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“You have to get out of here,” I say, the words so low I’m surprised he can hear them.
“We have to talk, Stella. That’s what I have to do. You had seven years to lick your wounds—” Suddenly, I stand, letting the indigence win but not letting the tightly leashed emotion out.
“Lick my wounds,” I repeat, crossing my arms on my chest. “That’s what you think I’ve been doing for seven years? Licking my wounds?” A hoarse laugh leaves my throat even though nothing right now is funny. “God, some things never change, do they? Still so fucking self-centered to think my life still revolves around you.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair.
“Stella, that’s not what I meant. We need to talk about this. This is a big fucking deal. We’ve been married for seven years!”
“If you want, I’ll get divorce papers written up,” I say casually, feeling the knife twist.
I should have sent them years ago, snipped the invisible string keeping me tethered to him, but I never did.
“What?”
“You seem frustrated we’re married. Simple fix. We’ll get a divorce.” His thick brows furrow, brows I used to run my thumb over when he was angry, smoothing out those harsh lines.
“What? No, that’s not what I’m saying. We need to talk. You left with no warning, no note, nothing. I never saw your face again; you never talked to me?—”
“Yeah, you tried real hard, out there on the road, fucking anything that would move, being a big rockstar, dating models and actresses. Must have been real hard on you, babe.”
“What the fuck? You left me, Stella. What was I supposed to do? Now I find out all this time we were married, you never said a word, and it’s my fault—” Something snaps in me.
“Leave,” I say, the word low and bitter.
“What?”
“I said, leave. Get off my property.” I look to Gracie who has laid down at my feet and swallow the rock of emotion there, knowing she’ll be leaving with him. “Now.”
At least this time, I knew to protect her bark, to capture it and cherish it so I’ll have it later when the deep, dark waters start to pull me under.
“Stella, we?—”
“Go, or I’m calling the cops, Riggins.” The name slices through him, and I know somewhere deep down it hurts.
Good, I think. I hope it fucking kills him, tears him apart, changes him the way he tore through me, changed me all these years ago.
I never called him Riggins, not since I was little. I only ever called him Riggins when I was annoyed with him. He was always Riggs, or baby, or honey.
But now he’s just… Riggins.
Except, really, he’s not even that anymore. He hasn’t been much more than a ghost of my past for years.
“We have to talk.” I shake my head.
“No, we don’t.”
“We’re married, Stella!” Finally, his calm mask slips, and somehow, somehow, I feel like I’ve won this round.
I won’t give him the same outburst. I’m not that person anymore; I’m no longer wild, free, and loud.
“And we have been for seven years, Riggins. That hasn’t changed. Nothing has changed just because, for whatever reason, you’re standing here now. Nothing has changed, has it?” He knows I’m saying more than I let on, and I know it’s a bitch move, and I know it’s a blow that hurts him.
A lot has changed, and I know he had to have worked hard to make that change, but I can’t find it in me to care.
He looks at me, those wide green eyes taking me in, trying to burrow in under my skin and read me the way he used to, but he hits a wall I carefully and precisely erected to keep everyone out, including him.
His mouth goes tight, and he gives me a slight nod.
“Gracie, come,” he says with a wave before he heads toward his truck, and it almost causes my mask to slip and my armor to dent.
