13. Orange Juice – Riggins
The drive is quiet for the most part, with Stella lost in her head, and I’m lost in mine.
I wish I could say I don’t know what came over me, what made me lose my fucking mind when I saw that fuckwad’s hands on Stell, but that would be a lie.
I clocked her as soon as she walked in the doors of Atlas, my wife standing too close to that fucker for my liking but not close enough to signify any kind of real relationship.
Then my eyes saw her face, the utter pain there, the understanding and the memories that flooded her.
It might have been seven years since she confided in me, but I can still read Stella Hart like a book, even from across a crowded bar.
I wondered if she has seen live music since she left or if she avoids it altogether. At the first show we played when I knew she wasn’t there, when I looked out to the wings and saw them empty, I thought I was going to vomit on the stage.
That was the first night of my true spiral, a spiral that lasted two years and ended only with the cold dump of water that was my father dying and a DUI. It’s interesting seeing my father fall apart when my mother died, the pain and suffering he put himself through, the way he drowned it in beer and liquor, and then understanding I was doing the same fucking thing. Stella was gone, and I was filling that void with everything—anything–I could.
I watched her from the moment she arrived, watched her start to relax and enjoy herself, fall victim to the bug that is live music, and then, I don’t know why, I turned to Reed and told him I wanted to play a song.
I wish I could say I don’t know what came over me, but I knew. I wanted to remind her of who we are. Who we should be. Who we’ve always been.
So I played the first single the band ever released, something of a hardcore fan favorite, at this point, not something the top 40 radio fans would ever know. The first song Stell and I wrote together under the stars, the song that changed everything. When I look back, I think that was the day I decided my best friend would one day be mine in every sense of the word.
Only to fuck it up so badly just a few years later.
As I played, my eyes never left hers.
It was a dick move, and I knew it the second I saw the panic take over her, when I saw her breathing quicken even from the stage, when I saw her eyes go wide.
We climbed off the stage, shaking hands with the owner of the Atlas who once gave us a chance when no one else wanted to, then with the members of the Tailored Pigs, and by the time we were off, I had lost my view of her. The guys went to go get drinks and I went to pace the bar, find a place I could watch my girl from without making her uncomfortable, or at least make sure she was safe.
Then I heard her, and I lost my fucking mind.
It was a bad move. I know that for sure. I’m fully expecting a call in the morning from Lee, our publicist, ripping me a new one or maybe a blackmail call from the asshole trying to get some money from me.
I’d pay it.
It would be worth every fucking penny.
“I was surprised to see you there,” Stella’s low voice says. She always had this fucking intoxicating, gravelly, low voice, almost like she smoked her entire life. It surprised people a lot, that voice coming from the little thing she was, but it always felt like Stella. My old soul. My little star, living a million lives.
“Where?”
She hesitates, and when I glance over at her, she’s biting her lip, second-guessing speaking.
“The bar.”
“Cause I’m a drunk?” She coughs, choking on surprise, and I can’t help but laugh. It feels rusty, a sound that hasn’t been used in a while, but it feels good all the same. “They’ve got orange juice and soda at bars.” She shakes her head.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t–”
“I’m clean. Sober. All of the things,” I say.
“I know,” she whispers.
Something in me warms, the fact that she knows, that she probably searched me, that I wasn’t some unknown, distant memory over the years. She clarified and confirms.
“I, uh… I look you up. Occasionally. Make sure you’re okay; the band is okay. I spent…” There’s a pause while she tries to figure out how to say what she’s going to say or maybe if she even wants to, but she continues. “I spent a lot of my life with you guys. You were all a big part of my childhood and… later.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, afraid if I allow myself to say more, I’ll scare her off, and this is the most conversation I’ve gotten out of her since I got home.
God, it seems even seven years later, I’m still fucking things up.
The road turns bumpy and unmaintained as we get closer to Stella’s house, and I wonder how she gets back here when the weather is bad, if she has something other than that little VW beetle, or if she has a truck in that big garage.
As I pull up to her place, I realize there are no lights, not on the road, not leading up to her house, something she should change and quickly. It’s not safe, her driving back here alone at night. Mentally, I decide where they should go along the driveway and what kind should go up her walkway.
Finally, I’m in her drive, parked next to the house instead of pulling all the way back, and she reaches for the handle.
“I’ll get it.”
“What?”
“I’ll get it. I’ll walk you to the door.”
“Riggs, that’s?—”
“Almost watched you get attacked by some asshole tonight. Humor me, okay? I’m a little on edge.” Another beat of her staring at me, trying to decide if she’s going to argue with me before her shoulders relax, and she sighs.
“You always were very protective of me,” she mumbles.
Until I forgot how fucking precious you were, I don’t say out loud. Instead, I just get out, slam the door behind me, and walk around the front of the truck, tugging open her door and holding out my hand.
“Riggs—”
I don’t miss how she’s back to Riggs.
“Please, Stell. This truck is big and though a lot has changed in seven years, you haven’t gotten any taller.” She glares at me and I can’t fight the smile. She takes my hand though, small and warm and twines her fingers with mine. I don’t flinch when one of them touches a cut, a pain I’d feel over and over and over if it means I get to hold her hand.
She hops down, and I tighten my grip so she can’t pull her hand out. When she glares at me, I ignore that, too, instead tipping my head up to the sky.
Something about this, holding her hand in my hometown late at night, looking up at the stars just like we did countless nights before, heals something in me.
“They’re bright tonight,” her voice says, dancing in the night air and tinkling in my awareness. When I look over at her, her eyes are on the sky, too, taking in the familiar lights.
“Clear night,” I agree.
“I still go there, you know,” she says in a whisper, still not making a move towards her house. “The clearing. Lay there, watch the stars.”
It’s a shock, but a good one.
If she were completely over me, over us, if it was a painful memory she never wanted to touch again, she wouldn’t go there. She wouldn’t go to a spot in the woods haunted by our love, by our dreams—the place we spent hours and hours daydreaming, writing, and falling in love.
I don’t respond because I don’t know how. I’m walking on eggshells right now, trying to find the balance between encouraging her and terrified to scare her off, anger her.
Finally, her face tips down, quickly meeting my eyes but not letting me hold the contact, before she takes a step towards her house, hand still in mine.
A win, I think.
My boot stomps up the steps and in addition to the loose floorboards, I take in the railing that needs some work, a new beam and some paint.
Finally, she drops my hand, digging in her bag to find a key and holding it up, but not unlocking her door. Just standing there in front of me.
“I don’t… I don’t really know what to say. Thank you feels….” She smiles, a small laugh bubbling through her words. “It feels like a reward for bad behavior.” I return the smile. “But you know, thanks. For saving me and all.”
“It’s what friends do, Stella,” I say without thinking, and her brow furrows in confusion that sends a strike of pain and misery through me.
“But…” her words drift off, and I shake my head, trying to get her to see.”
“Please, Stella. Friends,” I say, pleading in my voice.
“What?”
“If you won’t give me anything else, please give me that. I miss my best friend. It’s like… it’s like I’m missing a part of me for seven years.” I stare into her eyes, her chin tipped up to look at me like she did the stars, and I see it there. The sadness buried under her tough exterior, the way this is all weighing on her.
The way I’m weighing on her.
For a moment, I wonder if Stella will ever let me back in. If this is all a fruitless quest to find her again.
But god, I miss her. I miss her too fucking badly to throw this away, to throw her away. I’ve spent seven years trying to get her out from where she burrowed under my skin with no success.
“Friends,” she whispers.
“I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m selfish. I’m selfish, and I need something from you. A part of you. I’ve been missing the part you took all those years ago. Give me something, something small to fill the void,” I whisper. I realize now how close we’re standing, how I can feel her body heat in the chill of the early summer night. My head tipped down to look at her, hers tipped up to look at me, a decade of thoughts flashing across her face.
I almost step back, assuming she’s not going to say anything, but I’m stopped when her warm hand settles on my chest, right over my heart, and the permanent reminder I have there like she somehow knows it’s here.
“Riggs,” she whispers, then closes the gap between us, sandwiching her hand between us.
I can’t stop myself, every molecule of my body screaming to grab her, to touch her, to drag her into this house and remind her of who we are together. I grab her, wrapping one arm on her waist.
Time passes at a speed that makes my skin itch, that makes me want to scream, want to jump and speak before her, but I force myself to pause, to wait, to give her whatever time she needs.
I remember this about her. I was impulsive and would jump before I thought, but not my Stella. She always thought things out, breaking them down until she knew the exact pros and cons and potential outcomes before making a decision.
The only time she jumped without looking was when I asked her to marry me and look how that ended.
So I wait. I watch the thoughts and emotions cross her face, watch her deduce the ending of how things could go before finally, finally, she moves to her tiptoes.
I lean down and the world stops moving. The sun explodes and my body goes up in flames, a million memories and long buried emotions escaping as I press my lips to hers, soft and pliant, both so painfully familiar and eerily foreign.
And for the first time in seven years, I kiss my wife.
It starts chaste, just a pressing of lips on lips, but then she gasps, her lips opening a bit as she does, and I can’t help but slide my tongue into her, tasting her as I do. Her body melts to mine, her hand moving to behind my neck and fingers twining into my hair. My arm moves, wrapping her waist, and we continue to kiss until I lose track of time, place, and reality. It heals something inside of me that’s been broken for years, and when it ends, when she moves her head back just a bit, there is a flash of confusion, longing, and embarrassment. I feel hope rather than disappointment.
“Okay. Friends,” she says in a whisper like the kiss didn’t just happen.
A weight leaves my chest, but I don’t actually speak, just nod and smile at her, a mirror of her as she steps away and moves to unlock her door, cracking it open and turning to me again.
“Good night, Riggs,” she says. “Glad to have you back.” It’s a simple statement, but it sends a cascade of warmth through me all the same.