She smiles. Fake again. And nods once. She stares at the spot her mother already vacated as I listen to the clicking of heels fade, the front door close, and then her car start and reverse out of the driveway. Riley must’ve been listening too, because it’s not until a good minute later that she finally tears her gaze away from the blank space and focuses on me. She inhales deeply, taking another sip of her coffee. “So.”

“So,” I respond.

“So,” she repeats.

I smirk. “What are you wearing?”

She smiles, then covers it quickly with her hand. “We can’t do this, Dylan.”

“Do what?” I ask, moving all four glasses out of my way and resting my elbows on the table. I lean forward, reaching for her hand.

She lets me take it. Just the tip of her fingers. Her nails are painted a bright blue. She’s never had painted nails before. Or maybe she did. Maybe I never noticed. I skim my thumb across the nail of her index finger, my mind lost, trying to remember.

“Dylan?”

“Yeah?”

She takes her hand away. “I feel like we should talk.”

“About?” I say through a sigh, sitting back in my chair and looking down at the table.

“About what’s happening. You. Me. Here. Now.”

“Whatever you feel, whatever you want to say. I’m right here.” I shrug. “Say it.”

“I’m mad at you,” she says quietly.

“I hurt you. You’re allowed to be mad. I know that. And I can see you’re afraid of me because of how I was. So is your mom. I get it.”

“That’s not—” She pauses to take a breath, her voice even softer when she adds, “That’s not why.”

“Then what?” I try to reach for her again, but she pulls back, hiding both her hands under the table.

“Dylan.” She pauses. Swallows. Then continues. “You could’ve died.”

“It was my job, Ry.”

“No. Not that. Do you know what it was like for me seeing you in that car, not being able to get you out?”

I choke on a breath, realization setting in. “Fuck, Riley. I—”

“I thought you were dead! I thought it was happening all over again and I thought I was losing you, too. And in a way, I did.” She looks up at me. “Right?”

I struggle to swallow. It’s all I can do. “Ry…”

“And then I find out you’d been drinking that day. Not just drinking, but that you were drunk?”

“I wasn’t—”

“How could you do that to me?”

I push my chair back and stand quickly, forgetting my broken leg.

“How could you get behind the wheel without a care for your life or mine and not think about me? How could you not think about me and how it would make me feel if I’d lost—” She breaks off on a sob, one that reaches the depths of my despair.

“Riley.” I limp around the table and over to her, watching her head fall into her hands, releasing her anger along with her tears.

I place my hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m mad at you, Dylan,” she says again, looking ahead. “I’m trying so hard not to be. But I am. I’m so mad at you.”

“I know.”

She stands up, pushing my hand off her shoulder. Then she looks up, her eyes the color of sadness.

I suck in a breath and hold it, a million emotions flooding me at once. “This was a mistake, Ry.” I reach for my crutches across the table, get them situated and turn away from her.

One step.

That’s as far as I get before her hands fist my shirt. “No, Dylan! You can’t just run away. You can’t run away from this. You can’t fucking ignore it!”

I cringe, my shoulders tensing with the loudness of her voice. She releases me, just so she can walk around me. Standing in front of me, her sadness gone, replaced with anger and strength, she lifts her chin. “I did that, Dylan! I ignored what was happening to you, and to us, and look where it got us. I hated it. I hated that distance you created when all I wanted to be was enough.”

“Riley—”

“And now you’re about to do it again. You’re about to push me away and—” She inhales deeply. “Why aren’t I enough, Dylan?”

I drop the crutches, drop the bullshit pretenses and hold her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. “Riley. I’m here because I need you. I’m here because you’re the only thing I need. You’re enough, babe. You’re everything!”

I don’t know how long we stand there, our breaths mingling, our eyes locked, our hearts beating, my hands on her face, hers circling my wrists before she narrows her eyes and lifts her chin with strength I’d once stolen from her. “Well?” she snaps.

“Well what?”

“Are you going to fucking kiss me because I have no problem throwing shit at you just because your leg’s in a cast!”

“Fuck, I love you!”

I dip my head, watching her eyes drift shut before knock knock knock.

Sydney and Eric check in on me, so does Dad. For some reason, they refuse to leave. Meaning Riley and my moment in the kitchen is on pause. But that doesn’t stop the build up, physical and emotional, of the things we want. The things we need.

She sits next to me, my hand on her leg, her eyebrows pinched. “B9,” she says.