Let All Be Well

Rowan

The closer I get to Riley's room, the more anxious to see him I become.

I realize I'm bouncing on my toes in the elevator when Bodie chuckles at me. "You are the only person I've ever seen that seems excited to change bed pans."

"I'm not excited. I'm impatient," I say, hoisting the bags at my elbow and crossing my arms. "It's been hours."

"He' been in good hands," Bodie assures me. "The best hands."

I sigh. He's probably right. Riley and Marley are more than colleagues. They are really good friends. Riley really respects Marley, because she's so smart and capable, and she's great at her job. Sometimes I am jealous of her. I don't feel like Riley respects my abilities.

Not that there is that much to respect as an actress. I mean, I'm decent at my job because of the role I play. I know what it is to be a musician. I bring authenticity to the role. But I'm not sure I would be as good in another role. I'm not sure I would want to be.

I'm not sure Riley ever really respected me in the way he respects Marley's...competence, but there was a time at least when Riley believed in me. When I fronted a real band. He used to tell me all the time Strut was going to make it—really make it. Put girl bands back on the map. We almost did. We won a Grammy. We were on our way.

I squeeze my right hand. Squeeze it hard.

The elevator doors open and Marley is sitting in the waiting room. She rises at once.

"Why are you out here? Is he okay?"

"He's okay. There is a nurse with him."

I take two steps toward his door. Marley blocks me. "Maybe give him some privacy? They are taking his catheter out and...stuff."

I give her an irritated look. "What if there are...instructions or something?"

"Then I'm sure he'll let you know if he needs any help," she says with a smile. "Self-sufficiency is really important to patients facing disabilities."

That pisses me off, what she says. "He's not going to be disabled, Marley. He's going to recover."

"Yes, I think so. I hope so," she agrees. "But he's facing weeks, maybe months working toward that and battling limitations. So let him do all he can for himself, okay? That probably means letting him deal with his caregivers without intervention."

My irritation softens a little. She doesn't get it. She doesn't understand that I want to be the one do that stuff for him. I open my mouth to tell her, but shut it again. It doesn't matter. Riley and I need to work that out, not me and Marley.

"How did the family meeting go?" she asks.

I shrug. "They said what they needed to say. I heard it, and some of it's not wrong, but this is between me and Riley. I know we are divorced but we were married. For a long time. In the face of something like Riley's injury, a four year old marriage outweighs a six day old divorce to me. If I want to be there for him and he wants me to be there for him, it's really no one else's business."

She nods thoughtfully, "Okay, as long as you know that everyone has your back, and...that you shouldn't take any shit off him."

I sigh. "He's hurt. He's in pain."

"And he just spent three hours with me without demeaning me or calling me any names or bossing me around. If he can treat me with respect he can certainly treat you that way."

"All that angry name-calling stuff is over. He's not going to do that anymore." I say. "We already talked about that yesterday. And if he does? Well, he can watch my ass leave him where he sits."

"He'll be watching her ass walk off in your yoga pants," Bodie tells. "And that's gonna...hurt..."

Marley glares at him and he quickly pivots. "Psshhh...I mean...not that I have been looking at her scrawny ass in your yoga pants, of course."

"Hey!" I shove him. "Scrawny?"

Bodie gives my derriere a vague sling of the hand and an disinterested gaze. "You could stand to eat a Thickburger is all I'm saying."

"Stop looking at her ass!" Marley whacks him.

Bodie looks to the heavens for patience. "This is why I like to keep my wifey and my side-piece separate..."

She whacks him again and he busts out laughing and wraps her up tight. "Kidding, Jazz. Kidding."

She lets him kiss her on the cheek and smiles in spite of herself as her arm slips around him. I eye them enviously. I miss that. Just the sweet stuff. It's been a long time since Riley and I were that easy with one another. I feel a sudden sadness at the fact that part of our relationship is over. We'll get through his recovery, and we'll still be divorced and we'll go our separate ways all over again. It is possible that we might become something we never really were, though.

Maybe we'll be friends.

I think about Riley and Marley. Riley and Trace. Riley and Dev.

I would be like to be Riley's friend.

Down the hall, I spy the nurse come out of his room. "Okay, looks like they're done. I'll see you guys later. Thanks for everything," I say distractedly as I turn away.

"Row—" Marley says urgently.

I turn around to her, rubbing the knuckles beneath my pinkie and ring fingers on my right hand. I can still can't feel a whole lot there, but even after all these years, I remember how much it fucking hurt when Marley's ex-boyfriend stabbed me. "I know the difference between a good and bad man," I say quietly. "I know what I'm doing."

Her face does something weird...it shifts between emotions rapidly but she masters herself. "Call me if you need anything."

"Call us." Bodie stares at my hand grimly, as he pulls Marley closer. "Let's get home to Violet."

Riley's lying flat on his back when I ease into the room, his hands folded across his stomach, staring up at the ceiling.

I smile at his profile. He's devastatingly handsome. Not in the way my dad or my brothers are. He's not got that large and in charge rock star physique. But he's compact and fit and most importantly he has those kind of understated, British good looks. Very dark, wild hair that contrasts his fine, pale skin. Deep set and deep blue eyes. Expressive lips that curl in an ironic smirk. He's very nearly as handsome when those lips tuck back in mild disapproval.

Earning that expression of disapproval once delighted me. Back before we were ever lovers, exasperating him was the only way I could move him.

Everyone thinks we came on fast, but that's not true.

I met him when I was seventeen, just after I met my surprise big brother Trace. Riley was working as Trace's PA. At the time I had no idea that was just a little break for him...a lull between his last big industry job in A&R and his big step up to Soundcrush's manager. That didn't matter. I didn't care what he did.

I cared about the way he watched me with his clear blue eyes and how I could turn his ironic smirk to the thin line of needed self=control. I tried to seduce him for two years before I cracked that control. Yeah, I lived for those looks and the way he would put me off with a, "Not tonight, dearest. But you do intrigue."

"Penny for your thoughts," he says, still staring at the ceiling but knowing that I am watching him.

I can't really share those thoughts. A trip down memory lane isn't in order, here.

I feel happy, I feel sad, so I say the first stream of words that meets my mood.

"Beat happy stars, timing with things below

Beat with my heart more blest than heart can tell

Blest but for some dark undercurrent woe

That seems to draw- but it will not be so

Let all be well, be well."

I am rewarded with the smirk crawling across his lips.

"Using poetry to pick up blokes now? You've upped your game, love."

I cross to him. "Want to hear more? I'm good at memorizing now. Things get stuck without even trying."

He turns to me, the smirk wearing down to disapproval. "Tennyson is quite lovely, but a bit melodramatic for the occasion. I'm not dead yet, Row."

I sigh. I just know snippets that I like. Riley is much more educated. He probably studied British poetry in University. "Damn. That one's about a dead lover, huh?"

"Yes. I believe the lover, and the name of the poem, incidentally, was Maud." The smirk returns and he raises the head of his bed, then gestures me to his bedside with a wave on the hand. "Come here. Let's have a talk. Please." He adds, as an afterthought.

I dump the bags on the floor—except for the one with food, which I put on the rolling tray table. I lower the rail on the bed and sit very gently beside him. He folds his hands back over his chest and studies me.

"All will be well, Rowan. In time. But the next few months are likely to be bloody awful. We've had enough bloody awful don't you think?" His voice is gentle. "You don't have to be here."

I place my hands over his. "I want to be here. Do you need me to explain why all over again?"

He smirks. "No, I remember the things you said last night. Especially the part about me not being..." He gives me a boyishly sheepish look, "so goddamn hateful, is the way you put it, I believe?"

"Yes."

He raises his eyebrows and sighs, his mouth going to the thin line of indecipherability.

"You don't seem hateful now. What's the problem? Do you not want me here?"

He reaches for my hand. "It's not that. To be honest this..." he squeezes my hand. "I've missed this quite a lot while you've been gone." His voice is low and soft. "Your warmth is an inexpressible comfort."

I put my other hand around his too. "Then it's settled. I'll stay as long as you need. Here at the hospital. When you go home, too. You'll need more help there..."

"Rowan, it's just..."

He feels the same way as my parents. They all think I'm spoiled. It's true that I've grown up with maids and drivers and security guys and glam squads and I've had a PA since I was eighteen. But I also know how to work hard. I used to practice guitar until my fingers bled. I used to play the same track over and over for ten hours in the studio until it was perfect. I used to ride busses all night and do promos all day, play gigs all evening. I used to be the hardest working del Marco in the business. I had to be. I was a girl rock star.

"You don't think I'll be very helpful to you," I guess.

He looks away toward the window. "I don't want you to have to be."

"You'd rather have a stranger helping you?"

"For some things...yes."

I shouldn't feel hurt by this, but for some ridiculous reason I do. Riley has explored every part of my body and I know every part of his. But now he's not comfortable with the intimacies of his care between us. It feels like...a rejection.

Oh Row. He already divorced you. How more rejected can you be? You are a real slower learner, kid.

"Okay," I say slowly. "Well, you can let the nurses help you with those things, whatever they may be." I stand up from the bed, letting his hands fall from mine. "How about dinner? Can I help you with that?"

He looks at the bag hopefully. "Did you bring something more promising than Jello?"

"You did say curry..."

I pull out a tray of shrimp panang from his favorite cheap Thai place, The Thai Lady.

He looks rapturous as he places his hands together in prayer. "Oh, Darling—"

"Now don't say things you don't mean—" I'm laying out plastic cutlery and napkins.

The smirk returns. "I was speaking to the Thai Lady." He gestures to the caricature of the shop's owner on the bag. " But thank you, Rowan, for bringing her nigh for my praise. And for the curry." He's stirring the noodles in the sauce.

We eat in companionable silence. I'm a little worried that I shouldn't be giving him spicy food, but he doesn't seem to be, and I remember what Marley said about him self-determining or whatever.

After dinner, he's says he's tired and wants to rest, but in the lows lights as I huddle under a blanket on the uncomfortable couch, he begins to talk to me.

"I talked with Marley today about a number of things," he says lightly. "Not least of which is how to handle concerns at the agency. I'm going to give up all duties, at least for a few weeks."

"That's good. You should focus on your recovery."

"Yes. But Marley and Ari aren't really equipped to represent you. Frankly, I'm not either. I see that now. I thought I could manage, especially with what I've learned from Leed branching into movie parts, but I've never represented your interests well in the international television market. You should get a new manager. It's past time, but now with the divorce final, and me in this shape...it's rather urgent."

"I really don't think it's a good idea, Riley," I say hesitantly. To my surprise, he doesn't snap at me like he normally would.

After a long moment of silence he says, "And why is that?"

"Let's not talk about it right now, okay? You said you were tired."

"Well, I certainly won't get any rest now that we're disagreeing," he objects.

Are we disagreeing? This seems mild, compared to our normal "disagreements."

"Would you like me to help you find someone?" he says slowly. "I know I've been an ass about it in the past, but that was mostly me just being ass. There are other good managers out there..."

"Yes, but a good manager would expect his percentage to be lucrative, and it won't be. Not with me. I'm about to be unemployed. I'm quitting the show."

Another long moment of silence. "Was there a problem with this season? Something they coerced you to? You should have said something, Rowan. Divorce or no, I would have advocated for your interests."

"No, it wasn't any one particular problem. Not with the producers anyway."

"Mosteller," he growls. "Is he a problem?"

"No. He wasn't a problem. He wasn't anything. It's just...I don't want to do it anymore. I thought the show was the answer, when I couldn't play anymore, but it's...a hollow imitation. It's not the next best thing to playing. It's a continual taunt that I'm not doing what I thought I always would be."

The darkness swims around us. "That's ironic," he says.

"What's ironic?"

"Your words touch on a theme from an earlier conversation with Marley."

"What conversation?"

"I'll tell you later. I am actually very tired, Rowan."

"Okay...Riley?"

"Yes?"

"You aren't angry? The idea of me quitting the show after we worked so hard to get it used to make you so angry."

Silence. Real silence. They've taken him off all the machines. "I'm not angry. Not when you explain it like that. I understand it now. I didn't before. I thought your desire to quit came from the conflicts I created. I didn't think you should have to quit just because I raised hell with your producers all the time, trying to look out for you."

"No, that's not why. I just don't love acting like I was hoping I would."

"I see. Again Row, you should have said."

"I didn't want to disappoint you. You busted your ass for that opportunity. For me."

"Well...that was a long time ago. Now, it's not what you want, so we'll get out of it. We'll have to discuss this more. There will be many discussions with the lawyers. It's going to be very expensive..."

"It's okay, I'll get my inheritance in a few years. Street's ballin' now. Bridge and I are next."

"Hmmm. Yes. That. How could I forget?" he hums with disapproval.

"You know you really should have hung on until then," I tease him. "Especially since we didn't have a prenup..."

"There's no possible way I could have hung on. As unhappy as I was making you, your father would have murdered me long before you inherited." His precise language is dissolving into haze of sleep.

I laugh. "True. But this is better, now."

It is sort of amazing, that this last six months' break has given us the ability to be civil to one another. More than civil actually.

I hope it lasts. At least while Riley needs it to last.

"This is better now," he agrees. "I do however, regret that breaking my habit of being an utter asshole required the breaking of my back."

"Me, too. So much. But do you know what's worse than that?"

"What?"

"Those plates in your back mean you're  going to always set off the TSA security scan at the airports now..." I giggle.

"Oh Christ," he groans.

I giggle harder into my lumpy pillow.

"Goodnight, Rowan..." he feigns sternness.

"Goodnight, Riley."