When I woke up again, the first thing I felt was an incredible urge to puke. I couldn't remember if Tim had left or not, but I called out for him anyway. Holding back the impulse to vomit all over my bed, I heard Tim's footsteps outside my door. He calmly walked in, carrying a large mixing bowl. I grabbed the bowl out of his hands and leaned into it, just wanting to get rid of the terrible taste.

"Shhh, Live. Come on now. Puke it out. You'll feel better when you do. There. See? You can do this. Get it all out. That's it." Tim murmured in my ear as his strong fingers scraped the hair back from forehead. It felt like I had been puking for hours and the back of my throat burned. When my stomach had finally stopped churning, I leaned back against Tim, my head resting on his shoulder. He let me rest for a few minutes, but then pulled himself out from under me.

"Live, I'll be right back. I'm going to get rid of this," he gestured to the mixing bowl, "and then I'll be back." Through my sick haze, I heard him flushing the toilet and washing out the bowl in the kitchen. The bedroom door opened, and Tim's smiling face greeted me. He climbed into bed, pulling me against him. He gathered all my limbs together and held me in the bowl he made with his legs. My face was buried in his neck and I breathed in his familiar scent of grass, soap, and lingering sweat. I heard him chuckle, and he softly tilted my chin towards his face. Telling me to open my mouth, he slipped in a piece of gum.

"Does my breath really smell that bad?"

Tim chuckled again. "Sort of. But it will also help your stomach. Believe me." And I did. If anyone knew the cure for hangover sickness, it was Tim Riggins. We sat in silence for a few minutes, until I opened my mouth to speak again.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

"Really. It's been a long time since anyone's taken care of me like that. Usually I'm on my own."

Tim just sighed and pulled me closer. "What can I say? It wasn't as bad as I thought; taking care of someone. Kinda liked it, actually."

I kissed the underside of his chin, feeling the tiny hairs of his stubble. "Look at big Tim Riggins. Turning into quite the softy."

"Just don't tell the guys." I laughed. "Hey, they'll never let me live it down. Tim Riggins, the family man."

Tim's words reminded me of the previous day, and a wave of sadness swept over me. I turned my head to look out my bedroom window. Tim seemed to notice that something was wrong because I could feel his muscles tense under me. He shifted around me and I could hear him clear his throat.

"Hey. Live. What's wrong?" Tim stroked my arm, but I shrugged him off. My eyes overflowed with tears and I couldn't hold back my sobs. As Tim's arms tightened around me, the lyrics to a Tracy Chapman song I listened to as a kid popped into my head. "I had a feeling that I belonged, I, I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone." There was so much I wanted to tell him, so many thoughts I had to get off my chest, but I had no idea where to start. I clung to Tim's arm and let him rock me back and forth. I could hear him trying to get me to tell me what was bothering me, that he could try to help, that he would kick whatever son of a bitch's ass he needed to. Eventually his voice faded away but his arms never loosened their grip. I lay weakly against his arm, trying to gather the strength to start the conversation. I untwined myself from his body and sat cross-legged across from Tim. He mimicked my actions, brushing loose pieces of hair out of his face. I recognized the steely look in his eyes; it was the same look he wore the day before a game. It was his "I'm-preparing-for-the-worst" face. It scared me a little to see him like that, to see that he was obviously expecting the worst but was still willing to sit here and take it. If I were in that position, I would have run far away. But this time, I was going to sit here and face the truth. Learn to trust someone else and stop carrying all this baggage myself.

"Tim."

"Live."

"Before I start, I'm not breaking up with you. I don't want to break up, take a break, or whatever other terms there are for that. I want to be with you." Tim just nodded, a serious expression on his face. "I'm not really sure what I'm going to say. I'm still not completely sure what exactly I'm even feeling. I don't even know where to start. I just…I haven't felt okay since taking that pregnancy test."

"But it was negative." Tim looked confused.

"That's what I mean. I…I don't know. I just feel empty. Like, I know that I couldn't take care of a baby right now, but I guess I just saw these images of the three of us being this happy family. I saw us getting married, and having our own house, and working, and having more babies, and presents under the Christmas tree, and a turkey on Thanksgiving, and you teaching the kids football, and a big green backyard." Embarrassed tears dripped down my face. "That sounds stupid, doesn't it? Good Lord, I'm only 17." I turned to look at Tim, and he was staring out the window, not answering. "You don't have to say anything. It was all just a stupid daydream. I should be happy we're not straddled with a baby. Can you imagine? Tim Riggins, a real family man? Olivia Davies, a teen mom without her own mom?" I laughed bitterly through my tears. "Now that's a story Dillon would make sure got around. Oh my god, I can just picture the look on Tami Taylor's face. She's always calling me into her office, pretending to be my mom. She would have freaked out on me. 'Girl, I had expected better from you. I can't believe y'all went and got into this situation.'" I mimicked. "Oh, and Coach. Dear God. The Taylors' would have ripped into us. I bet you anything they would have called both of us to their house. Julie probably would have been laughing from her room. It was just what they all said would happen." I could hear myself turning bitter and mean, but I couldn't stop the flow of words. "Everyone always warned me; told me that dating you was wrong. Oh, they would have loved to be proved right. It-

"Olivia." Tim spoke softly, still looking out the window. I fell silent. Tim rarely called me Olivia. I stared at him, waiting for his head to turn. Without moving, he spoke again.

"Olivia. It's not stupid. We could have proved them wrong." He got up, not making eye contact, and walked out my bedroom door. I couldn't move. I just listened to him open the front door, walk out and slam it shut. The sound of the door made me come to my senses. I got up, not caring that I was only dressed in the t-shirt and old underwear I had scavenged from my floor. Running to the front door, I whipped it open and ran to the driveway, expecting to see empty asphalt. Instead, there was Tim's black '86 Chevy with Tim sitting in the driver's seat. Seeing him sitting there made my blood boil. How dare he tease me like this?

"TIMOTHY RIGGINS. WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?" I hammered on his window, but he sat there, staring straight ahead. I turned into a maniac. "YOU GET OUT OF THE GOD-DAMN CAR RIGHT NOW. I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE. YOU JUST DROP THESE RIDDLES ON ME AND THEN ESCAPE BACK TO YOUR SILENCE. FINE, JUST SIT THERE AND IGNORE ME. I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHY I CONTINUE TO DATE YOU. YOU'RE JUST A BIG FAT ASSHOLE." I kicked the door of his truck and walked away, trying to make sure he didn't see me limp. I had just stepped through the doorway when Tim grabbed me by the wrist. He spun me around and kissed me full on the mouth, thrusting me up against the wall. I tried to push him away at first, but I fell limp against him the second his tongue poked past my lips. Sweet Jesus, he gave me such a rush. I wasn't really mad at him, just frustrated and sad, and he knew it. Tim wasn't one for talking or words, so he always tried to show me his feelings in different ways. Well, really just ways like this. When I broke away to breathe, I looked up at Tim. His face was slightly twisted up and I wondered if he was okay. Breathing hard, Tim sat down on the stairs by the door. I made to move toward him, but as I stretched out my hand to touch his arm, Tim whipped around and threw his fist towards the railing. The cheap wooden rail burst from its place and skidded across the foyer. I backed away, slightly scared by Tim's intensity. Eyes burning, Tim faced me.

"Damn it Live! You think I'm totally okay? You think I don't know what this town says about me? You think I don't know that everyone looks down at me like I'm some sort of cheap manwhore? You think I don't know that? And did you really think you were the only one who had dreams of a family? You really thought I couldn't care less about the baby? I've spent my whole shitty life looking for some place other than the football field where I feel at home! And you know what? I was ready for this. I was ready to have someone depend on me, instead of the other way around. You weren't the only one who pictured a house and kids and me teaching them football on our front lawn! Jesus, Live, I wanted…I wanted you." When I heard Tim's voice crack, the tears slipped faster down my face. I looked up and met Tim's gaze. The blaze in his eyes was gone, replaced with salty tears. I stared at him in disbelief. Here was this big running-back who benched 150 pounds easy, took down any opponent on the field, and got in regular bar fights, crying. About his lack of a family. It was enough to make me break down all over again. I walked over to where Tim was crouched on the stairs and took his head in my lap. His tears fell onto my bare thighs and I gathered his hulking body as best I could into my arms. I rocked him slowly back and forth, running one hand through his hair and

another across his back. I hummed quietly, a tune that slowly transformed into a song my aunt used to sing for me. "Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens. Brown paper packages tied up with strings. These are a few of my favorite things. When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don't feel so bad." I could hear the deep breathing of Tim and I knew he had fallen asleep. Not wanting to wake him, I leaned my head down on his and closed my eyes.