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God, how fucking stupid was I?
“Stell, you’re scaring me,” my sister says as I continue to sob, as it all comes out, the pain and the anguish of what happened, of the truth.
I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself, to make it so words can actually leave my lips, before I speak.
“I… we’re in Vegas,” I say, something she already knows. “The guys all went gambling and drinking, but I couldn’t, obviously, so we just…” I pause and look at the ring on my finger, the one he slid on last night, something we picked out in a random jeweler store on the strip.
A wedding band with tiny diamond stars dotted across.
“Stars for my little star,” he’d said before kissing my hair and asking if there was a thicker version for him. There was, but it didn’t fit so we kept the box with the too big ring he took off almost immediately after the little chapel ceremony, so he wouldn’t lose it in my purse.
God, god, god, I’m so stupid.
“We wandered around. We had fun, it was like… normal. Jesus, Evie.” I take a deep breath before confessing. “We got married.” Silence fills the line.
“I’m sorry; what did you just say?” Her words are stilted and nervous.
Wait until she finds out it only gets worse.
“We got married. We got tattoos,” I say, croaking out the words, staring at my wrist, directly under my ring finger, a heart with the letter R in it. His heart on my sleeve. Riggins got a star in the same spot. “We had champagne to celebrate.” I take a fortifying breath before the next words. “It’s all my fault.”
“What’s your fault?” she asks gently. With the pain in her words, the lump in my throat returns, and I reach for a water bottle, trying to wash it down. I play with the bottle in my hands, watching the water sway with the motion of my hands before I speak.
“I don’t know what to do. He doesn’t remember anything from yesterday.”
“What?” she asks, stunned.
“That’s why I called. Shit, Eve, I don’t care about marrying him. I’d do it a million times. But hedoesn’t remember it. He woke up and acted like nothing happened. He just left for a sound check.” She’s quiet again, my logical twin thinking through options and words.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. He has a show tonight, and I didn’t… I don’t know. I froze.”
“You need to talk to him,” my sister says, her words firm. “If he’s drinking still and hiding it… that’s not good,” she says.
“He’s not…” I start, panic racing through me at something I hadn’t even considered. “He’s not hiding anything. We just split two bottles of champagne and…”
“Stella, that wouldn’t make him black out,” she says gently. I ignore it. My mind isn’t ready to process something like that.
“I just… I feel lost. I don’t know what to do. I love him—” Her sharp words interrupt.
“Is that enough, Stella? I love him, and I love him for you, but in a situation like this, is love enough?” I don’t ask her to clarify, instead pausing and thinking about her words.
Islove enough? Is the love I feel for Riggins enough to survive this?
Yes,I tell myself instantly, knowing it’s the truth. Yes.
“Yes,” I say, feeling the word deeply and into my soul. “It’s everything else… he’s worth it. I crack the cap of the water bottle and bring it to my lips as if I need to wash down the words, but I sputter and cough as I take a sip, moving it back to look at the label.
It’s the same water brand that we keep on the bus in the tiny kitchenette.
Except that is not water.
It’s vodka.
“Oh my god,” I whisper.
“Stella?” my sister asks, but I’m barely listening as I put the bottle down and then start digging through his bags.
