All My Love (Atlas Oaks #1)

by Morgan Elizabeth

“Yeah, Riggs. I’ll go with you,” I whisper, and the words feel huge when I speak them out loud. He doesn’t respond, instead lifting our joined hands and pressing the back of mine to his lips. Even though it probably doesn’t count, I catalog it as the first time Riggins kissed me.

“Her fucking husband,” Riggins says in a low growl, and my entire body tightens, both with the clear aggression in his words and with what he’s saying.

“I’m always Riggs to you. And you’re my little star. Ironic when you’re my goddamn sun, when my entire world revolves around you.”

“Sit,” I say, pointing to a curb. “Stell, it’s not necessary⁠—” “You keep throwing the wife thing in my face, so let me return the favor. You’re my husband. Let me take care of you.”

And for the first time in seven years, I kiss my wife.

“This isn’t who I am anymore, Riggins.” “Then I can’t wait to get to know the new version of you, Stella. Make her my best friend, too.”

Most days, I’m simply surviving, and when you’re simply surviving, people’s poor opinions of you start to matter less and less.

“I’m yours. I’m yours, and I’m back, and I’m here to protect you,” he says to the top of my head.

I can’t help it. Even though the rest of my life feels like it’s crumbling, I smile. I smile big. Because after a lifetime of being head over heels in love with my best friend, he’s now my boyfriend.

Funny how you can go years without seeing someone, they come back into your life for a few weeks, and suddenly you feel that loss all over, like it’s fresh and painful.

I don’t say yes the way he asks, but I say what I need to say. “Destroy me. You’ve done it once before. What’s a little pain with my pleasure?”

Cracked wide open, I see Riggins staring at me. He’s open and honest, and I see it all. The guilt, the fear, the anxiety, the sadness. But I also see the love. It’s like he’s trying to show me why he really came home. It wasn’t the marriage or the town or the music. It was me. It was us. It was because just like me, he has only been half alive for nearly a decade and he’s tired of living without me.

“You’re punishing me, pushing me away because of who I used to be, but I don’t even know that man anymore, Stella. How is that fair, paying penance for a person I’m not?” he whispers, hitting a sore spot, a place I’ve contemplated more than a few times since he’s been back.

“Sit up. Let me do your hair,” he says. “Riggins.” “Humor me.” For some reason, I do as he asks, sitting up, then tipping my head back when he asks. He starts gently working on the hair tie which I know from experience of coming out of one of these episodes is tangled with my hair. When it’s free, a thumb presses into my shoulder, and he whispers, “Tip your head back.” I do what he asks, not questioning it, and he takes a cup, slowly pouring warm water from the tap over my head, avoiding my eyes diligently. His fingers work slowly once it’s all wet, scrubbing in shampoo, using the tips of his fingers to rub at my scalp, and slowly loosening knots before rinsing out the suds. Next is conditioner, which he slathers in my hair, then takes a comb he must have found somewhere and slowly, meticulously begins to brush out the week of neglect.

“Because even if you aren’t ready for that again, you’re mine. That means you’re also mine to take care of.”

“Is it okay if I lay there with you?” he asks. My brow furrows, and I shake my head gently, not in a no, but because it makes no sense. “What?” “The days you can’t leave bed. Can I lay in it with you?”

“I’m scared,” she whispers. “I know,” I say. “I am, too. But what’s the point of swimming to the surface if you’re not going to fight to see the sun?” She sits perfectly still, and I wonder for a moment if I pushed too hard. But still, I wait, and my patience is rewarded. “I’ll fight, Riggs,” she whispers finally. It’s then I know we’ll be okay. Because if Stella is willing to fight, I’m never giving up. Never.

I’ve been irrevocably in love with Riggins Greene since I was five and I realized I had a crush on him. Fell further when I was ten and he punched Timmy Stewart for saying my pigtails were dumb looking, and I kept falling when I held his hand at his mother’s funeral.

Are you too scared to reach for something beautiful?

It’s shit like this, the simpleness of a hello kiss and having her in my arms, of being here when she came back from running errands that I tend to miss most of all. The casual, warm love of being with Stella.

Seven years—more, if we’re being honest—of avoiding hard conversations to keep the peace or avoid picking at wounds. All it’s done has made things worse. All it’s done was put seven years of distance between us and fueled miscommunication and misunderstanding.

“I won’t ever let you go. I’ll loosen my grip so you can breathe, so you can chase your dreams, but Stella, I’m never letting you go again. I’m honored I get forever to see how bright you burn.”