Page 36 of All My Love

“You were always better than her, Stella. She knows it, too. That’s why she is the way she is,” he murmurs, words I feel more than hear as my face is buried in his chest. I fight the tears creeping up, pulling at my throat.

“She told me she’ll cut me off from Evie,” I whisper. “She still lives with them, you know. She still is…. Evie,” I say, and to anyone else, that might not make sense, but to Riggins, who grew up with us and knows how deeply her sense of worth is entwined with our mother’s approval, he knows that threat would scare me to my core.

“She’s jealous of you, Stella. That’s all,” he whispers, his fingers tugging me until I look up at him. “You know that, right?”

I roll my eyes. “What does she have to be jealous of?”

“That you’re beautiful. That people adore you. That you’re so fucking talented, the entire world knows your work. That you’re in this town not because you’re stuck, but by choice. That you’reyou, Stell. Everyone should be jealous of you. Just look at you.” I roll my eyes, but he keeps staring stoically at me.

He lifts a hand when he sees the single tear I’ve let fall. I hate it, that tear shows weakness, shows how much she impacts me. He wipes it with a thumb, but keeps staring at me.

“You were always worth more than whatever she thought of you, Stella. The only one who couldn’t see it was you.” He looks at me a moment longer. “Still hate people watching you cry?” My brow furrows.

“What?”

“Do you still hate letting people see you cry?” I sniffle, then nod. I wonder if he’s thinking of the time I finally did let him see me cry, of the moment he broke through my walls.

Of the last time he saved me from her.

But he must see my hesitance more because he nods, a small look of sadness crossing his face like he realizes he doesn’t have that privilege anymore, that he isn’t my safe space anymore.

“Alright. I’ve got maybe five minutes until I can get out of here. Let you be alone.”

A part of me wants to argue, to tell him to stay, to beg him to wrap me in his arms and let me sob there, but instead, the smart part of me nods, steps back, and wipes my eyes.

He stands there for a moment, then, true to his words, nods, turns, and goes back out the open front door. I hold it together for the five minutes he’s outside, and the two additional minutes he spends cleaning up.

I don’t cry until his truck is rumbling down the driveway.

And even though it’s a great question, I never wonder why I don’t just file those divorce papers to stay on my mother’s good side.

But hours later, the world answers when I walk out my front door to get the mail, eyes swollen, long after the sun has gone down and nearly trip over a bouquet of sunflowers. The note inside just says,

All my love, R.

15 PAUL REVERE

THEN

STELLA

I only make it three blocks away from my parents’ house before I breakdown crying and pull the phone out of my pocket.

A burner phone Riggins gave me because somehow, he saw it coming the way I purposely blinded myself to.

“Little star,” his voice says, rumbling through the line. The relief I feel from his words fills the small gap left in my gut.

“I—I—she—I—” I start, but I can’t get anything more out, can’t speak through my body-wracking sobs. Through the pain lancing through me, both physical and emotional.

“Where are you?” he asks, his words firm and instant.

“Corner of Balch and Alderbridge,” I somehow manage to say.

“Ten minutes. Do you have a jacket on?” I sniffle, once, twice, three times, taking a deep breath, I hear noise in the background—keys being grabbed, a door slamming, another opening then closing, his truck starting. It somehow calms me, despite my all consuming panic, the pain and anger flowing through me so I can speak slightly easier, air going into my lungs.

I don’t miss how he doesn’t rush me, doesn’t question a thing, just waits for me to speak as he makes his way to me.

“A hoodie and a jacket.”

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