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“Forgive me?” His hand released and his hair fell forward, messy. “Please…? Riley, I’m sorry. I am…”
Forgive?! Riley’s heart tripped. “Forgive…what?” What did you do, Ben Fagan?
His bloodshot eyes opened wide as he spotted someone in the crowd.
“Ben? You don’t look so hot…” A familiar American accent cut through the pub’s ambience. Alex squatted down and squinted into his phone’s screen. “Riley! Hey!” She lifted Ben’s hand, raising his phone higher so Riley could see them both.
Thank God he’s not alone. “Hi Alex. I’m happy to see you!”
Alex nodded and side-eyed Ben, concern creeping into her sunny smile. “I’m gonna get Mark.”
Ben flinched. “I don’t need Keegs…”
“Well, I do. We’re going home, and you’re coming with us, mister.” Alex looked at her buzzing phone. “Shit. Spencer…”
“Spence?! Where?” Ben’s hand shakily swept his hair from his eyes again as he looked beyond his phone.
“She wants me in the toilets now.” Alex bit her lip. “But I’ll get Mark first. Wait here.” Rubbing Ben’s arm, she turned to Riley. “Don’t worry, honey. We’ll look after him.” She ruffled Ben’s hair sympathetically and stood up, disappearing from view.
Alex is friends with Spencer. Mark is friends with Ben. Alex and Mark, Spencer and Ben—great. Sounds real cozy.
“Riles, you gonna hate me…I haven’t…” He picked at the tear in the knee of his jeans. “I should’ve been honest…”
“About what?” Unease grabbed her by the throat. Ben, what the fuck is going on?
“I’m ssssoo sorry, darlin’.” He disappeared from view as he tried to get up, but his phone slipped out of his grip, clattering across the pub floor.
Shit! Riley felt sick. “BEN?!”
A passing boot kicked his phone, spinning it several times until it smacked against the gum-scarred leg of a metal table. The impact killed the picture and sound, pushing Riley into a panic.
I need to know what’s going on! Tears of worry and frustration stung her eyes.
She texted Alex and waited.
• • •
Hours later, slouched on Alex and Mark’s sofa with an empty coffee cup on the table in front of him, Ben hid beneath his hands, his head still spinning. I’ve been so stupid…
Alex gave Mark a worried look. “Riley sent me three texts. I told her Ben was here and had been sick a few times but was resting now. Should I say anything else?”
“It’s not up to us, Lex.” Mark shook his head. “Christ, he looks rough.” He set down a glass of water for his friend. “Mate, you gotta be honest with her.”
Sixty-Seven
Sitting in Casey’s dorm room in front of his laptop, Riley recounted the previous night’s St. Patrick’s drunken debacle to her best friends. It was 4 P.M. on the west coast, so Piper had slipped out of Monday afternoon puppet production to grab some gum and join the chat. She leaned against a palm tree in the glorious Los Angeles sunshine. “London, Rye—LONDON! You’ll be there in TWO DAYS! I’m so freakin’ jealous!”
“Don’t even start on the London envy,” said Casey, sipping from a Starbucks cup that held an unusually simple venti white mocha with almond milk. “At least I’ll live vicariously through this one.” He playfully elbowed Riley, who sat to his left with an untouched Insomnia peanut butter cookie in front of her.
“How’s Maggie holding up?” asked Piper. “I bet she’d stow away in your luggage if she could.”
“She’s way more excited than I am,” said Riley. “I wish she could come, but it’ll be a while before we can afford any travel.”
“Flight paid for, a shared flat arranged for you near the studio…your rent is gonna be in POUNDS, Rye!” Casey dreamily looked into space and tsked. “I should’ve gone into production instead of documentaries.”
Riley gave him a bittersweet grin.
“You should be doing cartwheels over all this!” Piper snapped her Juicy Fruit. “I wish I could jump through the internet and give Ben’s head a good shake.”
