Chapter 27 Riot
Riot
I’m not fucking okay.
I pulled myself together long enough to attend Jane’s weekly lesson, but I haven’t been to Hightide in three days, and my inbox is filled with calls from Mac, asking where the hell I’ve been, and when I plan to make up for my missed lesson time.
I can’t find the will to respond, no matter how much I tell myself I should.
I’d much rather sit in this room, drinking and listening to “Little Wing” on repeat in the dark.
For the past week and a half, I’ve been researching ways to help Eloise, but I’ve come up with nothing. The past three days, I descended into hopelessness, drowning in memories of the past, wishing there was a way for me to save her. Wishing that she was here, safe in my arms.
I keep thinking about her smile, or the way her eyes light up beneath the glow of the moon. The sounds she makes eating a stack of birthday pancakes, and the way her tone shifts when she’s talking about something she loves. The way she moves, the way she smells, the way she thinks.
The way she loves…
I lose myself in the memories, falling so deep I start dreaming that Eloise is here. That she’s on the other side of my hotel room door, knocking.
I jolt, sitting upright as adrenaline spikes through my veins. Someone is at the door, alright. But there’s no way it’s Eloise.
Groaning, I struggle to my feet and stumble to the door, not even bothering to look through the peephole before I throw it wide open.
“Fuck, Riot. You look like hell.”
I gaze at Enzo with a frown, the room spinning violently. “What are you doing here?” My surprise loosens my grip on the bottle, and it shatters on the floor. “That… was not supposed to happen…”
Enzo hangs his head with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose like it’s the only thing stopping him from tearing his hair out. “Are you going to invite me in?”
“Not with that attitude.”
He scoffs, pushing past me into the room. His nose crinkles in a disgusted expression as he gazes around the space, taking in the empty bottles and unmade bed. “Mac called me. He said you’ve missed your last three shifts at the shop.”
“So?” I sit on the edge of the mattress, reaching for the bottle of Jack on the coffee table. It’s too much of a struggle, so I just let my arm fall limply to my side. “Fucking piece of shit.”
“I certainly hope you’re referring to the bottle and not me,” Enzo grumbles.
“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.”
He stalks across the room, gazing at the puke-covered armchair with a frown before deciding it’s best to stay standing. “What crawled up your ass and died?”
“That’s fucking rich for you to ask,” I grumble.
He walks over to where I’m sitting, staring hard at my profile. “Riot, what happened? You were doing so well.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Too drunk.” I take a deep breath, willing the room to stop spinning. “Need coffee. You want one?”
Enzo looks at his wristwatch and shrugs. “It’s still before noon. Why not?”
I stand and walk over to the machine, attempting to fit a coffee pod into the Keurig and failing miserably. “Why do they make these things so difficult?”
Enzo chuckles. “That might be the whiskey coming back to bite you.” He turns his head, gaze catching on the crumpled pieces of notepaper lying on the ground by the bed. Before I can stop him, Enzo has the pages in his hands.
“You’ve been writing?”
With a grunt, I snatch them out of his hands, shoving them deep into my back pocket to forget about. “I was. Not anymore. Not since—” I stop, the thought of Eloise causing my throat to constrict painfully. “I’m just not in the mood anymore.”
Enzo raises a brow. “Does it have anything to do with a certain pink-haired pianist?”
At the mention of her cherry-blossom hair, a burst of pain flares in my chest, taking the air from my lungs and replacing it with wildfire.
Eloise… little muse…
I don’t realize I’ve spoken until Enzo’s face twists with sympathy. “Fuck. She really did a number on you, didn’t she?”
“Not her fault,” I murmur, that hopelessness crashing over me. “Nothing I can do about it, either. No evidence…”
Enzo tilts his head. “Evidence?”
Fuck. I said too much. Eloise… If she found out I told someone, she might hate me forever. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”
“But—”
“It’s nothing, Enzo. Leave it be.”
He frowns, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I will absolutely not leave it. You couldn’t pull this shit on me when you were eighteen, and you’re not going to start now.”
“It’s not my business to talk about.”
“Oh really? And when has that ever stopped you before?”
“It’s different this time.”
“Because it has to do with Eloise. Because you love her.”
I narrow my eyes, hating how he can see through me. “Yes.”
“And you want to help her out of her situation.”
“I didn’t say anything about that—”
“You didn’t have to.” Enzo sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.
His eyes—normally a frighteningly icy blue—are sunken and hollow, the thin skin beneath colored a dark purple.
The salt-and-pepper beard he keeps immaculately trimmed is scruffy and unkempt, and his hair is no better.
For the first time since I’ve known him, Enzo looks exhausted.
“Are you okay, Enz?”
His mouth presses into a thin white line, but he doesn’t answer. “It’s been hard to sleep lately. Been thinking.”
“About?”
He shakes his head, gaze clearing. “Never mind about me. We’re talking about you and Eloise.”
“I’d much rather hear about yo—”
“As I was saying,” he interrupts. “I already know quite a bit about Eloise’s unfortunate situation.”
His words make me forget everything else. “You what?”
He nods, expression grave. “When I met her at the guitar shop the other day, something didn’t sit right with me.
She seemed… scared. Skittish. And the fact that you two were being so secretive about things?
Well, it was strange.” He leans in, lowering his voice.
“There have been whispers over the years in the industry… rumors about Eloise and her guardian. How he may or may not have done some illegal things in order to gain control over her and her estate.”
“People knew about it? And they haven’t done anything?”
Enzo shakes his head, holding up his hands. “It’s not like that. No one knew for certain—it was just petty gossip. But when I met her, it suddenly didn’t seem like rumors anymore. Ever since, I’ve been looking into her past. Researching.”
I swallow thickly. “So you know. You know what he’s doing to her. What he’s fucking done.”
“I’ve had to piece it together and speculate, but… yes.”
My breath hitches in my chest. “Did you find… Do you know how we can save her?”
He looks off to the side, unable to meet my eyes. “I wish I did, but… it’s difficult, Riot. What you said about evidence—there is none. Nothing concrete.”
“So we keep looking. We have to find something.”
Enzo nods. “We can try. I can’t promise you anything, though, Riot.”
“I know. All that matters is that there’s a chance.” If there’s even a slight possibility I can help Eloise, I will take any opportunity I can.
Enzo pats me on the shoulder, his version of a hug goodbye. “I have to get going. Now that I know you’re alive and well, I should get back to the city. Call some people about this Eloise situation.”
“Thank you, Enzo. You don’t know what this means.”
He holds up his hands. “Like I said, I can’t promise anything. But I will try my damnedest. For you and for her.” Enzo walks to the exit, stopping at the threshold. “Goodbye, Riot. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Bye, Enz.”
He leaves, closing the door softly behind him—leaving me alone once more.
With little else to do, I clean up the bottles lying around and take a long shower, trying not to let my mind wander to thoughts of Eloise and failing miserably.
She’s under my skin and in my soul, and I hate the moments that pass by where she’s not in my arms, in my bed.
It’s nearing midnight once I’m through with my shower, but I’m not tired at all.
I keep looking at my phone, hoping Eloise will call, yet knowing she won’t.
I lay in bed for hours, staring up at the ceiling as my mind cycles through an endless loop of memories.
My thoughts race, my brain wanders, and when I next look at my phone, it’s two in the morning.
“Fuck me,” I grumble, placing my phone face down on the nightstand and lying back in bed. I’m about to close my eyes when it happens. A text message.
I scramble for my phone, bringing it up to my face with shaking hands and a racing heart—only for it to drop into my stomach a moment later.
Unknown number.
Crestfallen, I’m about to toss my phone again when I look down, reading the preview.
Hey, rock star. It’s Eloise.
I read the text again and again, hardly able to believe it. I’m so stunned, it takes a moment for my brain to work and for me to figure out what to say. I’m in the middle of typing out a response when she sends another—one that stops my heart dead in my chest.
I need to see you.