#rollergirl!

“Oh no, I think they took a different exit,” you said with a frown, looking out of the back window of Eddie’s black Jeep Cherokee. Your assistant and manager had been following you from the hotel to the gym, but neither of them knew Toronto very well – to be fair, neither did Eddie. He had one eye on the road and the other on a map propped up on his knee, jaw tight and his grip on the wheel with his ringed hand even tighter. His tongue stuck out on the corner of his lip while he tried to concentrate. “Baby, I’m not saying this in a mean way, but please stop talking,” he pleaded, “Let me just figure this out.” The heavy churn of Judas Priest’s Painkiller album was screaming through the sound system, making your anxiety even higher. Ed told you it would be good ‘pump up’ music before you went in for your first training session, but it couldn’t have made you more overwhelmed. You sat back down in the passenger's seat, watching the road and the piles of snow building up on the meridians of the highway. You’d never boxed before, you barely did your own stunts – and hey, neither would anyone else whose legs were insured for forty million dollars.

The training was for a movie – your first big drama, absolute Oscar bait – where an about-to-be pro, female boxer is down on their luck and stuck in a man’s world. If you had just erased the boxer part, you might as well have been playing yourself. Quick witted, snarky, tough, self reliant and self sufficient, all listed in the character description – Eddie laughed when he read it, “All it’s missing is your loud mouth and then it’s just you on a Monday morning.” Since you had just wrapped a few episodes of a new mini-series in Canada, and the movie would be filming here, it made sense to get you right into training here, too. You’d been so preoccupied with filming that you just okayed everything your manager said about getting this set-up through your assistant. “It’ll be the best boxer working in Toronto, you’re gonna be in great hands! Well…gloves? I guess?” she said over the phone. You nodded to your assistant while your manager’s voice droned on through the speaker, trying to focus on getting your hair and makeup done, learning your lines, and a PA coming in to check on you every five seconds. Before you knew it, you and Eddie were on a private jet from Montreal to Toronto with only two days to spare before you got to the gym.

It hit you the night before that you had to do something you weren’t one hundred percent confident you’d know how to do. Sure you were coordinated: you could dance, you could swim, you could figure skate, you could play baseball – could you box? Sure you were tough, you were quick, you were angry – but – could you box? You tossed and turned in bed for an hour before Eddie sat up and turned the side table light on. “Okay, lay it on me,” he said, the sheets shifting down to show off his chest while he pushed up to lean against the pillows, “What’s wrong, sweet thing?” You huffed and turned towards him, pouting, “What if I’m bad and the studio decides it’s not worth it and they recast me?” 

He laughed, “That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said.They’d never recast you, you’re a perfect fit.”

“Can you just listen?” you whined, “Indulge in my bad mood with me.” 

“Sweet thing, I’m never gonna indulge in your bad mood with you,” he said, taking his hand closer to you and plopping it on your head, “Especially when your bad mood is telling my baby all that bullshit. Why do you think you’re not gonna be good?” 

“I don’t know, I’m not like – I’m not a boxer. I’m not a fighter like that,” you shrugged. 

“That’s what you’re being trained for. So you can look like a boxer and act like a boxer,” he explained, “If you already knew, the studio wouldn’t spend the money on a coach for you. They know you don’t know. That’s the whole point.” 

“I don’t like not knowing,” you sulked, “What if I look stupid?” 

“You never look stupid,” his brows knitted, you were rarely this down on yourself, “What’s gettin’ into you tonight? You’re so pouty.” 

“Just nervous,” you whispered. 

“You know what helps me when I’m nervous?” he asks with a little grin, using the hand he plopped on your head to put your hair out of your eyes. 

“Yeah, you smoke weed,” you replied matter of factly. 

“The other thing,” he said, catching your eyes. 

“Oh. Fucking?” you guessed, you knew that look. 

“C’mon,” he said, tugging his pants off under the sheets and kicking them down to the edge of the mattress, “Come get on top of me angel, show me how tough you are.” You groaned and turned to the other side, hearing him sink into the covers through the crinkle of the sheets. Ed’s body is suddenly warm against your back, his fingers trailing your thigh to catch the silk of your little powder blue nightie and shoving it up to your waist. You giggled when his lips found your ear, nipping at the lobe. Your back involuntarily arches, pushing your ass against him when his hot breath fans against your neck. 

“Don’t wanna show me how tough you are? You want it to be a surprise?” he asked, his fingers snaking over the swell of your hip. He tucked a knee between yours to keep your legs propped open, the same hand on your hip making its way between your thighs. Your body gets hot at his touch, the way he talks in your ear, the confidence he has to know when and how you want it without having to tell him. 

“Want me to tucker you out, instead?” he asked, two fingers slowly circling over your clit. You could feel the spongy, swollen tip of his cock already trying to probe you from behind. 

“Please, daddy,” you whine, your hand reaching for his wrist while pleasure builds between your legs. 

“Lemme get you relaxed first, baby,” his voice got deep and gravely, your hips slowly grinding in time with his fingers. Eddie grinned at your silent consent, your little breaths picking up while he touched you. He fucked you hard that night, slamming you into the mattress with your legs in the air, getting you to scream out all of your anxieties into the pent house suite walls. You slept better than you had in weeks, but the wake up wrapped up in each other's arms was sweeter than the kisses he gave you the night before. 

“Looks like we’re here, princess,” Eddie said, pulling the Jeep into the parking lot. A couple of cars were already there and you silently cursed yourself for not getting there earlier. The sound of a sports car pulling in behind you was a happy reminder that your assistant and your manager made it unscathed. 

You popped open the door, hopping down from the seat in your silvery white moon boots. A knee length white (FAUX – don’t throw any red paint) fur coat protected you from the bitter cold of Canada. You tugged on some matching mittens, closing the door behind you and meeting Eddie at the trunk while he pulled out your bags, slinging them over his shoulder. You both couldn’t look more different. You in your winter wonderland best, ear muffs and accessories all in the same bright white – you matched the bitter snow filled sky. Then there was Eddie, swallowed up by a heavy duty leather jacket covered in studs, black shredded sweater underneath. His tight black jeans tucked into black socks, tucked into steel toe combat boots. No gloves, no scarf, nothing to cover his ears – his teeth chattered but he didn’t complain. 

With the bags on his back, he looked you over, cooing at the sight of you, “My little snow angel, look at you.”

You blushed, “Stooppp! I’m supposed to go in there and kick ass. I can’t be a little snow angel.”

“Shouldnt’a dressed so cute then,” he shrugged, leaving a kiss on your cheek and putting your mittened hand in his. Your assistant, Tiffany, and your manager, Simone crunched towards you in the snow. 

“How ya feelin’, Stell?” Simone asked, “You look nervous.” 

“I’m a little nervous,” you confessed, your lip quirking. 

“Nothing to be nervous about, we go in, we train, we schedule the next training, we leave – done!” she assured you, her coffee colored nails shining while she talked with her hands, “You’re gonna crush it, you always do.”

Simone’s words were always comforting and straight to the point, it’s why she’s been your manager for as long as she has. Normally, she’d never come to something like this, she has other clients, but she knew it would be something you’d want extra support for. It didn’t exactly mean this wasn’t a working trip for her though, because as soon as she finished her sentence, one of her cell phones rang in her oversized purse. 

“Simone Mueller speaking,” her voice was cavalier, but her work ethic was anything but. If there was anything you wanted in Hollywood, you wanted Simone Mueller on your team for it.  You, Eddie, and Tiffany followed behind her into the gym, the heat of the building soothing your nerves almost instantly. You felt Eddie give your hand a squeeze, kissing it over the mittens. 

“You got this, baby. Gonna be so great,” his award winning smile, dimples and all, made you want to take him to the locker room like you did with the boys in high school. When you stopped at the doorway you looked to the far end to see someone familiar. Little feet that could use some Vivienne Westwood platforms attached to a little woman looking at the banners on the ceiling, oh - OH!

“Libby!” you call out, waving at her. The sight of her calms you more than the heat of the gym, a friend, someone safe. Someone who knew you outside of being a movie star. But the comfort faded as her boyfriend came into view next to her – if Libby was here, it meant your coach was Steve. 

You never forgot that look he gave you from behind his glasses, the last words he said to you back in September of last year. He had been right the whole time, Eddie would get caught using again five months later and ruin everything. Your jaw clenched when you thought about how satisfied he was when Eddie called him up to get back in the ring when you separated in February. Your heart sank to know that he was right again, you took him back. You fulfilled his stupid fucking kitchen counter prophecy. 

Your smile falters when she doesn’t respond, getting tugged away by Steve to have a hushed and heated conversation with his manager. You guessed he was as surprised as you were, because when Simone said ‘best boxer working in Toronto,’ you thought it meant someone from Canada. Not a boxer that just so happened to be working in Toronto the same time as you. 

“Let’s go change, they’re almost done setting up,” Simone said, beckoning you over with her hand, “You gotta talk to Tim, too.” 

“Let me just get my bearings, Simone, I’ll be right over to the locker room. I promise!” you say, but she picked up a call halfway through your sentence. 

“Want me to talk to Simone about getting you out of here? You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. Not with that fucking asshole,” Eddie assured, his hand rubbing your back while guiding you to the other side of the gym. Unbeknownst to you, Eddie’s heart was pounding at the sight of both of them, a cold sweat pooling on the back of his neck. 

“No baby, it’s – it’s okay,” you assured, shrugging your coat off. Tiffany ran up unannounced, her blonde ponytail bouncing behind her to take your things and hang them up in the locker room. 

“Thanks Tiff,” you beamed, “Can you get me a tea? If they have that here? Coffee’s fine if not.” 

“You want a coffee, Ed?” Tiff asked over her shoulder. Eddie shook his head no, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep anything down if he tried. He didn’t dislike Tiffany, but something about how willing she was to do things for you made him feel like he was a little useless. Sure, he was there for general spousal support’ but he was perfectly good at getting you coffee or tea or putting your coat away.

“Surprised they even got back together,” Eddie muttered, watching you pull your hair back and out of your face. You made a face, brows contorting. 

“They broke up?” you asked, “Where’d you hear that?” 

Eddie stuttered for a second, his cheeks turning pink, “Uh, oh, in like, some magazine. It was a while ago.” 

Eddie didn’t read magazines that reported break ups, especially ones that might report on a guy he hates. He only read Heavy Metal, Kerrang!, and Metal Hammer – every now and then Rolling Stone. Though, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been trying to find stories about you in Teen Beat and Seventeen when you were separated. 

His hand found your waist, stealing a kiss from you, “You wanna go? I can still show you how to box.” 

“You weren’t my favorite coach for that, baby,” you laughed, returning his kiss with one of your own, “But thank you so much for the offer.” 

When you knew you were getting the role, Eddie brought you right down to the home gym to show you the ropes. He was good at so many things, but teaching you how to box just absolutely wasn’t one of them. Eddie was always getting frustrated that you were getting frustrated, giving vague instructions like:

‘Okay move your arm like this!’ 

‘Like what?’ 

‘Just like, punch, baby. Just throw a punch – no, no not like that.’ 

‘Okay like how?’ 

‘We’re doing hooks baby, not jabs. You have to put your weight into it, turn your body a little – not all the way, honey. Jesus Christ, we’re gonna be here all night.’ 

Needless to say, the session ended with you grinding on top of him in the sauna and you both figured that would be a better workout program than whatever you were doing before. You make your way over to meet with Mikey and Big by the ring – Eddie trailing behind you protectively, a straightness in his posture you weren’t used to seeing. 

“Hi, I’m Stella! We all met briefly back in September of last year, and I think I’ve seen you all at a couple parties at our place. It’s nice to see you again and, you know, officially meet you,” you put your hand out, getting hand shakes all around, “This is so exciting! I really appreciate you all taking the time to be a part of this project – I know Steve’s got a busy schedule.” It was like Steve never sent you home crying. You’d been acting for a long time. What’s another performance for the audience?  The men shared their niceties, Mikey’s stare lingering a little too long for Eddie’s liking. 

“Haven’t seen ya since the beginning of March, kid. Where’ve you been?” Big asked, big smile on his face, giving Ed a little shove on the shoulder, “You’re gettin’ fuckin’ ripped dude. You wanna come fight for Mikey? We can put you on the roster.” 

Eddie blushed, he always liked Big from when he used to work out with Steve at the Malibu gym, “Nah, nah, it’s just for the ladies, y’know? Well, for this lady.” 

“Picked you a winner there, huh?” Big smirked at your eye roll. 

“I always do,” Eddie joked back. You let the boys talk more, seeing Steve approaching the group with a face only concrete could love. He sneaks the mitts out of Big’s arms, not making eye contact with Eddie at all. There’s a rigidness to his face, he’s mad, he’s fuming – this wasn’t surprising. “Bet he’s pumped to the fuckin’ brim with roids,” Eddie huffed one night when he got angry again over the whole ordeal, “Probably why he’s such an asshole to his girl, all the fuckin’ roid rage.”

“Hey, Harrington,” you smiled, taking a few steps over to him. You see his jaw tense and eyes darken, you know he hates the informality – so you really lay it on thick. You clapped him on the shoulder, slinking your arms across your chest after, “Long time, no see Steve.” 

“Can’t say that bothered me,” his tone was low, his stare sparking with that same glint in his eye from when he used his words like knives to your throat. You havin’ fun, angel? You havin’ fun, angel? You havin’ fun, angel? You havin’ fun, angel? You havin’ fun, angel? 

“And still so charming,” you say flatly, a sparkling smile still plastered on your face, a media training laugh pouring out of your mouth. You knew the gym owner had to be here somewhere and you’d be damned if the The Sun got a report that you were a bitch to Steve fucking Harrington and his little woman. You peer over his shoulder and see the woman in question, a nervous looking Libby sitting over by the side of the ring. 

"Where's Lib —oh! Libby!" you call out, hurrying over to her, almost skittering on your moon boots. Just a moment to feel okay, just a little girl chat was all you needed to get through the next few hours. 

"Oh, h-hi, St-Stella.” She looks terrified and you can feel Steve’s harsh glare on your back. Something felt wrong, but you shook it off. Maybe they got in a fight after you left last year, maybe things got worse for her. That’s what you feared the most, that before she knew it, Libby would have lost all of herself in Steve. "I was trying to come and say hi, but they were trying to corral me off to change. It's been so long, we have to catch up!" you urge, but Libby doesn’t respond. She takes a step back and knocks over one of the chairs, a commotion causing the guys to look up and for you to protectively reach your hand out to help. 

"Y-yeah, it's um —wow, yeah —uh...I forgot my book," she mumbles, getting up. She could barely look at you. Your heart starts to race. Did Steve tell her that you both couldn’t hang out anymore? Just because you said he might lose her? 

“Oh, okay–” you start meekly, realizing you might’ve gotten Libby in trouble. Your smile falls a little, suddenly self conscious. 

"—yeah, I'll be right back!" she says before running all the way to the gym’s office and shutting the door behind her. 

“Stella! Gym clothes, let’s go!” Simone calls out, walking over to you, her waist length micro box braids swinging behind her. Her knee high black leather boots clicking loud on the concrete floor, her long floor length Calvin Klein trench floating behind her. Simone never asks for something more than twice, so you hurry your way towards the locker room matching her stride. 

“I sent Tiffany to get coffee for everyone,” she muttered, “We’re not using a coffee pot from 1982 that’s never been washed in a gym’s back room.” 

You nodded, slinking off to the locker room and seeing Eddie making himself comfortable on the other side of the ring. He looked a little jittery, his knee bouncing anxiously, fiddling with the guitar pick on his chain. 

Eddie’s demeanor perked up when he saw you emerge from the locker room in your Everlast shorts, sparkling white. Shorter than men’s boxer shorts, but flowy enough to move around in – you of course still had a reputation to uphold. Your sports bra, obviously a sensible top, clung to your body; suddenly feeling too hot and tight at the sight of Steve menacingly standing in the corner of the ring, his eye following you and flitting to Eddie. You swallowed hard, climbing into the ring, Big hopping in to tape up your hands and give you a little pep talk. Steve crossed his arms, leaning against the posts with the mitts on each hand. When the gloves were on, a little heavy and awkward, Big hopped out to collect his coffee from a chatty Tiffany who came back with the goods. 

“I don’t like to wait,” Steve said, approaching you with slow steps in the center of the ring.

“That’s too bad. I don’t like to be rushed,” you hissed back, “I’m the star, here, so.” 

He clicked his tongue, “How’d I know you’d bring that little attitude with you.” 

“Oh wow, brighter than he looks, folks,” you say, your smile still stuck on your face. 

“Comin’ in the ring dressed like boxer barbie and I’m not bright?” he retorts, “You come here to work or t’show off?” 

“Well if I knew you’d be here, I probably wouldn’t have come at all,” you glare back.

“Alright, alright, enough – you wanna know how to box? Let me show you how to box. You know how to stand?” 

“I’m standing right now,” you said, gloves on your hips. He laughs, an evil snicker, and he wants you to know he’s laughing at you. 

“Oh you’re real hopeless, huh?” he said, a smirk curling onto his face, “That’s not a boxing stance, princess. You do any research at all? You watch a match? Or did they send you in here with nothin’ in that barbie doll head?”

Your cheeks burned, this is exactly what you were afraid of – being made to feel stupid. He takes the mitts off and tosses them to his feet, his rough taped hands finding contact with your shoulders. 

“You left handed or right handed?” he asked, “D’you know the difference?” 

“Left handed,” you responded, shaking off his comment. 

“Okay, left shoulder always leading towards me, right at my chest,” he explains, “Feet diagonal apart, back heel up.” 

You do as he says, his rough hands adjusting your shoulders position, reaching at your forearms.

“Gloves up, shoulders up, chin down,” he said, “Gotta be blocking your face. You know, the shit fuckin’ Munson doesn’t know how to do? Wouldn’t be surprised if you couldn’t catch on either.” His head flicks a little toward Eddie and you grit your teeth. You get into position, the gloves feel awkward and heavy, but you don’t want to show it – he already knows you’re out of your element. 

“You’re punching straight out, just straight ahead,” Steve instructed, bending down to pick up the mitts and slipping them back on. 

You lunge your arm forward in a sharp line but it barely makes a ‘smack’ against the mitt on Steve’s left hand. He laughs, shoving them off and leaving them by his feet again. 

“Awful,” he says with a smile, coming over to the side of you, “Real fuckin’ awful.” 

“Well you know all about being awful, Harrington, so, you’d know,” you huff. He stops, you can feel his eyes on you, he swallows while he grabs your left forearm. Steve sends your arm forward to mimic your previous movement. 

“Where’s the power coming from when you throw a punch like this?” he asked, moving your arm back and forth. 

“My…fist?”

“Oh my God, Stell. You’re serious?” Steve’s voice is teetering on exasperated and pure rage, dropping your arm back by your side. He runs a hand over his face and then through his hair – but you know, your ignorance could be fun for him. Steve gets behind you, his chest close to your back, the uncomfortable scratch of his wrapped hands reaching around either side of you to cage you in. He’s got your arms up, like he’s using you as a boxing puppet – you can smell the mix of his sweat and cologne and it immediately sends you back to their kitchen in Malibu. His harsh glare, his smile when you started to cry. 

“So when you put the glove forward,” he says, slowly maneuvering your arm forward with his hand from behind you, “You’re using your whole upper body behind it, twisting at the waist. Puttin’ all the weight on that front foot. Feel how you twist when I do it for you?” 

“Oh, yeah,” you reply, “That makes sense.” It’s the first time you can really gauge how strong he actually is – his soft touches feel heavy. He could kill you if he really wanted. Behind you, Steve catches Eddie’s eye whose arms are crossed in a chair at the side of the ring. His dark brown eyes shining and angry, his cheeks tinged pink, a vein in his neck pulsing while he watches Steve get closer to you. He instinctively goes to chew on the skin of his thumb, a nervous habit he’d had since he was a kid. 

Steve’s eyes stay trained on Eddie while he guides you again, jumping when his hand falls to your hip, his voice booming in your ear – loud enough for the spectator to hear it,  “That feels better, doesn’t it?” 

“Yeah, I can tell where the weight’s supposed to come from now,” you respond, but Steve isn’t listening. He’s just relishing in whatever emotional turmoil he might’ve put your fiance in. Steve’s hands skitter off you and he picks up the mitts again, slipping them on and getting in front of you. 

“One, two me,” he said. You throw a jab with your left hand and quickly another with your right. 

“Again,” he said, “Keep your arms up, you can’t drop ‘em.” 

You go again, but it’s still not enough. 

“You keep droppin’ your shoulders, pick your fuckin’ shoulders up,” he hisses. 

You tighten your upper body, tucking your chin, a tight one two smacking into the mitts. 

“Start over, it’s not clean enough,” he says from behind the mitts, “You need it cleaner.” 

You catch Libby taking her seat back by the ring, hoping that with her back around, Steve will be a little nicer. 

“I literally just started boxing today, what do you mean I need it cleaner?” 

“Start over. If you wanna whine about it, I’ll send you home,” he shrugs. 

You keep pulling ‘one, twos’ and he’s moving around the ring while you try to keep up. There’s not one kind word that leaves his mouth, no words of encouragement, nothing. Just his dead eyes and every critique he can think of. 

“Stop, stop,” he says, ripping the mitts off. 

“This,” he says, performing a punch, “Is a fucking jab. What the fuck are you doing?” 

“What you just showed me, if I’m doing it wrong it’s because you showed it to me the wrong way,” you heaved, gloved hands on your hips. You were glistening with sweat, trying to catch your breath. 

“No, I showed you the right way. Don’t get smart with me,” he said, hands on his hips to match your posture, “You wanna play a professional boxer, right? So what’cha gettin’ lax for? A pro would never look that sloppy, no matter how tired they are. Fuckin’ commit, Rink.” 

“I’m not getting lax, Steve,” your voice toddled on the line of whiny. 

“You know what I think?” he asked, his arms crossing over his chest. 

“I’m surprised to hear you do,” you snapped, “Could’ve fooled me.” 

He shook his head, running his hand through his hair, his step toward you made him close enough that you’d have to look up at him when he spoke. 

“I think,” he said, his eyes scanning yours, his wolfish smile curling up into his cheeks, “You need to learn a thing or two about gettin’ some discipline.” 

Steve scared you, the way your cousin did when he was living with your family to go to military school. He was ‘going through a tough time’ when you were a teen. Unhinged and unpredictable – the same flash of devilish confidence bursting behind their eyes. You can hear the clinking of Eddie’s leather jacket and the stomp of his boots walking around the ring, but you’re too frozen in fear and the desperate need to keep your cool to toss your gaze over to him. But god damn do you wish he’d give you a little cheer from the sidelines.  

“Looks like you still got Libby pretty educated in it, Harrington,” you muttered darkly, getting back into your stance. His jaw is tight, his eyes flitting to Eddie sitting down next to his girlfriend, but he doesn’t falter in his malice for you. 

He snickers, “Anyone ever teach you to shut that mouth, Rink? You know what happens to boxers who talk too much?” 

“What?” you ask, tossing a hard one-two into his mitts. He peers over the top of them to make direct eye contact with you. 

“They fuckin’ lose.” 

“Pfft, okay,” you bristle at his words, your cheeks getting splotchy from feeling overwhelmed and inadequate. You didn’t have the energy to fight with him anymore. Your next to punches are weak, they barely make contact with the mitts. He doesn’t let you forget it. 

“What is it?” he mocks, his face matching his hatred, “You not havin’ fun, angel?” 

You let a breath push hard out of your nose, tears pricking in your eyes – you were so over this. Over Steve’s shitty attitude, over the gloves being too heavy, over the fluorescent lights. You already felt weird over Libby not talking to you and now Eddie wasn’t coming to your rescue either – just indulging in his stupid fucking crush. You’re so preoccupied with your annoyance at this whole ordeal that you don’t catch Eddie and Steve’s quiet stare down. You don’t catch Steve’s satisfied smirk while Eddie makes it back to his seat. All you feel is lonely in the center of the ring. 

"Alright, everyone, great work! We're gonna break for forty, you can put your lunch orders in with Tiffany.” Tim’s voice booms through the gym and shakes you back to yourself. You hear the mitts smack hard against the floor of the ring as Steve makes his way over to Libby. You flinch at the way he grabs Libby from her chair and drags her into the office, it feels like watching an after school special on abusive relationships and you’re the bystander who doesn’t know how to ask for help. Big helps you take your gloves off, tying the laces together and throwing them around his shoulders and he puts two big hands on your own. 

“You’re givin’ ‘im hell, kid,” he smiled, “You’re doin’ great.” 

Your smile weakly back at him, following him out of the ring toward the locker room. Eddie meets your stride and can immediately tell something’s wrong, reaching for your hand and lacing fingers with you while you walk past the office door. 

The stale, humid air hits you but it’s not as stifling as it was to be out in that ring with King Steve. You sit on the bench, leaning up against the wall shared with the office, Eddie squatting down between your knees. He lets his hands spread over each of your thighs, hot to the touch from your quads keeping you in your boxer stance, his thumbs rubbing comfortingly over your skin. He sees your face scrunch and your lower lip start to tremble, a tear twinkling in the white light as it falls to your shorts. 

“Oh, honey, no, it’s okay,” he says, “Don’t cry, it’s okay.” 

“He’s just – he’s such an asshole,” you shake your head, wiping the streak of tears away as they come, “He’s so fucking mean.” 

“It’s the roids, babe, I’m telling you,” he jokes, “His balls gotta be raisins by now.” 

You snort at the joke and a real smile floods your face for the first time since you woke up this morning. You wipe your eyes again, hearing Eddie shift to get close to you. You feel his hand snake under your jaw before your eyes meet his, his kiss is gentle and sweet.

“There’s my pretty girl,” he coos. The door opens and Simone peaks her head in, wincing at the stagnant air. 

“Stella, your lunch is here if you – Oh, sorry,” she says, seeing your tear stained face, “Everything okay?” 

“We’re okay,” Eddie answers for you, “We’re probably gonna eat in the Jeep, Simone. She needs a little break.” 

“That’s fine, that’s fine,” she says, “It’s on the edge of the ring, when you’re ready to pick it up. Tiff put your names on it.” She disappears as soon as she arrives, her cell phone ring echoing in the hallway, her clipped steps fading away. 

“Just take a deep breath ba–” Eddie starts, but is soon interrupted. 

A soft grunt sneaks its way from behind the cinderblock wall, the sound of skin slapping together, and you lean forward to turn your face toward it. Eddie looks up too, sitting next to you on the bench.

“No,” you blush, looking over at Eddie, “They can’t be. With everyone here?” 

Eddie shifts his weight on the bench, his cheeks tingeing pink again while he becomes entranced with the bitten hangnail on his thumb. His voice is soft and low while he speaks, still looking down, “He’s a fuckin’ animal, so…” 

Eddie watches you stand up and go to the locker with your name on it, scrawled on a white board. You unhinge it, swinging it open to find all of your effects neatly inside. The scent of your perfume sneaking out from where it lingered on your coat. You pull it out and give it a shake. 

“I don’t even wanna change,” you sigh, “If I change, I’ll just wanna leave. I suck at this.” 

Eddie frowns at the defeat in your voice, you sound so small and hurt. His chest heaves with guilt, it’s clear only three of the four of you know why today has actually been so shitty. Why Steve has been taking his anger out on you. Why Libby is avoiding you like the plague. He wished you demanded to leave, he wished you use your America’s Sweetheart powers for evil just one time. That way you could both get out of this. 

He lets out a sigh, “Baby, you don’t suck. Don’t say that.” 

“How would you even know? You haven’t been paying attention,” you don’t mean for your voice to be snippy, but the fire in your chest reblooms as you remember him going to sit with Libby. Walking around the gym while Steve degraded you and made you feel stupid.

“Too busy entertaining your school yard crush to even cheer for me,” you say while tossing your coat on the bench. You know it’s childish, but you’re desperate to feel an ounce of power, a shred of the upper hand for just three seconds. 

Before he can respond, you’re interrupted again. 

“Say it or I stop,” Steve’s voice is ragged and demanding from behind the cinderblock wall, it’s much clearer than the grunting from before. It’s like they’re right up against the other side. You take a moment to really listen – heavy breathing, the sound of slick skin against skin. 

"—speak up," Steve’s voice rings again, rough and mocking like he was in the ring. You shiver at the sound of it, disappointment flooding your chest when you realize Libby was in too deep if he let her talk to her like that. 

"Thank you, daddy!" Libby’s high pitched moan leaked through the wall. Oh. They definitely weren’t fighting. 

“You win, I guess,” you say. Eddie blanched at the sound of Libby’s squealing through the wall, sputtering at your words. 

“What d’ya mean, I win?” he asks, swallowing hard. 

“Didn’t you say a long time ago that she probably calls him daddy in bed?” you laughed a little, “Looks like that’s confirmed.” 

Eddie doesn’t laugh, he looks upset and uncomfortable which is unlike him – especially after a sex joke. You go back into your locker and grab your purse, rummaging through it to find your travel size Chloe Narcisse to reapply. The scent is dominated by daffodils with a bite of tropical citrus, violet and sandalwood, something to brighten whatever awful mood you were settling into. The scent hits Eddie and his mouth waters, having felt lucky to have bought it for you that spring. He knew that something about it would wear deliciously on you, but then again, he thought everything about you was delicious. He gets up to meet you, putting your purse back in your locker and shutting it. 

“You like that one?” he asks, taking the small bottle delicately out of your hands and putting it in his jacket pocket, “I’ll buy you another before we leave.” 

“You don’t have to buy it for me,” you smile, a little ‘oh!’ leaving you as you feel his lips against your neck. The small scratch of his five o’clock shadow against your skin sends a jolt through your body. 

“Why not?” he asks in your ear, “I like to spoil you.” His hands are shaky as he keeps kissing your neck and jaw, grabbing at your waist. At this point, Eddie was desperate for a distraction from anything happening in that office. 

“Ed stop,” you whine as he hands go to the band of your shorts, “Not here. You’re not like him.” 

“Sorry,” he said, lifting his head up from your neck to lean his forehead against yours, “Just wanted to cheer you up a little.” 

You hear Tiffany’s voice chirp outside the door, probably to Libby and Steve coming out of the office. You sigh, wanting to run out and pull her into the locker room and lock the door. Leave the boys to their own devices while you yell some sense into her and tell her how much you missed her. It was nice having a friend like her – why did Steve have to ruin it for everyone? 

“You know what would cheer me up?” you ask, reaching for your coat. Eddie takes it out of your hands and holds it open behind you, helping you shrug it on. 

“What?” he said, getting to the front of you to adjust the collar. 

“Judas Priest, as loud as it can go in the Jeep,” you sniffled, the tears from before leaving a crunch of salty cast on your face. 

“I love that,” he laughs. He takes your hand while you walk out of the locker room to the gym. It’s quiet when you see everyone and you’re sure they know you were crying so you keep your eyes down to your shoes, squeaking on the concrete floor. You hear Eddie pick up the salads meant for you both from the edge of the ring and you catch the bottom half of Libby sitting on top of Steve’s lap. Your teeth grind in annoyance that she can’t even have her own place to sit, like she’s a fucking trophy he has to parade around – but you don’t say anything. Before you know it, the biting cold is back to whipping your face and the beep of Eddie unlocking the Jeep sends you back to the present with him. His face is colder than the weather outside. 

  You both hop into the truck at the same time, Eddie shoving the keys into the ignition to crank the heat in the now freezing car. He passes you a plastic bowl of salad, takes it back, and passes you a different one with his name scrawled on it - medium rare skirt steak sitting on top of leaves of spinach. 

“They got you breaded chicken instead of grilled, so just have mine,” he said flatly. You know he didn’t mean it like that, but it sounded like he was bored of making things work for you.  

“Thanks, honey,” you say. You watch him open the salad bowl and pour a packet of dressing on it, his face flush. He just nods, but doesn’t look at you – suddenly the car feels too hot and you shrug off your coat – your salad sitting abandoned on the dash while you toss the coat in the back seat. 

Eddie turns the music up while you open up the utensils packet, Metal Meltdown screaming through the sound system and he can’t help but air guitar the opening riffs to himself. You giggle and he finally tosses a glance at you, warm and cozy like the brown of his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, you can see some hurt behind his gaze, like he wanted to tell you something. He’s quiet for a moment, still looking at you. Eddie’s lips part to speak but he second guesses himself, looking down at the now dressing drenched salad on his lap. He takes a breath in through his nose and out again. Eddie holds his hand out, always an indicator that he wants yours, and you oblige – he pulls your fingertips to his lips to kiss them before starting to speak again. 

“I don’t want you training with him,” he says, “I’m gonna talk to Simone about finding you someone else.”

“I’m perfectly fine to talk to Simone, Ed,” you assure, “You don’t have to do that for me. I can negotiate my own stuff.”

“I don’t like him, Stell,” he continued, his words clipped and bordering angry, “I – fuck – like, all I can see when I look at him is you crying in that kitchen. I don’t like how he makes you feel – the way he talks to you. I don’t fuckin’ like him.” 

“You’ve established that,” you say, stabbing at the skirt steak with a fork in your free hand.

“I just want you to have a good experience going into this. This movie’s gonna be a big deal,” he says, “You’re a big deal. You should have the best of the best.” 

“Unfortunately for us,” you say, ripping a piece of steak off a bigger piece with your teeth, “Steve is the best of the best.” Butter and steak juice run down your chin, but Eddie catches it with a napkin before it drips to your white sports bra. 

“Cut it, baby, don’t eat it like that, you're wearing white,” he said, shaking his head. You show him the plastic knife in the utensil pouch and he rolls his eyes. He takes his pocket knife out from his jacket, not to be confused with his switchblade, and pulls the salad bowl out of your lap to get the steak into bite size pieces, stealing a few for himself. 

“Hey! That’s mine,” you tease. 

“Technically it’s mine,” he says, stealing a final piece before handing the salad back to you. He watches you eat, the same gnawing look he had before lingering behind his eyes. He studied you, the way you breath, the way your head bobs to the music that was vibrating the seats. 

“I’m gonna get this taken care of for you,” he said, “You’re not working with him after today. You’re not even gonna see him after today.” 

You laugh, “You’re funny.” 

“You think I can’t make sure of that?” he challenged, crossing his arms.

“We have two of the same endorsement deals, we’re going to have to be around each other again at some point,” you explain, “He’d obviously be invited to the premiere – it’s a boxing movie. He’s America’s favorite boxer right now.” 

“You haven’t run into him in a year and some change,” he retorted, “I think I’ll be able to keep that a theme in your life.” 

“You sound like him when you talk like that,” you say to your food, “Plus, you never wanna see Libby again? I like her, I wanna see her again.” 

I never want to see her again in my life, he thinks to himself. His mind falls back to the last time he saw her, like it had been all day. Hips rolling against his while propped up on the sink, the way his fingertips sunk into her thighs, how she tasted like liquor and bad decisions. He was barely lucid when he called her up there, but he knew, and that’s what made it worse. Stealing glances all day put a stake in his heart, and the way she shook when he approached her – he was about ready to put Steve in jail. 

“Hm,” is all he replies, reaching over to your almost finished salad and stealing another piece of steak before you shut the bowl over his hand. 

“Enough,” you laugh while he slides his hand out and you close the bowl. You pass him the plastic and he collects all the leftovers in a bag to bring back into the gym to toss out. 

“You wanna go back inside, or do you wanna get out of here?” he asks, hand on the keys keeping the car on. 

“We have to go back inside, the studio is paying for this. Tim would be pissed if we just dipped out,” you explain, sulking. Eddie lets out a sigh that turns into an exasperated ‘urgh!’, and snatches your coat from the backseat for you to put on. He hops out and jogs to the other side of the car to get your door, helping you step down into the snow. 

The warmth of the gym envelopes you again but it doesn’t melt away your nerves like last time. You see everyone still gathered in their chairs by the ring, Steve and Libby sharing a kiss that she looks despondent for. You weakly raise a hand to wave but she ignores you, your face burns for what feels like the fiftieth time, in embarrassment. 

“Okay, round two!” Simone cheers, while Tiffany comes to collect your coat and Eddie’s leftovers. You sulk a little until you remember where you are and stick on your bright fake smile again. Eddie gives you a not so subtle pat on the ass before heading back to his seat on the side of the ring. He slumps into it moodily, putting one foot up on the corner post, playing with his box of cigarettes before popping one in his mouth. 

“Baby, not in here,” you call out while Big helps put your gloves back on. Eddie rolls his eyes and puts the cigarette back in the box, still playing with it in his fingers. He drops the box onto his lap, slipping his jacket off and putting it on the seat next to him, and nestles the box in the leather and studs. 

“You got this, kid,” Big says, pulling the ropes up so you can crawl onto the ring, “You’re doin’ amazing. Can’t believe this is your first day in the ring!” 

“Oh, stop,” you blush, “I’m okay. I’m trying my best!” 

“That was your best?” Steve asks, back in the ring with the mitts under his arms. 

“Hey,” Big warns, “Be nice, why don’t ya? Give it a try.” He walks back over to Mikey shaking his head while Mikey takes another call. Simone is chattering away on the opposite end of the ring into her own phone, Tiffany taking notes next to her. No one is really paying attention to the ring aside from Eddie and Libby, opposite ends – coaching you both in their own ways. 

“Have a good lunch?” he asks, he speaks like he’s confident that you cried in the locker room after the first round.

“I know you had a good lunch,” your voice is unenthusiastic.

“Mmm,” he smirks while he remembers it, it’s a lewd smirk and it’s unnerving. 

“You know, it helps to get your rage out when you gotta deal with two fuckin’ idiots all morning,” he says, putting the mitts up, “One, two me. Get warmed up.” 

“Shouldn’t be taking your rage out on her,” you hiss, slamming your gloved fists into the mitts. Steve almost smiles at the impact. You’d take your rage out on her if you knew what she did. 

“Whoo! Looks like you left boxer barbie in the car,” he says, taking one of the mitts off and shaking his hand, “Done cryin’ to your boyfriend about how mean I am? Ready to put in the real work?”

He slipped the mitt back on, back at the ready for you to lay into him. You shoved the gloves back into the mitts, one-two with vigor, but it wasn’t holding up the speed and cleanliness Steve was expecting. 

      “Arms up, you’d lose your teeth if you were in the ring for real,” he said, “Clean it up, Rink.” 

       Eddie stands up with his arms crossed, black sweater tight against his body, bulging at the seams when he crosses his arms across his chest. He’s watching Steve with a hard look, rage filling his eyes with every word that comes out of his mouth to you. He knows you can take it, but he doesn’t want you to have to. 

You straighten up, hits coming at a steady pace, triceps burning while you keep the jabs as clean as possible. He nods while he moves with you, maybe he was done shitting on you for the day. 

When you got to hooks, Big took your gloves off. It would be easier to just learn those basics with your bare fists with nothing extra weighing you down. Steve took his mitts off again, laying them on the top of the post by Eddie. His eyes flitted toward him and then over at Libby, who had turned to walk towards the chairs nearby on the opposite side. 

“Hey! Where you goin’, angel?” he asked, his words coming in a little hot. 

“I’m just going to sit down, Steve,” she replies, you frown at the sound of her voice. 

“Jesus, Steve, what next – you gonna put a leash on her? You don’t need to know where she’s going, she’s obviously staying at the gym,” you glower while he approaches you. He considers your question while he cracks his neck to the left and the right. 

“You here to do business?” he asked, standing up in front of you like he had before lunch. 

“Yeah,” you said, feeling more confident without the gloves on. 

“Why don’t you start by mindin’ your own, hm?” he stared at you down the slope of his nose, you gulp inadvertently. 

“Hooks,” he starts, stepping back from you, “Aren’t in the flex of the arm, it’s all about the body. You’re not moving your arm at all.” He shows her the form, but it’s too quick for you to really understand what he means. 

“Show me,” he says after demonstrating it again. Even without the gloves, your body moves awkwardly, your arm jutting out at an awkward angle, your elbow nearly hitting him in the face. 

“So I tell you that you’re not movin’ your arm at all, so you just move your arm anyway?” he asks, “Were you only half listenin’?” 

“Harrington, I don’t have time for this,” you huff, “I’m not your girlfriend, you can’t just keep pushing me around. You’re getting paid to be here.” 

His eyes darken when one of his rough, taped, hands finds your forearm again. He gets behind you like before, keeping your right hand up by your face, holding the other one slightly curved out, “Put your shoulders up, and your chin down.” 

His voice chills you, “Turn your thumb toward your face or you’re gonna break your wrist.” He lets go of you, and stalks slowly back to your front. 

“You’re living on that ball of your back foot, that’s where you’re pulling the weight from,” he explains, “Show me.” 

You try again, but it still feels awkward and tight. He runs a hand exasperatedly through his hair – maybe he didn’t really have the temperament to coach. Maybe it wasn’t worth the $400,000 dollar deal for three months of training – especially not with someone this out of whack. 

He gets behind you again, but instead of Steve reaching for your arms, which are still in place, he goes to your waist. You jolt when you feel it, stifling a squeal – you’re always so used to Eddie’s calloused fingers and soft grabbing – not the roughness of his wraps and harsh grip. His chest is closer to your back than it was before, you can feel his breath fanning out against the top of your shoulder.

“The power of your hook has nothing to do with your arms,” he says, palms scratching downward, his fingertips at the waistband of your shorts, “And everything to do with the rotation of your hips.” 

You nod, your eyes dropping to Eddie who looked so angry he could jump in that ring himself. Not like he really had a leg to stand on, but he knew that at this point Steve was doing this on purpose. He was doing it to remind him that not only was Libby his, but if he wanted – he doesn’t – but if he wanted, he could have you, too. 

“You’re gonna twist that front foot like you’re stomping out a cigarette,” he says, his foot tapping your front foot, “So the power is coming from your feet, to your legs, to your hips, then your core.” 

“Show me again,” he says, closing the gap between you. His chest is sticky with sweat against your back and your head tilts away from him. You squirm in his grasp and Eddie can tell you’re uncomfortable, his hand reaching for one of the ropes. Eddie clears his throat and you feel Steve’s head raise from behind you – a low, gravely snicker vibrates from his chest. 

“Not a lot of fight in him, huh?” he asks. 

“Violence isn’t required in my relationship, unlike some other people I know,” you mutter, throwing a practice punch. It isn’t perfect, but it’s much better than your first couple of tries. 

“There it is,” Steve says, his hands dropping while he goes to retrieve the mitts at the post by Eddie. He shoots him a satisfied smirk while he puts them on, but with his back to you, you don’t notice. The mitts are lower this time, imitating body shots. 

“We’re not even gonna attempt doing different levels of these today, so let’s just pretend you’re hitting your opponents sides,” he says, “Go.” 

You try, and they’re shaky at first – it’s different throwing a punch without the gloves. Your hands feel small and weak, you almost feel more stupid without them. Nervous sweat starts dripping down your chest as you follow the mitts, Steve waltzing around the ring quicker than when you were with jabs. 

“C’mon, really show me you mean it,” he taunts, “Get angry.” 

“I’m not an angry person,” you say, tossing another punch to the right.

“I’d be fuckin’ insane if I had to deal with Munson all the time,” he lets out a dark laugh, “Come on, Rink. Show me – show me how mad you were when you tried to kick ‘im out.” 

Bile rises in your throat when he says it and tears prick your eyes. Blood rushes in your ears for a moment, drowning out Eddie’s warning ‘Hey!’ from the sidelines – he’s suddenly so ready to protect you after Steve staked his claim over Libby. You guess you matter to him now. Your cheeks get a little hot while you throw two more hard hooks, the sound ringing through the gym when they make contact with the mitts. 

“There we go,” he sneers, “Guess you didn’t forget what I said last September, huh? Hey, hey, keep your shoulders up!” 

“It doesn’t matter,” you growl, your knuckles getting red by how hard your punching, even with the wraps, “We’re better now.” 

“You sure?” he asks, light on his feet as he gets to the other side of you and you pivot to meet the mitts. 

“We’re doing great,” you say, making eye contact with him, “Can’t say the same about you and yours.” 

“Of course you’re doing great – shoulders Rink, Christ,” he groans, side stepping and you miss the shot, “You’re doing great, cause you don’t know the truth.” 

Your posture stiffens and you stand tall in the ring, staring him down. The words sling out of you like venom, “What the fuck are you talking about? Why are you so interested in my relationship anyway? You and Libby wanna join? We got enough fuckin’ beds in our house. She’d probably be so much fucking happier to be away from you anyway.” 

A pin could drop while he heaves breaths out of his nose, that same bull like anger rearing his head. He looks at you through furrowed brows, his lip snarling. 

“Yeah, well, Libby already fuckin’ did.”

You hear Libby gasp and watch as her hand claps over her mouth. Eddie’s hand goes to his face, sliding down to his jaw. He mumbles a quiet, ‘Jesus fuckin’ Christ, man,’ to himself, his big eyes already wet with tears. 

“Wh-what?” you ask, your body is hot and for the first time in your whole life, you wish nobody would look at you while you stand there in the ring. Tears fill your eyes, blurring your vision, but you blink them away in a flinch as Steve throws the mitts angrily to the ground.  “Fuck this!” he roars, jumping out of the ring stomping angrily on the concrete floor – but you’re not done here. Anger starts bubbling in your chest at the sight of his angry face, at Libby scurrying away from him. 

“No, what the hell are you talking about, Harrington?” you shout, hopping down from the ring yourself and stomping after him. You both shared the same posture – angry and huffing, like two lions ready to fight over a lone, unclaimed carcass. 

“No, what the hell are you talking about, Harrington?” you shout, hopping down from the ring yourself and stomping after him. You both shared the same posture – angry and huffing, like two lions ready to fight over a lone, unclaimed carcass. 

“I’m talking about your fuckin’ boyfriend puttin’ his hands all over my girl." 

Before you can think about it, Eddie is next to you his hands up and wild to redirect the conversation, "No —hey! Hey, that is not what happened.”

You step slightly ahead, seeing Steve’s face. He looks menacing, terrifying, like at any minute he’ll slip and take Eddie out. Libby is lingering close by, her shocked expression matching your own. 

“No? Then tell me how it fuckin’ happened, Munson,” you wince at Steve’s tone, it feels like he’s yelling at all of you – trying to find out who took the last cookies from the jar. Eddie shrinks at the demand and you feel his hand touch yours – but the feeling makes you sick. ‘Your fuckin’ boyfriend puttin’ his hands all over my girl.’ So that was why? But that’s impossible. When could that have even happened? 

"I—baby, listen, I—” his voice is desperate and pleading, it sounds too familiar. He turns toward you, shoulders hunched and defeated – a little kid who doesn’t want to tell the truth. His eyes are pouring guilt – the same look he gave you in the living room when he got caught using for the last time. Something in you snaps – 

“Tell me what the fuck is going on right now, Ed,” you shrill, your heart felt like it was going to rip out of your chest, your hands balling into fists. You’d never felt more humiliated in your life. 

“Okay! Okay, okay, I—I saw Libby at a club back in March,” you can hear him about to break, his voice shaking with his shoulders. His brown eyes can’t meet yours, opting to stare at your collarbones instead, “And – and we – we kissed.” 

– we kissed.

– we kissed.

– we kissed.

You feel the color drain from your face and it feels like someone plunged you into cold water. You aren’t sure how it starts or where it comes from, but the SMACK! cracks along the vaulted ceilings of the gym before you register that your open palm collided with his face – wrapped hand and all. Eddie’s head turns sharply to the right at the impact, pink blooming on his cheek. He shuts his eyes to collect himself – taking a sharp deep breath through his nose. You see his hands twitch before crossing his arms tightly to keep himself contained.  “I deserve that,” he mutters quietly. If there is anything true about Eddie, it’s that bitch slapping him is the best way to get him kicked out of a bar – his opponent often leaving with a broken nose. It’s quiet for a moment while your hand drops back down to hip, breaths heaving out of you while you turn your attention to Libby.

“What’d I fuckin’ tell you?” Steve asks with a raised brow, his chest still heaving. You swear you see him smirk when he asks – like this was his plan all along. To see how much he could humiliate you, how embarrassed he could make you feel. How shredded he could get your relationship to make up for the shortcomings in his own. 

“Oh, fuck off, Harrington! You’re the reason she was out that night, don’t act like you’re fucking innocent. Drinking herself silly because she said you almost hit her,” Eddie’s voice has a new vigor, he’s angry and hulking – his sweater looking too tight on him. It hits you how close they are, Eddie’s fists twitching by his sides now, the vein in his neck pressing against his skin. 

The weight of Eddie’s words sinks in and you whip your head at Steve, ready to pounce on him, “Wait, what? What the f–” 

"—no! No, I said I thought he was gonna hit me,” Libby’s voice finally joins the conversation, and of course it’s to defend Steve. Your blood boils, you want to fucking shake her and not even because she kissed your boyfriend – you’re so tired of watching her come to Steve’s defense. 

Eddie takes the words right out of your mouth, "That’s not any fuckin’ better!”

“Hey! Don’t swear at my fucking girlfriend, dick!” You jump at Steve’s roar, still vibrating with rage at all of this happening when you were supposed to be training. Tim was definitely going to recast you now.

“Oh, that’s right. You’re the only one allowed to treat her like shit,” Eddie doesn’t hold back, reaching out and shoving Steve hard in the shoulder with one hand, sending him stumbling backwards. It would be hot if it was any other day, but this wasn’t the time and definitely not the person to mess with – a certified killing machine. 

“Ed! Enough,” you call out, but Steve’s dead eyes ignite with rage and he lunges forward. The boys are nose to nose, huffing and snarling at each other like wolves. Libby pitifully reaches for him, grabbing at his arm but it’s Big getting between them that gets them to slightly separate. You’re mortified, you can’t imagine being more embarrassed than you are right now. This wasn’t supposed to go this way. 

“Whoa, whoa, guys – how ‘bout we all take a breath?” Big’s voice would normally cool Eddie out, but he’s foaming at the mouth, reaching over Big’s massive shoulder to get another lick at Steve. "Fuck you, Harrington! All you ever do is fuck shit up!” Eddie yells, his voice sounds foreign, void of the normal light cadence he normally has – even when he was high. This was his withdrawal yell, his ‘I need to use now’ gruffness. Eddie was more than angry, he was scared, he was enraged. You’re stuck, unable to move – frozen from the embarrassment, the realization that the man you’re supposed to marry kissed someone you considered a friend. From your future husband raising his hands to a man who could kill him with a curated punch to the throat, from all the abuse Steve hurled at you and kept hurling at you. From Libby standing there, just as equally horrified and embarrassed as you are.

"—oh, I’ve been dying to fuck your shit up, Munson—”

Big is waltzing with them, keeping his arms up to separate their bodies while they keep trying to find each other. You almost want to shove Big out of the way so you can watch them fight – maybe it would be cathartic to see some blood on the floor.

“—your own girlfriend is terrified of you, and for good fucking reason. You’re a loose fucking cannon, Harrington, one day away from snapping—” Oh Ed, just shut up, you think to yourself. You don’t want to take him back to the hotel in an ambulance. Steve’s gruff voice shakes you when it calls over Big’s shoulder.

“—how those veins holdin’ up, Munson? Huh? You got any left, or are they all shot to death?” Your heart shatters when you see Eddie falter at the words – that wasn’t fair. He was really trying, and recovery was kicking his ass.  

“One day away from snapping? How ‘bout one bag of smack away from OD-ing.” ‘Just took two, just took two.’ ‘I’m not gonna use that shit again, baby.’ 

‘Stell you gotta call the hospital, he’s not wakin’ up.’ ‘Tour was gettin’ hard, baby – please don’t leave, don’t leave me.’ 

Flashes of Eddie’s slumped over body on the couch, outside of the club, covered in vomit on the bathroom floor play through your head. You don’t even realize that you’re crying until Simone’s smooth voice calls over the group, her trench swishing with her. She tosses her braids over her shoulder and claps her hands together, a bright smile shining against her coffee lipstick stained lips.

“O-kay! Before someone says something they regret, I think we should get some NDAs printed up, make sure this stays between—” “Fuck an NDA. You won’t be able to hide Munson’s fucked up mug when I’m done with 'im.” You want to bite back at him for yelling at Simone but she turns on her heel, calling out, “Tiffany start the car, we’re going to Staples to get some NDA’s printed.” Her boots clicking on the cement while she makes it to the door with Tiffany in toe.

“Steve, s-stop,” you hear Libby choke out, reaching out to touch Steve but he avoids her touch. 

“Stop what? Stop telling the truth? Did you wanna keep it a secret forever, honey?” His sneer is painful, you hate the way he looks at her. Eddie looks broken, full of realization of his wrong doings, he’s aching and angry. Libby looks embarrassed under Steve’s gaze, small and meek, afraid of him. 

“God, you’re awful,” you say straight to Steve, the words garbled with tears. You see him take in what you said and he briefly casts his eyes down, swallowing before casting his hard eyes back at Eddie. 

“St-Stella—” Libby’s voice surprises you, finally being addressed by her for the first time since you got to the gym. You can’t even keep your anger in when you look at her. She had disappeared after that day in September, never calling to check in – your people never able to get in touch with Steve’s people to see how she was doing. You’d wanted to scream with excitement with her when you saw her in that Prada ad – your makeup artist Hailey told you all about it, and how Libby’s ‘annoying fucking boyfriend wouldn’t stop hovering’ while she worked. But no, she’d been too busy kissing your boyfriend at a club and being forgiven by her dumb fucking boxer boyfriend, while you were kept in the dark. “—is this why I never heard from you? E-even when I sent that card to congratulate you after Prada —god, I thought you were my friend, Libby.”

Libby’s eyes stop flowing with tears and she looks shocked to hear about the card, her lips parting and eyebrows furrowing. You watch her turn to Steve, but he ignores her and it starts to make sense where the card might have ended up. You watch Libby wipe at her face and at first you can’t feel sympathy, but you truly ache for her. Stuck next to her brooding boar of a lover who hates you.

“Stella, I’m s-sorry—” she wails out, but Steve cuts her off immediately, his eyes piercing you.

“—oh don’t act like this is a fuckin’ surprise, Rink. Look at 'im, all he knows is how to self destruct,” his stare hurts you, like this is all your fault. You feel like he’s really seeing you – but not the way Eddie sees you. He’s seeing the bad parts – how weak you are, how scared and broken you are, how you want to run away but can’t because of how much you care.

"Shut your fuckin’ mouth, Harrington!” Eddie starts again, his eyes are wild – you’d only seen him like this a handful of times – and it was almost always related to a man getting too anything with you in front of him.

“How 'bout you make me?” You scoff as Steve beckons for him, but you know that it’s not for the best. Steve wants a reaction out of Eddie – he’s been waiting for this all day. You watch as Eddie lunges again, trying to clamor over Big unsuccessfully. 

“Ed, please,” you call out, but it’s futile, “Please, enough!”

“Nah, guys come on, cut this shit out. It’s not the time,” Big puts his hand on Steve’s chest to keep him away, clear that he knows his fuse is ready to blow. You gasp when Steve smacks at him, this man who is hulking and bigger than them – who could break them both with one hand. Big lets out a sigh, you can tell he’s desperate for this to be over.

“Whatever,” Steve sounds like the school bully who doesn’t want to get in trouble before a big game. You inwardly smirk while he takes a step back, not so tough after all. You prayed he felt embarrassed. Big finally puts his arms down, testing the waters and looking between both men – still reeling from the back and forth.

“You good?” Big asks.

“I’m good,” Eddie nearly yells his answer and your skin crawls. You hate seeing him like this, doused in anger and frustration – he was always much quicker to act on his impulses when he had too many feelings at once.

When Big clears away from both of them, Libby reaches for her book, Steve immediately follows her and you want to fucking kill him. Get away from her, you think, Let her fucking breathe. Your sight of her is suddenly slightly obstructed by Eddie stepping in front of you, one arm back to keep you a distance away. He tosses his glance back at you, a worried look on his face – almost telepathically you understand that he means ‘Stay behind me.’ You’re still angry at him, but your heart swells.

Big’s voice is soft and calm, calling over from the ring, “Alright, so how 'bout we all just calm down and talk about this like—”

Steve’s voice booms over Big’s and he takes a step toward you, finger jutting out to point straight at your chest, “—you know everything was fuckin’ fine until she started hangin’ out with you.”

Eddie immediately tenses, his protective hand coming back to his side, an evil snicker escaping his chest. You know that sound, it’s when he can’t contain it anymore, "Oh, I know that’s a fuckin’ lie. You don’t have a great track record, Steve. People talk.”

“You wanna talk about reputation, Munson—”

“—oh what, more junkie comments? Find something new Steve—”

“—you know, what’s got you so riled up, Munson? You think she’s gonna leave you?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Eddie scoffs, head shaking. He is scared you’re gonna leave him, and Steve knows it. He knew it back in the kitchen at his Malibu condo last September, he knew it when Eddie called him up at the end of January to get back in the ring. He knew it when Eddie broke down in the locker room when your lawyer answered your phone and told him they’d send a restraining order if he called again.

“Think she wants a real man instead?” Your eyes snap up at Steve when he says it, you know it hits Eddie where it hurts. The question he’s always asked himself since he met you, that you’d want to be with someone who was nothing like him. Clean cut, all American, football captain, basketball player types that match your sweet as pie persona. You watch Eddie follow Steve’s gaze as it falls on you. He looks at you salaciously, mouth and lips wet, scanning you slowly from your feet to your face. His sneer changes into the same wolfish grin he gave you against the counter, head cocking to the side. 

His voice comes out husky while he looks at you, “You liked havin’ a real man’s hands on you?” His gaze drops from your eyes to your waist and you feel dirty under it. Remembering the feeling of his scratchy taped hands on you, too rough, too mechanical. Eddie sees your face falter, your cheeks get red – and not in a way that shows you’re enjoying it. Steve’s making you uncomfortable – so now Eddie had to make him uncomfortable. You blink and the wind of Eddie’s form rushing toward Steve hits you, watching horrified as Eddie’s fist collides hard with Steve’s jaw, another crack resounding through the gym for spectators to hear. All the pent up rage of the day, the way Steve touched you, the way Steve made you feel in front of him, all let out in that one hook to the face.

“Jesus Christ!” the words come out of you, but your voice feels detached. You want to run to Eddie and pull him away, but you step backward at the sight of blood pooling behind Steve’s lips. You watch his hair flop forward while he lets out a glob of blood, spraying the rest out in spit – staining the concrete floor. 

“Stop, stop, stop! Please, just stop!” Libby wails, getting between the both of them, knowing that Steve won’t put her hands on her. Something has visibly changed in Steve and now you’re really afraid. If drugs didn’t kill your fiance, Steve Harrington certainly would. Big nearly shoves Libby out of the way, arms circling around a furious Eddie while he drags him towards the door, “DON’T YOU EVER TALK TO MY GIRL LIKE THAT AGAIN! I’LL FUCKIN’ END YOU HARRINGTON. I’LL RUIN YOUR FUCKIN’ LIFE.” “Okay, okay, Munson – let’s cool off, let’s cool down. You gotta get outta here man, let’s go,” Big soothes, pulling him out the door. Mikey follows silently, grabbing his smokes and jacket from the other side of the ring and bringing it outside. You can still hear Eddie yelling from outside, the slam of the Jeep door, the churning hum of the Judas Priest album – and finally the SCREECH of the wheels as he peels out of the parking lot. 

Your eyes scan the gym floor. 

You’re alone here, now – and you have no fight left. 

A defeated sob pours out of you while you walk around Libby and Steve – feeling the hum of his anger while you do – and push open the locker room door. You collapse on the bench across from your locker and the stuffy air makes it hard to breathe. You undo the tapes with shaking hands, whimpering and trembling – so upset at him, but wishing Eddie would come through the door and make it better. 

But did it even matter? Would he go and console Libby first? You felt bile sit in the base of your throat at the thought. Were you ever first to begin with? 

“Let go of me!” you hear echo through the gym, under the locker room door. You have half a mind to get up and intervene, but your body feels like it’s three thousand pounds. You’re exhausted and blubbering, the deep clawfoot tub of the hotel’s penthouse suite is the only thing you have to look forward to. 

You achingly get up and stand in front of your locker, clicking it open. The scent of your perfume hits you and you remember that Eddie has your travel bottle in his jacket pocket. You feel sick at the thought of him and his now battered knuckles – speeding home on icy roads. Impulsive, angry – Dangerous. You shrug on your coat and switch out your sneakers for you boots, not bothering to change clothes. Who cares? Who was gonna see you anyway? You pull out your gym bag and your purse, tossing them on the bench and collapsing next to them. 

The door opens slowly, Big stepping in – it’s clear he’s trying to be quiet but he’s so big that even his soft steps sound like stomps. 

“Figured y’might need a ride home,” he said, his voice low and apologetic, “Don’t think you’d wanna go with those two out there.” 

You laugh a little through your cry, wiping at your face. Big reaches into his back pocket and passes you a hankie, sliding next to you on the bench. It’s clean and pressed, light blue with gold stitching, embroidered with initials you don’t recognize.

“It was my grandma’s,” he said, “I never use it, just like to keep her with me. She’d come down and whack me with her purse if I didn’t offer it to ya.” 

The fabric is delicate against your face, a contrast to the muffled yelling from the gym ringing in your ears. Big’s arm reaches around you, falling heavily around your back, his hand collapsing on your other shoulder. 

“If it’s any consolation, I think ya did pretty good today,” he said with a smile, “I mean we don’t normally slap in boxing but if that had been a cross - whew! -Ed woulda been on the ground.” 

You chuckle again, wiping a tear away from your face, “I didn’t mean to hit him – I just–I’d never do that. I think – I don’t know – he didn’t deserve that.” 

“Eh,” Big nodded his head to the side, “I think every man deserves a good slap in the face once in a while. Think Munson had that comin’.” 

“I still feel bad,” you sniffed. 

“That’s okay,” Big said, clapping your shoulder and standing up, offering his hand, “You shouldn’t, but it’s okay that you do. Let’s get you out of here.” 

You take Big’s hand and turn to grab your bags but he stops you, throwing them over his shoulder instead. ‘If she wouldn’t whack me over the handkerchief, she’d whack me over not carrying a woman’s bags.’ You let him guide you out of the locker room, seeing Steve and Libby at each other, both of their faces contorted with rage. 

You quickly walk past them, wanting nothing more than to just get the fuck out of this gym so you never had to see Steve Harrington again. 

“Wait! Stella, please, wait –” 

You can hear her trying to chase after you, your throat tightening. What else could she possibly have to say to you? That she was sorry? Sorry that she kissed the man who called you his wife since your second date? Kissed the person who knew all of your favorite songs and put them on a mixtape as your first ‘month-a-versary’ gift? Does he know her favorite songs? You bet she doesn’t know his favorite songs.

“Stella, please –” 

Enough. You’d had enough. Enough of this day, enough of her crying, enough of her asshole fucking boyfriend. You knew you had to give her the only advice you had left in your arsenal. The lump in your throat grows while you stare down the slope of your nose at her. 

“You should leave him Libby,” you say matter of factly. You look at Steve, brutish and bloody, staring back at you, “While you still can.” 

They both look equally hurt by what you say and it feels good to watch them hurt. You turn on your heel and walk toward Big, through the door he held open for you. You see a flash out of the corner of your eye and immediately freeze, used to Eddie’s shielding arm around you – opening up his jacket to block the cameras from capturing you. His venom spitting at them to fuck off and leave you alone. Big does his best, getting his body between you and the paparazzi up until you’re in the passenger’s seat of his truck with the door shut, safe behind the tinted windows. He pulls out of the lot quickly, the photographers scattering like roaches back to their cars to see if they can track you, or Steve, or Libby on the road. You heave out a shuddered sigh while Big clicks on the radio, a song softly pouring out of the speakers. 

“I’m tellin’ ya baby, you will never find another girl – In this heart of mine.Look into my eyes, can’t you see they’re open wide? Would I lie to you baby, would I lie to you?”

Tears well in your eyes while the chart topper plays. How fucking fitting. 

“Don’t you know it’s true, girl, there’s no one else but you. Would I lie to you, baby? Would I lie to you?”

“Maybe the radio isn’t on our side today,” Big says, clicking it off. You sniffle, looking out the window. Big steals a glance at you through the rear view mirror. 

“I know Munson messed up, Stell,” his voice was warm, “But I’ve never met a man so crazy about his woman. He really give’s Harrington a run for his money.” 

You blush, shaking your head. He smiles at you while you sniff again, holding the hanky to your nose. 

“When he first came in, boy was he hopeless. He was just training with just me for a while, think it was right after he got your name tattooed on his hip. I said, ‘Boy, are you stupid? You know you can’t go around getting a woman’s name inked on you.’  He looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘You haven’t met my girl, Big. You’d get her name tattooed on you too.’ He was all starry eyed, talking about how he was gettin’ better for you,” Big’s story made your head fuzzy, your lower lip wobbling. 

“He’d talk about you at every session when I could see him, sometimes he’d have to just have to train with whoever, if I was on the road with Steve – and my guys would call me and be like ‘Does Munson do anything but play music and hang out with his wife?’ Couldn’t imagine the shock when I told ‘em you weren’t even married yet. We were on the road for a while, sort of fell out of touch, but when I saw him again at the gym – just workin’ out, not boxin’ – he ran up to me, lookin’ so healthy, lookin’ good. He told me he proposed and you said yes, told me every little detail, started cryin’ on the ropes of the ring replayin’ it in his head.”

He cried all night, when you said yes. Cried like a baby. ‘Told you, Rink. Gonna be my wife one day, now you’re gonna b-be my w-wife. I’m gonna – gonna fuckin’ marry you.’ 

“Didn’t see him for a while, caught some photos of him when he was down at a bar in Malibu when he said he’d be trainin’ – lookin’ a little rough around the edges. But he still looked like Munson, y’know? In September last year, that day you came with him, I figured we’d get Steve in the ring with him since we wanted to start exploring Steve startin’ to train, and we knew he had a good rapport with Libby – not y’know, kissin’ at the club good – but they had the whole book thing.” 

You winced at the reference to their kiss, their book exchange in Malibu now seemed less innocent. Did he even care that you bought him a custom bound Lord of the Rings series? With all of his friends incorporated in illustrations? Would he have liked the gift better if Libby bought it for him? Not that she could afford it without Steve, you thought bitterly. You instantly regretted it, shaking it out of your head. 

Big continued, “And I know somethin’ must’ve happened that day because I didn’t hear from him again until the end of January, almost a year ago. He was a bigger mess than the first time I met him, too skinny. He got to the gym in shambles, thought he lost you for good. He kept sayin’, ‘I gotta cut this shit out, Big. I need to be a better man. Need to show her I can be a father, I can be a husband.’ He was with us real consistent until around March – and I uh, I can guess why he started goin’ to different gyms after that.” 

“But if anything’s true about his, I don’t know what to call it – his journey? It’s that he’s been head over heels for you for all of it,” Big pulled into the lot of the hotel, putting the car in park to get your door open and grab your bags. Once you were settled in the lobby, he gave you a firm and tight bear hug – the kind that reminded you of your dad.

“If you need anything at all,” he said, “Anything. You call me.” 

You watch him leave through tear filled eyes, the headlights of his truck shining like north stars while he pulls around the entryway and back out onto the road. You push through the people waiting in line at the concierge to get to the elevators, furiously clicking the door closed button once you stepped inside. 

The elevator opened to the hotel suite living room, your body ached even though it had been hours since you last threw a punch. Eddie was sitting with his legs spread, leaned back on the far side of the couch by the window. His hair was a mess, cheeks tear stained with his left cheek still pink from your slap, he didn’t even take off his coat. His box of cigarettes laid empty on the coffee table.

“I didn’t know you’d be here, thought I’d find you at–” “At the bar?” he asked, his head snapping towards you, “D’you think that’s how I deal with everything?” 

He knew he didn’t have the right to be snippy with you right now, but his heart was racing. This was it, you were gonna leave him. There wasn’t any coming back from this – over something so meaningless, a kiss with a sad shy girl when he was so drunk he saw two of her the whole time. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say to you besides sorry, Stell,” he said, shifting to lean his elbows onto his knees, “I can’t go back and undo it.” 

“I know,” you whispered over the lump in your throat while hanging your coat up in the entryway closet. You kicked your boots off and dropped the gym bag next to them. Your socked feet padded softly into the living room, darkened outside of the low golden glow of the lamp on the side table next to the couch on Eddie’s side. The butts of all his cigarettes from chain smoking sat in the ashtray, some still smoking with low embers next to him. Toronto’s skyline glittered in the night, twinkling into the floor to ceiling windows. 

After Big’s story, you wanted to curl up next to him on the couch and kiss him. To tell him that it didn’t matter, that it was all okay. You’ll be there for him. But you needed to be stronger than that, even though you were so tired of being the strong one. 

“Maybe,” you croak out, his eyes meet yours when the word comes out, “Maybe we got back together too soon.” 

“Baby…” he started, his soft coo already melting your heart. He stands up, taking his jacket off while walking towards you, tossing the leather on the couch before putting your face in his big warm hands. 

“Don’t say that,” he said with pleading shining eyes, “We’re doin’ so good, aren’t we?” 

You so desperately want to believe him. You were doing good, he moved back into the new Hollywood house at the end of November when he hit his eight month marker. He made you breakfast in the mornings when you both had off, went on drives along the beach – he made a big show of taking you back to the planetarium where you had your third date, sharing McDonald’s fries in his car in the parking lot. He was so alive in a way he hadn’t been since the last time he got better. (And of course he was fucking you on every surface of that house you could comfortably fit on.) You look at him and put your hands over his hands, feeling the metal on his fingers and the swell of his knuckles on his left hand. Your eyes fall to his lips, wet and bitten red from stress – Libby kissed those lips. He let her. Your throat tightens again and you pull your face out of his hold, dropping your hands to your sides. 

“I think we should spend some more time apart,” your voice stiffened while you hold back another cry. You turn away from him, heading into the bathroom, leaving the door open. You unfurl one of the face cloths folded expertly on the double sink counter and run it under the cold water. Once it hits your face, so does the full context of the day, the coolness reaching the inside of your chest. Maybe it was like the seven stages of grief, all of this. 

“But I — I,” he started, his voice high and cracking, “Baby, I’ve been doing the work. I’m goin’ to meetings, I’m not partying. I’m still talking to a shrink twice a week. I’m doing this all to stay on track so we can – so we can do this for real.”

“For now,” you shake your head while he pleads behind you, following you to the bathroom, “Until that gets boring for you.” 

“Do you really think that little of me?” Eddie shrinks at your cutting words, his jaw tightening while his lower lip began to lightly tremble. 

“Am I supposed to think bigger of you, after today?” you bite back, your tone sounds like Steve’s and your shoulders sulk — your voice barely softening, “We’ll be apart anyway. I’m back to work after the new year, and you leave for tour in two weeks — just try not to fuck Veronica in Colorado this time, since you’re on thin ice.” 

“I’m not gonna fuck Nic in Colorado, Stell. Jesus,” he says quietly, leaning on his shoulder in the doorframe. He knows that tone of your voice, biting and acerbic. He tried to stack up the walls in his chest to keep your voice from getting too deep into him. 

“Oh, did you plan to fuck her in another state?” you laugh bitterly. Veronica ‘Nic’ Farragamo was Eddie and Gareth’s favorite groupie, there was even a song about her. 

“I’m not gonna fuck Nic at all,” he sighs, “I’m not going on tour.” 

You toss him a look through the mirror, “What’re you talking about?” 

“I called Bobby when I got here,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I dropped out, they’re gonna have someone fill in for me. I’m just gonna do the bigger shows in California and New York.” 

“Why would you do that?” you spat, “You know how much you’re losing out on?” 

“I’m not losing out on anything,” he pushed off the wall, taking a step toward you, “I want to be there for you. I wanna make this work.”

“That’s bullshit,” you say under your breath.

“That’s bullshit? I’m telling you I’m not ready to go back on tour, Stella,” he says quietly, looking at the marble counter and tracing the lines of the gold filigree. 

“You’re just doing another grand gesture so you look good,” you see yourself in the mirror while you speak to him, your face swollen from crying. His posture stiffens, offense coloring his face and bracing his body.

“Do you hear yourself?” his face hardens, his forehead dropping towards you while he talks, “What the fuck, Stell?” 

“‘Let me quit tour to show her what a loving fiancé I am, and everyone will report it on the tabloids — he’s so devoted!’” you mocked, “So I look like a bitch. Do you know how many people talked about how unsupportive and selfish I was when I left? What’s another year of being Eddie Munson’s buzzkill ex-fiance?” 

“Do you wanna know why I really dropped out, Rink?” he asked, his breath picking up. 

“Enlighten me, Ed,” you raise your eyebrows, crossing your arms while still talking to him in the reflection of the mirror, “Tell me how it’s all my fault, again.” 

Ed bites his tongue before he can retort, trying not to make this a bigger fight, “I dropped out ‘cause–” He almost can’t look at you, “–‘cause before I called Bobby I – I almost called my fuckin’ dealer,” he let out, taking big breaths through his nose to keep from crying.

“That’s what you wanted to fuckin’ hear, right? That I’m still a fucking loser. Still one step away from fuckin’ it all up again. ‘One bag of smack away from ODing.’” 

Eddie’s breaths don’t keep up, his voice cracks, tears sliding down his face in thick streaks, “So I’m – I’m not ready, baby. Everything he said in that gym today, everything in Malibu. He’s right about me, Stell.” 

You can’t help but cry too, your heart in your throat, even when you thought you didn’t have any tears left to spill out to him, “He’s not right about you.”

“He is right about me,” Eddie nods, “Look what I did. This whole – this whole day was my fault.” 

“No it’s –” you want to say it’s Steve’s fault, but it isn’t. Steve was just reacting to his own hurt from the situation. You just so happened to be the best way for him to get it out. 

“What happened Eddie?” you asked, desperate for closure,  “What happened with Libby? Why didn’t you tell me on the beach?” 

Eddie wiped his face, features still crumpled from crying, “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t think it mattered. I know that’s stupid to say, of course it matters – but it had been so long since it happened and I felt so guilty. I didn’t – I didn’t want you to not come back. I was afraid if you knew, you’d be done.” 

“I would’ve appreciated it if you had been honest with me,” you sounded just like your mom when she’d caught you sneaking out, “Keeping it a secret makes it seem worse. Like you wanted it, like you’ve been wanting her since before we were apart.” 

“No,” he shakes his head, stepping out of the bathroom with you, “It’s been you the whole time, sweet thing. It’s always you.” 

“So why did you kiss her?” you ask, staring at him while sitting on the couch in the living room, tears pricking at your eyes again, “If it’s been me the whole time, why did you kiss her?” 

Eddie kneeled at your feet, leaving over to hold your thighs on either side of your lap, his chest covering your shins. He let out a sigh, looking up at you, “It was in March, I was at Glow with the guys and it had been a rough fuckin’ night. I was already a bottle and a half of Jack deep when I saw her there.” 

You looked at him, watching him replay it in his head, his memory whirring behind his eyes – you can tell he’s not lying when he does this. 

“I got so fucked up that night. I saw – thinking back it’s so stupid – but I saw in the paper that morning that you’d been spotted out to dinner with Jeremy and the picture – you were holding his hand – and I was so fucking hurt, baby. I know I shouldn’t have been, but I couldn’t even call you to ask about it ‘cause your lawyers were on me –” 

“We have an agreement about Jeremy, Ed. That’s not fair. The same way we have an agreement about Nic.” 

The agreement was, since there was a lot of chemistry between you and Jeremy, and Nic and Eddie, that each of you could fool around with the other, but only with your partner’s permission. (And in the case of Nic, Ed always preferred if you fooled around with them.) Jeremy was one of your first co-stars, you’d never dated but you used to sleep together – amazing lay, but not boyfriend material. The kind of boy who falls in love with any pretty woman who looks at him for five seconds. He was fun to have fun with, and that was about it. 

“You didn’t ask,” he said, “You didn’t ask me if it was okay, and I just – I missed holding your hand, baby. I fucking missed you, aching every day over waking up without you while you were out holding hands with some prettyboy scumbag. I was over here loving you, and you couldn’t even pick up the phone. So I thought ‘Oh shit, it’s really over. She’s done with me.’” 

“I’m sorry,” you cried, because you knew he’d see that picture. That’s why you reached for Jeremy’s hand that night when the flashes went off, showing off your empty ring finger while you did. You did it to hurt him, you wanted to hurt him because of how bad he hurt you. He reached for your hands and laced fingers with yours, his thumbs gliding over your skin. 

“So I saw Libby come in with some girl, saw her over at the bar and I knew something had to be up because Steve wasn’t around. He’d never let her walk around a place like Glow by herself – don’t think he’d even be caught dead there. Her friend left her to go see some girls in a section and I didn’t like that so I sent someone to go grab her. I just – I wanted to show her a good time. When she got up to VIP, God, I could barely see her, all the liquor just hit me at once and I don’t know what came over me. She was so sweet, she was so hurt – they got in a fight and she told me she left him, and you had left me so – you know, just two lost souls who might’ve needed each other for the night. At least that’s how it felt – and I hadn’t kissed anyone since you left –” 

“So I kissed her, cause I was hurting, too. I was so lonely, baby – and I know that’s not an excuse – but I was mad at you for Jeremy, and I had that little crush on her. I think I just wanted to get back at you or, or just feel something – it was so long ago, I don’t know. We didn’t do anything more than makeout, I promise – and when she stopped me and I realized what I did – oh fuck, I felt…God, I felt so fucking bad – I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you on the beach, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I was just scared.”

“And I’m,” Eddie was choking on sobs at this point, “I’m sorry that what I did made today so awful for you, that it affected your work. I never want to get in the way of what you do or mess up your process, and if I hadn’t been there. I don’t know, maybe he would’ve gone a little easier on you.” 

“I don’t think Steve Harrington has ever gone easy on anyone,” you say quietly to your hands, still interlocked with Ed’s. 

You felt sick when you pictured the scene in your head. Libby’s hands in his chest, in his hair, straddling him on the white couches at Glow. The grab of his ringed fingers on her thighs and hips, the taste of his smoky liquor stained tongue in her mouth. All you did was hold hands with someone that Eddie had given you the okay for. How could Libby do this after everything Steve did to you? After Steve made you cry in their kitchen, after Eddie had come back to the gym, undone and begging for help. Did she see how broken he was? Did she even know? 

“Am I –” the lump in your throat gripped the words, your question making you cry before you can even ask it. Eddie looks up at you, his own eyes wet with tears, his cheeks flaming pink.

“Is there s-something wrong with m-m-me?” you ask, it comes out more pathetic than you thought you had in you, but that’s how you felt. 

“No, baby,” he responds, his voice barely audible, “Nothing’s wrong with you.” 

“Then wh-when am I –” a hard sob racks your body, trembling with the words, “Wh-when am I g-gonna b-be enough f-for you?” 

Eddie gets up, his heart aching at the question. His fingers unlace with yours sliding up to your arms to your shoulders.

“What do you mean? You think you’re not enough for me? Whose putting that in your head, baby?” He’s trying so hard to soothe you through his own tears, but he can feel you vibrating under his grip.

“You are,” you confess, Eddie bites his lip to keep from wailing at the look on your face, “You always – you always –” 

“Always what, honey?” His gaze was soft, pleading. He hated watching you cry like this, he hated being the cause of it again. 

“You always pick the vice first. You only pick me when you think I’m gonna leave,” you spill out, wiping your tears from under your eyes but it was futile. More tears just kept pouring out of you. 

Eddie’s heart shattered because part of him knew it was true. He only had to try when you weren’t a guarantee. And sure, he wasn’t like that now. Now that he was nine months off heroin, being consistent at the gym for a year, making new music with the band, and working with a few others – things were looking good for him. Things were so together, in a way they hadn’t felt before, Ed had never felt so stable. Things between you had felt so right. He was just waiting for the day you put the ring back on so he could throw you in a white dress and call you his wife for real. 

He got on the couch, your crying and tired frame was pliant under his hands as he pulled you onto his lap. He adjusted your legs over him, holding you up to his chest while he wiped your face with a tissue from the side table. His other hand ran slowly up and down your back. 

“Shh,” he soothed, “I know how I’ve acted before – but I’m not just choosing you because I think you’re gonna leave me this time. I got a bad track record baby, I know. But I told you on the beach – I don’t – I don’t wanna be like my old man. I want to be better for when we have our own family.” 

“Jesus, I’ve been having dreams about having babies with you, Stell. About getting married. I can’t do that if I’m not better and that’s all I want – I’d throw all my rockstar shit away if it meant I could be your husband. That’s why I’m not going on tour – I don’t feel strong enough yet to say no when we’re out on the road. And yeah, sure, I know the guys would support me but – I know how I get, you know how I get. I only wanna go do the shows when you can come and keep me honest, where I can come kiss you after.” 

“You can’t always depend on me to keep you honest, Ed,” you sniffle. 

“I know,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your lips, “I’m learning how to do it for myself, sweet thing.” 

You let him kiss you again, feeling too tired and cried out to stop him. After the ordeal of today, getting his attention felt like you won something. His palm was warm against your face, sliding down to the side of your neck. His tongue slid past your teeth, gliding against yours, pressing his whole body into you so you could feel him there. So you’d know he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. 

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he said, breaking apart from you, “And I understand if you wanna leave, if you wanna spend some more time apart. I understand. It’s whatever you want.” 

Before you could answer, the phone rang and you leaned over Eddie to pick it up off the set on the side table. 

“Hi Miss Rink, we have a message at the front desk for you. Would it be okay for us to send it up? Simone also has a couple of papers for you and Eddie to sign that she’d like delivered.” 

“Sure, thank you. You can send it all right up,” you said, your actress voice back in it’s purity for the phone call. You hung up and slumped back down on the couch, “Simone’s NDAs are on their way.” 

Eddie let a breath out through his nose, you knew he was waiting for you to say something. To say you weren’t leaving him, to say you didn’t want to spend time apart, to assure him that it’s all better now. You get up at the ding of the elevator, the papers on a cart in the center – you quickly collect them and notice a card that didn’t have Simone’s hand writing on it. You pass one of the manila envelopes to Eddie, stamped with ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ and a smiley face drawn in Simone’s red pen. 

“Here,” you say. He meets your eye, waiting for anything else, “I’m gonna have to think about it, okay?” 

He nods, giving you a weak smile while he takes the envelope from you. You slide your own NDA on the coffee table and thumb the tiny card with your hand. 

Stella, 

Please meet me tomorrow? I’d love the chance to explain myself, and offer my apology in person. You deserve to hear it from me. I’ll be in the Tim Hortons down the road at 12. I hope you come. 

– Libby xx 

You take a deep breath and tap the paper on your hand, nerves growing in your chest. Maybe this would be your only chance to ever talk some sense into her. You’d likely never see her again after tomorrow. 

“I’ll be right back,” you tell Eddie, slipping your boots back on and hopping in the elevator to send a message back to Libby. You spent some time sitting alone at the hotel bar, nursing a diet Coke while you readied yourself to go back upstairs.

When you got back up, Eddie was found in the bedroom in his normal night time get up – shirtless in black sweatpants, sitting on top of the covers reading over the NDA in the light of the side table. 

“You okay?” he asked when you walked in. 

“Yeah,” you replied, “Libby wants to meet up tomorrow and talk. Just her.” 

Eddie stiffened, “You sure it’s just her?” 

You nodded, you were definitely never going to see Steve again – not  while Eddie was around. 

“I have a bath running for you,” he said, tilting his head to the adjoining bathroom. 

“Did you–” 

“Yes, the eucalyptus oil is in there already. I left the bottle on the edge in case you want more,” he said, going back to his reading. You couldn’t help but blush at how well he knows you, how he still knows what you need and when you need it. 

You started to undress, peeling your gym clothes off and tossing them in the closet hamper. You can feel Eddie’s eyes on you, you can almost taste the saliva pooling in his mouth knowing he can’t have you how he did last night. You shrugged on the plush white robe, wrapping it tight around your body while you headed to the bathroom. 

“Hey,” he said softly, you turned your attention toward him at the door, “You don’t have to make a decision right now.” 

You tilted your head and he licked his lips nervously, “I’m gonna go back to Hawkins for a bit, help Wayne with some renovations on the house I got him out there. If there’s anyone who can really keep me honest – it’s Wayne.” 

“He’s gonna be mad at you,” you say with a small smile. Wayne loves you. Loves you like a daughter. He’d be raving mad after hearing about all this. 

“He’s gonna kick my ass,” Eddie laughs, putting a hand over his face, “Fuck, he’s really gonna kick my ass.” 

He drops his hand and looks at you again, “So don’t worry about making any choices, don’t worry about me. You know I’ll be on the first flight back the second you call.” 

You nodded again, taking your hair down and shaking it out. 

“I love you,” he says, “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it today.”