Red River Blue
Chapter 2
Rick rolled over onto his back, gasping as he attempted to catch his breath and slow his racing heart. He reached across the bed. But the woman whose body was just beneath him a moment before was already on her feet and pulling her clothes back on. He let his eyes roam over her body, enjoying the jiggle of her full breasts as she adjusted her bra to make it sit right.
Rick considered leaning across the bed and wrapping his hand around one of her slender wrists. He thought about dragging her forcefully back onto the bed with him so he could hold her body against his. Like he desperately wanted to do. But Rick knew better than to try a move like that. At least with her.
"You don't have to run off like this," he said. "They went fishing. She won't be back anytime soon." When his comment failed to elicit any response from the woman, he called her by name. "Harley. I'm talking to you."
"Yep," she chirped as she fastened the button on her jeans and yanked the zipper up. "I kin hear ya. I'm standin' right fuckin' here." She leaned forward, looking under the bed for her shirt and refusing to even make eye contact with him. When it was clear her shirt wasn't on the floor, Harley grabbed the blankets and shook them until it fell out.
"You don't have to leave," Rick repeated, a little hint of emotion in his voice.
Harley turned her back to the bed, pulling her shirt down roughly over her head. When she put her back to him, Rick could see the jagged X shaped scar on her lower back. His hand instinctively went to his own back, tracing the identical marking he knew was there. Harley grabbed her belt off the top of the dresser and threaded it through the loops of her jeans. In her haste she missed a loop and twisted the belt, yanking the thin strap of leather so hard she nearly tore her pants.
"You know I can't stay," Harley said, her voice hitching with anger and frustration. "You know why."
She never should have come here. Never should have let Rick talk her into this shit again. He always promised her he would be satisfied with just having a physical relationship. But every time it was the same. They would sleep together. And then he would start up with his pillow talk and wanting her to stay the night. And all his other bullshit. She was better off on her own. When she closed her eyes she could still see the blood. And the feeling of devastation and anguish that was so intense it felt like her heart was literally being ripped from her chest. Harley squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears back. She couldn't go through that again. Not ever. It was better this way. She didn't have to worry about losing someone if she had no one to lose.
"He's been gone seven years," Rick said. Now instead of sadness, his voice was full of pity. And Harley hated being pitied. She hated it almost as much as she hated being reminded of her dead boyfriend. "You're not doing anything wrong," Rick coaxed. "We're not doing anything wrong by being together."
"We're not doing anything at all," Harley corrected. "Because this is fuckin' done." She finally had her belt straightened out and buckled. Harley strapped on her knife next. Then she shoved her gun in her holster and headed for the door. Her boots were downstairs by the door. She kicked them off down there. After she let Rick talk her into coming over for coffee. The moment the door shut behind them he started pulling her upstairs towards his room. Fucker probably didn't even have any coffee. Harley paused in the doorway, brushing a stray curl off her face and tucking it behind her ear. She told herself to just keep walking. But instead her feet carried her back over to the side of the bed. She leaned down and pointed her finger into Rick's face.
"This isn't about Spencer," she hissed. "This is about me. Maybe you'd understand if Michonne was dead. But she's not. She's fine. She just left you for someone else. And I don't fuckin' blame her. 'Cause yer an asshole!"
With that, Harley stomped out of the room, slamming the door so hard behind her that she cracked the door frame and knocked everything on his dresser off onto the floor. Rick heard her thunder down the steps and give his front door the same rough treatment. He sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to figure out how he kept managing to make such a monumental mess out of his interactions with her. Shouldn't have said a word. Should have just let her get dressed and leave. Rick turned his face into his pillow, breathing in the smell of Harley's hair. Today she smelled of fresh rain water from the swim she took in the lake the night before. He couldn't help but replay what happened on his bed between them before she got angry and stormed out. The hard press of her full lips against his. And the taste of her tongue in his mouth. The feel of it when those same lips were wrapped around his dick, her cheeks hollowing out with the force of her suction. Just thinking about it was almost enough to get him hard all over again. Rick sighed again as he stared up at his ceiling and wracked his brain for some way to make things right between them.
Harley sat down hard on her back porch steps and buried her head in her hands. She didn't want to go inside. Not yet. She was still too upset to face her mother. The sound of someone's soft footsteps in the grass caught her attention. Harley looked up, her body relaxing when she saw who it was. Beth had a basket of fresh eggs in one hand. In the other, she was holding a bundle of giant zucchinis. Beth walked past Harley into the house, setting everything down on the kitchen table. Then she came back out and sat down next to her on the steps.
"You alright?," Beth asked. Harley shook her head. "Rick again?," Beth asked. This time Harley nodded. She kept her dalliance with Rick a secret from everyone else. But Beth knew. The two of them didn't have any secrets.
"I just got pissed and said a bunch of real nasty shit to him," Harley admitted.
"It's okay," Beth assured her. "He secretly enjoys it when you do that."
Harley snorted first. She couldn't hold her laughter in even if she tried. There was nothing she could do except just give in and let it roll over her as Beth wrapped her up into a tight hug. The two women held on to each other for a little longer, both of them enjoying the comfort they got from their friendship. Beth pulled away first, rising to her feet and dragging Harley up and into the kitchen with her.
Beth snickered a little, glancing over at Merle. He was sitting at the kitchen table with a pair of Carol's sparkly purple reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Squinting through them, he was concentrating on untangling the line on a fishing pole. With only one hand and his vision gone half to shit, it wasn't going very well. Harley crossed the small space, running her hand over the coarse stubble on the man's head.
"Mornin' angel," Merle drawled. "Made any boys cry today?"
"Only one so far," Harley teased, "...but it's still early." She slid into the seat next to her father, pulling the pole from his grasp. "Just lemme do it," she suggested. Merle shrugged and slid the glasses off his face, tossing them down onto the table top.
"Gonna kill yer brother," he groused, shaking his head at the mess of tangled line.
"Should make that little rat untangle this shit hisself," Harley suggested. Merle laughed. He already tried that. Harley was looking at the results. Before he lost patience with his son, Merle sent the kid across the street to pester his mother for a while. River and Carol were canning green beans and making fridge pickles. So Merle was sure they could really use some help from a hyperactive seven year old that didn't listen for shit.
Beth finished scrambling the eggs, portioning them out onto three small plates. She and Harley chatted back and forth as they ate, talking about a new song they were working on. A loud knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Harley rose to her feet, heading for the living room. The door was already open. Aiden was in the doorway, a large automatic gun strapped to his back. He adjusted the patch over his eye. Then he ticked his head towards the front porch.
"You all better get down to the gates," he urged, "...'cause we got a problem."