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“I’m not your wife, Riggins. Stop saying that.” I step out onto the porch.
“You’re not?” he asks, stepping closer and crossing his arms on his chest, the hammer still in his hands. “The papers we signed in Vegas state differently.” I groan and sigh, looking at the railing of my porch as if it will give me the energy and strength to deal with him.
It does not, in fact, give me anything.
“Then we’ll get a divorce! Sign the papers, and we can end this shit. It was a dumb decision we made as kids! This iscrazy, Riggins.” The words twist something I refuse to acknowledge in my gut, while the practical, rational side knows it’s what makes the most sense. It’s been the same battle for seven years: cut the last tie holding us together or hold on tight to the last fraying thread of hope.
A loud clatter occurs, heavy metal on wood, as the hammer falls to the steps before he takes a few steps toward me, pinning me against the side of my house.
“You bring up those stupid papers again; I’ll do what I always used to do when you would say something that pissed me off.”
I feel my brow come together in confusion. “What?—”
“Fuck you until you see things my way.” My mouth drops open, his just inches from my face, and even though there are a million things Ishouldbe worrying about at this moment, all I can think about is the fact that I probably have morning breath.
“Excuse me?” I ask, my voice a stuttered whisper.
“You let your walls down for me last night. Let me in. You came barging in, ready to rip me apart. But instead, what happened was out of your careful little calculations.” My breath stops.
“What?” I ask again, my words barely audible now, but he hears it all the same.
“You think I don’t realize your new life is entirely weighing pros and cons and deciding a million outcomes before you even try anything? No impulse. No excitement. Nothing.” He looks….disappointedas he speaks like he can’t believe this is the life I’m leading.
“I don’t—” I try to explain because he might not be wrong, but that doesn’t mean he has to beright.
“At my place, though, you didn’t take a moment to calculate. You went with your gut, and fuck, baby, I’m glad you did.” His head dips down then, shocking my system as his lips touch the skin beneath my ear.
“Riggins,” his breath is spreading warmth through me, his beard that needs a shave grazing against my skin. “Riggins, we can’t.”
“We can,” is all he says, his lips grazing skin.
“We aren’t that anymore.”
“We could be.”
I shake my head, but even I know it’s half-hearted. I’m barely even fighting anymore.
“We can’t. We don’t work; we proved that years ago,” I whisper, but I don’t push him away, and I don’t give any other indication I’d want him to back away from me.
“You’re punishing me, pushing me away because of who I used to be, but I don’t even know that man anymore, Stella. How is that fair, paying penance for a person I’m not?” he whispers, hitting a sore spot, a place I’ve contemplated more than a few times since he’s been back.
“I just need time, Riggins.”
“Time,” he whispers against my skin.
“Yes. I need time.” He nods, something I feel rather than see.
“If you can promise you’re not using it as an excuse, a chance to rebuild that wall I broke down yesterday, then yeah, I can give you time. I can give you all the time you need.”
Relief washes through me and I answer before I can second guess it, answering with my heart rather than my head.
“I promise.” His face goes liquid with pleasure, and the waters lower a bit, his sun warming my bones.
“Okay, Stell. Then I’ll give you time,” he whispers, then his head dips once more, pressing his lips to mine before backing away. “Gracie girl, come on,” he says, and I watch as Gracie follows him, trotting to his truck. Then, I watch him drive away.
On Thursday, Reed is leaning on his elbows against the table in the diner, loudly and exuberantly telling me a story of a time when they locked Wes outside of the bus with no clothes on.
“God, you should have seen it, Stella. He was frantic,” he says. I look over at Riggins, who is watching me. A small smile is on his lips, as he does. This is what it’s always like when he comes here; his eyes are always on me like he’s afraid to miss something.
