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The road turns bumpy and unmaintained as we get closer to Stella’s house, and I wonder how she gets back here when the weather is bad, if she has something other than that little VW beetle, or if she has a truck in that big garage.
As I pull up to her place, I realize there are no lights, not on the road, not leading up to her house, something she should change and quickly. It’s not safe, her driving back here alone at night. Mentally, I decide where they should go along the driveway and what kind should go up her walkway.
Finally, I’m in her drive, parked next to the house instead of pulling all the way back, and she reaches for the handle.
“I’ll get it.”
“What?”
“I’ll get it. I’ll walk you to the door.”
“Riggs, that’s?—”
“Almost watched you get attacked by some asshole tonight. Humor me, okay? I’m a little on edge.” Another beat of her staring at me, trying to decide if she’s going to argue with me before her shoulders relax, and she sighs.
“You always were very protective of me,” she mumbles.
Until I forgot how fucking precious you were, I don’t say out loud. Instead, I just get out, slam the door behind me, and walk around the front of the truck, tugging open her door and holding out my hand.
“Riggs—”
I don’t miss how she’s back to Riggs.
“Please, Stell. This truck is big and though a lot has changed in seven years, you haven’t gotten any taller.” She glares at me and I can’t fight the smile. She takes my hand though, small and warm and twines her fingers with mine. I don’t flinch when one of them touches a cut, a pain I’d feel over and over and over if it means I get to hold her hand.
She hops down, and I tighten my grip so she can’t pull her hand out. When she glares at me, I ignore that, too, instead tipping my head up to the sky.
Something about this, holding her hand in my hometown late at night, looking up at the stars just like we did countless nights before, heals something in me.
“They’re bright tonight,” her voice says, dancing in the night air and tinkling in my awareness. When I look over at her, her eyes are on the sky, too, taking in the familiar lights.
“Clear night,” I agree.
“I still go there, you know,” she says in a whisper, still not making a move towards her house. “The clearing. Lay there, watch the stars.”
It’s a shock, but a good one.
If she were completely over me, over us, if it was a painful memory she never wanted to touch again, she wouldn’t go there. She wouldn’t go to a spot in the woods haunted by our love, by our dreams—the place we spent hours and hours daydreaming, writing, and falling in love.
I don’t respond because I don’t know how. I’m walking on eggshells right now, trying to find the balance between encouraging her and terrified to scare her off, anger her.
Finally, her face tips down, quickly meeting my eyes but not letting me hold the contact, before she takes a step towards her house, hand still in mine.
A win, I think.
My boot stomps up the steps and in addition to the loose floorboards, I take in the railing that needs some work, a new beam and some paint.
Finally, she drops my hand, digging in her bag to find a key and holding it up, but not unlocking her door. Just standing there in front of me.
“I don’t… I don’t really know what to say. Thank you feels….” She smiles, a small laugh bubbling through her words. “It feels like a reward for bad behavior.” I return the smile. “But you know, thanks. For saving me and all.”
“It’s what friends do, Stella,” I say without thinking, and her brow furrows in confusion that sends a strike of pain and misery through me.
“But…” her words drift off, and I shake my head, trying to get her to see.”
“Please, Stella. Friends,” I say, pleading in my voice.
“What?”
