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"I'm not," he claims.
"But you're leaving?"
"Yes." He takes a step backward, out of my reach.
"Then you're running from me," I accuse.
He squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head, then stares at me. He confesses, "There's a part of me I don't ever want you to see. It's a demon out of control, and when he wakes up, it's not pretty. So I need to go for a few hours. It's for your protection."
Goose bumps break out on my skin. "My protection? What does that even mean?"
His face hardens. He glances out the window at the crashing waves. His chest rises and falls faster. He clears his voice, grabs his keys, and turns toward me. He announces, "I'll be home later tonight or tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? Riggs, I'm sorry. I—"
He puts his fingers over my lips. "I love you. I'm always going to love you. But I want you to be happy. So I want you to think about whatever it is you need from me and how to voice it. When I return, you tell me what it is, and I'll be honest with you about whether or not I can give it to you."
An earthquake of fear hits my stomach. I blink harder, fighting the tears.
He spins and leaves the house with King Madden barking at his heels.
I go to the window and watch him pull out of the driveway. The gate shuts, and my gut sinks further.
King Madden jumps at my feet. I pick him up and pace the house, thinking about everything Riggs said, wishing I could do over last night and this morning, and worrying about his demon confession.
The more I pace, the more I realize he's right. We are yin and yang, each bringing to the table what the other lacks. And why was I trying to stop him from doing things I don't want to do when he thrives at them? And it's not like he ever did anything with my career I didn't authorize, except for introducing me to Ears.
I should only express my gratitude toward him for believing in my talent. Deep down, I know he's telling the truth. Riggs wouldn't have set me up with Ears if he thought I wasn't good enough.
And I don't want him to change. I love his take-charge attitude and how he handles everything I want to avoid.
I sit on the couch, and King Madden jumps up. He rolls over, and I scratch his belly, muttering, "Ugh, I'm a moron."
He whines and rolls over. He jumps off the couch and sniffs the ground.
I go to the kitchen, pick up his leash and my cell. I take him outside to his bathroom spot and turn on my phone. As expected, there are dozens of messages from Colton.
I don't read them and try to call Riggs. It goes to this voicemail. I hang up and text him.
Me: You aren't the only one who makes mistakes. Please come home. I love you.
I stare at the screen, but he doesn't reply.
King Madden finishes, and I go back into the house. My phone rings, and I get excited, but it's not Riggs. I send it to voicemail, and Noah texts.
Noah: Where are you? Scratch is in town. He wants to discuss collaborating on his next album with you.
I gape at the screen. Even with everything going on between Riggs and me, a twinge of excitement fills me. Scratch is a hip-hop rapper. His fan base is different from Colton's but just as huge.
I text back.
Me: Seriously?
Noah: Yes. Where are you?
Me: Home. At the beach house.
Noah: I'm in Malibu. I'll be there in five minutes.
