Page 129 of Drive
“Hold?” he asked, running his hands through his hair.
“Yeah, until you figure out your future?”
“My future—” He squinted at me and thrust his head forward, as if he wasn’t sure what he’d heard. “Stella, where is this coming from?”
“I just want to know if I’m making the right decisions.”
He stood and walked over to me. “Why are you crying?”
I wiped them away with the back of my hand. “Answer me, Nate.”
His nostrils flared as he towered above me. “Is this about Paige getting married? You want a ring? If so, this is a fucked-up way of asking for one.”
I rolled my eyes. “This is not about a ring. I don’t want a ring.”
“No?” Nate said sharply. “Good to know.” He walked toward the bedroom and I followed.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Well, do you mind getting to the point? Because I’m fucking confused as to why I woke up to a crying girlfriend giving me the third degree. What happened between when you left the office and now?”
“Youtook ameeting,” I said rubbing my eyes.
“Jesus, Stella, I apologized. I wanted to be there.”
“You could have come after your meeting. Paige is only getting married once.”I hope.“Why didn’t you?”
He ripped the decorative pillows he hated off the bed and eyed me. “What the hell are you doing? What is this?”
I tore at my blouse, ripping it off my body and hanging my head in shame. It was me playing into Reid’s words, trying to find flaws that didn’t exist. I stripped, realizing I didn’t have panties on. They were still in Nate’s pocket. And I was still wet from Reid being so close. I was the worst woman alive. “This is poor form. I’m sorry.” In the bathroom, I threw a bath bomb in our garden tub and sank into the scalding water.
Minutes later, Nate sat at the edge of my bath, staring at me. His sculpted chest my focal point. I couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Stella, are you unhappy?” My tears came out fast and he sighed. “You are.”
“No,” I croaked. “No, I swear, Nate, you make me so happy. I’m so sorry. Just ignore me, I’m just . . . tired.”
Three years of I love yous, of smiles, of nights twisted in the sheets. Three years of sharing dinner off our forks, sharing papers, being his right side. Every one of them happy, our biggest fights over the remote. Three years flashed like shiny spilled pennies all over the floor between us.
“I love you,” I whispered.
You love me, too.
I cringed, terrified Nate would see. I looked up reluctantly.
Nate’s eyes penetrated mine. “Tell me.”
“It’s been the longest day of my life.”
He ripped the towel off the rack behind him and held it out. “Come on,” he said. I cupped some water over my face and shook my head. “Just ignore me. Nate, okay? Bad day. Bad everything.”
“Badeverything? Please, Stella, I’m panicking here.”
At his insistence, my chest raw and full of doubts that until that night didn’t exist, I stepped out of the tub and was in his arms, straddling his lap and soaking his suit pants.
“I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me,” he whispered into my hair.
“I just want to leave my mark, you know?”
