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Eddie had been relocated to Seattle. It wasn’t his decision and it wasn’t his uncle’s. Hell, Wayne wasn’t even allowed to come with him. But he had to go because the government told him to; because a town doesn’t forget a name, a face, an accusation. So he packed up his things, locked the backdoors to his van, and got on with his life.
Didn’t have the chance to say goodbyes. Couldn’t make his rounds. Go to the Henderson’s and hug Dustin until his arms were numb. Go to Robin’s and make promise on meeting up at some hippie queer bar. Go to Steve’s and thank him for saving his life, for a relationship that just barely started. Couldn’t, so he didn’t, so he left.
He’s got a marginally good, boring life now. His name is still Eddie. His face is barely aged. Twenty-five and bartending at some underground thing; men with men and women kissing women, that sort of place. There were familiar faces within the community and they’ve all come to know him, to recognize him as just him and nothing else. So, it’s easy to say his interest is piqued when he spots a new girl’s face.
She’s Eddie’s height. Thick and toned. Tanned, an oddball sort of thing to see come out of Northern Washington. She had an aquiline nose, honey-brown eyes that lidded halfway, average lips that stretched wide over impossibly perfect teeth, and brunette hair that was broken by blonde highlights—it went down to her chest in perfect little waves, barely brushing the outline of her cleavage. And god was she stunning; a dress that left little to the imagination, spaghetti straps, all black with white flowers dotted all over it, and some black velvet kitten heels to match. She noticed him looking, though, and startled with recognition. And that was all the warning Eddie got before she was striding over, fast and determined.
“Hey, there,” Eddie purred, “what can I get a pretty girl—“
“Eddie?” Her voice was rich. Stuck in her throat. Crackling as if her vocal chords were fighting to make the noise. She leaned across the bar’s counter, palms flat to the surface, biceps flexing. And her face came closer to his, eyes scrutinizing.
He cleared his throat. “Uh…Yeah, that’s me. Didn’t think you knew—“
“This is where you’ve been all this time?” She asks incredulously. Her right hand flitters out. Palm wide and fingers long, thick. There are pronounced veins in the back of her hand. She’s built like a boxer, Eddie notices. And for a startlingly fearful moment, he thinks the girl is going to swing at him. But then her hand reaches up to his face. Cradles his cheek. A painted, manicured thumbnail tracing the edge of the gnarly patch of scar by his mouth. Her touch is familiar, so easy to fall into, to crave more of. So he leans into it. May as well.
She assesses him for a few silent seconds more. Hand moving from his cheek to his shoulder to his left hand spotted with rings. That’s when she pulls something off her free hand. Goes to Eddie’s right and slips the thing onto his finger.
Looking down, he nearly sobs. It’s the black stoned ring, silver band, the only ring that ever perfectly fit his fingers. His mom’s ring.
Steve’s ring.
“It’s…” He heaves a deep breath. “Steve?”
However, she shifts at that. Her eyes dart from where Eddie meets them. And she picks at the neatly done cuticles of her left hand. “Not my name anymore, Eds.”
“Not your…Oh,” he says softly, “what’s your name, sweetheart?”
She swallows. Her throat bobbing with it. “Stevie,” she mutters, “I know it’s close to the old name, but—“
“I used to call you that,” Eddie points out dumbly.
Stevie nods. Slow, careful. Her eyes watering. Pointed at some stuck on crumb on the countertop. “You did and it felt good,” she murmurs, “wanted to tell you, but you were already gone.”
Eddie inhales sharply at that. “I was,” he states, soured in his mouth. “I had to go, Stevie. There wasn’t another option.” He eyes her for another beat, looks over his shoulder at the fire exit door, and glances back. “Wanna come outside with me for my smoke break?”
She startles in her spot, but settles back warmly. “I’d like that.”
Mere minutes later, they’re standing shoulder to shoulder in the dingy back alleyway. Cigarettes between their fingers, barely sucked down on.
“I went looking for you,” she says, breaking the tentative silence.
Eddie hums. “Found me all the way out here,” he murmurs, “you here for a while?”
“Live here now, actually. In an apartment near Pike. Not the best place, but it’s comfortable. A little muggy from time to time.”
“Robin come with you?”
Stevie takes an inhale of her cigarette, slow and thoughtful like. Blows it out in one gentle gust. “I wish,” she mutters. “She’s actually over in Boston. University of Massachusetts. Women’s studies, minoring in music. I’m proud of her.”
“That’s great,” Eddie notes honestly. “What brought you out here, Stevie? You running from the law?”
She giggles. It’s a sweet little laugh. Raspy, real, a little raw. Her shoulder bumps his and he swears he sees sparks. “No, I just needed a change of scenery. Figured I would use the last of my college fund to come out here, see the sights, maybe find myself. And, well, looks like I’ve done all that. Not sure what else I’m here for.”
“You have, haven’t you?” Eddie wonders aloud. He bumps her shoulder this time. Sees out of the corner of his eye the soft, pleased smile that warms her face. “May I ask what led to…” He gestures vaguely at her whole figure. “Who’s Stevie?”
“Just me,” she says, easy as that. “Me, but now I’m a girl. It’s kinda silly how I started the whole discovery thing. I thought, y’know, what if I had boobs? Literally just laid in my bed one night, couldn’t sleep, and asked the question to nobody. Liked the idea of it. Fell asleep. Had a dream where I was a girl and…Well, now I’m here.”
Eddie makes an acknowledging hum. “You’re happy,” he breathes, not a question.
“Yeah,” she answers anyway. “I’m the happiest I’ve been since…Not to sour the mood, but since us.”
He flicks his cigarette on the ground, stomps it out, and leans against the brick wall at his back. Looks upon her softly. Gazing.
“I missed you,” he quietly admits, “I think about you every night, you know? What life could’ve been had I not—“
“You didn’t have a choice, Eds. Don’t beat yourself up over it,” she responds. She settles against the wall, too. Smashes her cigarette into the scraps of garbage below them. It’s not the most romantic place, but it feels like theirs. “I missed you, too,” Stevie states just as quietly. “There wasn’t a single damn moment where you didn’t cross my mind. Used to drive everybody back in Hawkins crazy. They’d be playing Dungeons & Dragons and I’d sit and watch, wonder if you kept playing—they always looked at me like they could read my thoughts. And there were times where I’d be driving Robin to work and she’d turn on the radio only to hear that Judas Priest tape you left in the glovebox—“
“Was wondering where that went,” he murmurs.
She laughs something soft from her chest. Wraps her left hand around his wrist. Thumb over his pulse point. “—I always had to tell her that I’d been purposefully listening to it. She always used to look at me with…with grief, a sadness. Used to drive me insane. But I could tell that everybody missed you, too.”
He shifts his arm so that they’re holding hands. Fingers intertwined. Her manicured nails digging gently into the softness of his palm. “Do you think they still miss me?” Eddie asks softly.
“They never stopped. I know I never did.”
His breath stutters at that. Something finally clawing away, opening him raw and aching. “You think enough time has passed that I can go back? That I can talk to them again?”
“I think enough time has passed that you can do whatever you want, Eds.”
He sniffs. Squeezes her hand.
“Does that mean I can have the chance to fall in love with you all over again?”
“As long as you don’t mind that I’m—“
“Stevie, I’ve never minded who you are,” he breathes out. “I just want you.”
“Yes, Eds. Of course you can.”
With that he kisses her. Slow, methodical, all encompassing. Like slipping out of his shoes and hanging up his jacket. Like finding Stevie in the living room in sweatpants and a t-shirt, watching a game on the television. Like fitting in alongside, coming home, being alive.
She pulls back, just a hair, nose to nose. “Come home with me at the end of the night? We can dance to that Judas Priest tape like we used to before.”
“Stevie,” he murmurs, cooing. Her eyes sparkle, the corners of them crinkling at the way he says her name. He hopes to make her smile like that all the time—lips or no. “I would be honored. Nothing more that I want to do than just be with you.”