. I will live vicariously through you as I spend my summer waiting tables. Love you, doll.”

I release her from my hug. “I will. Have a safe flight.”

Cara gives Andres a quick hug and then heads through security. I wave at her until I can’t see her anymore.

Andres and I head back to his house.

“I have something I want to show you.”

“Really? What is it?” I ask, very interested.

“You will see,” he says, giving me his charming smile.

Andres leads me to the second floor and down the hall to a part of the house where I have never been. He opens what appears to be a bedroom door and pulls me in. A table covered in paint and brushes is in the center of the room. The floor is concealed with several white tarps. A few easels with painted canvases are placed around the room. Completed paintings are leaning against the walls of the room.

I gasp at the first painting that really catches my attention. It is a silhouette of a naked woman, all done with shades of black, tan, and white. The woman is kneeling with her hands in her lap, and her gaze is focused on an unknown point in the distance. I can only see her profile. Her long light hair falls in wavy locks down her back. She is flawless, gorgeous, and very peaceful. She is silhouetted against a bright sunlit backlight, making her features all the more stunning, almost as if she is an angel. My fingers reach up to touch the canvas in awe.

“Do you like it?” Andres asks.

“Yes, it is absolutely beautiful, Andres. She is stunning. You are very talented. When did you paint her?” I ask, still gazing at the mesmerizing painting.

“Last week.”

I lift my head, so I am locked into his stare.

“That is you.” His hand raises and tucks my hair behind my ears. “You are my beautiful angel.”

Surprised, I grab his hand and squeeze it. “Andres, it is absolutely lovely.”

“You are utterly exquisite. I haven’t picked up my paintbrush in a long time. You are my inspiration.”

He wraps his arms around my waist and kisses my head. I hug him for a moment before turning to see the other paintings. They are all astonishing. There are some scenic paintings of a snowcapped mountain, the ocean, a grassy meadow, and an old tree in a field. Some paintings are of ordinary objects—an abandoned shoe on the side of the road, a motorcycle propped up by its kickstand, and a wooden door to a barn. Others are of people—a father and son playing ball, two lovers walking, hand in hand, and a lone girl sitting still in the moonlight—but none of them are like the angel. Then, some abstract paintings that are painted with dark and bold colors. I am not too knowledgeable in art, but they symbolize pain and sadness to me.

I complete my circle around the room. “Andres, you are truly talented. These are all incredible. You have a gift.” The realm of his talents still amazes me.

“Thanks. I’m glad you like them. I haven’t felt like painting in so long,” he says, his eyes thoughtful. “Until you.” He reaches out for my hand. “Come, my love.”

We leave his art studio, and he closes the door behind us.

I wake up to Andres’s naked body wrapped around mine. What time is it? We must have dozed off after our afternoon lovemaking. It is dark outside. I reach for my cell phone and see that it’s nine o’clock. I carefully slip out from Andres’s grasp and start putting on my clothes. I decide to venture down to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

I am filling up my glass when I hear shuffled footsteps behind me. Smiling, I turn. “Hey, ba—” I startle, stopping mid-word.

I am face-to-face with a thin, scruffy man with very hollow, sad eyes. His mouth is set in a grimace. His disheveled black hair has streaks of gray. His skin is especially wrinkled, and it gives the impression that one could lift it off of him, revealing only bone below. The man has little muscle tone to speak of. He is oddly familiar and extremely terrifying.

“Who the fuck are you?” he yells in my face.

His words are slurred to the point that it takes me a moment to translate the garbled language into meaning. He smells of liquor and sweat, unclean and rotten.

Fear courses through my veins. I jump back and lean as far as I can against the kitchen counter. Before I can gather my thoughts to speak, I see his hand rise, and I catch a glimpse of a bottle flying toward me. I cower, turning my face instantly, and the beer bottle misses the side of my head and shatters on the wall behind me, sending glass fragments raining down over me.

I scream, and he grabs my arm above the elbow and painfully squeezes it.

“I asked you a fucking question!” he roars inches from my face.

Before I can open my mouth, I see him raise his other hand, and I instinctually close my eyes, turning my face to brace for the blow.
I cannot believe this is happening.

I hear the sound of a fist against skin, followed by a loud grunt. Opening my eyes, I watch the man crash down to the floor, blood seeping from his nose.

“Goddamn it!” Andres yells.

He bends down, grabs the man under each arm, and lifts his upper body off the ground. Andres locks his arms around the man’s chest and starts to pull him out of the kitchen. I am in complete shock as I watch the man’s feet drag on the floor while blood is dripping from his nose onto his soiled white T-shirt. They disappear around the corner, and I don’t move. The front door slams shut.

I realize that I am shaking, and I pick up my trembling hands to study them. I see little lines of blood coming out of small cuts made from shreds of the glass bottle. Tears are involuntarily running down my face as the adrenaline coursing through my veins slows. I hear a gasp, and I look up to see Andres’s face full of complete shock and sorrow.

He grabs my hands. “Oh my God. Olivia, are you okay?”

Without waiting for me to answer, he picks me up in his arms. Walking me to his bedroom, he kisses my head and repeats, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He carries me into his bathroom and sets me down on the counter. He turns the shower on. “Let’s get you cleaned up and make sure there are no more pieces of glass anywhere.”

I am silent as he carefully undresses me. Then, he undresses himself, and picking me up in his arms, he steps into the shower. The cuts on my hands and arms sting momentarily when they first meet the hot stream. Andres allows my feet to fall, so I am standing, facing him, with my back against the water.

“This is all my fault, Liv. I am so sorry.” The sadness in his eyes breaks me.

“It’s okay,” I finally say.

“No, it is not okay! I should have told you. It is my fault. I should have never put you in a position where you could get hurt. I just never thought he…”

Tears trickle from his eyes. I reach up and kiss his soft lips. They are warm and salty from our collective tears.

“It’s okay, babe. I’m fine.”

“Now, you have met my father.” The melancholy in his voice is palpable. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him before, but honestly, I didn’t want to. The man that you saw down there is not my dad. The dad I know died years ago along with my mom.” He sighs and lowers his eyes.

“He is an alcoholic. He’s probably on other drugs, too. I don’t really know. He is always wasted and usually passed out. He lives in an apartment a little ways from here. He doesn’t come here often. I never thought…” Andres closes his eyes. “He rarely comes here. I only know that he’s alive because I check on him. I clean up his apartment and bring him food. I’m sorry, Liv. I never thought you would have to see him. If I would have known…” His voice drops into a sad whisper.

“He must have needed money for alcohol. It is the only time he acknowledges my existence. He shouldn’t have a key to the house. I should have taken his key away a long time ago. I’m sorry.”

He opens his eyes, and I see so much pain on his face.

“It’s okay. I understand. I am not hurt. It’s just a couple of scratches.”

I wrap my wet arms around his strong back and lean into his chest. Closing my eyes, I am lost in sadness for this beautiful man. My core breaks for the pain he has gone through and the sorrow he lives with every day. I wonder if the ache in his heart is more intense for the loss of his mother who loved him but couldn’t stay or for his father who is physically present but lost to him by his own choice because he has surrendered to his grief instead of fighting it for his son. I can’t imagine how it makes Andres feel to be basically abandoned by his own father after losing his mother. It’s heartbreaking.

Andres pulls my hand to his mouth and gently kisses my scratches. “Thank God you aren’t hurt more than this. I am terrified to think about what would have happened if I hadn’t gotten there when I did. I’m so sorry.”

Repeatedly, he trails soft kisses from my lips to my jaw and over my cheeks. He continues to pepper my face with sad pecks. I take his face in my hands and lean my forehead against his.

“Please don’t apologize anymore, Andres. I am fine. It is not your fault. Okay? This doesn’t change anything. If anything, I love you more…enough to make up for your mom and your dad. I will give you enough love for a lifetime.” I hold his face between my hands, and I kiss him deeply, hoping the depth of my love will be evident to him through my touch.

Andres pulls me close and buries his face in my neck. I wrap my arms tightly around him as his body trembles, releasing tears that he has been holding in for years. For so long, he has been alone in his pain.

I silently promise to love Andres forever, giving him all the love he deserves.

I cannot comprehend how his dad could give up on his child, to leave Andres when he needed his parent the most. The unresolved sorrow and feelings of neglect that Andres has locked away for so long come out in a torrent of tears. I communicate my love and solace through our embrace as I stroke his firm back. He continues to cry into my neck, and I just hold him. Arms firmly wrapped around him, I kiss his head, telling him that I love him over and over again, until he doesn’t have any tears left to cry.

Nolan is his usual fun, cheerful, flirty self on Monday morning. He said good-bye to Abby over the weekend. I didn’t see her after we had gone bowling, and I’m grateful for it. Cara and I were connected at the hip with Hugo and Andres, so it all worked out for the best.

“How was your time with Abby? Did she have fun?” I ask.

“Yeah, I think so. How was your weekend?”

“It was great. Thanks.”

I push back the thought of meeting Andres’s dad, and I think about the wonderful time I got to spend with Andres the rest of the weekend. Saturday afternoon, the group of us went to watch a Real Madrid game. All the guys are crazy fans. It was an experience. They do not mess around with their soccer here.

“We went to a Real Madrid game on Saturday, and then last night, I got to watch Andres’s band. You should come watch them sometime. They are really good.”

“Cool. Yeah, I will do that sometime. How was the game?”

“It was intense, crazy fun, and energetic. I never knew a soccer game could be so much fun.”

“Yeah, they are really into soccer here. Pedro talks about it all the time.”

“So, what did you and Abby do the whole time? It seems like I have barely spoken to you for two weeks.”