He clings to me for a long minute and when he pulls back, it’s with a shaky sigh. He nods and I give him a small smile. Slide into the backseat of the truck while the boys climb in.
“You good, bro?” Rike asks, his voice low.
Scott shrugs. “Let’s just go.”
Lindsay still isn’t committed to coming home. She wants to go to her parents, and call off the engagement. But Jillian told her flat out that coming home wasn’t an option. A month. She made Lindsay promise to stay with us for one month, to give her time to get the family home ready for a wheelchair and locate a physical therapist for her. Lindsay bitched and threw a fit, but Jillian was implacable.
When she left the hospital, her daughter screaming behind her, she looked at me and Scott standing outside her door. “You have a month. If anyone can get her back, it’s you. Don’t waste it.” Then she kissed my cheek, hugged Scott and got the hell outta dodge. Leaving us with the furious, sullen girl.
She’s sitting in her wheelchair when we arrive. It’s actually hers, not a shitty loaner the hospital is sparing for her. It’s motorized, and she has a tablet and phone strapped to the side table. It’s even bright pink.
“You’re late,” she says shortly, glaring at Rike. I bite my lip to keep from snapping at her.
Lindsay has always fought with the people she loves, to keep them distracted or to distract herself. Whoever is the safest for her to fight with becomes her target.
I pause in the doorway.
How the hell do I know that? It’s not something that was written down in my journals. I shake my head and focus on the Lindsay.
She’s watching me, and I see hope flare there, and then it’s gone. “You came back,” she says flatly. I nod and she laughs. “How long are you going to stay this time?”
“Linds,” Rike says, his voice sharp.
“It’s fine,” I say, glancing at him. Calling him down. This isn’t about him. I didn’t just run from Rike. I ran from all of them, and I ran when she needed me. If I were in that chair, I’d be just as angry.
“I’m here,” I say, meeting her angry gaze. “I’m not going anywhere. How about you?”
She glares at me, but she doesn’t argue anymore when Scott pick up her bags and we leave the hospital together.
The ride home is tense and silent. Rike talks about a client he’s been working on. I’ve figured out, through a little bit of trial and error, that Rike specializes in large pieces. He’ll do anything, but he prefers large tattoos that are heavy on the intricate detail work. He did the mandala on his side that covers an ugly scar that he refuses to talk about.
And I know he sketched the art that Scott has on his back.
The talk of tattoos doesn’t do anything to draw Lindsay out of her shell, and we get home in near silence.
The wraparound porch has been added to. A long, wide ramp curves around it, and the patio table has been cleared. Her eyes go wide and she darts a look at Scott before she blinks, going blank. I say, softly, “He’s been working hard to make this a place for you.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not what he should be working on. He should be on tour by now.”
I laugh, and push out of the truck. “He won’t go anywhere while you need him.”
***
After three days of the four of us in the house, we’re beginning to find a rhythm. Rike spends his mornings sketching, and his afternoons with me or Scott. Evenings are for the tattoo shop, before he comes home, tired but happy, and falls into bed to fuck me until we’re both exhausted.
Lindsay spends all morning in her bedroom, bitching when Scott drags her to physical therapy. When he retreats to practice with his band, her mood improves and she sits quietly reading or working from her computer while I sketch and write.
And I drift, absorbing everything silently. Every night, Rike watches me with those bright blue eyes, quietly, hopefully, and every day, I have to admit that nothing is changing.
“I think,” I say on the third night, while we’re lying on the chaise in my studio, catching our breath after sex, “that if I don’t remember what we were, it would be ok. That we would be ok. I don’t have to remember everything to know that I could be happy with you.”
His face softens, and he leans down, brushing a kiss over my lips before he rolls to curl against my back, holding me tight to him. “I want you to remember, sweetheart. I want you to know what we had. But if you don’t—you’re right. We will be happy. It doesn’t change the way I love you.”
“Do you think it’s easier for us because I wear my scars inside?” I ask.
He sighs and shrugs. Kisses my shoulder. “We can’t fight that one, Fish. They’ll stand or they won’t, and we can only do what we’ve always done—love them as much as we can, and be there for them.”
“What if she leaves? How can I be there for her when I have to be there for Scott?”
“Scott is my best friend. My brother. But Lindsay is yours. And I won’t ever stand between that. Neither would he. It might be awkward and uncomfortable, but you’ll do what you need to do, to be there for her.”
I nod and pull his hand up to brush a kiss over it.
“Does it bother you?” he asks.
I don’t need to ask what. “Yes. I wish I knew everything. That I could remember the first time I told you I loved you, or when you said it to me. Our first fight, and when you made love to me, or why we moved here, or—everything. I wish I could remember everything. But that’s the past. And the girl I was chose you. The girl I am today is choosing you. So in the end, does it really matter?”
He rolls me and slips into me, easy and effortless. I gasp a little. It never fails to surprise me, how ready he always is. Slow, lazy thrusts have me arching silently against him, and he leans down. I tilt my head for a kiss, but he murmurs into my ear. “In my shitty apartment, after a gig at Barrie’s. That’s the first time I took you to bed. We had been fighting about the secrets you were keeping, and that night everything changed.” He twists, taking me with him as he rolls to his back and I gasp, bracing my hands on his chest as I settle on top of him. “And in the rain. We were camping, and it was raining. And you were dancing in it, like a little girl. We made love in a field, with the rain all around us, and you riding me, and I told you then, because I couldn’t stand another minute without you knowing that I loved you. That I will always love you. You’re it for me, Fish. The sea and the air I breathe and every fucking thing that matters.”
I shatter, gasping his name as the orgasm reaches up and pulls me under, a crashing wave of sensation that begins and ends in him and the steady push and pull of him.
He keeps thrusting, and I lean down, kissing him, grinding against him until he pants my name, his body shaking as he comes.
We lie still for a long moment, wrapped around each other, breathing with each other. “I love you, Fish,” he whispers. “Always have. Always will. You remembering that won’t change a damn thing for me.”
***
Lindsay is in the living room when I come downstairs the next day, and her gaze when it lands on me is miserable. It dims the quiet glow that I’ve been feeling since last night.
I make two cups of coffee, dumping too much sugar and milk into hers. Grab a Pop-Tart and go back to the living room. I put her coffee in front of her, and curl on the other edge of the couch. Tear open the Pop-Tarts and hand her one.
“Is that something you remembered or something that’s muscle memory?” she asks, taking the sugary cardboard.
I shrug. “Let’s split the difference and call it a day.”
She snorts. I hide my smirk behind my coffee and study her. “So let’s talk about you.” Her eyes go careful and guarded and I make a noise in the back of my throat. “Don’t. Don’t do that ice queen bullshit, Linds. I’m here because I’m worried about you. So talk to me.”