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Riggs can show me and everyone can tell me over and over he has changed, but at some point it becomes my job to believe in him. To trust it will all be okay.
“What are you doing out here by yourself?” I ask, leaning back on my hands and staring off into the stars the same way he is.
“It gets hard sometimes, being at a party. The band, they all look at me like I’m about to break like they’re constantly worried I’m going to grab a drink and spiral again.”
“Are you?” I ask, and I think it surprises him, my asking. I wonder if people ever ask or if they tip-toe around the question like I have been.
But where is that getting us? Between not trusting him and holding old hurts against him, where is that getting us besides wildly confused?
“Am I going to start drinking again?”
I nod.
Without a moment of hesitation, he shakes his head. “Fuck no.”
“That sure?”
His hand moves, reaching out and twining his fingers around mine.
“Drinking made me lose the most important thing in my life once before, and I’ve been living with those mistakes ever since. It also made my father lose his life, made me almost lose my career, and almost lost my friends. No, Stell. There’s no going back there for me. Never.”
“What if I say no?” I ask, and without even explaining myself, I know he knows what I mean.
What if I say no to this?To us. What if I decide it’s too much, that there’s too much between us, behind us, that I can’t get over it.
“Then life will go on. I’ll live life without my other half, but I’m not picking up a drink, Stell. I’m done with that.”
He says it without wavering and when I look at him, I know it’s true. I think to a point, that’s what I needed. To know his sobriety wasn’t hinging on whatever delicate thread of a relationship we have right now.
“Ready?” he asks. “To go, I mean.” I realize I’ve spent long minutes staring at the stars, contemplating… life, I suppose.
I look at him and see the hope in his eyes. Not hope that I’ll be ready to go, but hope that I’ll be ready for more.
Ready for us.
And even though I'm terrified of getting hurt and how that would ruin me, I finally have the clarity I need to take the jump once more.
“Yeah, honey. I’m ready,” I whisper.
“When you came back, I was scared,” I whisper as he drives toward my place. I remember there being a time when I’d count the street lights from his place to mine, knowing when I counted to eight it meant we’d be parting soon, and I’d have to go back to my mom.
“I know,” he whispers back, eyes on the road.
“My depression… the waters,” I say, trying to explain in a way I hope he'll understand. “They got the highest they ever were that first time I left. I thought I was going to drown.”
His hand reaches out for mine, grabbing it and squeezing hard.
We’re silent for the rest of the drive, silent as he parks in my driveway and as he opens my door and twines his fingers with mine. We stopped at the top of the steps of the porch he fixed for me.
Finally, I stop and stare at him, remembering Beckett’s words again.
Are you too scared to reach for something beautiful?
No. No, I’m not. I’ve let fear win for too long. Where has that gotten me?
“I’m not scared of the water anymore, Riggins,” I say, looking at him. His hand lifts, brushing his hair back. “I’m not scared of drowning.” I whisper the words into the night sky and feel the strength the stars have always given me, the courage to speak truths that are too scary to say in the bright light of day.
“Why?” he asks, the simple, small word carrying so much in just a single syllable, a single beat.
