32. Fear of Water – Stella
He knocks.
When Riggins comes to pick me up for Beckett’s party, he knocks on the front door like this is a real date. Butterflies erupt in my belly and I wipe my hands down the front of my rose colored dress that I’m halfway regretting wearing. It’s much too fancy for a house party at Beck’s, but I’m unsure of what this is—a date, or just a party.
I chose an all-lace maxi dress with a plunging neckline showing the sides of my barely there breasts, a slip dress underneath the lace stopping right beneath my ass. It’s a mix of sexy and boho, so it feels like me still but pretty. Special.
I take a deep break, running my fingers through my waves before opening the door.
He stands there, his hands in his pockets, his longish hair pulled back into a mini bun at the back of his head, a black tee and dark jeans on, and he looks so fucking handsome.
I open my mouth to say… something, anything, but I don’t get the chance when he takes a wide step inside my place, hands going to my waist and guiding me until I’m against the wall of my entryway, his lips moving to mine instantly.
It’s not a sweet hello kiss, not kind and pleasant. It’s hot and needy, and when his body presses against mine fully, I moan into the kiss. The slit in my dress comes in handy when his hands move to my ass, and I’m able to spread my legs around his waist as he continues to hold me against the wall, grinding into me where I need him most.
We haven’t done anything since that one night and definitely haven’t done anything more than kiss since I agreed to give him a fresh shot, and right now, that need is building in me.
I moan as his tongue tangles with mine and again as his lips start to trail, leaving wet, sucking kisses along the sensitive skin of my neck.
“Riggins, please,” I whisper in his ear. “Please.” I’m asking for more. I’m asking for everything. I don’t know if I’m ready to give him that or if I’m ready to take it from him, but right now, it’s all I can think about. He puts his forehead against mine, shaking his head. “I don’t want to rush this, Stella. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“What is this?” I whisper, dazed by the kiss and letting my worries run free. “What are we? One day, I’m just me, I’m floating along, surviving?—”
“Surviving,” he says, his brows coming together, the word sounding foreign on his lips, like he doesn’t quite understand the meaning of it. Even from the close angle I can see he doesn’t like the word. I roll my eyes and smile.
“Yes, surviving, Humans do it all the time. Living from one day to the next.”
“No, no, little star. You should never be just surviving. You should be thriving. And I’m so fucking sorry it took me so long to come back, to find what has always been mine, and to take care of you.” My heart skips a beat with his words.
“This is what I mean, Riggins. What is this?” The panic starts to rise with my already heightened emotions. “You slide back into my life, no warning, then start following me to work every day, saving me from creeps, taking care of me when I’m having an episode, helping me stand up to my mom, and I’m just supposed to be like, yeah, totally, this is normal?” He smiles wider and moves so I’m standing again, but he’s still caging me in, keeping me in a place like he’s afraid I’ll run.
“I mean, that would make my life a bit easier, but you’ve never been one for that.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m serious, Riggins. I’m so confused. What is this? Is this a date? Are we just friends?”
Suddenly, his face goes dark, a million emotions cascading over it. His breath ghosts against my lips, smelling of cinnamon mints and coffee.
“My biggest regret in life—and Stella, I have a lot of them. So fucking many, from not letting my mom know how much she meant to me, to not making sure my dad got help, to making the guys suffer because I was a fuckwad, to so many more I probably can’t even remember because I’d drink until I blacked out and do and say dumb, hurtful things and not remember them in the morning. But of all the shit I’ve done, the one I regret most is letting you walk away from me. Not fighting for you, for us. And selfishly, part of that is because it means I spent too many years without seeing you smile, without smelling your perfume, or without feeling your fingers twine with mine. Seven years since I sat under the stars with you, since we wrote a song together. Seven years since, I felt at peace, even when I was tearing myself apart. My biggest fucking regret is watching you walk away and not chasing after you, not doing everything in my power to make sure you knew how fucking much I love you.”
“Riggins,” I whisper, but I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Am I asking him to kiss me? Am I asking him to stop, to back off, to leave forever? “What is this?” I ask for a third time instead of either of those options, my lips brushing his with the movement of my lips.
“This is us, our second shot, Stella. That’s what this is. Please. Take it with me.”
Something in me shifts with his words, my world careening a bit, and for some reason beyond my understanding, I nod.
“Stella!” a voice yells when Riggins, Evie, and I walk into Beckett’s house, the same one he had all those years ago, not upgrading to something more grand despite his increased budget and stardom.
Evie waited in her car until Riggs and I showed up, refusing to walk in without us, and as I see her give a forced uncomfortable smile, I’m half wondering why she came here, even if I’m glad she’s here. “And Everest!” Reed comes into view, moving around bodies until he’s pulling both Evie and I into his arms.
“You call me Everest again, I’m pulling out my blackmail from when we were kids,” my twin deadpans when he steps back, bumping into some girl I don’t recognize. She glares at him until she realizes who he is, and her lips tip up, coy and intrigued.
Reed ignores her, as he always does. That was always his way, ignoring all of the super fans who wanted a roll in the hay with the bassist of Atlas Oaks.
There’s not too many people here, maybe fifteen plus a handful I saw milling about outside, smoking and sitting around a bonfire, but Beckett’s house is small, so it feels bigger than it is.
“You wouldn’t,” Reed says, a look of fake hurt on his face.
“Try me,” my sister says, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Stop it you two, or I’ll pull out my blackmail and we all know I know way more on both of you than you could possibly know on me,” I say and both of them laugh.
“God, Stell, still as vicious as ever,” a voice says, and then Wes and Beck come into view.
“Shut it, Wesley,” I say with a smile, moving to give him a hug and then step back. “You guys remember my sister, right?”
Beck’s eyes go warm and knowing, and for a split second, I wonder if I imagined it as his grumpy guard drops back down into place. “Evie,” he says, low and without any emotion in his voice, before pulling me into a hug and wordlessly walking off.
I meet Reed’s eyes and give him a, what the fuck look. His face is a hint of confusion, a hint of humor as he shrugs at me.
Evie elbows me in the side, and I lean to hear her,
“I think I just saw someone I know. I’ll be right back,” she says. I move to look around, then back at my sister to ask who, but before I can, she’s gone, disappearing into the small crowd.
When I turn back it’s just Reed and Wes in front of me.
“What the hell was that?” I ask, confused, still looking around to find her.
Reed shrugs, smiles, and opens his mouth like he has something to share with me, but then a strong arm is wrapping around my waist, tugging me back into a chest. I let out an oof and would normally panic, but I know that arm.
I know that chest.
I know the smell and feel, and I definitely know the rumble of Riggins’ laugh on my back.
It feels safe.
It feels like I’m home.
Hours later, I’m sitting outside on a log around a fire, listening to the crackling of the wood and the occasional loud laugh from the house. I left the house to escape the chaos when all four of the guys huddled in a corner, and Reed started screaming at someone to take a picture for them.
Seeing him in this new frame has been a challenge, so close to how things used to be that it almost triggers a panic inside of me, something I don’t want to feel, doubts I don’t want to give air to. I don’t think he’s going to start drinking after just one party, especially not after talking to him in the woods and seeing him prove to me, again and again, he’s turned a new leaf, but I can”t help but wonder how parties like this impact him, how they make him feel.
A few minutes of my staring into the crackling fire, my eyes dry from my intense stare. Someone sits down across from me at one of the six logs lining the area around the fire. When I look up, I see Beckett staring into the same fire as I am, quiet, not saying a word or looking at me.
Silence takes over, suddenly louder than when it was just me. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s… different. It never was when it was me and Beckett. He was always the quiet, brooding type, but I liked that about him. Liked how I could sit in my own thoughts when I was with Beckett.
Riggins was always my heart, the one I could share everything with, for better or worse.
Reed was the funny one, the one who would do absolutely anything to make someone smile, the one who I could talk about dumb shit with.
Wes was the ladies man, the one who would pick up a new girl on tour every single night, and I always knew I could go to him for anything and he’d always tell me how it was.
But Beckett? Beckett was the one I could always sit in comfortable silence with. The one who punched Riggins in the face when he found out he’d made me cry, the one who I know probably gave Riggs the most shit when I was gone for good. He was also the one who, when I had a line but not a melody, I could come to him and wait for him to find the right staccato or beat for the words I wrote.
I missed them all, but I missed Beckett most, I think.
“He’s better, you know,” his deep, rumbling voice says, shocking me since he’s never been the one to speak up first. It’s not his style.
“What?”
“Riggins. He’s better. In control.”
My stomach flips, but I nod in agreement. I can see that; it’s obvious. And It’s been confirmed by the others.
“Yeah, I know. Reed told me.”
Beckett stares at me for a long beat before shaking his head. “Reed sees the best in everyone. He would tell you Riggs was better even if he slipped up a bunch just because he misses you and misses seeing you two happy together.”
He’s not wrong; Reed would do that, and I’d be lying if that voice in my head hadn’t been whispering that to me in the dark as well.
“But me, I’ll tell you like it is.” This is also true. He would. “You left; he got worse. Real bad, Stell, but I think you know that.” I nod in confirmation, but no words will leave my lips as I hold his deep brown eyes. “Got better, on and off, then his dad died, and he fucking lost it. You know that, too.” I nod again, remembering the way Riggins described it all to me.
I remember going to Riggins’ father’s funeral. Remember holding his hand even though I didn’t feel like I had the right, and I remember him disappointing me again, and I remember feeling like such a fucking idiot for believing in him, believing we could be anything.
“The label ordered him to go to rehab.” Now that, that’s news to me.
“What?” I ask, trying to place this new piece of information into the timeline I already have in my head, trying to understand where it fits.
It doesn’t, but Beckett nods. His head turns looking out to the woods behind his house, woods I once ran off into with Riggins, woods where I had my first kiss with him, woods where I’ve written more songs that I can count.
“It was kept quiet, but yeah. He went to rehab.” There’s a pause while I try and think of what to say, but he fills in the silence. I knew he went, of course, but I never really thought of the logistics or what got him to go. “It wasn’t easy; he thought he could do outpatient and get sober that way, but he needed professional help, full-time. He’d gotten too good at hiding it by then.” My gut twists. “I told him I was done with the band if he didn’t go. The music, the fame, the fans… none of it was worth it if he drank himself into a grave. The others followed eventually, and he agreed, especially after the DUI.”
“A DUI?” I ask, confused. Beckett looks at me with a similar confusion across his face.
“Well… yeah.” He says it a bit confused but keeps speaking. “I mean, it wasn’t made public, though. All of this wasn’t important for anyone else to know, but I think now… it’s important for you to know.” I stare at his profile, thinking how it would have been so much easier if it was Beckett, whom I had a crush on all those years ago.
“Why?” I ask in a low whisper.
“Because you’re not all in yet. You’re scared. I can see that. But Stell, I’ll say he’s been clean, he’s been alive, but he hasn’t been living since you left. Tonight? Tonight, he’s living. He’s back, Stella. And it’s selfish as fuck, me asking you to give him a chance because I missed my friend, but I’m going to ask anyway. I’m going to ask you to give him a chance. If you want him as much as he wants you or even close to it, give him a chance.”
This time, he lets the silence stretch, lets me think and ruminate on the words he just spilled,
“I’m scared,” I whisper into the dark, a confession I’m embarrassed to say out loud. “I’m so scared, Beckett.”
“I know,” he says.
He doesn’t try to tell me the reasons I shouldn’t be scared, doesn’t try to counter my fears. Instead, he challenges them. “But are you too scared to reach for something beautiful? Because you two? You two are beautiful, Stell. You two are something that doesn’t come around often, a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love. Are you too scared to try and have that?”
“I thought Riggins was the songwriter, Beckett?” I say with a laugh, trying to break the tension and failing miserably.
He shakes his head seriously. “No, that was always you, Stell. But you know that. You know you were always part of this band from the start, and when you left, we were never the same. Not just Riggins—all of us.”
I sit there gaping like a fish, trying to figure out how to respond when his name is called from behind me. Beckett raises a hand and stands, but not before he bends down and presses a kiss to the top of my head.
“Glad you’re back, Stella,” he whispers there, loud enough for no one but me to hear, then walks off.
I sit quietly for a while before I leave for the bathroom to take a few deep breaths with no one around.
And I look at myself in the mirror.
Are you too scared to reach for something beautiful?
Am I?
Am I too scared to try this again? Because if I am, I should stop this all together. The right thing, the kind thing to do would be to tell Riggins I can’t do it, cut my losses before one of us gets really hurt.
More hurt than we already got.
But if I’m not…
I stand there, staring at myself for long moments before finally, I make my decision. If it was even really a decision at all.
When I leave the bathroom and step back into the party, I look around for Riggs but can’t find him. Without my permission, my stomach starts to churn, nerves and old fears kicking in.
Finally I meet Reed’s eyes and before I can ask, he tips his head toward the back sliding door and he’s there, sitting at the edge of the deck, staring out at the stars, a cigarette balanced in his fingers.
I walk out and sit next to him, shifting my eyes to the same stars he’s watching.
“Want one?” Riggs asks, offering his pack of cigarettes. I remember sitting outside gigs, smoking with him because it felt cool and grown up, even though I hated the taste. Eventually, I got used to it, started to crave the quiet peace of a smoke break.
It was the first habit I dropped after I left.
I shake my head with a smile.
“No, I don’t smoke anymore.”
He returns the smile and stuffs the pack back in his pocket, crushing the butt beneath his shoe and popping a piece of gum in his mouth. “Oh, me neither,” he says finally.
I give him a small smile and a confused look. “You literally just lit a cigarette.”
His smile goes wider, his dimple breaking out on his cheek. “Yeah, well. If you don’t smoke, I don’t smoke.”
I think that small statement answered whatever questions I might still have.
I’m scared, but not too scared.
Riggs can show me and everyone can tell me over and over he has changed, but at some point it becomes my job to believe in him. To trust it will all be okay.
“What are you doing out here by yourself?” I ask, leaning back on my hands and staring off into the stars the same way he is.
“It gets hard sometimes, being at a party. The band, they all look at me like I’m about to break like they’re constantly worried I’m going to grab a drink and spiral again.”
“Are you?” I ask, and I think it surprises him, my asking. I wonder if people ever ask or if they tip-toe around the question like I have been.
But where is that getting us? Between not trusting him and holding old hurts against him, where is that getting us besides wildly confused?
“Am I going to start drinking again?”
I nod.
Without a moment of hesitation, he shakes his head. “Fuck no.”
“That sure?”
His hand moves, reaching out and twining his fingers around mine.
“Drinking made me lose the most important thing in my life once before, and I’ve been living with those mistakes ever since. It also made my father lose his life, made me almost lose my career, and almost lost my friends. No, Stell. There’s no going back there for me. Never.”
“What if I say no?” I ask, and without even explaining myself, I know he knows what I mean.
What if I say no to this? To us. What if I decide it’s too much, that there’s too much between us, behind us, that I can’t get over it.
“Then life will go on. I’ll live life without my other half, but I’m not picking up a drink, Stell. I’m done with that.”
He says it without wavering and when I look at him, I know it’s true. I think to a point, that’s what I needed. To know his sobriety wasn’t hinging on whatever delicate thread of a relationship we have right now.
“Ready?” he asks. “To go, I mean.” I realize I’ve spent long minutes staring at the stars, contemplating… life, I suppose.
I look at him and see the hope in his eyes. Not hope that I’ll be ready to go, but hope that I’ll be ready for more.
Ready for us.
And even though I”m terrified of getting hurt and how that would ruin me, I finally have the clarity I need to take the jump once more.
“Yeah, honey. I’m ready,” I whisper.
“When you came back, I was scared,” I whisper as he drives toward my place. I remember there being a time when I’d count the street lights from his place to mine, knowing when I counted to eight it meant we’d be parting soon, and I’d have to go back to my mom.
“I know,” he whispers back, eyes on the road.
“My depression… the waters,” I say, trying to explain in a way I hope he”ll understand. “They got the highest they ever were that first time I left. I thought I was going to drown.”
His hand reaches out for mine, grabbing it and squeezing hard.
We’re silent for the rest of the drive, silent as he parks in my driveway and as he opens my door and twines his fingers with mine. We stopped at the top of the steps of the porch he fixed for me.
Finally, I stop and stare at him, remembering Beckett’s words again.
Are you too scared to reach for something beautiful?
No. No, I’m not. I’ve let fear win for too long. Where has that gotten me?
“I’m not scared of the water anymore, Riggins,” I say, looking at him. His hand lifts, brushing his hair back. “I’m not scared of drowning.” I whisper the words into the night sky and feel the strength the stars have always given me, the courage to speak truths that are too scary to say in the bright light of day.
“Why?” he asks, the simple, small word carrying so much in just a single syllable, a single beat.
“Because I know you’ll keep my head above water. You’ll build me a boat if I need it.” He steps closer until there’s no space between us, pressing his forehead to mine and nodding, his skin moving against mine.
“Always, Stella. I’ll always be there, waiting for you on the other side. If the waters start to rise, I’ll be your lifeboat. And if you need to float in them for a little while, I’ll be there holding your hand.”
“I’m still scared of you,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says. “I know.” It’s a simple admittance, but it means a lot all the same. It means even more when he doesn’t try to refute or diminish my fear, just accepts it.
“But I’m not too scared to try again,” I whisper.
His eyes close slowly as he takes in a low, deep breath, filling his lungs. “I think that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”