“Because the world isn’t sunshine and rainbows, Riley. It’s hard work! It’s putting responsibility on your shoulders and dragging the world, kicking and screaming, uphill by sheer willpower. It’s about struggle and sweat and busting your ass!”
Arielle and River are gawking at me, but Riley’s not ready to back down. “It’s more than that!” she says, stomping her bare foot on the concrete patio. She’s sitting up in her lounger now, passionately defending this hair-brained idea she has of dropping out of college to spout nonsense on social media. “There’s good in the world, and happiness!”
I snort, shaking my head and looking at River like ‘I see what you mean about your sister, man.’ “Maybe when you’re a pampered princess, it seems that way.” I look around the yard pointedly, from the pool to the outdoor kitchen to the house across the yard. Even inside to the two parents. “For the rest of us, it’s about squeezing blood from a stone.”
“That’s enough, Noah,” River says, his eyes tight. He puts a hand on my shoulder, and I take a deep breath. “Let’s take a walk.”
I shake him off, but the interruption lets a small dose of reason into my overworked mind, and I see the tears glittering in Riley’s eyes. They stop me, my anger deflating.
Shit. I’m such an asshole. Making some wide-eyed kid with big dreams cry because she has the luxury of dreaming.
With a jagged sigh, I follow River into the garage. He waits for me to follow, closing the door behind us. “River, I was—”
His fist meets my jaw, and I stagger back, seeing stars. That was a sucker punch . . . but then again, I deserved it. My ass hits Mrs. Watson’s car, and I barely keep my balance. I look at River, who’s still got a fist clenched.
“I know you’ve got issues. Everyone’s got issues. But don’t take yours out on my family. Especially not my sister. Understood?” he says, his voice heated but even. He’s not the happy-go-lucky best friend right now. He’s the protective big brother, and no matter how much shit he talks about his sister, it’s not my place to do it. I understand that because I would never stand for anyone talking shit about Arielle. Though she doesn’t need my back-up. She’d slice and dice anyone who dares to look at her wrong. Hmm, maybe that’s why I’m so worried about that . . . because she hasn’t stood her ground yet. But that’s a thought train for another trip because River’s glaring at me, expecting an answer.
I rub my jaw, nodding. “Understood.”
The incident never came up again, and that was my only visit to the Watsons’ house for a long time. River and I moved past it, our shared experiences with Friendzone and what he knew of my past allowing him to understand. But we stopped discussing our sisters. Or more specifically, other than in passing commentary, River stopped talking about Riley.
My sister also understood where I was coming from, and she forgave me. So most of the news I’ve gotten about Riley has come via Arielle as the two have remained best friends. She told me about Riley’s success, how she proved my predictions of doom wrong.
Truth be told, I’m glad I was wrong.
But I’ve never been able to talk to Riley. I never got a chance to apologize or explain. And now she’s stormed off . . . and I’m going to have to make this right.
I might have another punch to the face coming. From Riley or from River. Or hell, even from Arielle.
But I need to explain what happened back then so I can figure out what happened tonight.
I let that thought flip and flop around in my mind, examining it from every possible angle I can think of and playing out different outcomes. Finally, my run is over, and I step off the treadmill, going for my phone.
M: I’d like to talk. Please?
There’s no reply, and I sigh, setting my phone aside. I sit on the couch, head hanging low, wondering who’s going to call me first? Arielle to chew my head off, or River saying he’s coming over to kick my ass. But as the sun finishes setting and the moon grows in the sky, a worse feeling digs into me.
She’s just . . . ignoring me. I’m not worth the trouble.
Just as I decide to say fuck it and go to bed early, my phone buzzes again, and I see that it’s Rachel . . . or Riley.
R: You don’t seem like the type to say please.
She has no idea how correct she is, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And this is an apology years in the making.
M: What type do I seem like?
R: As Noah or your fake alter-ego?
I can feel the snark biting through the words. It surprises me even though I deserve it.
N: Or maybe they’re both me and you don’t know me well enough to know the difference. Like how Mark’s my middle name . . . Rachel.
R: Is this you apologizing? If so, you really suck at it. And Rachel’s my mother’s name.
Shit, I forgot about that. I always called her Mrs. Watson.
R: Did River put you up to this? I’ll kill him.
I can’t help but smile at her ire. Apparently, Riley and River are like Arielle and me, not always copacetic with each other. Still, I doubt he’d do something like that. Maybe when we were younger, but certainly not now.
M: River had nothing to do with it. He doesn’t know. And the thought of your killing even an ant is funny. You’re too kind.
R: All your own doing, then? You got me good. Bravo, I guess. Congrats on the success of whatever prank you’re pulling.
M: Let me explain. It’s not a prank.
M: Can we talk about this? Face to face.
R: Fine, you can come over, but the entry fee is tacos. We’ll eat and “talk”. But you might learn how unkind I am. I’ll squash you like a bug, Noah Daniels.
The threat is meant to be scary, to make me shake in my boots. Unfortunately, all it does is make me think of her thighs squeezing my head as she comes under my tongue.
Nope. Stop thinking like that. Apologize and move along. And fix the fucking AI because it’s obviously FUBARed.
M: Uhm . . . where do you live? I don’t have your address.
A minute later, an address pops up on screen, and I hurry to shower and change. I pull on some jeans and a casual T-shirt, hoping that I can get to my favorite taco stand before it closes.
Luckily, it doesn’t take me long to get tacos and drive to Riley’s apartment complex. It’s nice, near the downtown area, but not too close, well-lit, and has covered parking.
I park my SUV and grab the bag of tacos. When I get to Riley’s door, I nearly feel sick with the adrenaline in my body. I don’t know if it’s nervousness, fear, or both.
I knock on her door, hoping that clenching my hand will stop the trembling. I hear a frantic yapping sound and the distinctive sound of dog nails clicking on tile. “Raffy! Sit!” Riley calls from the other side of the door, and that foreign smile creeps across my lips again. Even her forceful command is a sweet-sounding request.
Through the fisheye of the peephole, I can see darkness, and I know Riley’s looking at me. “You got the tacos?” her voice calls through the door. “If not, you can turn right around.”
I hold up the bag, showing her the logo on the side, and there’s a click at the door. A hand reaches through, and suddenly, I’m being pulled through a small opening. “Get in here!”