The Kinds of Love

Rowan

Bodie says nothing about Riley, his injuries, or my self-appointed nursing duties. He doesn't talk about his new baby either, because one of the weirdest and yet most binding parts of our friendship is the fact that he was with me in the hospital when I learned of my miscarriage. He also doesn't talk about Trace's wedding, because he's not sure I want to hear, considering all things.

This is what I hate about SCIC now. I love my brother, I love his bandmates, but they walk on eggshells around me. Even Bodie, and at one time Bodie and I were very good friends. We got past his old gang leader stabbing me, but we are struggling with me cheating on Soundcrush's manager and him divorcing me.

As Bodie pulls in at the Starbucks drive-thru, he's talking about the freakin' weather. He still rambling about it while we wait at a light, as he watches me remove the lid with my right, injured hand.

"You been holding out on everybody, del Marco," he says, sippin' his Americano, as I use the same hand to gather whipped cream on the straw. "Is it me, or is your hand better?" he says suspiciously.

"Maybe a little bit, yeah. About six months ago I started this new treatment." I shrug, hastily putting the straw back in the cup. "You know my dad. Anytime he hears of anything experimental, he insists I try it, even if it's stupid. And he was really looking for something to give me some hope when Riley served me with divorce papers. So he got me in this trial for long term nerve damage."

"So what's the treatment?"

"I put my hand in this machine and it emits high frequency radio waves to stimulate my nerves. It's crazy, but I think it might actually be working," I flex my hand. "At least this finger works better." I grin and shoot him a bird.

He cackles, reaches over the gear shifter in his Ferrari, and grabs my injured hand. "Squeeze."

I comply. He whistles. "Hell yeah, seems stronger. Definitely."

I smile. Bodie is full of bullshit. It's not like we hold hands on a regular basis.

He whips the car around a corner. "So...you finally got some strength back in the hand...that begs the question..."

"And the answer is no."

"Have you tried—"

"No." I say firmly.

"Row, come on. At least try an acoustic. If you can hold the pick you can strum."

I flip my sunglasses on and look at the window. "Yeah, but that's the problem, Bodes. I don't want to play some bullshit backup acoustic guitar. If I can't play the electric guitar, I don't even want to wrap my good hand around a fret."

"What if you could play electric again?" he challenged.

"It will never be the same. I won't ever be able to move that fast and precisely." I fling my hand with impatience.

"How will you know if you don't try?

Look even if you never play an electric guitar solo again, you used to be a damn good songwriter, Row. And you roughed out your songs on an acoustic, and if you do that again—"

I whip my glasses off, "Bodie, fucking drop it, okay?"

"Okay," he agrees amiably. "But you know who's not gonna drop it—"

"Yes. One obnoxious father, a worried mother, a twin who won't leave things alone, and two overprotective brothers, and I don't need you piling on about my life choices, too."

"You know, I really hate that you feel that way right now," he pulls through the automatic gate of his Belle Epoque Mansion and the circular drive is full of bright and shiny sports cars.

"Wow, the Cullens have come to visit," I snark.

He laughs. "Your family is kind of freakishly beautiful and pale..."

I leap out of the car. "You are so dead, Bodie." I sling a hand at the cars. "What is this?"

Bodie is ignoring me, texting on the phone. As soon as he finishes, I get a Facetime from Trace.

I answer. He's sitting on the porch of a run down farm house. I can see peeling paint behind him, but it looks like someone has cleaned the windows to sparkling shine. I'm working up to fucking pissed, but his smile takes the wind out of my sails.

I always thought it was Trace's edge that made him the handsomest of the del Marco's, but it's not true. He's even more beautiful when he looks...sweet. Like now. There's less tension in his brow and jaw. He looks younger. He looks peaceful. He's wearing a gray flannel and chewing on a piece of licorice, reminiscent of chewing a piece of hay.

Christ, he's channeling Adam.

He looks so freaking happy, that instead of yelling at him about whatever fuckery my family has cooked up, I simply say, "Hey. Marriage looks good on you."

"Hey baby sister," he says. "Thanks for taking my call. For the first time in six days."

Ah, there's still a little bit of Trace in the devoted husband and almost dad.

"It's been a rough six days."

He nods solemnly. "It's about to get rougher. But I've got your back, okay?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

My dad comes to the door of Bodie's house. "Doodle. Family meeting." He wags his hand at me encouragingly.

I sigh, carrying Trace with me.

"I can't believe you sold me out like this," I grumble to Bodie.

"They've been trying to get you home for days," he replies.

"I didn't go because I didn't want to hear their bullshit," I hiss as we trudge to the two story door.

"Hey, hold me up. All I can see is the fucking concrete," Trace protests.

Bodie grins and takes my phone. "Hey man, check out my new agave..." he turns the phone toward the large plants by the door.

"Nice. I should get some of those for the new LA house..."

"Hey I went by the construction site the other day, it's going up fast."

"We're in no hurry. Kat's nesting. We'll be here, probably at least six months..."

"In the farmhouse? Dude, It's kind of a dump."

"Yeah. It's awesome, though, cause I can just fuck around fixin' stuff and Kat doesn't freak out that I messed something up," Trace says enthusiastically. "Listen, we woke up yesterday and the roof was leaking. We put pots down and we stayed in bed listening to the drips. Like all fucking day. Then this morning...I went to Lowe's and got the shit to fix the roof."

"You fixed the roof yourself? No shit?"

"No shit. You Tube Video."

"Huh."

"Oh my god, you two are pathetic. Shrubbery and roof repairs are your hobbies now? You used to be rock stars!" I hiss.

"People gotta grow up sometimes," my father says with his baby-face and boyish grin. Beneath his salt and pepper hair that's styled like many a twenty-something. I raise an eyebrow at him. He laughs. "Oh, I didn't mean me. I meant you kids." He gives me a bear hug, long and hard, then takes my hand. "Come on."

In the richly colored and tapestried living room of Bodie's glamorous time-warp mansion, my entire family sits. Street, tall and lanky with his shoulder length hair pulled back into a pigtail, sitting next to my mother, who almost always appears ageless but now has creases in her forehead nearly every time she looks at me. She says she's worried about me, but it's the exact same expression she wore whenever I got kicked out of another private high school. Bridget, my fraternal twin sister, my other half, my perfect opposite. She's the epitome of my mother's grace, composure and gentleness.

Basically it breaks down like this in our family:

Mom, Street, and Bridge: the darlings.

Dad, Trace, and me: the devils.

Bridge studies me carefully before rising to hug me. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't have to ask. She can read it all in my face. She takes me by both hands, locking our fingers together like we did when we were little girls.

"I'm fine." I announce, in answer to her unasked question. "But I don't know why we have to have all this drama right now. I need to be at the hospital, not kidnapped for a family meeting."

"How is Riley?" my mother is drawing me down into a big chair just next to the couch where she, Street and Bridge sit. My father is hunched by the fireplace looking restless. Bodie is roaming, giving Trace the lay of the land.

"Probably like you'd expect. I mean...his back is broken," I say bluntly. "His legs aren't working right. He's in pain. He's scared."

"And he's taking it out you,"  my dad accuses.

"What else is new?" My best friend's voice floats from the foyer. Chili Harper, who was once the drummer of my real band and now plays the drummer of my TV band, breezes in, her natural hair cropped and brightened to copper.

"Sorry I'm late," she says, giving Bodie air-kisses and me a hug. "Have we started?"

"Since when do you come to del Marco family meetings?" I ask.

She and Bodie give each other a guilty look.

"Ah, this isn't a family meeting," I say, slumping back in the chair. "This is an intervention."

My marriage hasn't been an easy undoing, and not just for the people in it. My family and friends have deeply divided feelings about Riley at this point.

It's been thirteen months since I cheated, but my family only found out seven months ago. Riley and I agreed to keep it private while we tried to work it out. I didn't come home to LA, but stayed at my house in New Zealand, on hiatus. That was Riley's preference. He thought if I were home in LA, my family would be all up in our business. And he also didn't want to live with me full time. He said our problems were too distracting from his work, and he needed some time to process what happened. He would come to NZ one week out of the month, although we had weekly marriage counseling sessions remotely.

Not only did I not tell my family about my affair, my overdose, or our marriage problems, over that six months I found myself lying to them and evading them repeatedly. I falsified the production schedule for Girl Band, making excuses about post production and pre-season stuff to give them the impression that there really was no hiatus between seasons three and four.

That wasn't true. There was a hiatus, and I was completely alone in New Zealand for the first five months of it, except for my good friend Chili, my "life coach" Maisy and Riley's monthly visits.

Riley and I had an agreement that not only would I not see Aidan, I wouldn't see any of my other friends from the cast or crew. Except Chili. He knows and trusts Chili. Because I had pretty much confessed to him that I had been considering suicide, however briefly, he also asked me to have a kind of a life coach companion—her name was Maisy.

Basically she was a spy for Riley. He paid her, not me, and she was well aware she worked for him not me. She told me one time she wouldn't put up with the arrangement if our roles were reversed. But he gave Maisy a lot of money to keep tabs on me, and I was willing to go along with it, and she figured what the hell. So she did her job of overseer to make sure I ate something everyday, that I wasn't taking too many diet pills, that I wasn't partying with my co-workers, but sticking to a quiet life and regular schedule, that I didn't seem imbalanced or suicidal, and most importantly, that I wasn't having any contact with Aidan Mosteller.

There was no reason I should have contact with Aidan Mosteller ever again. He was not a cast regular. Lars only been Stella's love interest for the season, and our story arc—Stella falling for the bad news star with more gravity than her, but not being able to keep up with his drug habit—was over. Next season was supposed to begin after my off camera stint in rehab. Stella would have a new love interest midseason.

Chili and Maisy and our therapists were the only people that knew about the affair and what was going on during that first seven months. Chili loves me and she used to love Riley, so she tried to stay out of it. But over time, she changed her position. She said I wasn't like my old self. She said it was unhealthy the way I gave up all control to Riley after the affair. She said it was impossible to earn his trust back because I never had the opportunity to prove I could be trusted again. Due to him being a controlling asshole all the time, she said. Repeatedly.

Chili had a point. She wasn't the only one that had concerns. Our original therapist suggested the power balance had to be restored in the relationship. She suggested to Riley that he held all the power due to my guilt-ridden abdication.

Riley said it was the other way around. He said his worry about me drove all his decisions. He said every choice I made directed every choice he made. He said my reckless soul ruled our relationship.

Then he insisted we find a new counselor.

I know the situation sounds abusive. But the thing was, Riley wasn't an asshole. The things he asked me to do—the life coach, keeping trackers on my cars—yes they were bad, but when we were together? There were so many days that he tried to be kind and helpful and witty. In the counseling sessions, he always said he wanted to forgive me, but he was confused about how that process was supposed to go to completion.

The therapists said time and grace. Riley didn't like those answers. He wanted steps. He wanted mutual agreements and dual checklists.

He wanted reciprocity.

Did I eat today? Check. Okay then. He would meditate on the concept of forgiveness. Did I sleep at least six hours? Check. He would make time to exercise to improve his mood. Did I reduce my diet pill dose for the entire week as verified by Maisy? Great big triple check. We would have a date night. For a while, date night meant dinner out then scheduled sex.

The sex we had after I cheated was always the same. It was silent, vigorous and sweaty. Always some position where I was facing away from him. Sometimes he would make me come, sometimes he didn't seem to care if I did or not. After, he might make a joke that was a passing attempt at affection, but he never went anywhere near tenderness. He never held me afterward—he would get up to take a shower as a way to avoid it. I was okay with that. There were times in bed when I knew we were both thinking about me with another man and my guilt was just as heavy as his anger.

But we were trying. God knows I was trying to do everything he asked. He was trying to forgive.

Girl Band's hiatus was nine months long—the longest we'd ever had. About halfway through, one morning while Riley was there with me, the first three scripts for the new season came.

To our shock, the entire direction of the season had changed. The producers felt StelLars was well...stellar. Aidan had been signed as a show regular. The season would open with Lars getting Stella functionally sober. The entire season was going to be about their on-again, off-again romance. Instead of Stella going to rehab, her band was going on tour and her addiction would worsen and entangle with her torrid romance.

And no one in production had run the direction change by me or Riley, which was an obvious signal that everyone on the show knew about me and Aidan, and knew what Riley's reaction would be, and knew that in the end, it wouldn't change the outcome. They were just waiting for him to play his part as the outraged manager/husband.

Play it he did, to no avail. He raised hell over the creative direction with the producers, the head writer, even the heads of programming at the streaming service that commissions the show. It was pointless. I was under contract and there was very little creative control afforded in my contract. I had a graphic nudity prohibition, but the producers had already pushed the limits of that last year. The nudity was prohibited in the shot, not on the shoot. So there were things like, me nearly naked with Aidan's hands covering my boobs.

I told Riley I would quit. He told me I didn't have the gravitas to quit and survive it. He told me they would never release me from my contract because I was the show and it was too successful. If I quit, I would be sued for breach of contract. There was legal stuff I didn't understand, but I guess since Strut broke up, Riley and I don't really have the right kinds of protections for him as my employee, and we don't even have a prenup that keeps our financials separate. He told me both our reputations would be damaged. He might even be financially ruined. I might not work again in the industry. Another career killed, he said.

I told him I didn't care. He told me he "bloody well cared." Then I told him he couldn't make me stay on the show and he had married me for better or worse and so what if we were ruined, professionally or financially? So the fuck what? Did he really think my brother would dump him as Soundcrush's manager? Did he really think my father would let us be put out of our house, if we couldn't still afford it? He had no worries. He was married to me. He was a del Marco.

I never really understood how Riley viewed being a part of my family before. Or maybe I just used the wrong words. I don't know. All I know is Riley exploded.

He told me that being married to me was like walking a tight rope above a den of lions. He said from the moment he let himself fall for me, he was fucked. He'd never made a decision since that didn't involve weighing some worry about my father's or my brother's disapproval against him or me or us. He asked me did I ever consider the balance, the diplomacy, the difficulty of being the hired help and sitting at the family table? He wanted to know how the hell he was supposed to explain this mess to my father without confirming his long held opinion that we were ill matched and ill advised. He said any way forward painted him as either a grasping opportunist who was willing to stay with the del Marco princess despite her betrayal or worse, a feckless fool who wanted to. Worse yet, what would they think of me? The reckless irresponsible Row— who couldn't keep blow out of her nose or other men from between her legs? He told me my family would see the truth of the whole thing—that I was a child and he was a fool.

I told him they would never see him as opportunist or a fool for staying with me. I told him they would only see that I was sorry and he loved me.

That's when he said wasn't even sure if that was true anymore.

I cried. I told him that wasn't true. I reminded him that he'd made love to me just last night.

"That wasn't love. That was what it always is. Me trying to fuck Aidan Mosteller out of your brain. It doesn't work, does it?"

"It's not like that. I'm never thinking of him like that."

"But you're thinking of what you did. I can see it. It's why I can't even look you in the face when we have sex. There are three of us there, every time I take you to bed."

"What do you want me to do, Riley? What more can I do?"

When he looked at me with a stranger's eyes and said, "Nothing," that was the moment it tipped. After that there was less trying and more and more hurting.

We argued constantly about me quitting the show. The producers were asking about my weight—I'd gained almost seven pounds back. They were having me come in for test shots to compare my size to the end of last season. They weren't happy. I looked too healthy. I started losing weight again. Riley started the cycle all over again—raging at me and raging at the producers again.

My life was insane. My husband was furious at me for wanting to quit the show, furious that I was going to be co-starring with Aidan again, furious at me for trying to fulfill my contractual obligations about my appearance. I couldn't win. There was no way to win.

Then one day he suggested I come home to LA for the rest of the hiatus. I thought maybe he wanted to make one more big effort. Maybe a change of scene. Maybe he wouldn't fight me quitting the show anymore.

No. He wanted me home so that I would be with my family when he filed for divorce.

At first, my family reacted exactly like I told him they would. They didn't judge. They tried to see both sides. I think my father actually tried to convince Riley that me quitting the show might be the best path forward for us, but he was unsuccessful. Still, I think everyone understood that I felt terrible about my mistake. And everyone understood Riley's justified anger and frustration.

In theory.

Then they started to see his anger in action.

Riley was right about some things. It was difficult for us to separate. Our money, because we didn't have a prenup, but also our lives. Riley insisted we keep the divorce as quiet as possible, in order to protect our privacy. He didn't want the affair rumors to circulate again. Making things worse was my difficulties in finding a new manager. Someone always had an issue with potential candidates. Anyone that returned my calls got rejected by either my dad or Riley or sometimes even Trace or my mother. Riley was still fielding his job as my manager, at the same time he manages all of my best friends, and my brother's band.

There was no escaping our interactions. Likewise, his cold put-downs and his expressions of complete disdain toward me did not escape the notice of my family. Their tolerance for his anger was wearing thin before Chili opened her big mouth and told Bridge how things were between Riley and me in New Zealand. I don't know exactly what she said, but Bridge told Street and Street told Mom, the tale probably getting bigger down the line.

Then Mom told Dad and shit hit the fan.

Marley told me that Angelo Moran and Bodie pulled my dad off Riley at his office. My dad walked into a meeting over Darius' next album, grabbed Riley by the jacket, slammed him against the wall, and went on a tirade about his "psycho abuse" of me.

Since my dad didn't get his satisfaction, Street decided to take a turn. When Riley came over to explain some financial matters related to the divorce to me, and I started crying and he got frustrated with me and admonished to "pay attention, don't behave like a child about this," Street threw him in the pool. It's happened before but this time it was serious, because Street punched him first. I was afraid that Riley was unconscious so I waded into the pool, which only made Riley more furious, and then Street more furious at Riley and me more furious at Street, There we all three were, thrashing around in the pool trying to drown each other.

My mother came outside, watched for a few moments with a glass of white wine in her hand, then called the two security guards to separate us. As they kicked Riley out she told him, "This is my home. It's best if you let me know when you must stop by in the future. I need to make sure I'm properly staffed to deal with whatever may ensue if you can't keep your smart-ass mouth in check. For that matter, in the future, please don't invent false pretense for interactions. The divorce settlement? That's what the lawyers are for. You may feel the need to see Row because you're not be finished inflicting punishment on my daughter, but I'm finished allowing it."

Those weren't the only bad interactions. Only Trace and Bridge refrained from hating on Riley. Returning to New Zealand for season four of Girl Band was a relief—at least for the first few weeks, until the day of Aidan's first scenes. I was dreading those, but in the end it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought. It was just...work. All the banter and play that had existed between us last season was gone. There was no lingering around the set flirting, learning each other. I did the scenes every day and went straight to my trailer. He was apparently making it his mission to fuck my costar Rayna Rossdale—she plays my rival on the show. I could care less about their romance. I certainly feel nothing for him and I suppose he has decided I am "not right."

I mean, I did try to kill myself with coke while fucking him. I can't blame him for labeling me as batshit crazy. No man's ego should be expected to suffer that.

Anyway, seasons get shorter as shows get more popular, and for that I was extremely grateful. I was only in New Zealand for the four months it took to film the ten episodes.The wrap party was a chore for me this time. Probably because I didn't enjoy the season at all.

It's not the same.

As being a real musician, I mean. It was never the same, but I used to like the performance scenes. Especially when Riley would come to the taping. Sometimes there would be big arenas, decent sized crowds, and I would stand at sidestage with him, waiting for the director to tell me to make my entrance, and Riley would lean in and whisper, "It's time to wake up."

He would always say that to me before Strut took the stage. Because once, I had told him that my life felt like a dream, and only the stage was real. After that, he always told me, "It's time to wake up."

Now my life is a bad dream, and there's no waking up. There's only my fucked up playing hand and Riley's awful injury, and the way we failed each other and the damn show I don't even want to do anymore.

But there's no music. Not really. Nowhere to wake up.

That's when I realize I'm crying and my entire family is staring at me.

Damn, I was lost in the nightmare, I forgot about this fucking intervention.

"Is she crying?" Trace is saying on the Facetime. "Row, are you crying?"

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Don't be sorry," my mother says at once, leaning forward and taking my hand. "Be forthcoming. Tell me why you're crying."

"Because I can't fix it." I am fighting back the tears.

I can't fix any of the things that are broken. My hand. Riley's back. Our love.

"Row, you've tried. You've tried so hard to fix it. But you're right. Sometimes you can't. Do you know why we are all here?" she says softly.

"Because you don't think it's a good idea for me to be at the hospital with Riley."

"Damn straight it's not a good idea," Matt says. "Your divorce is final, and you need to move on, not play nursemaid to the man that can't forgive you but also can't stop torturing you. I'm sorry this is happened to Riley, I really am. But he's got a family," Matt slings his hand at Bodie, holding Trace's image. "He's got support, help that he can probably accept a damn sight better than your help."

Bodie nods grimly. "I kinda gotta different take than your dad, but he's right about Riley having a family to help him through this. I've known the man a long time. He's gonna be pissed; he's gonna lash out. Row, if he lashes out at you, it will hurt you more than any of the rest of us," he taps his chest and nods at Trace. "We got 'em, girl. We'll get him back on his feet. You can tag out, if you need to."

I look at my big brother. Street, I mean. I don't know why his grim smile makes my tears start again. I guess because he always used to look out for me, before Riley became the one who looked out for me. "I suppose you feel the same way as dad?" I ask him.

He shrugs. "Hell, Row, I'm just here because I'm bored, and mom said she'd buy dinner after..."

I laugh, wiping my tears. He eases off the couch and crouches beside me. "Hey. Why don't you pack a bag? Come to Florence. After my show, we'll bum around Southern Europe this fall, spending lots of my money and doing nothing much at all, living up to our rich kid reputations."

I shake my head. "I can't."

Bridge comes to my other side. "You can. You so can. Guess what? I can too."

"What about your symphony season?"

"Screw the symphony. I'll quit. They'll take me back next year."

"What's gotten into her?" Chili whispers to my mother.

"Dev's rebellious nature is contagious, I suppose," My mom mutters back.

Street nods at me. "Let's do it. Let's go. Del Marco debauch from Athens to Madrid."

Bridge lights up and holds her hand to Street. He grabs it and they both hold up a hand to me to complete the triangle.

Chili says, "Can I get in on that?"

"You betcha pretty little Louboutins." Street winks at her.

"I can't," I repeat. I look into my phone camera, at my brother chewing on his licorice stick. "I just...can't."

"She can't. You hear her?" Trace says from the phone. "She's got something else she has to do. Riley needs her. She knows it, I know it, Bodie knows it, but he just hates to see anything rough for Row, because of all she's been through. Deep down Riley knows it. She's been there six days. Not once has Riley called a nurse or anyone else and said get her the hell out of his room. He wants her there and she needs to be there for him and y'all need to let them work this out, in their own way. Maybe it's the way they end well. Maybe it's the way the start over. All I know is nothing good comes for free."

"Tru dat, brother," Bodie says.

Chili walks over to Bodie and grabs the phone from him. "You listen to me, Gallant. You weren't in New Zealand like I was. You didn't see how toxic the shit got. You didn't see how miserable he made her. Row just got free. She does not need to start this cycle over."

Trace grins at the drummer who subbed for Bodie while he was in jail. "Maybe not, but it ain't your call. So chill, Chills."

"I will not, she's my best friend."

"And my daughter," Matt growls.

"And my sister," Street says, more softly but just as determined as Dad.

"She ain't none of that. Row, tell 'em what you are," Trace grins at me, tearing off another hunk of licorice.

I sigh. "I'm my own goddamn person. This is ridiculous. I used to be the biggest baddass in the family—"

"Not hardly," Matt scoffs.

"Especially not when I joined up," Trace adds.

"Shut up," I say to Trace, then glare back toward my Dad, then the others. "You all think just because some bad stuff happened to me I need all of you take care of me? Well, I've got news. I got stabbed." I sling up my hand. "I'm still here. I lost a baby. I'm still here. I made a terrible mistake and ruined my marriage. I'm still here. I got divorced. I'm still here. You think I'm some kind of...some kind of...snowflake pop star or something? You think I can't deal with Riley Emsworth when he can't even walk away from me? What the fuck?" I say.

"I don't think they heard you..." Trace goads.

I stand up. "WHAT.THE.FUCK!?!??"

My dad stabs an aggressive finger at my phone and says, "I told you we should leave Trace out of this."

She rolls her eyes at my dad. "He's your son."

"Ooooooh. That's hurts, Mare," Trace laughs.

"You know what I mean," she sneers at him with an affectionate shake of her head. Then she stands up and crosses her arms. "You're serious, Row? You're going to nurse Riley back to health?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm going to do. He and I have already had this discussion. It's like Trace said. He's not fighting me on it. When he goes home, he's going to need someone to help him. It's going to be me," I decide. "He took care of me three times after health stuff. I never had a nurse or caregiver. Riley did everything for me. I'm returning the favor."

"You do realize—" she says.

"I realize, mom. It means doing things. Helping him eat and dress and bathe and...all that stuff," I say.

She gives me a look with the lifted brows that crinkles her forehead.

"I can do this."

"I know that you can. I just want to make sure you've thought it through." She sighs and turns to Matt. "He's probably going to need a wheel chair at first. We're going to have to make some modifications to the suites...and add a back up caregiver to relieve Row—"

"No, no, no," I say holding my hands out. "There is no way Riley is going to agree to move into our house. I'm taking him home. To our old house. His house," I roll my eyes. "Whatever."

"Row, you don't even staff there," Matt says. "Who's going to help you?"

Trace clears his throat. "I think you're going to have to say it again..."

"WHAT.THE.FUCKING.FUCK.PEOPLE!!!!"

My parents stare at each other.

My dad cracks his neck and groans. "I did say they have to grow up sometime."

"Yeah, you did," Trace agrees.

"Meeting adjourned," Bodie summarizes. "Florence Nightingale has got to take a quick shower and find some clean yoga pants to borrow from Marley."

My brother and sister are hugging me and discussing their plans...I guess they are doing the European Tour without me. Chili is shaking her head in disapproval at me, but she's not mad at me. My parents are quietly arguing with each other about how they lost control of this family meeting.

"No yoga pants," I wave my hand as I follow Bodie upstairs. "Just because I'm a nursemaid doesn't mean I'm a soccer mom."

Bodie gives me an irritated look. "The yoga pants ain't about you. My mans layed up in a hospital bed. He needs visual entertainment."

"He doesn't think about me like that anymore. My body is just a reminder that I shared it with somebody else."

"When you kissed him goodbye at the hospital, is wasn't a bad memory that flooded his face. It was something good, between you. And then he was much nicer to you. When shit gets real bad, sometimes you get real honest about what's important. A piece of paper that says you're divorced is not necessarily the end of your story. You want him back for good or what?"

I consider.

We were married almost four years, and three of it was not so good. The last year was a misery. I don't want that back.

Could we even get back to way it was at the very beginning?

I'm not sure.

There is no excuse for cheating, but there are reasons that led me there.

Maybe I loved him, but I don't love us?

"I don't know, Bodie. All I know for sure is I miss the old Riley a lot, and I feel like I killed that guy. I want to bring him back to good."

"You do know what that is, right? When you want to love someone else to happy, even if you don't get your happy ever after?"

"Masochism," I guess.

Bodie puts an arm around me and kisses my temple.

"No. Agape. Selfless Love."

"Hmmm. I'm still hoping for the sexy ride-or-die kind you got." I stab at his ribs.

"You gotta kill goats and deal drugs and fight the IRA and go to jail and change diapers for the kinda love I got. You ain't ready for that." He tries to tickle me and I dance away.

He takes me into Marley's bathroom and closet.

"Be selfless. Wear the yoga pants," he insists with a wink and closes the door on his way out.