29. People Like Us

Nadia

Iloved being back on the loveseat on my porch at the cabin with Riggs.

And I loved it more that this time we were there making out.

It was late evening, after dinner.

We hadn't spent our time after dropping Ledger at Dustin's house in my bed at the cabin, seeing as Dustin's parents were good friends of Riggs. Particularly Kirk, Dustin's dad, who was a year behind Riggs at school, but they'd known each other since they were kids, and from the stories, ran around together (and made some trouble of the kid sort together) since they met.

They asked us to hang for a drink and some chips and guacamole, and we were both peckish, so we accepted.

We then hit the grocery store, because Riggs wanted to fry up some hamburgers for dinner, and neither of us had ground beef in our houses.

We came back and made dinner together, an activity I enjoyed immensely.

Considering Trevor's job and the hours he had doing it, and then the state of his health and the urgency of seeing to certain things because of it, not to mention our ages and that we tended to prefer to be out or with friends most of the time, he and I hadn't had the chance to settle into the kind of domestic bliss that included learning how to partner up in the kitchen.

But I found navigating that with Riggs far from sucked.

I'd also had the occasion to think about how it seemed Riggs knew everyone, and everyone knew Riggs.

I'd never lived in a small town, and he'd lived in MP his whole life, so naturally, his knowing a ton of people would be the case.

There was just something I really liked about it.

It was like you were always running into family. You slid into the corner booth with them when there was a crowd at the diner. You ate some guacamole and told stories on the fly. You got invited for a beer and to shoot the shit if you had time.

I wasn't the good girl because my grandfather was bold, my mother was ballsy, and that's the role I had to play to fit in with my family. It was just me. I liked to go out to dinner. Share a drink with friends. Hit a movie. I was social.

But for the most part, I was a homebody, and due to my family's wealth and fame—and now I could see, the man my father was and the lessons my mom learned from that—I'd been taught to exercise extreme caution and be smart when it came to connecting to people.

And in a sense, this made my life somewhat insular.

Riggs didn't live an insular life, and experiencing that phenomenon through him, where I felt safe, as if he'd vetted the people who would touch my life, I liked it.

Enormously.

These were definitely subjects to journal about.

Copiously.

Now, dinner consumed, dishes done (we did those together too), dusk was falling.

And it was time to get busy.

Riggs had that same thought, I knew, when, not stopping kissing me, he pulled me over him to straddle his lap.

He then lifted the skirt of the little knit dress I'd put on to be more comfortable while we made dinner. After which, he dove directly in from the bottom edge of my panties and up to claim both cheeks of my behind in a grip that, if I had any mental acuity at that juncture, would make me pause to ponder if my behind was actually his.

Though, in a physical sense, I processed it, and that processing made me tremble in his hold.

The pads of his fingers dug in as I rubbed against his hard crotch.

Abruptly, his head jerked back to break the kiss.

I wasn't thrilled he did that, or how he did.

"Baby?" I called.

"Car," he said.

That was when I heard a car door slam, followed closely by another one.

Good Lord.

What now?

We both sat there, silent, and didn't move an inch.

My front door was opened, the storm door closed and locked, and the back door the same, except that door wasn't locked.

We heard the loud knock at the front storm door.

Of the same mind without a word to confirm it, we still didn't move.

Another knock.

Riggs caught my eyes. His were beleaguered. I sensed mine were the same.

Yes, it was awesome he knew a ton of people and it all felt like family.

But this was getting ridiculous.

That feeling came out even more when we heard movement and rustling coming down the side of the house.

Riggs sighed, dropping his head to the back of the loveseat and closing his eyes as he took his hands out of my panties and pulled down my skirt, but he didn't move me. He just rested his hands to my bottom, now over my skirt.

Thus, I was straddling him with my arms around his neck and his hands on my ass when we both turned our heads to see Lucille stop dead and cry, "Oh!"

However, she wasn't alone.

She had a man with her who was maybe a couple of inches taller than she was (and she was around my height of five seven) who looked like someone had tried to sculpt him back together (poorly) after they'd run him through a meat grinder.

Bubbles.

My vision got blurry, my blood pressure skyrocketed, and I concentrated on not having a stroke as Riggs drawled, "Someone doesn't answer your knock, they're in the middle of something."

"And workin' hard at it, as usual, or just gettin' hard workin' it," Bubbles quipped on an affable grin, like he still had the right to joke with Riggs.

My entire body turned to stone, a sensation Riggs felt too, considering his expression did the same.

Then I was up in the air and down on my ass in the loveseat, as Riggs put me there before he surged up beside me and turned their way.

"Are you shitting me?" he asked in a quiet, terrifying, low voice as I scrambled to my feet.

The man lifted a casted hand Riggs's way, his head tipped way back from his position on the ground beside the porch, his eyes glued to Riggs.

"Now, Doc?—"

"If you're not about to affirm that you're shitting me then get the fuck outta my sight, I got no time to hear what you have to say," he growled as I pressed close to his back.

"Please, hear him out," Lucille begged.

Riggs turned his attention to her. "You're a good woman, Lucille, so it fucks me to point this out, but serious as shit, haven't you done enough damage?"

I felt for her when she cringed and then her face fell.

But Riggs was right.

"I need to explain," Bubbles decreed.

Riggs's regard sliced back to him. "I don't give a fuck what you need."

"Doc, you gotta get where my head was at."

That was when Riggs lost it.

Honestly?

He'd been taking so many hits lately, I was impressed it took this long.

He leaned toward Bubbles and roared, "Jesus fucking Christ! Do you not fuckin' get I give zero fucks where your head was at!"

"It's not like you got a bad end of that deal!" Bubbles shouted back. "You got Ledger!"

"Do not try to pretend you don't get where you landed me back then, Bubbles. I think you want people to think you're stupid, but I know you are not," Riggs returned.

"I came here to explain," Bubbles reported. "I came here to apologize. I came here to tell you that gettin' the shit kicked out of me was a wakeup call, and I'm gonna work on not bein' such a fuckup all the time."

"Congratulations," Riggs fired back. "And now you've done all you wanted to do, get the fuck outta here."

This was when Bubbles lost it.

"Christ, brother, don't you fucking get it?" he yelled. "This whole town thinks you're the chosen son. They think more of you than even Cade Bohannan, and that guy stops killers from killing. And all I got is Lucille, Mom…and you."

"Bubbles, I'm not your brother. Not anymore," Riggs declared to Bubbles's head lurching with anguish. "And since that's the case, I'll point out…again…you don't have me anymore. And last, we all got our own damage we gotta navigate. You know mine, and still, you throw that shit in my face. I didn't earn mine, Bubbles. But the same can't be said for you."

Bubbles swung his torso back and threw up his arm to indicate himself. "Look at me, man. I'm a joke. All you gotta do is walk down the street, and every woman who sees you creams their panties."

"I hate to break this to you, but we're not fourteen anymore. I don't think my manhood centers around how many women I can dip my wick in, and you shouldn't either. Grow the fuck up," Riggs replied.

"Of course you don't get it," Bubbles muttered. "You'll never get it."

"Oh yeah, man, I get it," Riggs returned. "I get you haven't heard a fuckin' thing I've said because everything is all about you. But I got that when you showed here, and I knew you went to my place, and you were so determined to get what you needed outta this, you tracked me down at Nadia's and then ignored the fact I didn't come to the goddamned door. I get somehow you absorbed all the shit the mean kids flung at you instead of rising above it, and seeing you weren't the asshole, they were. And the last thing I get is that you did me seriously fuckin' dirty, and you still got your head so far up your ass, you don't understand how totally fuckin' out of line it is for you to be standing right where you are. It doesn't matter I got something great out of what you did to me. What matters between you and me is that you did me dirty in a way you can't walk back. Never, Bubbles. Hear me. You can never walk that back."

Bubbles opened his mouth.

But Riggs wasn't finished.

"Now, last thing I'll do for you is give you the heads up you're probably gonna be subpoenaed, the both of you." He included Lucille in that. "Storm is pissed right the fuck off, and he's gonna take action. I'm not going to the lengths he is, but I'm pissed too. Now, you can lie under oath and risk whatever they nail you with for perjury, or you can make that minimal effort to right a huge fuckin' wrong. That's on you."

"I'll tell a judge what I've done," Bubbles said.

"Terrific," Riggs bit off.

Bubbles didn't move.

Riggs didn't either.

Lucille elbowed Bubbles.

"Shit," he mumbled.

"Serious to Christ," Riggs said with a low rumble of extreme impatience.

It was a warning.

I pressed closer to him.

"And I'm gonna talk to Harry about the wine," Bubbles said like each word was dragged forcibly out of him.

"Like you're doing me a solid when the damage is already done?" Riggs asked. "You assured me that bottle was safe to give to Nadia, when it obviously was not."

"That's going to swing my ass way out there, Doc," Bubbles declared.

"You are missing the fact that I do not care," Riggs retorted. "Don't mistake that as a favor for me, Bubbles, you doing the right thing for once. You can't use a friend to shield you from a bullet then retreat to the high ground and throw a rock at the bad guy from behind the walls of a fortress, shouting to your friend, ‘I got you.' It doesn't fuckin' work that way."

His metaphor was kind of funny, but no one was laughing.

Bubbles's attention came to me, and he mumbled, "Of course, she's a knockout."

To that, Riggs stopped being subtle and issued an unmistakable warning. "Do not make me call the sheriff to deal with you. Partially due to you and the people you deal with, he's fuckin' busy."

Bubbles looked hard at Riggs.

And then, if I didn't dislike him intensely, I would have felt sorry for him at the expression that came over his face.

"Gonna leave you with this. I love you, man," he said.

"And I'll leave you with this. I used to love you too," Riggs shot back.

I thought for a second Bubbles might cry, if his brutalized face beginning to collapse was any indication.

Maybe he didn't want Riggs to see that, or maybe I was wrong.

But with a minor hitch in his step, he limped, what looked painfully, out of sight.

"We shouldn't have bothered you," Lucille said on a whisper.

Riggs didn't confirm or say words to make her feel better. He was silent.

I was too.

She followed Bubbles.

He turned to me then, and since I was behind him, I hadn't been able to see his face.

But witnessing the ravaged expression on it?

Well…

That was when I lost it.

So I darted past him, jumped off the porch and heard him call, "Nadia!" as I zigzagged through the pine trees on my bare feet.

I caught them before they'd gotten in the car.

Both froze, turning startled eyes to me.

I stopped and ordered Bubbles, "If you truly love him, stay away."

"No offense, woman," Bubbles started cautiously, "but you haven't been around for?—"

"Shut up," I interrupted. "You want to figure it out, listen carefully, I'll tell you where to start. If you honestly love him, no matter how much it hurts, no matter what it costs, you stay away."

I felt Riggs come up behind me, but knew he was approaching because Bubbles and Lucille looked to him as he did.

Lucille turned back to me. "We won't be bothering either of you anymore, Nadia."

"You," I pushed at Bubbles. "I want to hear it from you."

Riggs slid an arm around my belly from behind and murmured, "Nadia, come back around with me."

"Love is not selfish," I said to Bubbles. "And it certainly isn't causing pain. It can get complicated and twisted and have to be straightened out, but if it's true, it's never selfish. So if you love him, promise right now, unless he calls for you, stay away."

Bubbles looked from me, to Riggs, to me, to Riggs, back to me for a long spell, then to Riggs for a longer one.

And it was to Riggs, he said, "I'll stay away."

"Get in the car, sweetie," Lucille told him gently.

Bubbles didn't move. He stared at Riggs.

I didn't look, but I had a feeling Riggs was staring back.

Finally, with effort, and visible pain, Bubbles folded into the car.

Lucille shot a sad look our way before she got in beside him, started it up, and Riggs and I stood where we were and watched them drive away.

Their taillights were in the distance when suddenly I was up in Riggs's arms.

I slid one of mine around his shoulders automatically as I asked, "What are you doing?"

"You're barefoot."

He carried me to the back porch, and in front of the loveseat, set me down.

He then announced, "I'm making fucking martinis."

That was when it happened, though for the life of me, I didn't know why it happened then. I'd journal about it later and settle on the fact that I knew he could take no more.

I also knew I couldn't be part of anything he had to take, to look after, to worry about.

I further knew, if I had another week with him, or another fifty years, he was a man who'd break his back and sell his soul to look out for me, so I had no real power over saving him from that.

But he was going to get that back from me.

Which was why, with really crappy timing, I asked, "Do you know that the police don't clean up crime scenes?"

I watched his long body still, before he was on me, his hands cupping my jaw, his face in mine.

"Honey."

"Before you meet Maribeth, you should know, she was the one who discovered what bioremediation specialists were. And she's the one who hired them. She's also the one who paid for it, even if I'm loaded, she's loaded too. And last, she was the one who went with me before they came, because I had to see. And I saw, baby. I saw everything."

If his expression had been ravaged before, it was wrecked now.

Totally crappy timing.

He slid his fingers back into my hair, cupping my head, one over the other, and shoved my face in his chest.

My voice was husky and muffled by his tee when I said, "I can't have you taking anymore. Enough is enough. I don't want to be the emotional time bomb you're worried about while you're forced to deal with everything. So I'll tell you, I've been trying to figure out how to begin to tackle it, but I honestly don't know how to process the sheer ugliness of it. I'm landing on the fact she fought like a hellcat. And I'm so damned proud that she did. I know it's not selfish to think this next, it's just my mom. I'm certain she died not wanting to die. Knowing she had so much more life to live. But she also died before she actually died, knowing what her dying would do to me. And that was part of why she fought so hard to stay alive. It was for her, definitely, but it was also for me. And that means everything to me."

He let my head go and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, crushing me to him so powerfully, it squished my face into his chest, and I had to turn my cheek to it in order to breathe.

"I think—" I stopped and started again. "I think I don't need to speak words. To share my pain in order to understand it. I'll never process it, Riggs. I don't know him, I never did, I never will, and I'm glad of that. He not only doesn't bear contemplation, he doesn't deserve it. I know who he was will mess with me occasionally, but in the end, he's a nonentity. He doesn't matter. Mom was right way back then. My real dad died in a plane crash, and what I became was about her and Dedulya. That man had no real part in making me."

"Yeah," he grunted.

"And no matter how much I think about it or talk about it, bottom line, I'll never understand how one person can do that to another. Not if they share a child. Not ever. So it'll be a waste of time and effort and emotion to try. I'll never come to terms with how I lost her. Because the bottom line is, she's gone. I've lost her. I'll miss her until I die. So it's just about time, and using it to learn how to live with it."

"Yeah," he grunted again.

"So stop worrying about me. I'm okay."

"Okay, princess," he murmured, his voice gruff.

I tipped my head back to look up at him, and no evasiveness, he looked right at me with red rimming his beautiful, silvery eyes. He wasn't crying, as such, but he was fighting it, probably so he could be strong for me (as well as maintain his macho-man badassness).

And I was in denial if I didn't admit to myself, I was fighting falling in love with him.

That didn't scare me.

I was okay with it, even if what we had lasted just a week.

Because me, and Mom, and Trevor, and Lincoln, Roosevelt and Sarah Whitaker, and people like us, never knew how long we had, and way back when Riggs and I first started to become the us we were now, Riggs was right.

The best way to fuck the ones who fuck you was to get as much out of life as you can, be as happy as you can, and do the things you enjoy as much as you can.

So I was going to do that, now and forever.

Starting with Riggs.

"You said something about martinis?" I prompted.

For a second, he looked blank with surprise.

Then his lips twitched.

After that, he smiled.