by Shey Stahl
When I look over at him, his eyes remain closed. Maybe he’s still awake, but his features seem relaxed, as if he’s already asleep or just getting there.
Like a creep, I watch him sleep.
I don’t know why, maybe it’s because my already broken heart’s swelling at the thought of feeling something more than hate since Austin, but it makes me anxious. And I can honestly say anxiety isn’t a feeling I enjoy. It makes my nauseous. My heart has suffered enough the past few months. What if this doesn’t work out? Can I really survive another broken heart?
I don’t want it to be. I don’t want to share his heat. I don’t want another woman to experience the intensity of this burn he gives me.
I’m staring at myself in a full-length mirror. I should change. It’s too revealing. Mothers don’t wear dresses like this. They just don’t.
In all honesty, I didn’t want to go to the Monster Ball.
Like at all.
Everyone in town goes, and I can’t imagine the looks I’m going to get wearing this dress.
Look at it. It’s long, black, shows off my tits—courtesy of a magical water bra from Victoria’s Secret. I did breastfeed babies. Ordinarily, my tits look like a balloon after you’ve deflated it.
But now, they look. . . normal.
“Mommy, you’re pretty!” Grady says, jumping on my bed. He’s in his pajamas already, thanks to my mom who graciously came over to watch them tonight.
I sit down on the bed next to him. He crawls toward me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “Are you going on a date with Ridge?”
Breathing in slowly, I watch his reaction, every single flickering detail about his beautiful face when he says Ridge’s name. “No, not really.”
Cash walks in next, in his pajamas as well, hair wet from taking a shower. He smells like soap and aftershave he insists on wearing.
My mom comes over and, in the twenty minutes she’s been here, the boys have already showered and gotten ready for bed. Takes me hours to get them to do that. Goes to show you the power grandmas have.
Cash stares at my dress, then sits on the other side of me. “Where are you going?”
I wrap my arms around the both of them. “To the Monster Ball benefit and the Campbell Winery.”
“Is that at Grandma M’s?”
I nod. “Yeah.” Though I don’t like it, Madalyn is their grandmother by marriage. They see her twice a year, and we live in the same goddamn town. That should tell you how close they are to her. She can’t even tell them apart.
“When will you be home?” Grady asks, picking at a scab on his elbow where he skinned it at football practice.
“Late,” I tell him, kissing his temple, then Cash’s.
Cash stands, distancing himself from my affection. “Come on, Grady. We’re watching The Walking Dead.”
Mom’s in the doorway, holding a bowl of popcorn and gummy worms. “We’re ready to start season two tonight, boys.”
Shows how much I know. I didn’t even know they’d watched season one already.
Grady stands and raises his fist in the air. “Yes! I can’t wait to find out what was whispered to Rick in the CDC.” And then his hand falls, and he looks confused. “Ridge’s gonna be mad if we start season two without him.”
That has my attention. “You’ve been watching it with Ridge?” I’m usually with them. When would they have had time? Have I been that oblivious I haven’t noticed them watching season one of The Walking Dead this week?
Cash takes a handful of popcorn from the door. “No, but he watched season one because we told him to and now he wants to watch season two. We’re way behind. There’s a ton of seasons we haven’t seen. Ridge said we’d watch them together.”
And then my heart beats faster, swells, pulls, and tugs. Ridge’s making plans with the boys.
Hell, even my mom sighs.
The boys take off down the hall to the living room with the popcorn and snacks. Mom stands in the doorway, smiling like she did the day I gave birth to the twins. “You look beautiful.”
Standing, I smooth my hands nervously over the satin fabric. “I feel ridiculous. What am I doing, Mom?”
“You’re going to a ball.”
I roll my eyes. “By myself. That’s like going to prom stag.”
And now comes the look she gave me when I started my period and told everyone I was dying. I actually told them that. In my defense, I thought I was. Death by bleeding vagina.
“Aly, hon, you and I both know you won’t be there alone.” She’s right. I won’t. Tori and Henry will be there, but then she grabs my cheeks, careful not to smear my makeup. “You’ve never been alone.”
Now I know where she’s going with it. I’ll never understand why, but my parents have always loved Ridge as their own. Despite him being trouble, they saw past it and loved him for what he was. A child. A boy. One who loved their daughter from the very start and had a strange way of showing it at times.
“Now, go,” she tells me. “You’re gonna be late.” And then she whispers, “Henry is in there corrupting your children.”
Oh, God. That can’t be good.
And I’m right. It’s not. When I come around the corner, trying not to trip in my heels, I spot Henry with Cash on his shoulders trying to get his tie off the ceiling fan.
See? Told you. I don’t even ask why the tie is up there.
Henry snaps his eyes to mine and nearly drops Cash in the process. Then smiles. “I uh. . . can explain?”
Tori groans, walking from the kitchen to the living room and downs an entire glass of wine in her hand. Jesus. She’s wearing the hottest red dress I’ve ever seen. “Hey, bitch, we’re late.”
By the way, she’s not talking to me.
Henry sets Cash down on the couch, and I hug both boys and leave before they learn any more curse words this month.
When we’re outside and I’m gingerly stepping off the porch, balancing on heels I shouldn’t be wearing and attempting not to step on my floor-length dress, Henry whistles. “Damn, girl, Ridge’s gonna—”
He doesn’t finish. I jab my elbow into his stomach. “Shut up.”
I’m too nervous to think about Ridge being there.
Inside Henry’s Expedition, pushed up against Ada’s car seat that has an entire box of Cheerios in the cracks, Tori twists around from the front seat. “You’re having sex with him, aren’t you?”
I gape at her, then notice Henry’s grinning in the rearview mirror. Though it’s dark, it’s fairly obvious my cheeks resemble the color of Tori’s dress.
She takes my lack of response as admittance.
“Hope he’s better than he was at fourteen.”
Henry’s head snaps toward Tori. “What?”
Silence. It fills the car. Dead. Silence.
“Nothing.” Tori waves him off, turning his head back to the road. “Just drive. We’re late.”
By the way, Henry doesn’t know that his wife lost her virginity to Ridge. Not that it matters. It was a long time ago and way before they started dating. I have a feeling, by the way Henry’s scowling, he’s not going to let this one go.
Watching the street lights hit the dark windows of the car, my mind drifts to the one controlling my every thought. My heart feels weak, broken over time, emotions that overwhelm and suffocate. My lids flutter shut, memories flooding, confusion building. I don’t know how I’m going to walk into the winery with Austin there. . . with Brie. . . and have to navigate through all that, and Ridge, the one I can’t possibly ignore.
As we exit the car, in the front drive of Campbell Vineyards, clouds dominate the sky and my mind. I look up, blinking, and I swear I feel the heaviness of them weighing down on me.
There’s an unmistakable chill in the air, a slight breeze that caresses my skin. I’m barely wearing anything. The air, the smell, the impending rain, as eerie as it is, takes me back to the night with Ridge when my life turned, twisted, changed everything about how I thought I’d end up.
> And now here I am, another night, eleven years later, my life nothing close to how I imagined it.
Henry stands next to me, his expression off, his words soothing. “You nervous?”
“I’m terrified,” I admit, tucking loose flying strands of blonde behind my ears.
“Why?”
“Because of who’s in there.”
He raises an eyebrow, his eyes shining in the soft twinkle lights above him. “Austin?”
“No, yes.” I sigh, the weight on my heart heavy. “But Brooks. . . Madalyn. . . Ridge.”
Henry nods. He gets it. Breathing out, Tori steps ahead of us, and Henry wraps an arm around me, big and solid. It’s nice and warms me but doesn’t take the nerves away.
I will say one good thing about Austin—if there’s one. I always felt comfortable when we went to these events for the simple fact that he was with me, by my side. He’d lead me into a room, his confidence, his presence in this town enough for the both of us.
Now I’m walking in alone, afraid and naked. Just kidding. That’s a TV show, but still, metaphorically speaking, this is similar.
When I do step inside, it’s something like a movie. You know. . . it’s like I’m trapped in one of those mafia movies when they have you dig your own grave and the entire time you’re thinking, are they really going to kill me?
You know what might?
Spotting Ridge tucked away in the back, I take a deep breath as voices fade, the room whispers to the sound of my heart, just for a second.
In this moment, the one that takes my breath with it, nothing else matters but his eyes and my pounding heart. Nothing but this incessant tugging that screams “with him, you’re safe. With you, he’s careful, loving, insistent and present,” unlike Austin.
Like Ridge’s existence in my life, he burns brightly and hides in the dark, and I know, in these brief passing seconds, I am never without him. I never was. Even if I had tried, I can never forget him. He embeds himself within the smallest corners of my being, a place he will be forever for what he’s shown me. How to love again after betrayal.
In a black tux as dark as his gaze upon me, he stands there looking too perfect to be mine, but I search for some kind of affirmation that he always will be. But his face is somewhat impassive. It’s his eyes that tell a story, his darkness, a beautiful shadow bursting life inside my chest. He’s perfect.
He approaches, his lips parting, and my pulse flutters. “You look pretty,” he whispers, his hand on my back, gently prompting me into the space I don’t want to be, as if he knows without him, I wouldn’t have gone.
But with him, for the first time since Austin and I split, I don’t want to run or walk. I want to be in this moment with Ridge, breathless, a spark, a burst of desire to be claimed by him.
Ridge moves his palm lightly across my lower back, drawing me close, hand settling on the curve of my waist. “Can we skip this bullshit and have sex in the bathroom?”
His fingertips trail over the black satin of my dress. I press my lips to his temple, smiling at this dirty boy holding me tight.
With him, I’m not broken.
I’m not unloved.
See that guy sitting in the back at a table, wishing he could take the ice sculpture on the table and smash it against his own skull so he could leave? That’s me. I’m miserable, and the thoughts of bleeding all over the white linen table just to piss Madalyn off actually sounds pretty good. Makes me smile. I’d gladly take stitches over this bullshit.
I don’t like events like this. Hell, I actually made it through all of high school and college without attending bullshit like this.
I don’t like dressing up and pretending I’m something I’m not, and I certainly don’t want to spend the night in the same vicinity as Austin. . . or Madalyn. . . and worse. . . Brooks.
Guess who gets to do that tonight?
This guy, unfortunately. And you know, while I’m at it, I’ve never understood the term FML. Fuck. My. Life.
I think—and most wouldn’t put much weight on what I think—but events like this are where the term originated from.
Don’t believe me?
Take a look around. Look past all the bullshit decorations, the thousands upon thousands spent in catering, the hideous ice sculptures, and the five thousand dollars a bottle Chateau Margaux on the tables. Peek underneath the mascaraed masks—which I refused to wear—and you’ll see rich, insecure assholes flaunting a status. An image. A persona even they can’t stand on a good day.
Why do they do it?
Money.
Greed.
Power.
The driving force behind everything we know, and Brooks Jacob and Madalyn Campbell are the king and queen of it all.
You wanna know why I live in a trailer?
This is why. I will never be like them.
You wouldn’t believe the looks I get when I show up in a black tux.
My attention’s drawn toward the entrance. I notice Aly’s returned from the restroom. Immediately, like the pull she has on me is gravity, my eyes fixate on her and the floor-length black dress she’s wearing.
Fuck, it’s really hot in here, and I’m definitely sporting a semi. I’ve seen her in a dress before, but nothing like this. I have this image of her in a white dress, walking down an aisle. Only this time it’s not the haunting one I usually have of her marrying the wrong man. She’s with me.
Tenderly, she smiles my way, red lipstick-stained lips contrasting against her porcelain white teeth. Nervously smoothing out her hair, she says something in Tori’s ear who’s standing next to her.
As she nears, my heart’s in my throat, ready to explode. There’s something about the way her dress clings to her curves—and the way Austin’s eyes never lift from hers—as she makes her way over to me. He glances at me, then to Brie beside him, the instigator of his infidelity, his arm tight around her frame.
He knows he fucked up, kinda like me leaving Aly in the arms of a liar. Anger hits me. I can’t help but want to knock his teeth in for looking her way, even now. He never deserved her.
Before Aly approaches me, Emily finds me, her red dress dangerously revealing her fake tits on display. Ordinarily I’m sure Emily is a nice woman, but lately, she’s trying too hard to get me to notice her. She purposely doesn’t sign Luna’s reading list, just so I have to call and ask for it.
“Ridge,” Emily breathes in passing, running her perfectly manicured hand over my chest. “Would you like to dance with me?”
I hadn’t noticed the live band. My thoughts of Aly had been clouding everything else around me.
I glance to the stage, the band who I recognize as Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats. You wouldn’t believe the amount of money they put into tonight, and it shows when you look around. Everything from the twinkling lights strung up, the white linen table clothes, crystal stemware, rose petal entryway, is way over the top if you ask me for a fundraiser.
“Ridge?”
Shit. Emily’s still standing in front of me. I look over her shoulder, at Aly, then back to Emily. “Sorry, but I don’t dance.”
She steps to the side, her hand on my shoulder now. Her disappointment settles in her face, deepens her frown lines. “Let me guess...” Her eyes flick to Aly, then me again. “. . .you’re waiting to dance with her?”
I don’t answer. I don’t think I need to.
My stare immediately goes to Aly, who looks like she wants to rip Emily’s arms off as she watches the interaction with unveiled interest. Is it wrong I want to see them fight?
Don’t answer that.
Emily moves past me, her hand lingering on my shoulder. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
“Am I interrupting?” Aly asks, watching Emily’s retreat to the bar in the back of the room, a glass of red wine in her hand.
“Let me ask you something.” I lean in, invading her space. “What do you think Austin do if I kissed you right now? Just to prove you’re mine?�
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Her eyes flicker, as if she wants that, but knows what would happen. It’s one thing to be here, accompanying the same space together, but if I kiss her in front of everyone, it changes shit.
Her inhale comes from deep within, her glass brought to her lips. She takes a sip of her wine. “What would Emily do if I kissed you?”
My chest brushes against hers, the heat of my breath hitting her face. My words push through tight lips and an aching chest when I say, “If he keeps looking at you like that, I’ll fuckin’ kill him. He lost his chance with you, and I’ll be goddamn if he thinks I’m giving him another one.”
I’m not completely serious. I don’t think I’d kill Austin, but you really never know.
She laughs, rolling her eyes. “He doesn’t want me, Ridge.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I know the way he’s watching. He knows what he lost, and given the chance, he’d ask for it back.”
Aly winks. “His loss, your win.”
As the opening notes of “Shake” come on, I reach for her, my palm pressing against the small of her back, fingertips tightening. I lead her to the dance floor without asking.
She gasps, lashes fluttering, setting her wine glass down on a nearby table. “What are you doing?”
“I think it’s called dancing.” Her arms wrap around and over my shoulders, chest to chest, heart to heart. “Unless you’d like to take me up on the offer to fuck in the bathroom because I’m still up for that.”
Her body shakes with laughter. “You’re so bad.”
My lips press to her forehead, but never her lips. “Something tells me you wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I wouldn’t.”
We sway, move, breathe together when I whisper, low and throaty, “The dress. . . I never stood a chance against, but I can’t wait to rip it off.” I slide my hand slowly down her back, searching her face the whole time. I pause... and then slide my hand down some more.
Her mouth pops open. “Ridge, stop.”
I move her just right so she can feel my erection, and she blushes, tenderly, beautifully. “I just can’t help myself.”
“So?” I’m hopeful when she raises an eyebrow, but then she giggles. “The Walking Dead?”
