11. Sink – Stella
It’s been two weeks since my sister left for college and it’s the night before my 19th birthday, and I feel so utterly alone, lost in the world. It’s also been six months since I’ve seen Riggs in person, and Atlas Oaks is absolutely killing it on tour. I should be happy and excited for the future, but I’m not. Instead, I’m sad and lonely, and I feel like a part of me is wholly missing, with no way to get it back until he comes back.
This morning, my mother took my phone and all access to any kind of computer because she didn’t like the way I responded when she told me she didn’t like my outfit of jeans, shorts, and a tee. This means I can’t text or call Riggs, can’t check in with him on the road, and, most of all, can’t find out exactly when he’s coming home.
Tomorrow or the next day, his last text said, then we’ll write.
God. That’s what I want most of all. To sit under the stars with my best friend, to write songs, listen to him strum a guitar and loop melodies around the words I write. He’s been gone on tour since May, and it feels like I’ve been missing a limb.
He’s called me regularly since then, telling me about the wild parties they’ve gone to, the insane life of being a rockstar on the road, and the freedom he feels being away from Ashford. But, of course, he always closes with how much he misses me and can’t wait to lay under the stars again soon.
Pick me up, I wanted to say. Take me with you.
But I won’t say that. He’s out there having a fucking blast, partying and hanging with stars we only dreamed about as kids, and he doesn’t need his little sister-esque best friend paling around with him.
I may have been in love with Riggins Greene since I was five, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have common sense.
Clink.
The sound comes again and my heart pounds as I peer out of the window, looking for him.
And finally, he comes into view.
I think my heart might actually escape my body when I see him wave, when I see his smile go wide. I open my window and bend over the sill.
“What are you doing here?!” I ask in a whisper.
“Breaking you out, Stella girl. Come on.”
I don’t ask another question. I’ve never had to when Riggs is around. Instead, I grab my bag, sliding a pen and my notebook inside, then touch my toe to the rough bark of the tree next to my bedroom window, muscle memory clicking in as I move down it to the grass where he stands.
I don’t play it cool like I told myself I would. All those weeks and months without him, talking only in texts and clandestine phone calls so my mother wouldn’t find out, I spent them planning how to be cool and casual when I saw him again.
But now he’s here, in ripped jeans and a tee shirt, his hair a bit longer than I remember, his smile wide, that dimple in his cheek, and I lunge at him.
Wrapping my arms around his neck I glue my body to his, and instantly his arms wrap my waist as well, holding me close, his head going into my neck and breathing deep like he missed me as much as I missed him.
Impossible, I know, since he was out there living life while I rotted away, but it’s a lovely fantasy, I suppose. Riggins Greene missing me.
“God, I missed you,” he says into my neck as if hearing my thoughts, and my chest hitches as I try not to cry, something I also told myself I wouldn’t do.
He pulls away, just enough to see my face, his looking concerned before he pulls me back in, holding me closer, tighter than before.
“Stell, what’s wrong?”
“I just,” I start, sniffing into his neck. “I just really missed you.”
“I know. Me too, Stell. Felt like half of me was gone.” We stand like that for what feels like an eternity, a dangerous act considering we’re in prime position for my parents to catch us, before he steps back, grabs my hand and we start the familiar walk to his truck.
Except his fingers stay twined with mine as we walk.
“STELLA BELLA!” I hear and before I can process it, the door to Riggins’ truck is opening, Reed standing there and pulling me into his arms.
“Reed!”
“And it’s your birthday!” he shouts.
“So I hear,” I say
“And we’re headlining a tour next year!” The shock from those words settles somewhere in my gut, the surprise tearing through me, both excited and proud and terrified and sad.
They’re going to leave again.
Leave me in this town I hate when they’re not here.
“No way!” I say, my eyes moving to Riggs, now behind Reed, arms crossed on his chest, face guarded. “That’s amazing!”
“You’re coming with us, right?”
“Well, I…” I start, looking back at Riggs, who is smiling now, his dimple out. “I wouldn’t want to mess with your experience, be the annoying little sister type when you guys are being big rockstars.”
This has been my refrain for some time, ever since he left and started telling me stories from the road, ending them with I can’t wait for you to come next time. I always tell him I don”t want to insert myself, to be a burden. Riggins looks to Reed with a, can you believe her bullshit? kind of way.
A deep, loud laugh comes from behind Reed, and I see Beckett with a wide, joking smile on his face,
“You’re fucking with us, right? Sometimes, I think you’re more of a part of this band than Wes is.” He pulls me into him, and my arms barely reach around his wide chest as I do. I melt a bit when I feel his lips press to the top of my head, the closest thing I have to a big brother.
“Hey!” Wes says, coming out from behind Reed’s house where I know further back a bonfire has already started.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” Beck says, and Wes just glares at him.
“Happy birthday, Stella,” Wes says, tugging me from Beck and into his arms.
“Thank you, Wes. I think you’re a vital part of Atlas Oaks, by the way.”
“See! Stella thinks I’m an important part of the band, you guys!”
“Alright, alright, let’s get inside; we’ve got a lot to do to get ready,” Beckett says.
“Get ready?” I ask as Riggins puts an arm around waist, tugging me in close. I look up at him and he looks down at me and suddenly it doesn’t feel like it did before he left. It feels… different, the way he’s looking at me.
“What, you think we could come home, and you could turn 19, and we wouldn’t throw a party for you?”
Riggins
Stella’s birthday party isn’t anything to write home about, just a bonfire in the woods behind Beck’s house, but it’s everything I need. Being on the road was everything I hoped it would be and nothing I expected. Sleeping in new places, standing on a stage and singing to thousands of people, seeing new places.
The parties.
The further we got on the tour, the more the crowd started to sing our songs back to us, the songs Stella and I wrote here in Ashford, spreading through the country and becoming anthems for people I’ve never even met.
But most of all, I missed Stella. Not seeing her regularly felt like a piece of me was missing, my other half, my better half. Without her, I found myself reaching for beers to mask the boredom, to mend the gap in my soul. I’d smoke with the band and daydream about being under the stars, writing songs with her, and when I woke, a wave of sadness and loneliness would crash over me, so I’d grab a beer to forget that, too.
It was because I missed her, of course, just another reason she needs to come in March.
But mostly she has to come because nothing can stop her now, not her mother or school or anything like that.
And we can finally be together.
On the road, I realized that it wasn’t just proximity or familiarity that had me constantly thinking about my best friend. I realized I fell when we were 12, when she refused to sit with her family at my mother’s funeral, when she reached over and quietly held my hand when I fought back tears, never looking at me but giving me the same silent support she’s always given me.
But now, sitting around a fire with my band, my best friends in the entire world, and some random people scattered about, a gaggle of girls who, now that I’m not the poor, sad kid who lives in the sad-looking house with the dead mom and the drunk dad, have a sudden interest in me, but the only person I can focus on is Stella.
“Okay, okay. Which one of us would survive in a scary movie?” Reed asks, taking a sip of his beer.
“What?” Stella asks.
“A scary movie,” Reed says. “Like, Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Which one of us would live?”
“Not Stell,” I say with a smile directed toward my best friend. “She’d somehow meet the serial killer and decide he was a nice guy. Bring him cookies or something.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” she says, tossing a marshmallow at me; it bounces off my chest and into my hand. I eat it and wink at her, and she sticks her tongue out at me.
Fuck I missed her.
“You so would,” Beckett agrees. “You trust everyone you meet.”
“I’m so sorry I’m not a cynic like you guys.” We all laugh before Stella speaks again. “Well, Riggs wouldn’t make it either. Have you ever seen that kid run? It’s like watching a toddler.”
“No, she’s so right, though,” Reed says as he laughs, wiping tears from his eyes. “His hands go out at his sides, and he’s all wonky and lanky.”
“Fuck off, man,” I say. “You’d die first. You’d trip on a twig or something and decide it wasn’t worth it.”
“True,” Reed says with a smile. “Wes or Beckett would live. Probably Beckett because he’d just glare at the guy and scare him away. The serial killer would run away.”
“As he should,” Beckett says, stern face fighting a smile. It continues like that for a while before Stella leans into me, tipping her head to the sky. I’m two beers in and Stella’s had one, and when I look at her goofy smile, I can’t help but smile too.
“Stars are bright tonight,’ she says, low. “But clouds are rolling in.” I know what she’s trying to ask.
“Wanna write?” I ask, hoping against all else, and she says yes. When her smile spreads wide as can be, I know the answer without her saying it.
I wonder if she’s felt it, the ache to write, the way the words come out like molasses when she’s not with me but flow like water when we’re together.
Probably not. I can write, but not the way Stella can. She was born to write songs, to bottle precise emotions into words and chords.
In turn, I was born to make the music she crafts. The perfect duo.
“Be right back,” I say, standing, then, on a whim, pressing my lips to her hair. We both freeze, and I stand straight awkwardly, turning toward the door of Beckett’s house. “My guitar’s in Beck’s house. Be right back.” She stands as well.
“I’ll wander to the back,” she says. “That way, maybe we can sneak out without anyone giving us shit.”
As most of these parties end with everyone getting hammered and Stella and I wandering to the woods to write, we have experience with the crew giving us shit for leaving to be alone.
I don’t see Stella sitting on the logs and chairs around the fire when I walk back out, my guitar slung behind my back and the bag I know holds her notebook over my shoulder. I head toward the woods, taking the long way around the fire so no one stops me, eyes peeled to look for her.
I don’t see her, though. Instead, I hear her.
“No, thank you,” I hear Stella say in her sweet but firm voice, the one she uses when she doesn’t want to upset someone but also wants them to leave her alone.
“Aww, come on, your mom says we’d be good together,” a voice says and a chill runs down my back as I look around the bonfire searching while walking towards the direction I heard her.
“My mother doesn’t know much about me, but I’m sure you’re very nice. I’m not interested, though,” she says, and I shift my direction left a bit, still scanning for her, but she’s so goddamn small, I can’t find her.
“You’re at a party to have fun; you should have fun with me,” the man says.
“I came here with my friends, I?—”
“We could be friends,” he says and I finally get a view of her. Her back is to a tree, a man taller than me but shorter than Beck in front of her, fear and discomfort clear on her face. I start to jog her way, and the guys’ hand lifts to touch her cheek. She moves, trying to get away, but he has her pinned.
“I really should?—”
“She said no, man,” I say, walking over, my hands in fists as I approach where the fuckwad had Stella pinned.
“Hey, bud, we were having a conversation. Our moms are setting us up; I just wanted to—” Realizing who exactly this is, my blood boils. Tripp Vanderveer was the lacrosse captain at Ashford High during my senior year. This is who Rhonda Hart was trying to set Stella up with, the guy who has enough rumors about how shitty he treats women, even I’ve heard it. My hand moves to his shoulder, ripping him away from my girl. He’s been to parties here a few times, but I never know who invites him.
“You’ve got my girl pinned to a fucking tree; I think it’s my place to be here.” He turns to face me, and it’s clear he’s drunk and maybe impaired in some other way. But he wavers where he stands, so I know even though he’s bigger than me, he’s at a disadvantage.
“Maybe you should’ve kept a better eye on her,” he says, “Finders keepers, man.”
With his words, something in me snaps. I wish I could say I don’t know what pushes me, but that would be a lie.
It’s the look of fear on Stella’s face.
It’s the fact that she’s not mine in the way I need her to be yet, the fact that there’s so much unsaid between us.
The fact that I haven’t seen her in too long, and now we’re dealing with this bull shit.
I pull my fist back and slam it into his face, feeling his nose break beneath my knuckles. He stumbles back, holding his hand to his face and groaning as he does.
“What the fuck, man?”
I don’t have time for him, though. Instead, I grab Stella’s hand and start moving, walking toward the trees, toward escape.
Freedom.
“What was that, Rigs?” she asks as I tug her away from the bonfire, away from the chaos, away from the asshole who better be gone by the time I calm down and make it back to the house.
“He was scaring you,” is all I can say.
“You can’t just punch people because they scare me!” she shouts and I look over my shoulder at her as I continue to walk toward the woods, as I make my way toward our clearing where we can see the sky and maybe, maybe I can breathe again.
“I absolutely can, Stell. And I will anytime someone scares you.”
“Well, you’re scaring me right now, Riggins!” she shouts and I slow my steps.
“I’m scaring you?” I ask, slightly confused. She lets go of my hand and puts both of hers out to her sides.
“Yes! Who are you? Just out here punching people? I’m a big girl, Riggs. I can take care of myself! I have since you’ve been gone, and I’ll keep doing it when you leave again!” Her eyes go wide like she can’t believe she said that like it popped out and she didn’t mean it, but I heard it.
She heard it.
The birds hiding away heard it.
“I’m not going to leave you again, Stella.”
She sighs. “Yes, yes, you are. I heard Beckett talking. You guys are going to New York to record, and then they’ll send you on tour again. Headlining. Congrats, by the way. That’s amazing. I’m really fucking proud of you,” she says, but the emotion isn’t behind the words.
I step closer.
“I’m not going to leave you again, Stella.” She gives me a soft look.
“You are, Riggins, and that’s okay. It’s more than okay.” I shake my head because she doesn’t get it.
“I’m not leaving you because you’re coming with me,” I say, my words low and quiet. Again, her eyes widen.
“I can’t come with you, Riggs,” she says, sweet and low. “I’d get in the way of everyone, of the band.”
“You heard the guys. You are part of the band. You’re… you’re us.” She shakes her head again, her face going sad as she does.
“I’d be a burden,” she says. “The little sister wandering around, getting in the way.” My brow furrows as I stare at her, confused how she can still think that.
“You are so far from a little sister to me, it’s not even funny,” I say, taking a step toward her, and she takes a step back.
“What?”
“You heard me. You are so far from being my little sister, it’s actually comical you’d think you were.” I take another step closer to her and she follows suit, moving backward.
“Riggins,” she says, and her back bumps into a thick tree trunk. Rain starts to fall, soft and gentle.
“If you were my sister, it would be incredibly fucked to think about you the way I do every day.”
“Riggins,” she whispers, and soon, I’m pressed against her, her breaths pushing against my chest.
“Riggs,” I whisper back.
“What?”
“I’m always Riggs to you. And you’re my little star. Ironic when you’re my goddamn sun, when my entire world revolves around you.”
“Riggs.” It’s almost inaudible now, but I watch her lips form the word.
“I’m going to kiss you now, Stell,” I say, then wait for her to argue.
I’m so fucking this up.
I planned so many things while I was on the road, so many things to tell her, so many ways to confess this to her, but now I’m fucking it all up, and she’s going to say no, and our friendship will be fucked forever —
“Okay,” she whispers, my heart beating out of my chest with the single word.
One word, two syllables, and both of our lives are changing forever.
I close the gap between us, gently pressing my lips to the lips of my best friend in the entire fucking world, and everything changes in a heartbeat.
The rain starts to come down hard, soaking us through instantly despite the tree cover, and the gentle press turns into a fevered sliding of lips against lips. Her hands move, one to my jaw, the other behind my back, mine going to her hips to hold her close. Her mouth opens, and I slide my tongue into her mouth, tasting her for the first time. She lets out a tiny moan, a sound so precious I know I’ll keep it in my mind forever.
We stay like that for what feels like hours, kissing and tasting and learning each other, pressed against a tree as it rains, kissing my girl on her birthday and somehow, I know this will be forever.
But right now, there’s nothing in this world except for Stella and me. Despite everything in this universe, I found her, and she found me, and it was always supposed to be this way.
By the time we stopped kissing, the rain had stopped, and the sky clearing to reveal the stars. I contemplate heading back to the house, but then I remember what we left there and decide to continue deeper into the woods. It takes a bit to reach our clearing, but when I do, I pull the blanket out of the bag in my guitar case, thankful the waterproof case kept both my guitar and the blanket with the waterproof lining dry, even though we’re both soaking wet regardless. I spread it out in silence before grabbing Stella’s hand and forcing her to lay down with me there, guitar and her bag long forgotten in the grass.
We lay on our sides facing each other and slowly, I take in her face, all the small subtle changes I missed over the past six months.
I find a new freckle on her cheek beneath her left eye, her cheeks have lost some more of the fullness from being a kid, or maybe because her mom feeds them the ridiculous healthy stuff, and Stell hates it.
“I missed you so fucking much, Stella,” I whisper.
“I missed you too.”
“I want you to come in March. The label is sending us out for real this time. And to New York to record the next album next month.”
“Oh, my god, Rigg! It’s happening!” She’s so genuinely excited for us but still doesn’t get it.
“I want you to come with me. With us.”
“Riggins…”
“We leave for New York in a few weeks. We’ll be there for a month or so, then home for the holidays. Then we’re out to LA for a few months for press and whatnot. The album should come out in March. April, we go on tour.” There’s a pause before she smiles. “I want you to come. We’ll write around here, then you’ll come to New York with us. The guys and I already agreed; they’re cool with it.”
“You talked to them about it? About me coming?”
“I wouldn’t be asking without the band knowing. You know that, Stella.” She rolls her lips in on themselves, rubbing and rolling them together, deciding how to ask whatever it is she’s about to ask, deciding if she’s brave enough for it.
“What….” She clears her throat before speaking. “What would I be coming on tour as?”
As tends to be our way, I don’t have to ask her to clarify, to ask what she means.
“Mine,” I whisper, my hand moving to cup her cheek. “You’d come on tour as mine, Stella. The way you always have been since you were five years old, and you told me I was stupid because I was a boy and boys were inherently stupid.”
“I still stand by that,” she whispers, and I smile.
“Yeah, I know you do. But what about if that boy is so wildly in love with you that he can’t breathe when you’re not near? Can you make an exception for him?” Her eyes go wide, her mouth dropping open.
“You’re in love with me?” I laugh because I thought it was obvious, thought I was always obvious. I grab her and roll to my back until she’s above me, her body pressed to mine in a way I’ve dreamt of for some time.
“God, Stella. Have you gotten my letters? Or has your mom snatched them?
“I mean, I got most of them, I think. I’ve been following the tour dates, but I think a few were missing…” her words trail off.
“You’ve got all my love, little star. Always have, always will.”
And then I kiss her again, letting my lips tell her everything my words apparently can’t.
She was always better with words, anyway.