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“Why?” I ask in a low whisper.
“Because you’re not all in yet. You’re scared. I can see that. But Stell, I’ll say he’s been clean, he’s been alive, but he hasn’t been living since you left. Tonight? Tonight, he’sliving. He’s back, Stella. And it’s selfish as fuck, me asking you to give him a chance because I missed my friend, but I’m going to ask anyway. I’m going to ask you to give him a chance. If you want him as much as he wants you or even close to it, give him a chance.”
This time, he lets the silence stretch, lets me think and ruminate on the words he just spilled,
“I’m scared,” I whisper into the dark, a confession I’m embarrassed to say out loud. “I’m so scared, Beckett.”
“I know,” he says.
He doesn’t try to tell me the reasons I shouldn’t be scared, doesn’t try to counter my fears. Instead, he challenges them. “But are you too scared to reach for something beautiful? Because you two? You two are beautiful, Stell. You two are something that doesn’t come around often, a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love. Are you too scared to try and have that?”
“I thought Riggins was the songwriter, Beckett?” I say with a laugh, trying to break the tension and failing miserably.
He shakes his head seriously. “No, that was always you, Stell. But you know that. You know you were always part of this band from the start, and when you left, we were never the same. Not just Riggins—all of us.”
I sit there gaping like a fish, trying to figure out how to respond when his name is called from behind me. Beckett raises a hand and stands, but not before he bends down and presses a kiss to the top of my head.
“Glad you’re back, Stella,” he whispers there, loud enough for no one but me to hear, then walks off.
I sit quietly for a while before I leave for the bathroom to take a few deep breaths with no one around.
And I look at myself in the mirror.
Are you too scared to reach for something beautiful?
Am I?
Am I too scared to try this again? Because if I am, I should stop this all together. The right thing, the kind thing to do would be to tell Riggins I can’t do it, cut my losses before one of us gets really hurt.
More hurt than we already got.
But if I’m not…
I stand there, staring at myself for long moments before finally, I make my decision. If it was even really a decision at all.
When I leave the bathroom and step back into the party, I look around for Riggs but can’t find him. Without my permission, my stomach starts to churn, nerves and old fears kicking in.
Finally I meet Reed’s eyes and before I can ask, he tips his head toward the back sliding door and he’s there, sitting at the edge of the deck, staring out at the stars, a cigarette balanced in his fingers.
I walk out and sit next to him, shifting my eyes to the same stars he’s watching.
“Want one?” Riggs asks, offering his pack of cigarettes. I remember sitting outside gigs, smoking with him because it felt cool and grown up, even though I hated the taste. Eventually, I got used to it, started to crave the quiet peace of a smoke break.
It was the first habit I dropped after I left.
I shake my head with a smile.
“No, I don’t smoke anymore.”
He returns the smile and stuffs the pack back in his pocket, crushing the butt beneath his shoe and popping a piece of gum in his mouth. “Oh, me neither,” he says finally.
I give him a small smile and a confused look. “You literally just lit a cigarette.”
His smile goes wider, his dimple breaking out on his cheek. “Yeah, well. If you don’t smoke, I don’t smoke.”
I think that small statement answered whatever questions I might still have.
I’m scared, but not too scared.
