The Ruby Riot Series: Box Set Part 93

Stuck. What a f.u.c.king mess, and it's all my fault. Why do I let Riley get to me? When she gave me grief about leaving the motorway, I changed my mind about finding the first pub we pa.s.sed and kept driving. The more she whined, the further I drove to prove I'm in control.

Or I was.

Now I'm stranded in a pub in the middle of f.u.c.king nowhere with Riley and an a.s.sortment of locals. Could be worse I suppose. At least it's a pub and I have a wallet full of cash.

But stuck-with Riley.

I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the worn carpet. I f.u.c.king hope we can leave tomorrow because I don't want to listen to her b.i.t.c.hing any longer than I have to.

Riley's infuriating not only because I don't like her but also because of the effect she has on me. I'd wiped the mess we made of things two years ago out of my head, and didn't expect Riley to walk back into my life. Now she's crossed the s.p.a.ce in my head, and the s.p.a.ce of the last two years.

The other day, when we met in the hotel bar, dragged me backwards to the Nate she screwed over. Riley gave me something and s.n.a.t.c.hed it away again, and I hate her for that. I don't think she understands what she did, and I don't want her to.

We'd met up a couple of times alone on tour, chatted over drinks, and Riley insisted n.o.body should know. I opened up to Riley, told her about things from my past n.o.body knows apart from the people involved. Yeah, I was drunk when I told her, but a combination of need to tell and Riley's understanding sent the words spilling from my mouth.

And I kissed her. Maybe I'd forgotten how strongly a kiss holds me to somebody, perhaps it's because we stopped there, but I wanted Riley. Obsessively wanted her. A couple of days later and drunk, I called Riley, asked her to meet me.

So Riley drunk, plus me wasted, plus Hard Rock VIP bathrooms equalled the prospect of the s.e.x we both wanted.

Then things went to s.h.i.+t.

I've no idea what I said. I don't b.l.o.o.d.y remember. Half-undressed, hands on each other, getting closer to the s.e.x I'd become obsessed with. Then everything stopped abruptly, and she started a tirade against me. I don't think it was what I was doing, Riley was f.u.c.king loving that, but then... Bam. Stop. f.u.c.k off, Nate.

Here was this woman who I'd told about my heartbreak, admitted how f.u.c.ked up I was, and she threw everything back in my face. Riley accused me of making up sob stories to trick me into a pity f.u.c.k. As if I needed a pity f.u.c.k, the tour was mental, and I had no shortage of girls.

I didn't push the issue. I might be a selfish a.s.shole when it comes to s.e.x, couldn't give a s.h.i.+t about how girls feel as long as I get what I need, but I'd never force myself on any girl.

The next day? Riley wouldn't speak to me and avoided any chance of us being alone. Me, being me, decided 'f.u.c.k that'. No way would I chase a girl who turned me down. I had nothing to apologise for. Not like I treated her badly, as far as I was concerned. Not my fault she was up for it and changed her mind.

I decided she was embarra.s.sed and left her alone.

And why should I give a s.h.i.+t? I switched back to the partying, manwhoring Nate and made sure Riley saw how little she meant. This upset her, and our shared hurt translated into resentment. When we eventually spoke a week later, Riley was cold and b.i.t.c.hy. Yelled some s.h.i.+t about me s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g other girls. Not respecting women. I shrugged her off; we walked away at stalemate. Every encounter with each other over the next few weeks ramped this up further until we couldn't stand to breathe the same air.

Thing is, the rejection felt more than physical. I'd wanted her; this girl who clicked into my life with her understanding and affection. At the time, I cut her out of me, digging away where she'd found her way under my skin. But a part of her remains; lodged close to my heart.

Why did that happen with Riley? One f.u.c.ked up person recognising another? Riley has barriers at least as high as mine, but we detected the vulnerability at our edges. My biggest mistake - our biggest mistake - was acknowledging the vulnerability existed.

Meeting up again, I'm confronted with all this bubbling from inside. Something weird connects us; something time hasn't erased otherwise Riley with me now wouldn't mean anything. But it does. The girl who I wanted and f.u.c.ked things up with is in reach again, but I can't touch her because the steel wall remains. Both of our walls.

No f.u.c.king way can I show her how this makes me feel, and no point thinking about this s.h.i.+t now.

I need a pint.

I walk into the bar area with bare feet, carrying my wet clothes, and my c.r.a.p forced fas.h.i.+on choice isn't registered by anybody.

"I'll dry those for you," says Becca and grabs my soaking bundle of clothes.

"Yeah. Thanks." I rub my neck and watch Becca's a.s.s as she walks away. Nice. Too young and probably not up for it, plus I prefer taller girls. I reckon Jason would smack me for even looking; he watches her closer than I do.

In the time I've spent upstairs changing, the drifts have piled against the windows and have darkened the room further. I walk over and peer out.

"Definitely stuck?" I ask.

"Afraid so, love," replies Val.

I blow air into my cheeks. There's only one solution. "Can I get a drink?"

Several pints later and I relax about the situation. Warm fire, plenty of beer, and no shortage of food. Val serves up cottage pie, and with a full belly, I'm drowsy. Yeah, I can happily do this for a night.

"Where's your whatever she is?" asks Jason.

"Riley? Dunno." I stretch my legs out and lace my hands behind my head.

"I think she's in the guest room, still," replies Val. "Door's shut and lights are on."

George laughs. "Must be. Not like she can get far, can she?"

"Yeah," I reply.

"Maybe see if she wants something to eat?" asks Val.

"Me?"

"You're her friend."

Am I? The number of eyes trained on me means sitting here and not checking on Riley would be weird. "Right." I stand. "If I'm not back down in five minutes send a search party."

Becca giggles. "I'm sure she isn't that bad."

"Really? Riley still hasn't unleashed on me after I stranded us here."

"It was your fault?" asks Val.

I grit my teeth. Yes. "Kinda."

The carpeted stairs creak as I walk up and onto the narrow hallway. Two of the rooms have names: Bronte and Haworth. I changed my clothes in Haworth, so Riley must be in Bronte.

I knock. Silence. I knock again. "Riley?" No response. "Val wants to know if you're hungry."

Still nothing. Good, I'm serious when I say I don't want to see her. "So, yeah, we're downstairs. In the bar."

I turn to leave and then halt, guilt edging in. This was my fault and, although she tried hard to hide it, Riley cried. I take a deep breath. Fine. I'll check if she's all right and return to the bar with a clearer conscience.

I push the handle and slowly open the unlocked door. A small lamp on a table illuminates the room. Heavy curtains are drawn against a window and the large bed takes up most of the s.p.a.ce, bedside tables either side. Riley lies on her side on the bed, facing away from the door.

"Riley?" I whisper.

She must be sleeping. I back up.

"What?" she replies, not turning around.

"Oh. Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Are you okay?"

"No, I am not b.l.o.o.d.y okay."

The terse and typical Riley tone shuts down any desire to carry on a conversation. "Right. If you get hungry..."

"Could you please leave me alone, Nate," she says in a quiet voice. "I'm tired."

"Suit yourself."

More beers I guess; I'll leave Riley to her sulking. How is moping going to achieve anything?

9.

RILEY.

My body clock wakes me at seven a.m., ready for a workday that won't happen. I peek through the bedroom curtains in hope, and my heart sinks into my stomach. The drifts hide the roads and the car roofs are barely visible. Worse than that, snow continues to fall onto the drifts reaching halfway up the building. I slump onto the bed and pick up my phone to call Mum.

"Sweetheart, how are you?" she asks.

"Still stuck, I think. I just woke up and haven't asked anybody yet. How's Josh?"

"He's still asleep."

I drag hair from my eyes. "I'm really sorry that I never made it home last night."

"Riley, don't apologise. It's not your fault. At least you're safe and weren't hurt in the accident."

Last night's phone call to Mum, I was on the edge of hysteria, overwhelmed by the events of the day. Anger vied with exhaustion as I ranted about my situation. As usual, Mum listened patiently and put everything into perspective for me. The hyperventilating stopped and I calmed enough to sleep.

"I'll be home as soon as I can."

"I explained to Josh why you're not home yet, he's okay. Actually, he thinks it's funny and asked if you were building snowmen and sledging."

I wander back to the window. "Tell him we can't get out of the door. But I could jump out of the window and have a soft landing." My voice cracks and I clear my throat.

"Oh, Riley. Sweetheart. Everything will be okay."

"There's nothing I can do about this and I'm stuck with that a.r.s.e... idiot and his rudeness, Mum. I hate it."

"You can't control everything. Certainly not nature. Relax and wait. Josh and me are absolutely fine."

"I have some things to organise, can you go to-"

"Riley! It's all right. I'm sure you'll be on your way home later today," she says in the firm Mum voice she uses when I head towards hysteria. "Keep me updated."

"I'll call in a couple of hours and speak to Josh. Hopefully I'll know more by then."

I end the call and twist my hair into a ponytail. Facing the world without make-up isn't something I do, but what does it matter here? I fell asleep early and fully clothed last night, exhausted by the h.e.l.l of a day I'd had. Where's Nate? In the other guest room? My stomach growls and the light-headedness grows. I don't have time to change; I need food.

Downstairs, the bar area is empty, tables cluttered with empty gla.s.ses and the familiar stale beer smell hangs in the room. Behind the bar, a doorway leads to a large, farmhouse kitchen. The room is stacked with plates and dishes, health and safety information pinned to a notice board beneath a staff roster. I hesitate. Should I find somebody? Ask if I'm allowed to take something to eat? A note propped against the white plastic kettle answers my question.

"Help yourself to breakfast."

Even though I do, I'm awkward. Helping myself to strangers' food doesn't seem right. In the end, I pour a bowl of cornflakes and make a mug of tea. Val and George only have instant coffee and no way am I drinking that. I munch on the soggy cereal, dreaming of a snow-free world as I take in my surroundings. A second stained wood-panelled door leads out of the kitchen, and curiosity gets the better of me.

I open the door to a small lounge; a large clock ticks on the wall in the dimly lit room and the curtains are drawn. A large sofa and two mismatched armchairs face a flat screen TV, and shelves holding figurines and books line the walls. I set my mug on the low coffee table and cross to open the curtains. The snow reaches most of the way up the window and I need to tiptoe to see over the top.

"Close the f.u.c.king curtains, Riley." Nate's voice comes from under a blanket he holds over his face, his long frame squashed onto the sofa.

"What are you doing there?" I ask.

"Sleeping." He pulls the blanket from his face. "Or I was." A bleary-eyed Nate scowls at me.

"Sorry." I drag the curtain back across the window and we regard each other in the semi-darkness.

"Not enough beds," he mutters. "You done with yours?"

"Done with what?"

"Your bed."

"I guess, for now, but-"

"Cool." Nate stands and holy c.r.a.p he's practically naked. Again. At least this time he's wearing briefs, not that this helps my flaring desire for him.

This time I don't look away. I've traced the tattooed skulls on his hard chest with my fingers, had my hands on his a.s.s, and explored his skin with my mouth, but chose to hide from myself how b.l.o.o.d.y hot this guy is.

I spend days promoting exactly this, but here he isn't the rock star commodity. This is Nate Campbell alone in a room with me. As he stretches upwards to pull his T-s.h.i.+rt on, his briefs s.h.i.+ft down to reveal more of the heart and wings tattoo disappearing inside.

My hormones surge into life, instantly remembering the physical contact we shared and the effect it had. The same is happening now. Get a grip, Riley.

"My eyes are here." I look up and meet Nate's smirking face. I have no excuse to offer for my blatant perving and turn away as he bends and shrugs his jeans on. I don't turn back until the jangle of his belt buckle stops.