Decades

Facing the Music

Lindsey was determined to make up for his misstep with Stevie, he'd been an ass. He hadn't had any business digging through her things or drawing conclusions. What she did was her business. Even if she had been using again, that was her. It wasn't his issue to worry about. He wasn't a part of her life anymore, not in a truly significant way. What she did wasn't his concern, he sighed.

Even as he thought this, he knew that it was a lie. He'd make it his business to save Stevie, even if she hated him for it. He wouldn't let her waste herself again. He still felt guilty for not watching out for her more when he knew her drug use had been out of control.

But, as for the way he handled things yesterday, she had every right to be angry. He treated her like a criminal, someone who was hiding something and a person incapable of doing the right thing or caring for herself. When all the woman really wanted was to be able to masturbate discreetly, fuck. He was angry with himself for putting her on the spot like that. But he also wanted to laugh just thinking about the ridiculous mix-up.

He finished making the coffee and was cutting up some fruit when Stevie entered the room. She was wearing a fluffy bathrobe and some fuzzy slippers. Her hair was down, and she'd brushed it, her face free of makeup.

She looked younger than her years, Lindsey thought. Though he considered her timeless, the aging he noticed only enhanced her beauty. He'd always been a sucker for her contagious laugh and her dancing eyes. The wrinkles around her eyes just reminded him of how funny she could be, and that lighthearted, mischievous giggle of hers made his heart ache with the realization that he had not heard it nearly enough of in years past.

He got a lump in his throat thinking that there had been times that she hadn't laughed and that he'd been the one who'd stifled it. No wonder she'd pulled away from him. He'd been so controlling. Instead of giving her something to laugh about, his paranoia about her leaving him had made him a miserable person to be with.

She avoided eye contact with him when she entered the room and filled her coffee cup. He cleared his throat with every intention of apologizing. But how did he begin? He wanted her to understand that he cared for her, and that's the only reason he was so concerned. He'd been controlling and hadn't trusted her when they broke up the first time, and he was determined not to chase her away this time.

So, he took a scalding sip of his coffee and began again, "Stevie, I owe you an apology."

"Damn right you do," she retorted without looking up from her coffee before he could continue.

"When I saw that velvet bag, I got scared. I started spinning a story in my head about what could go wrong with you, or for you, here with me. It's gone wrong so many times before, and I panicked. I imagined you being on drugs again so that you could deal with being here alone with me. I couldn't stand the idea of your well-being in jeopardy, and I'd do anything I could to stop that from happening. I shouldn't have nosed through your things, and when I had questions, I should have asked like a normal person rather than insisting you show me things that you should have been able to keep private. I've never had any self-control where you are involved, Stevie. This isn't news to you, though."

She was blowing on her coffee cup and slowly looked up to meet his eyes. "So, we're being completely honest now, are we?" she asked, raising a brow.

He inhaled, braced himself, and nodded slowly, once, in the affirmative.

She looked at the floor again before looking up to meet his eyes, "It makes me sad that you don't trust me. It makes me even sadder that you don't know me well enough anymore to know that I never touch anything like that anymore." she paused for a second to put her next thought into the right words, "For years, the story I've told myself is that you know me inside and out. Better than anyone ever could. I fooled myself. It's an illusion that I created to stay close to you, at least in my mind. I'm sad that it was only an illusion."

"Stevie, you have to admit, you are impossible to predict. The problem is, I have guessed wrongly about you so many times in the decades that have passed. I don't necessarily trust my instincts when it comes to you," he stammered.

When she said nothing, he looked away, "I never wanted to be so out of sync with you."

She smiled smugly but with humor, "Decades in, and I'm still keeping you guessing."

She moved beside him to grab some of the fruit he'd prepared, "I thought you had taken leave of your senses last night. Asking if I needed help!" she laughed loudly.

He turned his head to look at her, loving the sound of her laughter, wiggled his eyebrows at her, and told her he'd always be there to "help" if she needed him. They stood side by side at the counter, looking at each other and sharing a laugh that got funnier each time one of them added something about their mix-up.

"Illegal!" she referenced what he'd said when she thought he was talking about the sex toys, but he was actually talking about cocaine and wheezing with laughter as they both doubled over and wiped tears from their laughter away.

Once their laughter subsided, he bumped her with his hip and said with a little too much seriousness, "If you do need any help, I'm here."

She looked at him, and they both dissolved into giggles again like a pair of kids in on the same joke.