I scrunch my nose. “I suppose that depends on what the topic is.”
“Well,” River starts in, “you and me, obviously.” He leans back, resting one hand on his stomach and the other behind his head. “Let’s talk about us.”
I run my hand over the hem of my shorts, fingering the fraying strands as I avoid the elephant in the room. I watch in awe as his shirt drifts above his pants, exposing his skin.
“When we were together at the end of my senior year and into the summer, it was one of the best times of my life. There was always something about you, and I still feel it there, that just allowed me to be unapologetically me. No hiding, no pretenses.” He smooths his hands over his hair, and I feel him look away.
I take this chance to glance up at him. His eyes are glassy, like he’s traveled off somewhere behind them. “I knew the moment I saw you in that record shop that I wanted to explore you more. Completely.”
“And then?” I ask.
“And then, I left. I can’t be sorry about that because it was great for my craft. If I wouldn’t have taken those classes and met the people that I had out in California, then I wouldn’t know the people in the industry that I know today.”
This is the first time he’s really spoken about his music since we started talking again. The conversation last night was fluffy, light, and more about the things we missed about each other—and sexual innuendos.
“I thought about you all the time,” he continues. “And when I ran into you in that shitty hole-in-the-wall bar years later, I thought, wow, this is really life giving us another chance. I could hardly believe it was even happening. But then, you never called. You never reached back out after you said you needed time. And believe me, I understand needing time. I just—”
His eyes meet mine now, and a sadness takes over the beautiful green they once were. Watching them transform like that, physically hurts me inside.
“Why didn’t you ever call?” he asks.
I take his hand and squeeze, begging with my touch for him to forgive me, because words won’t do my reasoning any justice. With him, the only way I know how to be is honest.
“I didn’t want to go backwards.” I trail my eyes away, not wanting to see his reaction. “Brady hurt me. He really fucking hurt me, and I’m ashamed to say it, but he broke me. I felt like I needed to look ahead, move forward. I thought that by trying to bring you back into my life, I was just living in the past.”
I sigh. “And that’s the best excuse I have. Don’t think that I didn’t think about you often, because I did. Hell, there were times I thought about you when I was engaged to someone else, River. That speaks volumes.”
After a long pause, I add, “A lifetime had passed since you and I were together. Or at least it felt that way. I thought about you, yes, but I never thought we would be in the same place at the same time again, let alone run into each other. I assumed you had made California your new home and that was how it would stay.”
He just nods, understanding now. At least, I hope.
“Why did you come back, Riv?” This is another topic we didn’t even broach last night. I knew his return home wasn’t for me, but I somehow hoped that maybe, even in the back of his mind, I was a small part of it.
“Family drama.” His tone changes, dropping even deeper. “When I saw you at the bar that night, I had just gotten back into town. Ruby overdosed and was in a rehab facility. She almost died and it made me realize how disconnected I had become from the city—and my family.”
He wipes at his face and I pull him to me, allowing him to fall against my chest, wanting to be supportive.
Ruby. River’s sister. While River was trying to build a career with his band, she was attending charity events in the city and wearing pencil skirts to committee meetings. I know she married a lawyer after her father’s heart.
Ruby and River weren’t ever incredibly close, from what I remember, but he’s always loved her.
“It all became too much for her. She felt this immense, heavy-weighted pressure to be perfect all the time. To look perfect, and act perfect, and have a perfect life. So she started doing heroin. Women were trying it behind the scenes after some fucking high-society dinner parties. One of the women was fucking an eighteen-year-old and he got it for her and they all started doing it as a party favor. But that shit’s addictive, you know?”
And I did know. I had lost a really good friend to it when I was a freshman in high school, and River knew that. So it was a mutual understanding between us that any further explanation wasn’t needed.
“How’s she doing now?” I ask him, and the genuine concern in his eyes lifts slightly.
“Ruby’s on a really good track. She’s clean. She attends weekly meetings to help her stay strong. I never really thought the two of us would be close, but as terrible as everything was—what went down, the overdose, the addiction—at least I’m getting to know my sister.”
I nod and he pulls back from me, looking me in the eyes, his emerald forest meeting my golden specks. “I never fully stopped thinking about you either, you know. You were always there, in the back of my mind. I dated a lot of women, but only one kind of stuck around a bit. She’s the one I deleted the dating app for, but honestly, it was just infatuation and lust. I knew it would never work.”
His confession hits me in the gut, though I have no reason to feel any type of way about it. I think I’d almost rather him be in love with her mind than her body. I immediately start wondering what she looks like, comparing myself to the image of her I’ve created in my mind.
“And it didn’t work out, obviously,” he adds quickly.
We talk about her for a little while longer, and I ask him why it didn’t work. I can tell he holds back, trying not to give me a lot of information, but he explains that they didn’t have a connection beyond a physical attraction. At least on his end.
He’s very handsy, touching me, sitting close, stroking my hair and my cheek and my thighs as we talk about everything and nothing and a hell of a lot in between. He asks me about Dillon and how he and my mom are doing, how my dad is, even though we talked a little about them last night.
I really wish I had better news to report about my dad. I try to go to my parents’ house a couple times a week for dinner, but it can be hard with work deadlines.
I try to stifle a yawn, but I’m unsuccessful. I stretch tall above my head and glance at the clock that flashes one ten AM. I’m reminded of my looming deadline.
“You’re sleepy,” River says, rubbing at the nape of my neck. “Let’s go to bed.”
I hesitate because I feel gross. It’s been hours since I showered, and I’d rather not leave that kind of impression. I think about how to say this to him, but they look on my face must be telling enough.
“I’ll cuddle you, but no sex. But let the record show that I see in your eyes how badly you want to undress me.” He laughs. “Besides, don’t you have to be up early for some kind of deadline or something? You mentioned it last night. Is deadline even the right word? Your writing stuff is way over my head.”
“Says the most creative man I’ve ever met.” I smile.
He escorts me into his dark bedroom, handing me a shirt that I slip on and over my body. I’m swimming in it, since his muscular frame is so much larger than mine. I let my pants fall and climb into bed with River. I fall asleep nuzzling against his chest, breathing him in and allowing my heart to beat to the same rhythm as his.