Chapter 22 Riot
Riot
Warning: This chapter contains sensitive material related to drug use and overdose. If you are uncomfortable with those themes, please skip this chapter. (A chapter summary will be available at the end of the book.)
I gaze around at the screaming faces, my mind going into overdrive. How did they find me here? Why? And most importantly—did they manage to get any pictures of Eloise before I pushed her back into the hotel room?
“Riot, who’s the new girl?”
“Over here, Riot!”
“Riot! Riot! Do you have any comments on your recent whereabouts?”
“How do you feel about the newest accusations about your involvement in Rush’s death?”
“When are you coming back to Neon Valley?”
“Riot! Explain yourself, Riot! Tell them all what really happened to Rush!”
It’s the last voice that has me searching through the crowd. When my gaze lands on her, all other thought dies, and there is only my rage. It heats to a boiling point and crowds my vision with red as I storm toward her—the foul woman who caused this all.
I can’t know for certain, yet I have a hunch she’s the one who tracked me down and led the paparazzi to my door. It’s the only thing that makes sense. And based on her haughty smile, I’d say I’m right.
“Rebekah.”
At my murderous expression, Rebekah pales, faltering back a step into the safety of the crowd. “Riot… just calm down. All I want is to talk. To get the truth out—”
“I don’t want to talk to you. I want you to leave. All of you!” I shout, my composure snapping. “Get the fuck away from me! Just leave me be! For once, just fucking go away!”
I stumble backward, incapacitated by the strobing lights, the yammering voices, and the stabbing grief in my chest. Rush… they all think I killed him. They all believe I’m a monster, a menace, someone better off dead. Fuck, maybe… maybe…
I shake my head, desperately trying to find some thread of composure.
All the grief, all the emotions packed away in wrought iron boxes are overflowing, making cracks in the armor look like chasms. It’s all pouring out of me, flooding the air with all manner of rot and decay, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
So consumed with anguish, my vision tunnels, blacking out everything but a small pinpoint of light. I’m falling, spiraling, with nothing but cold, hard rock waiting for me at the bottom.
Then someone places their hand in mine. It’s warm, and small, and holds me with such tenderness that it makes my heart ache. I gaze downward, finding a figure dressed in an oversized sweater. Their face is partially obscured by the thick black hoodie, but I’d know those sky-blue eyes anywhere.
“It’s okay. I’m here,” Eloise whispers, squeezing my hand tightly. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
It’s only when I breathe again that I realize I was having some sort of attack—one that Eloise was able to pull me out of with just her touch. She doesn’t go anywhere, just stays there holding my hand, staring into my soul with those impossibly deep-blue pools.
The sounds, the flashing lights, the heartache—it all fades away until there’s nothing but me and my little muse. And I know, no matter what, I’ll be okay as long as she’s by my side.
“Can you move?” she asks.
I nod, not trusting my voice to speak. She rubs her thumb over the back of my hand—much like I’ve done to her multiple times.
“Good. On the count of three, we run to your motorcycle and dip. Got it? One… two…”
Before she gets to three, Eloise takes off in the direction of my motorcycle, pulling me along behind her. The paparazzi are stunned for a few moments, but eventually give chase—unfortunately for them, Eloise and I are on the bike by the time they get it together.
“Go, Riot! Go, go, go!” Eloise squeals, her laughter peeling into the air as the crowd grows nearer. “Go!”
I rev the engine, and we speed off into the night.
For a long while, I drive aimlessly down side roads and back alleyways, allowing the night air to clear my head, reveling in the feel of Eloise pressed to my back.
I dropped the backpack at the hotel, so there’s no real reason to head to the beach anymore.
Plus, I’m not sure Eloise even wants to be somewhere outdoors, where the paparazzi could track us down again.
There is one place I could take her—one spot where we can be well and truly alone. The only problem is that it’s the place I’ve been avoiding since I arrived in Saltbloom.
With no other options, I decide it’s the best bet. Like Enzo said, I can’t keep running from the past forever. I have to face it at some point.
About fifteen minutes later, I pull into the driveway of a two-story Spanish-style home. Though nowhere near as large as Eloise’s mansion on the southern portion of the island, the house is one of the bigger ones on Saltbloom, and one of the oldest.
My mother inherited the property from her parents, and she and my dad decided to move here once their careers had settled down to raise a family.
Rush and I grew up here and made countless memories.
We loved the house, the ocean, the sunshine, and the freedom.
But when our parents died, Aunt Vi couldn’t live in the house that held so many memories of them. So we moved.
“What is this?” Eloise asks, turning to me with wide eyes.
“This is… my house.”
“You have a house? In Saltbloom?” Her mouth falls open. “Why the hell are you staying at a hotel, then?”
I place a hand on her lower back, leading her up the stairwell to the front door. “It was my parents' house, and then Rush’s. I haven’t been here since he… well, since he died.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry, Riot,” she whispers, taking my hand. “Are you sure you want to be here tonight? After everything that happened?”
I nod. “It’s the safest place for us tonight. No one really knows that I still own the house, so they won’t be able to find us. Plus, I have to face it sometime.” I squeeze her hand. “What better time than with a wonderful, beautiful woman at my side?”
We walk up to the front door, and I pull out my keys, rifling through the pile until I get to the one I try to forget is there. I feed it into the lock, and it opens with barely any effort.
Instead of the stale, mildewed air I expect, the smell from within the house is clean, tinged with notes of lemon and bleach.
It’s been so long that I had forgotten I had Enzo hire cleaners to come to the house every couple of months to check on the property and keep things in order.
It wasn’t because I had any intention to visit—more so that I could protect the memory of my parents and Rush.
“Wow. This is… not what I expected.” Eloise's head turns on a swivel, taking in the grand space. “It’s kind of like you guys never left.”
She’s not wrong. Except for the family photos that have been removed, everything is exactly as we left it twenty-some years ago. “I guess it is…” I squeeze her hand, leading her toward the porch at the back of the house. “Come on. I want to show you my favorite spot.”
As soon as we step outside, the wind picks up, whipping my hair around my head and bringing tears to my eyes. We have a clear view of the ocean from this spot, secluded by vegetation on either side, making it seem like our own little private beach.
“This is beautiful,” she whispers, stepping to the railing and gazing out at the ocean. The moonlight hits her features just right, bringing out the blue in her eyes—so beautiful, it makes my chest ache.
“Rush and I used to come out here every night and play.” I step up to the railing, stretching my pinky to brush against hers. “I forgot how nice it really was…”
Eloise is silent for a long while, just thinking. “Riot,” she whispers. “That woman at the hotel… who was she?”
“Rebekah?” I rub a hand over my face. “My brother’s ex-girlfriend.”
“You seemed pretty upset to see her.”
“I was. I am.” I shake my head, unable to look at her for some reason. “She was with Rush the night he died.”
Eloise reaches out, placing her hand gently over mine. “Do you want to talk about him? About Rush?”
I shrug, foreign moisture welling in the corners of my vision. “I haven’t talked about him in a while.”
“Is there a reason for that?”
I turn to look at her, but there’s no judgment in her eyes. Just pure, innocent curiosity—a desire to understand, to listen to me. It’s… strange. But not bad. Just different.
“It hurts. To think about, to talk about. So I just don’t.”
Her chin dips ever so slightly, but she doesn’t speak. She just sits there, staring at me with that open expression, waiting for me to be ready. To open up on my time.
I sigh, running a hand over my face. “I love my little brother. I loved him when he was alive, and I love him now that he’s gone.”
I stare hard at the rolling waves, their untamable nature reminding me so much of him.
“Rush... He loved a lot of different things. Fame, money, women… but most of all, he loved getting high. It wasn’t until the band got big that he started dabbling in the hard stuff, but once he got a taste, he couldn’t give it up.
For years, I tried to help, to get him into rehab, but it didn’t do any good. ”
“I’m sure it meant a lot to him, Riot. Even if he didn’t say it, I’m sure it meant a lot that you cared.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I sigh, casting my eyes to the spot her hand rests on my arm.
“I always think back to that day. What I would have—should have—done differently. And the fucked-up truth of it all? There wasn’t a single thing I could have done that would have changed Rush’s fate.
” A joyless smile tips my lips. “Not a goddamn thing.”
Three years ago…
“Riot! Come sit down. We were just about to—”
“I can see exactly what you were about to do,” I snap, eyeing the pile of white powder on the tabletop with distaste. “What the fuck, Rush? You promised me.”
“I know, I know. But Greg scored this amazing…”