Chapter 13 Eloise
Eloise
Saturday…
I wave goodbye to Dave, standing in place long after the front door slams closed. Forest turns to lock the door, and only then do I let my hand drop, my shoulders slumping inward as I allow my posture to soften.
“Well, I’m going to get this horrid dress off and get a couple of hours of practice in. See you later, Forest.”
He gives me a curt nod, but otherwise says nothing—it doesn't bother me, though. Nothing can bother me today. An asteroid could drop out of the sky and burn me to a crisp, and I’d go into the blaze smiling—because for two blissful days, Dave will be out of the house.
That’s forty-eight hours, 2880 minutes of oxygen, of a small sense of freedom. And I am absolutely ecstatic.
Dave flies to the other side of the country once a month to service his clientele in Moriton City, and that leaves just me and the guard at the mansion.
In the past, I’ve gone the entire weekend without seeing Forest, and he never seems to ask any questions or bring the matter up to Dave—so I know this is the perfect opportunity to get out of the house if I want.
I kind of wish he were traveling during the week so Riot and I could have some more time for our lessons, but I can’t be picky, so I’m just going to enjoy this rare, relaxing day.
Maybe I’ll finish my new book. Heat some water on the stove and take a nice hot bath. Or perhaps I’ll take my bike to my secret spot on the beach I found a couple of years back.
I’m in the middle of debating what exactly I wish to do when my phone buzzes. I look down at the screen, my heart jumping at the sight of Riot’s name.
Are you busy tonight?
Speak of the devil… I shake my head with a chuckle, my thumbs working quick to type out a response.
Hey to you too. And no, I’m not.
Good. Because we’re going out.
What? Why?
Why not? It’s Saturday, and I don’t want to sit alone in my hotel room all night. Are you in?
I think about turning him down. This is a terrible idea—anyone could see us out, recognize my face, and report back to Dave. It’s risky enough to sneak out and see Riot for guitar lessons, but it’s another matter entirely to go out with him in public.
But then the other part of me—the hopeful one—wants to live, to be free. I remind myself that Dave is gone, and the chance of him finding out is slim to none as long as we go somewhere low-key.
Plus… who knows when I’ll get this opportunity again? The chance to feel young and alive?
Okay. I’m in.
Perfect. I’ll pick you up at 9.
Actually, I’ll meet you there.
You sure I can’t snag you?
Positive. It’ll be good for me to get some fresh air.
Whatever you say ;) You know the Coral Keg?
I do! I’ll see you there at 9!
See you tonight, sweet Eloise.
I stand on the cracked sidewalk outside of the Coral Keg, my phone clutched tightly in my palm and my heart racing in tune with the bass pounding from the speakers inside the dive bar.
There’s a slight breeze out tonight, but it does little to cut through the humidity or to slick away the layer of sweat that’s covered my body in the thirty minutes it took to bike here.
I stare at my blank phone screen, then toward the neon signs hanging in the window, advertising Saturday Night Karaoke. I sure hope that’s not what Riot has planned for us tonight…
Just as I’m about to send him another text asking where he is, an arm drapes itself across my shoulders, and my knees buckle beneath the sudden added weight.
“Whoa. I got you. You’re alright.” The deep, rumbling voice pours into the air as a second arm wraps around my middle, working with the other to hold me aloft. There’s the smell of tobacco, plus something warm and earthy layered on top, and I instinctually lean into the embrace, breathing deep.
“Riot,” I whisper, tilting my chin up to meet his golden stare. Against the night sky, his eyes are even more intense than normal, moving over my face carefully as if searching for a sign of injury.
“What happened? You kind of just dropped on me there.” Still, he searches my face, reaching up to cup my cheek while the other stays wrapped around my waist. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I breathe. “More than fine. I just wasn’t expecting it, is all. Got caught off balance.”
He brushes his thumb lightly over my cheek. “I’m glad I was here to catch you, then. Even if I was the one who caused it.” He lets his hands drop back to his sides, but doesn’t step away. “You ready to go in?”
I nod, taking my lip between my teeth as Riot grabs my hand, tugging me toward the entrance.
We push through a set of swinging wood doors—much like that of an old-timey saloon—and into a room filled with enough stimuli to make my head swim.
There’s neon lighting dotted sparsely around the space, burning my eyes from the intensity while leaving the rest of the room impossibly dark.
Music pounds from the speakers set up on a small wooden stage, struggling to rise above the sounds of the crowd and the drunken man in a cowboy hat screaming into the mic.
Karaoke night indeed.
I follow Riot up to the bar, my head swiveling back and forth as my senses are assaulted with a myriad of new sounds, sights, and smells.
I’ve attended several upscale mixers and after-show cocktail hours in my lifetime, but those events were nothing like this.
There was no life, no variety—just fake smiles, meaningless small talk, and the overarching need to prove you’re better than the suit or dress standing next to you.
Not here. Here, with Riot, I can be as I am. I don’t even have to worry about someone spotting me. Everyone is too busy with their own lives to care about me. I love it.
“What’s your drink?”
I flick my gaze to Riot, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted. “I’m sorry, what?”
“What do you usually order?” he reiterates, a smirk tugging at his pierced mouth. “Or do you want me to pick something?”
“You can pick. Please.”
“Dark or light?”
“Huh?”
He chuckles. “As in the color of liquor you like.”
“Oh… I don’t…” I gaze around at all the strange faces, a sudden and strange wave of anxiety creeping up my spine.
I’ve never actually considered what I like—even for something as simple as a beverage.
Telling Riot, telling anyone what I want feels wrong, and I can’t shake the sensation that I’ll be punished for it. “Whatever you think is best.”
He tilts his head, a strange emotion swirling in his golden gaze.
He doesn’t make any comment, though. He just turns and orders something from the bartender.
I’m alone with my thoughts for barely two minutes when Riot turns back to me, two clear plastic cups in his palms filled with ice and an amber liquid.
“For you,” he says, shifting the one in his left hand closer to me. Our fingertips brush as I take it from him, and sparks spread over my skin, causing a small shudder to run through me.
“Cold?”
My breath halts as I meet his gaze, caught up in the sheer intensity of how he’s looking at me. Like I’m something precious to protect. Like I’m something to eat.
“I-I’m good,” I say, my voice whisked away by the sounds of the bar. “Peachy perfect.”
Riot grins, leaning in so his lips are positioned just over my ear. His warm breath brushes the shell of my ear, the sensation causing heat to pool in my core. “You are just too fucking cute. Has anyone told you that before, sweet girl?”
The same heat pulsing between my thighs travels to my face, and I’m grateful Riot can’t see my face from his position. My heart pounds in my ears as I lick my lips, desperate to wet them despite my impossibly dry mouth.
Instead of answering, I bring my drink to my lips, trying my best to ignore the pungent odor as I take a large gulp of the amber liquid.
A taste like gasoline assaults my taste buds, coating my throat and sinuses and making me choke.
Tears well in my eyes, blurring my vision, but I’m still able to make out Riot’s teasing grin.
“Not a whiskey fan, then?”
“I don’t think so,” I choke, casting an accusatory look at the drink in question. “But it’d be a shame to waste it.”
Riot’s expression twists in shock as I down the rest of my drink. The burn is not as bad the second time—in fact, I think I kind of like it. There’s a pleasant buzzing sensation building at the base of my skull, creeping outward steadily and filling my head with warmth.
“I guess I was wrong.” Riot holds out his drink. “Want mine?”
I nod, grabbing the cup and taking a small sip as he turns and heads back toward the bar. I sip slowly on my whiskey while I wait, looking around at the different trinkets lining the walls, losing myself in the bustle of the crowded bar.
I’m so distracted, I don’t notice the large man stumbling backward, trying to catch his balance. That is, I don’t until the full weight of his body slams into me, knocking me and my drink to the ground.
My shoulder slams into the floorboards first, followed by the sharp crack of my skull. Stars spark in my eyes, my vision tunneling as a sharp pain builds in my temple.
For a moment, I’m disoriented, unable to remember where I am or what I’m doing. A man is leaning over me, his mouth moving in a repeated string of soundless apologies.
I blink, and his face comes into focus. And he looks a whole lot like Dave.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I’m being ridiculous. I know it’s not Dave, that this is some random stranger who had the misfortune of bumping into me. But in my shocked and slightly inebriated state, I’m unable to fight off the panic clawing up my throat.
My windpipe tightens, and there’s a wheezing sound that accompanies each shallow breath I manage to take. My head feels hot, my bones like rubber, and the ground beneath my palms is shifting wildly.
He found me. He found me, and it’s all over.
I’m vaguely aware of movement out of the corner of my eye, of someone crouching next to me on the floor. I react when his hand touches my shoulder, wheeling toward him with wild eyes and a snarl.
“Get the fuck off me!” I push and claw at the arm, but it doesn’t budge. If anything, the band of steel grips me tighter.
“It’s me, Eloise! It’s me!”
The low rumble of Riot’s voice pierces through the haze, and it causes me to pause. I blink rapidly, the fight fleeing my veins as Riot’s golden gaze becomes clear.
“I’m here,” he whispers, letting go of my arm to cup my face, his thumb tracing circles over the heated flesh. “It’s okay, sweet girl. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
“Riot, I—”
“Shh. It’s okay,” he murmurs, pulling me into his arms and scooping me off the floor.
I bury my face into his chest, breathing in the scent of tobacco and woody spices.
It grounds me and helps me ignore the wide-eyed crowd.
Soon, my rapid heartbeat slows, and my shuddering pants turn to deep, even breaths.
“Let’s get out of here. Yeah?” He looks deep into my eyes, rubbing his thumb gently over my cheek. Keeping the panic at bay.
“Okay,” I whisper, letting him carry me through the crowded bar to the exit.
As soon as we’re outside, Riot places me back onto the ground, though he keeps one hand on the small of my back in case my shaking legs give out on me again.
I stand there for some time, concentrating on the feel of Riot’s touch and sucking in huge lungfuls of salted air.
“Feeling a little better?” His heated stare bores into my profile, but I still can’t face him—too embarrassed by my outburst.
“I think so. Sorry about… whatever that was in there.” The pressure behind my eyes is mounting, and I’m afraid that if I meet his sympathetic gaze, I’ll lose it. “I guess that put a damper on the night…”
Riot doesn’t respond. Instead, he grabs my hand and leads me down the wooden steps toward a large black-and-silver motorcycle parked to the side of the bar. Riot releases me long enough to mount the bike, then holds out his palm, eyes glinting molten gold as he waits for me to take it.
“Do you trust me, Eloise?”
I don’t know what to say. Do I? I haven’t known Riot for long, yet he’s treated me with more kindness and respect than people I’ve known for years. He cares—and not in the way most people do. It’s not a performance, not just pretty words. It’s real.
More than anything, I want to trust Riot. And the only way I can do that is if I take this leap. Without thinking, I step forward and grab his hand, interlocking my fingers with his. I don’t say a word—I don’t need to. Riot understands. He always has.
Riot places his helmet on my head, adjusting it so it fits comfortably. Still gripping my hand, he helps me onto his bike, wrapping my arms around his waist once I’m comfortably seated at his back.
“Ready, sweet girl?”
I nod, tightening my grip around his waist, my fingers digging into the muscles rippling his abdomen. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Riot’s laughter is the last thing I hear before we speed off into the night. And what a wonderful song it is.