I Always Will

A Line In The Sand

Row

Backstage there is wild praise for our duet—and Riley dismisses all of it. He's intent on having the car pulled around and getting us the hell out of here. I am quiet, because I know something is wrong, but I don't know what. The walls Riley is putting up aren't cold; they aren't angry, they are simply...there. Him on one side of his thoughts and feelings, me on the other.

Until Aidan Mostellar steps in front of us in the downstairs lobby of the studio.

He gives Riley a crooked grin. "I get it now. That's some serious chemistry you two have. I shouldn't have gotten in between that. Especially just for fun. But all's well that ends well, right?"

He actually holds out his hand, for Riley to shake.

Riley isn't wearing his glasses, so in all honesty, I'm shocked that he so accurately and fiercely grasps my wrist before my fist makes contact with Aidan's throat. (He's really tall, I would have lost all my leverage trying to punch up toward his face.)

But grab it he does, swinging me around rather forcefully to face him.

"No," Riley growls at me. "We just buried this," He slings his other hand between Aidan and I. "Let it rot, don't light it on fire."

"Fuck," I exhale, but the word helps to expel my anger. I nod. He lets my balled fist go, but he holds out his hand to me. I take it, and he slowly draws me around Aidan without even looking at him.

In the car, he doesn't speak, and I itch all over from indecision. I don't know how to behave. It would be so easy to fall into our old pattern of me apologizing and bowing and scraping in order to appease him. To cry and say that I am sorry, that I was scared and I didn't know what to do, so I went with the strategy than seemed to always work for me—once upon a time—I acted the bad-ass.

But it's not an act. It's just me. There are two kinds of people in this world, when their back is against the wall. The kind that run, and the kind that stand. I stood and fought for us, tonight. Riley has fought for us so many times in the past, and sometimes our fight means we ended up fighting each other. But not tonight. Tonigh, he's retreating behind his walls, and I don't know what that means.

We've barely made it into our suite at the hotel before our phones start ringing off the hook. I power my down. There was a time I wouldn't have, but at least I've learned this—Riley comes first.

"Riley,"

"Yeah. I know. We need to talk," he says, as he declines a call from Trace. But he's about to toss his phone down, but Angelo Moran is calling now.

Angelo Moran has seen our performance. His call has to be good news.

Riley curses. His thumb wavers to decline the call, but I place my hand on his wrist, now. "Take the call, baby. Please."

"Rowan—"

"It's just a call. I promise, I won't ask you to agree to anything. I just want his feedback."

Riley sighs, thumbs and says, "Angelo. You saw?"

"I saw. I just tried to call Row, with my congrats, but you and I need to have a different conversation. What the hell, Riley? That was not the direction we discussed."

"I realize."

"What?" What the hell are they talking about. What direction? Has Riley been talking to Angelo about a possible project for us? Did they have some other launch plans? Why hasn't Riley told me this? Probably because it was just vague conversation and he didn't want to get my hopes up.