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Unlike his friend, Reed knows when to stop pushing, knows if he doesn't stop I’ll shut down and cut him out, so he changes the subject to my relief and we spend the next twenty minutes chatting about nothing of importance.
Finally, when we’re all finished, I stand, knowing I have to get back to the diner.
“This… this was great, Reed. Really. I missed you.”
“It’s good to have you back in my life, Stell. Our life.” I know he means the band, and he means Riggins, but I shake my head.
“This is the last thing I’ll say on it, Stell,” he says, and I take a deep breath, trying to brace myself. “Friendship. Give him your friendship. Even if you can’t ever give him what you both really want ever again, if you're too afraid to get hurt again, we’ll all understand. But you both need each other, even if it’s just as friends. You’re in the same room together, and for the first time in seven years, he’s whole again, Stella. His light is gone when you aren’t around. And I haven’t seen you over the past few years, but I think the same goes for you, too. Did you shine the past five years, Stella?”
I think about it, but I already know the answer.
I built my armor up so high, so thick, there was no chance for any light to get through.
But Riggins and the band being back has cracked it wide open, making me question everything again.
“I have to get back to work,” I say instead. He stares at me for a bit before nodding and leading me out of the burger joint and to his car. But as I try to leave, he grabs my wrist, his fingers touching the heart tattoo with the small letter 'R' on my wrist.
Riggins’ heart on my sleeve.
“Give him a chance, Stell.”
I can’t respond, through the lump in my throat, so instead, I give a noncommittal nod and open the door.
I think about Reed’s words through the rest of the day.
19 THE VIEW BETWEEN VILLAGES
NOW
STELLA
Later that night, while I’m sitting on the swing on my front porch, my phone rings, blaring the ringtone I set for my sister, and I smile as I answer.
“Hey, Eve,” I say. “What’s up?”
“You need to turn on High Fever,” Evie says, fully ignoring me. My brows furrow at her panicked voice, at my even-keeled sister not even pausing for me to finish saying hello.
“What?”
“You need to turn on High Fever right fucking now,” she says louder, panic and urgency in her words.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, standing and moving back into my house.
“Stella. Are you near your computer? Or you can use your phone.”
“You’re scaring me,” I say, but I open my laptop on the kitchen island, typing in the password quickly as I balance the phone between my shoulder and ear.
“I need you to turn on the live stream. I’m serious, Stella.”
“Okay, okay, I’m on it,” I say, trying to ignore the way my heart is pulsing. There’s only one reason Evie would tell me to turn on High Fever, the music channel that often has artists on for acoustic sessions.
“Faster, Stell. Faster.”
“I don’t understand what—” I start as I wait for the page to load, a live stream clearing and cutting my words out.
It’s Riggins on a chair, camera trained on his face, sitting with a guitar in his lap, those fingers I know all too well strumming gently and playing a song I recognize too fucking well.
Not because we wrote it together or because I’ve heard it on the radio.
