Page 39 of Tin

“We went for a drive down the beach. Then he made a fire and we roasted marshmallows and made s’mores while Harley ran around chasing the waves in the dark. After, he lowered the tailgate and loaded the back of the pick-up with blankets and pillows he had crammed in the back seat, and we curled up in them and watched the stars.” I sigh. Yes. An actual sigh.

So does Kirsten. “Aw. How cute is he?”

“I know.” My eyes bug out dramatically. “And freaking smart too. You know he gave me an entire astronomy lesson while we were lying there. I swear, he surprises me all the time.”

“He’s really trying hard.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

She gives up on the socks and closes the dryer. “You know exactly what I mean. That man is in love with you. He doesn’t want you to leave, and he’s pulling out all the stops to convince you to stay.”

“Don’t say that. He’s not in love with me. That’s not even possible. Not when there’s so much he doesn’t know about me.” I turn away and start pacing in the cramped laundry room. It’s not an ideal space for pacing, but I’m antsy. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter what he wants. Or even what I want. I can’t stay. You know that.”

Kirsten places her laundry basket filled with neatly folded clothes onto the dryer, and I know she’s settling in to give me a good speech.

“First of all, I don’t care what you think he doesn’t know, Riker Shepherdson can see right to your core. I see it in his eyes every time he looks at you. So save me this bullshit about how he can’t love you because he doesn’t know about your past. Who gives a fuck about who you were? He’s in love with younow.” Her hands land on her hips, and I don’t bother to interrupt because she’s only just getting started. “Second, it always matters what you want. Even when you can’t have it. It still matters. Because you matter. You matter to me. You matter to Mom and Dad. Nate. Sophie. Devyn. And you sure as hell matter to Riker. It’s about damn time you start to matter to yourself.” She takes a breath, and I brace myself for “third of all,” since I’m pretty sure it’s going to knock me the fuck out.

“Lastly, don’t you dare let this thing with Jackson’s family be the reason you lose Riker. Fine. You have to go home. And fine. You have no idea for how long. And fucking fine, you don’t have a clue what will happen before it’s all over and done with. But none of that meansyou have to give up the one thing that has made you smile, really, truly, genuinely smile, in over three years. It just means you’ll have to put forth a little more effort, show a little more courage, and have a little more trust...inhim...to keep it.”

I’m not pacing anymore. I’m barely even standing. I’m just leaning against the doorframe hoping my knees don’t buckle and I end up a puddle on the ground weeping like a baby. She hit me good. Right in all the scary shit. I knew she would. Kirsten always does. She’s a good sister like that.

“He wants me to move in,” I mumble.

She grabs her basket and nods. “Good. I’ll help you pack.” Then she comes at me, practically pushing me through the door with her load of laundry.

“You do understand that it’ll only be for two weeks, right?” I stumble slightly, still being moved along by the basket rammed into my lower back.

“I understand that you need to go downstairs and start emptying your closet.” She stops, straightening her arms and letting the laundry basket dangle over her thighs. “Please, Quinn. Just go and get packed. Don’t take the time to think it through. Just do it. I promise you, it won’t be a mistake. He’s not going to hurt you. You know that, right?” Her earlier conviction is turning to concern, and I’m not sure if I feel better or worse about it.

“I do know that.” I bite the inside of my lip, trying not to let fear and guilt get the best of me. “But what if I hurt him?”

“That’s a risk he’s willing to take.” She holds my stare for as long as I need her to. Until I know she’s right. Until I believe that everything will work out. Not just for me, but for Riker as well. Then I turn and go downstairs and pack. Just like she instructed me to.

Even though I showed up here with everything I own in the world, it takes all of two hours before the downstairs game room looks like I never even lived in it. To make matters even more depressing, it only takes one trip with Kirsten’s little car to get all of my stuff moved over to Riker’s.

He’s not here when we pull up, but the door’s never locked anyway and I’ve been letting myself in for weeks now, so today is no different.

“This is...cozy.” I’m sure it’s the nicest thing Kirsten could think to say. And she can’t say anything bad since she doesn’t want me to come back home with her.

“It’s Riker.” I figured this out a while back. One of the nights I was too wired to sleep, I just laid here in the dark, scanning the room over and over again until I started to really see what I was looking at. Everything in this place is something he has repurposed in some way. The old wicker chairs. The turned over milk crate. I’m sincerely hoping the mattress is new, but I’m not asking for confirmation on this because I may not get the answer I’m looking for. Then there’s the dingy paint and water-damaged ceilings, and a wardrobe that consists of clothes that are so old they are falling apart and flannel shirts he buys in five-packs at Walmart, and only when he absolutely has to.

Riker grew up with everything he could possibly want or need. Ever. Then he lost what couldn’t be bought and realizedthingsmean nothing. It’s one of the qualities I like best about him. So when I walk in this apartment, I never see the shitty-looking sheets or the busted blinds that probably cost five dollars at Home Depot to replace. I see him. I see what he places value on. And judging by the new dog bed in the corner and the Post-It on his dresser marked “starving for some chick clothes,” it’s me.

Of course, these things go unnoticed by my sister, her nose crinkled as she stares at me, inspecting the dopey-ass grin I can feel on my face.

“Really? The sight of this place makes youthathappy?” She shakes her head, smirking. “Alright. Let’s get you moved in here.” She drops the box she’s holding onto the floor along the wall and heads back to the car. We go back and forth maybe five times between the two of us, and then it’s done. My stuff and I are here. To stay. For now.

“So how about I take you to lunch to celebrate your new living situation?”

I peer over at the fridge, which is likely empty. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. But I’m buying. It’s the least I can do after you helped me move.” And, you know, everything else.

“Deal.” She leads the way back to the driveway, and I say a quick goodbye to Harley before I close the door behind me. I don’t even feel weird about leaving him here. Probably because he looked so comfortable lying there in his brand-new bed.

After two hours of eating every appetizer on the menu and finishing the ordeal off with a shared death by chocolate cake, Kirsten drops me back at Riker’s and then takes off to pick up Sophie from summer camp.

Since I’ve yet to even power up my computer today, I take my laptop and wander around to the other side of the house in search of the mysterious office. When I find it, it’s actually locked, but the key is hanging from a hook beside the door. Don’t ask me where the logic is in this, but I’m not complaining since I want in and I need the key.

Unlike the apartment, everything in here is brand new. Top-notch computers and printers. Fancy desks and leather chairs. There’s even a really nice sofa in here. And, of course, a lovely cornerdesk all cleared out and waiting for my itty-bitty laptop. It’s not really itty bitty. Just kinda looks that way now in contrast to everything else in here.

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