Chapter 36
RIGGS
Istay outside after Cade leaves, listening to the quiet murmur of the Barrett floating up to me from its banks while I watch the churn of it flow east, toward the Mississippi.
Pulling my gaze away from the river, I survey the yard as the sun sinks, brushing against the treetops while its exit ushers in storm clouds.
The tether ball pole is still standing, the ball attached to it by a rope hanging limp and deflated, blanched white by the sun.
Dent’s kitchen garden is showing signs of life—green sprouts poking up through the dark brown soil.
I imagine Gemma kneeling in the dirt. Golden blonde hair pulled back.
Cheeks pink, those freckles of hers baking in the sun while she works hard to bring something her grandfather loved, back to life.
She’s gonna lose this place.
It never occurred to me that she could. That there would ever be a time when I couldn’t knock on the front door and expect her to answer.
Even when I imagined her happy—married to someone else, raising babies some other man gave her—it was always here because this house is Gemma’s heart.
I don’t know if hers can keep on beating without it.
And that’s why I’m here.
Why she said yes to Reese when she asked Gemma to let me in.
That’s how desperate she is to save this place.
So desperate she’s willing to stomach the sight of me.
Tolerate my being an asshole to her, every chance she gives me.
But not desperate enough to tell me. Not desperate enough to ask me to stay.
Fuck.
Hands gripped around the wheels of my chair, I push myself back into the sunroom. Like they always are, the pocket doors connecting me to the rest of the house are closed. Cutting me off from her and I hate it.
Right now, I hate every fucking thing.
Most of all myself.
Rolling myself across the room, I reach out, throwing the pocket door open, intent on starting a fight because even though we’ve been living in the same house for weeks now, I haven’t seen her and I’ve decided that it’s her fault.
That if looking at her didn’t make me feel like someone swung a wrecking ball into my chest, I could get back there.
I could get back to a time when Gemma Pierce was just a girl.
A place where she was just Beck’s little sister and not the girl I fell in love with.
Not the woman who’s followed me into every hellish place I’ve ever gone.
Not the reason I laid under fifteen tons of concrete and steel and willed myself not to die.
Looking at her now, all that golden blonde hair of hers piled on top her head, wisps of it brushing across her cheekbones.
Against the nape of her neck while she pours cake batter into a bunt pan, I finally accept the fact that I’m never getting back there.
Not because I can’t. Not even because I don’t want to.
Because that place never really existed.
There’s never been a time or place where I haven’t loved her. Even when I hated her, blamed her for changing me and ruining everything, I needed Gemma—even if it was just the ghost of her, keeping me alive in the dark.
Riggs
Looking away from the oblivious woman in front of me, I find her giant asshole cat staring back at me.
“What—no bitch this time?” Looking at her, I laugh a little. “You goin’ soft on me, Janet?”
Considering me for a moment, she chooses her next words carefully.
No… sad
“No.” I shake my head, lifting my gaze, I watch while a still oblivious Gemma slides her bunt pan into the oven. “I’m not sad anymore.”
But I’m terrified.
I’m terrified as fuck.
Turning around, Gemma finally sees me sitting here, watching her.
“Shit.” She yelps it while stumbling back, nearly bumping into the stove before she’s able to pull the brakes.
Watching me warily, she reaches up to pull a hot pink earbud out of her ear.
I can hear Patsy Cline, crooning about walkin’ after midnight, from here.
“Is…” Letting her gaze drift away from me for a moment, I watch her cheeks flush and it occurs to me that while she’s been haunting me these past weeks, that maybe I’ve been haunting her too.
“Are you—do you need something?” Her brow furrows because she knows I don’t.
She’s made certain that I have everything I need within reach while doing her best to remain invisible.
She knows that whatever reason I have for tearing down the wall I’ve put between us, it has nothing to do with need.
It has everything to do with want.
Yeah, I want to know why the fuck you didn’t come to me if you needed help.
I don’t ask because I don’t have to.
I already know the answer.
I left. I abandoned her. Proved myself as unreliable and untrustworthy as Beck. Gemma isn’t the type to reach for a lifeline when she knows it isn’t there. She’d rather drown mad than drown disappointed.
“What are you baking?” It’s a lame thing to ask after weeks of self-imposed exile but since everything else I want to say will either get me tossed out or possibly arrested, it’s the best I can do.
“Wha—” Turning around to look at the oven behind her like she’s never seen it before in her life, Gemma whips back around to give me a nervous smile. “Brown butter pound cake,” she says, flipping her hand at the counter next to her. “With a pecan praline glaze.”
“For your Monday Mystery Date?” As soon as I say it, I want to ram my head through the fucking wall. Before I can put a hole in her drywall the size of a watermelon, Janet the asshole saves me.
Riggs… Churu
Blinking at me for a moment, Gemma starts to move, thankfully without answering my question, toward the cabinet above the kitchen sink where she keeps Janet’s stash.
“I’ll get it,” I tell her, pushing my chair into the kitchen.
“Oh, no—” Shaking her head, Gemma looks at me, hand dangling from the padlock. “I’ll just?—”
“She asked me, Gem,” I say, rolling myself forward to gently nudge her out of the way. “I’ll get it.”
“Okay.” Standing back, Gemma pushes herself back even further, watching silently while I position myself in front of the sink.
Setting the locks on my wheelchair, just in case my legs decide to give out, I force myself to move slowly.
Gripping the edge of the sink, I start to pull myself up, giving my fatigued muscles time to respond to the signals my brain is sending them.
Finally standing, I lean the tops of my thighs against the kitchen counter, bracing myself while I lift my hands to work the padlock loose.
Cabinet open, I pull one of Janet’s tubes from the box before setting it on the counter beside me.
“Here,” Rushing forward, Gemma presses herself against me while stretching herself up on her tip toes to reach for the cabinet, intent on closing it. “Let me?—”
Looking down at her, face suddenly inches from mine, I feel a soft gasp skate across my mouth.
Watch those soft hazel eyes of hers widen and it all comes rushing back to me.
The way her mouth felt under mine. The way she tasted.
How hard it was to walk away. How much I wanted to do it again.
“I got it.” I say it quietly, my tone edged with warning.
“Go get ready for your date—Janet and I will be fine without you.”
Liar
You’ve never been fine without her and no matter how hard you try, you never will be.
“It’s not a date.” Still pressed against me, eyes still wide. Gemma shakes her head. “At least not the kind you think it is.”
What? The kind where you walk over to Colt’s and eat delicious cake after letting him fuck you against every flat and sturdy surface he can find? You mean that kind of date?
Before I can say it out loud and quite possibly earn myself a much deserved knee to the balls, Gemma does the one thing I never expected.
“Do you want to come with me?”
Staring down at her for a moment, I feel my gaze narrow in confusion while Janet, who’s had enough of our human fuckery begins to spiral.
Churu… now
Riggs… bitch
Churu… now
Riggs… bitch
“You want me to tagalong on your date?” I ask, half confused, half angry about what I’m sure was am impulsive invitation.
When I say the word tagalong, Gemma gives me a faint smirk.
“I just told you it wasn’t a date, didn’t I?
” Before I can answer her, she gives me a head shake.
“You better give her what she wants or she’s gonna take you to the biscuit factory later.
” Cheeks flushed, Gemma retreats, taking a step back before she turns and heads for the stairs.
“I don’t know what that means,” I call after her, unable to decide if I’m angry or relieved that she’s no longer invading my space.
Gemma laughs, the sound of it floating down the stairs and smacking me right between the eyes.
Angry.
Definitely angry.
“Count yourself lucky,” She shouts down from the top of the stairs. “I’m gonna go get ready for my date—meet me at the front door in an hour.”