Part 93 (1/2)

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.