Dark Horse: a little-known person or thing that emerges to prominence, especially in a competition of some sort, or a contestant that seems unlikely to succeed.
White Knight: Someone or something that rescues or saves another person or thing from a bad situation
The tinting on the windows gives the illusion that the city is in black-and-white. Though, it all blurs together, as it passes outside the window. She can feel Tessa's disapproving stare that hasn't left her, since she'd slid into the vehicle.
There were four people on her security team, though only two of them had been there to pick her up. It seemed excessive for someone who hadn't even married into the family, yet, but James had insisted that it was protocol for foreign trips. It feels more like an attempt to keep an eye on her.
She doesn't blame him.
"James wants you to call him, as soon as you get a chance," Tessa spoke, though it only mounted the tension that was thick enough to almost be visible.
"You called him?" Riley questioned, crossing her legs at the ankle and straightening in her seat. The idea reminds her that she probably should have called him. Three days in and the thought hadn't even crossed her mind.
"You were missing for almost four hours," Tessa reminded her and Riley closed her eyes, as she leaned back against the dark leather, struggling against the overwhelming feelings that swirled inside of her.
She'd hated jogging in her teenage years. Her limbs were too long for her body and they left her uncoordinated and clumsy. Now, it's the one time she actually feels like her body is working for her, instead of against her.
She knows to brace herself for a fight, as soon as she sees the car in the driveway and the light glowing through the curtains. Rarely, does he beat her home and, if he does, it means he's actually trying and it makes the guilt that much worse.
"Where were you?" he's sitting at the kitchen table, a mountain of files piled around him, and the same look on his face, her father got whenever she came home after curfew.
"I went for a run," she replied, heading straight for the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water.
"For four hours?"
"What do you want from me, Lucas?" she slammed the door closed, throwing her hands up in exasperation, "You want dinner at the table? A pat on the back? Someone to commiserate about how hard your day was?"
"You know me better than that," he reminded her, keeping his tone flat.
"I thought I did," she returned, taking the water bottle with her, as she left the kitchen.
She forces her eyes open, surprised by the vividness of a memory that she'd tried so hard to bury. She was a horrible fiancée, but she'd been a worse wife.
Love was supposed to be simple. It was supposed to be what motivated her, what drove her. Though, as a child of Cory and Topanga, she probably should have expected that she'd love too much, too hard, for too long.
And, in the end, she'd simply run out.
"You okay?" Josh looked away from the window and Riley's smile was both mechanical and automatic. She held it for half a second before remembering who she was with and letting her head droop onto his shoulder.
"You think it ever gets easier?" she whispered, well aware that the sound would carry through the close quarters of the car.
"No, not really."
It's a hot summer night and her body is already sticky with sweat, when she climbs into bed and pulls the single, white sheet up to her neck. She feels too exposed to sleep without something covering her, but everything feels like an irritant.
She hears the sounds of Lucas moving around the kitchen; cupboards opening, the ice maker on the fridge. She's not sure how much later it is, when she can pick out his footsteps on the stairs.
She closes her eyes and waits, as he changes his clothes in the dark. She expects him to get into bed next to her, leaving The Grand Canyon of space between the two of them. However, instead, he makes his way around her side of the bed and kneels down next to her.
His thumb makes his way to her cheek and she feels him tracing the side of her face and leaving her with no choice, but to open her eyes, or look childish for trying to avoid him.
"Riley," he sighs; her name a caress in his mouth.
She lets her eyes flutter open and is surprised by how close he is and how gentle his eyes are. Hadn't they just been arguing in the kitchen a few hours ago?
"I don't like it when we fight," he waves the white flag; his hand going from her face, down her arm and taking her hand in his, "I hate it."
"I hate it, too," she admits, surprised by the raw emotion that fills her throat. She's spent so long holding all of it back, shoving it down and only letting anger through, that the sadness and defeat are overwhelming.
"Then, why are we doing this?" he questions, his voice a desperate plea.
"You know why," she reminds him, wondering if there's anything other than an inevitable conclusion.
"I want to give you what you want," he whispered, leaning towards her, "I would give up everything, if I thought that it would make you happy. But, we can't keep doing this, Baby. I can't keep watching you get your hopes up and end up devastated. It's time to stop. It's all just too much."
"I'm not ready to give up; I can't give up. This can't just be it," Riley argued, her voice rising, as she pleaded with him to understand.
"When it comes down to it, I'll always pick you first, always put you first. I'm not going to risk losing you, not even for this."
"Then, I guess, there's nothing left to say," Riley rolled over, leaving her back to him.
"I'm sorry," his voice carries brokenly through the room.
She's already turned onto her back, by the time he rounds the bed and slides into his designated spot. She can make out a shape that looks like a pawprint in the textured ceiling and she can hear his steady breathing.
"I love you; even when you're mad at me, I love you," he informs her and she can feel his eyes on the side of her face.
"I love you, too," she sighs.
And, then, she's crying; great heaving sobs rocking her entire body and his arms are the only thing keeping her from shattering into a million pieces.
Josh is the first one out of the car, holding the door open, so that Riley can slide out after him. Tessa lets herself out of the front seat, informing the driver that he was free to get something to eat, before she met him back at the hotel.
She's using the tone of the voice that Riley associates with defeat and she knows that whatever line she's crossed this time is going to have consequences.
"I'll go get the elevator," Josh suggested, seeming to sense the need for privacy, and leaving the two women alone.
"Does it help if I apologize?" Riley questioned, folding her arms across her chest, as the car pulled away from the curb.
"Look, you know if it was just me, I'm willing to give you some leeway. But we're not on our own turf. If your ex-husband decided that he wanted retaliation, if someone wanted to make a political statement, things could go very bad, very fast," Tessa reminded her, ushering her through the front door and into the lobby, "You don't get to be normal, anymore."
"I don't think I was ever normal," Riley sighed, pausing as they reached the elevator that Josh was holding open.
The sunglasses cover her eyes, though it doesn't help much with the pounding in her head. She's tired and she'd rather be curled up in bed, then where she is, but she hopes the emotions aren't translating across her face.
"I'm thrilled that you could come," Alexis offers, in a voice filled with fake enthusiasm.
Maya would say something snappy and clever, but she's not Maya, so she smiles politely, "It was so nice of you to invite us."
There are children playing on a playground across the grass and Riley has to force herself to keep her attention focused on the patterned tablecloth that Alexis had already laid over the wood.
Riley thought that she was an overachiever, but she can't help finding the imperfections in the brownies that she sets beside sugar cookies that are decorated like tiny, perfect American flags. The detail work in the stars doesn't look human and, somehow, none of the colors have run together.
"Did you get a chance to glance over the changes in that legislation?" Lucas questions, speaking up from where he'd seated himself at the end of the table. He hasn't looked up from his phone since he left the house, but it's tucked away, now.
"I read through it last night, but there's something off about the wording," she admitted, glancing over her shoulder at the playground, "Nielson, stop throwing sand at your sister!"
"Is he yours?" Riley asks politely; taking in the child that looks about five. His hair is dark and his face round, but he moves with a natural grace, that she guesses he must have inherited from his mother.
"Yes, and the blonde going down the slide," she points to a little girl with curled, blonde, pigtails and a dress that looks too frilly for playing at the park, "I only wanted one, but my ex-husband talked me into another one. It might have been the best thing that he ever did."
The divorce had been high profile. Riley can remember seeing it on the news, though she can't remember all of the details. She thinks there had been something about abuse allegations or arguments over alimony. They were one of those couples that had both come from powerful families and money.
She's not sure how Alexis had kept the divorce out of her campaign for senator, but she'd won by a landslide.
She'd met Alexis on occasion, but mostly at events and the idea of spending any time with her personally has never been appealing, but Lucas had insisted that they go and she hadn't had the energy to argue with him.
"Luke, will you push me on the swing?" the little boy questioned, as he ran towards them at full speed.
"Sure, buddy," Lucas agreed, getting up to walk towards the playground.
"He's so good with kids," Alexis mused, watching both of them go for a second, before she turned her attention back to organizing the food on the table, "I, sometimes, have to bring them into the office with me and Lucas has always been nothing, but nice to them. It's more than I can say for some of the others that I work with."
Riley's not sure what to say to that, so she busies herself with pealing the lid off of the box containing the brownies and tries to relax the muscles in her face.
"I saw the speech that you gave at that home for battered women," Alexis changed the subject, "It was beautifully presented."
"Thank you."
"Lucas says that you were the one that got him into politics?" Alexis pressed, apparently looking for safe ground.
"I worked on some campaigns in college, but Lucas has always done well in leadership roles. He sees a problem and he has to fix it," Riley replied, her eyes straying to where he was laughing, as he pushed Nielson on the swing.
"He has a voice that people listen to," Alexis offered, "Do you think he'll run again?"
It's at that point that it dawns on Riley exactly what's happening. She's been manipulated into a situation that there's no way to get out of.
"It would be nice to go home, to have normal, again," Riley replied, feeling the strain that was entering her voice.
"Normal's overrated," Alexis offered, "I've been asked to run for president in the next election cycle. My ratings are up and I've found someone willing to back me. I'd like Lucas to run as my vice-president."
The churning in Riley's stomach is instant and she's already in the bathroom, locking the stall, before she can realize that she's even moved. She presses her hand to her mouth, trying to settle the nausea.
He'd promised her they could go home.
She sees Lucas's smile as he's pushing Nielson on the swing; hears the sound of children's laughter.
She leans over the toilet as the contents of her stomach, come spilling out.
"Someone will be outside the building all night. But, if you decide to make a run for it, it would be nice if you could give me a call," Tessa's words register, as Riley finds herself back in the lobby. Her breathing is uneven and she can feel the sweat that's collecting on her neck.
"I'll be better," Riley agrees, stepping inside and watching as Tessa disappears with the closing of the doors.
"She's intense," Josh offered, as they watched the floors change above the doors.
She is intense. She's the only person that Riley had gotten to pick out of her security team and she'd known that she wanted Tessa immediately. She had a military background and Riley didn't doubt that she loved her country, but her loyalty had always been to Riley.
"She's, just, doing her job. When people found out about my relationship with James there were a lot of death threats, some protestations that turned violent," Riley explained, balancing herself on golden rail that lined the edge of the elevator.
She could make out their outlines among the gold plating, enough that she could see Josh's shoulders tense.
"You never mentioned that things had gotten that bad."
"It wasn't any worse then what I was dealing with in Washington," Riley pointed out, one hand automatically going to trace the scar on the opposite wrist.
"You got out of Washington," he reminded her, not bothering to try and hide his insinuation.
Before she could come up with a reply, the doors were sliding open and they were greeted with the larger than life face of Maya Hart. Josh's gaze is immediately focused on the picture and she knows exactly what he's thinking, what he's feeling.
He won't care about a thing she says, now, but she can't stop herself, anyway.
"I'm not sure that you ever really get out," Riley offered, forcing herself to avert her gaze, as she made her way inside.
There's a night before the accident that stands out vividly against the fog. It's her first clear night in a long while and she's, somehow, managed to avoid the alcohol that's abundantly present at the current gathering.
She's made her obligatory lap around the party of ambassadors and state officials, trading back-handed compliments with the other senator's wives and avoiding subtle and not-so-subtle flirting from their husbands. Lucas is running late and she's already gearing up for the inevitable fight about how much she hates it when he leaves her at these things alone, when she finds her way to the back patio and slowly slips outside.
She's settled into a seat that gives her a clear view of the garden and is enjoying the quiet and the smell of the flowers in full bloom, when the back door opens and she spins around.
He notices her instantly, his face unreadable in the dimmed light. She can make out the sturdy shoulders and the confidence that he holds himself with. He reminds her of Lucas, in a way, but carrying less of the world's burdens on his back.
"Riley Friar?" he questions, his voice carrying a comfortable familiarity that she can't quite place.
"Sometimes," she returned, straightening her posture and smoothing her skirt.
"I'm looking for your husband," he admitted, deliberately leaving the door open, as he crossed the patio and sunk into the chair across from her.
"That makes two of us," she smiled, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice, "He's running late."
"He seems to do that a lot," he offered, "I keep getting the runaround at his office."
"I don't have anything to do with his scheduling," Riley informed him, already trying to plot her escape before he could get her to agree to something that would only put further strain on her marriage.
"I wouldn't dare insinuate that you do. I'm just desperate at this point," he admitted, leaning forward, "I'm here in a diplomatic capacity, specifically to help negotiate the stationing of a U.S. Naval base, but I'm concerned about the environmental impact report that they've given me. Something about it doesn't seem right."
"I don't like to get involved in politics," Riley stood up, hoping that he would get the hint and she could slip away quietly.
"That's not true," his voice stopped her, "You worked on political campaigns all through college, you've championed bills to increase minimum wage and lessen the gender gap, you gave a speech last year at an all girl's school about women in science."
"You know an awful lot about me, for someone who was here to see my husband," she pointed out, frozen in her spot.
"I may have looked you up," he confessed, "But I knew that if anyone would be willing to look at the situation objectively, instead of what would be best for the United States, it would be you. I've spent my entire life surrounded by politics, but I've never met anyone as idealistic as you."
"You just met me," she reminded him, though she knew that he had already won the battle. She had a soft spot for doing the right thing and an instinct for knowing what that was. Even if she, occasionally, chose to ignore it.
"All I'm asking, is that you take this folder to your husband and have him really go over it. If there's something wrong with our current plans, we can return to the negotiation table," he offered, holding a manila folder out to her.
"And for all you've talked me up, it's Lucas who you trust will do the right thing?"
"He's one of the few men I've met here, who still clearly loves his wife. I've heard people calling you his compass and I have a feeling that it's a title bestowed for more than your ability to tell north from south," he smiled and there was something refreshing in the way that it went all the way to his eyes.
"I'll ask him to look at it," Riley sighed, tucking the folder under her arm.
"I appreciate it. If there's anything that I can ever do for you," he let the suggestion hang.
"I have no idea who you even are," she reminded him.
"I'm sorry. My name's James, James Crista," he introduced himself, and she was once again struck with how familiar something about it was.
"It was nice to meet you," she offered, making her way back into the house and trying to ignore the feeling of his eyes on her back.
The apartment is an open floorplan with the kitchen tile leading directly into the dark hardwood of the living room. Two, black-leather couches surround a fireplace and a glass coffee table that looks like it's been shattered and glued back together sits on a white, fluffy carpet.
Savannah is sitting on the floor in front of the couch, slowly tracing the cracked glass with one finger. She glances up when they come through the front door and Riley can't help thinking that it was a mistake to leave the teenager home alone, while they dealt with funeral plans.
"Hey, Savvy," Josh greeted her, his voice hesitant, as he slipped passed Riley.
"Josh," she returned, before turning her attention to Riley, "You were later then I thought you would be. You had The Suits panicking about where you were."
"I'm sorry. Things with the funeral didn't go well and I needed some time to compose myself," Riley explained, feeling the guilt settling over her lungs.
"There's pizza in the kitchen," Savannah offered, before her gaze returned to the table.
Riley exchanged a glance with Josh and taking the hint, he started in the direction of the counter where a closed box of pizza was, indeed, waiting. Riley sunk down on the floor next to the teenager and struggled to come up with the right thing to say.
"I should have taken you with me or come home sooner. I wish I were better at this," Riley admitted, resting her forearms on the table and twining her hands together.
She'd been there when Savannah was born; she'd witnessed the first time she'd rolled over, the first solid food she'd eaten, the first time she'd laughed. But, Savannah's a teenager, now, and Riley's not entirely sure how to handle her.
She can't help wishing that Maya were here.
"I asked you to leave me," Savannah reminded her, "I just didn't realize how hard it would be to be stuck by myself with the memories. I forgot how much I hated this place."
"It's kind of sterile, isn't it?" Riley agreed, leaning her head back against the couch.
"It's not home," Savannah returned, letting her hands drop back into her lap, "So, have you figured out what happens to all of this? Who's the lucky person that gets my mother's empire?"
"Ava wants to wait until after the funeral to go over your mother's will," Riley explained, "But I'm sure that most of it will go to you."
"Lucky me," Savannah snorted, glancing over as Josh took a seat above them, a plate of pizza in his hand.
"It's enough to give you whatever kind of future you want," Josh offered, "You could travel, go to school, put that brilliant mind of yours to good use."
"But not at fourteen," Riley corrected, her eyes narrowing.
"Then, what happens to me?" Savannah questioned, biting her lip in a way that suggested she'd been stewing over the possibilities all day, "The girl with a dead mother and no father to step up and take care of her. Do I go to one of my mother's excellent choices in husbands? Maybe, the one that tracked her cell phone and shattered this table with her head."
Riley felt her breath catch in her throat at the casual way that Savannah could talk about it and she could see Josh tense out of the corner of her eye.
"No, Maya and I agreed that if anything ever happened to her, I'd take care of you," Riley explained, struggling to keep her voice even.
"Not my real father?" Savannah's gaze didn't leave Josh and Riley felt her heart ache within her chest.
She thought back to what Farkle had said about pretty lies, but she's not sure that she agrees with his reasoning when it comes to this. Josh wasn't Maya's father and it wouldn't take much to punch straight through the lies to the truth. You could only live in denial for so long.
"You really want to know?" Riley asked, waiting as the silence stretched heavy and tense between the three of them.
"Yes," Savannah agreed.
"The summer after our freshman year of college, your mother went with the art club to Rome. When she came back, she realized that she was pregnant with you," Riley explained, trying to keep her explanation as simple as possible.
"I spent that summer helping my father out, his health was in a decline and someone needed to be there to take care of him," Josh offered, picking up on what wasn't being said.
"So, my father was someone that went on the trip with them?" Savannah glanced between them, a dozen emotions racing across her face.
Riley bit her lip, as she thought through her next words, wishing that Maya had chosen to handle this conversation a long time ago.
"No, he wasn't a student at NYU," Riley offered, staring intently at the knees of her pants.
"So, she didn't love him? He was just a stranger that she picked up off the street?" Savannah pressed, rubbing furiously at the tears that were leaking out of her eyes and down her face, "I was the product of some random hookup? Does he even know that I exist?"
"Does it matter? Your mother loved you, Riley loves you, I love you. We're your family and we always have been," Josh reminded her, letting Riley off the hook.
"My mother killed herself, she literally drank herself to death. If you're my family, then where were you? You can pretend that we're all in this together for as long as you want, but at the end of the day, you fell off the face of the earth when she died," Savannah pointed an accusing finger at Josh, before turning her attention to Riley, "And you only bothered to show your face after she was gone."
Savannah waits a second, her eyes snapping between both of their faces, as she searches for a reaction. Then, she's standing up and disappearing down the hallway, a door slamming in the distance.
"She's not wrong," Josh offers, setting his food aside.
The apartment isn't home and they've called it a number of derogatory names; from, "The Hovel," to the, "Murder Scene." Nicknamed, for the lights in the hall that constantly flicker, the one bedroom, and the screaming that can be heard through the walls at night.
They'd been desperately looking for a place when they'd moved in and the rent was just enough that they could afford it between Maya's job and the housing allowance in Riley's scholarship. If they were living off of canned food and whatever Riley could steal from Topanga's, at least there was food to eat.
Despite their living situation, it's still one of Riley's favorite places. It's filled with memories from the early morning feedings of Savannah, to the late-night laughter over something that they heard through the walls. They've shared stories of bad days on the couch that they found at a second-hand store and spilled nail polish all over the bedspread that Riley had brought from home, but it's the place where they really grew up.
Riley had never thought that she would be hesitant to leave.
Maya is seated on the opposite end of the couch; Savannah's sleeping in a bassinet beside them, though the only thing holding their attention is the little, velvet box that's sitting in the middle of the coffee table.
She's not sure how long they've been sitting in silence, but the nervous energy is enough to make her burst.
"You have to tell him yes," Maya, finally, speaks.
"But the timing is all wrong, Maya. We agreed we'd wait, until we finished up school and I'm nowhere near done. And what about Savvy and you, I can't just abandon the both of you," Riley pointed out.
"Riley, this is Lucas. This is the love of your life and you can't just let him move across the country without you," Maya pointed out, her eyes dark in the lighting of the room.
"We could do things long distance," Riley argued, pulling her knees up to her chest, "I could finish out school here and he could do what he needed to do there, this is a huge decision."
"I'm not saying that it isn't. But, why would you put your relationship through that if you didn't have to?"
"How will you make rent?" Riley returned, "And who will go walking with you in the middle of the night when Savvy won't stop crying? Who will trade off feeding her with you? Who will help you take care of her?"
"You can't put your life on hold for me, Riles. I appreciate everything that you've done, but I won't be the thing that holds you back in life. I'm the one who got pregnant, Savannah is my daughter, and I'm the one who has to figure out how I'm going to take care of her. I refuse to be the thing that holds you back," Maya insisted, reaching out to take Riley's hand in her own.
"It's not holding me back. I agreed that we would be in all of this together," Riley reminded her, feeling the tears building up in her eyes.
"Can you honestly tell me that you don't want to marry him? That you could ever spend your life with anyone else?"
"Maya," Riley protested, not bothering to wipe away the tears that had escaped down her face.
"Marry him, Riles. Don't live your life with any regrets."
"No, she's not," Riley agreed, letting her head fall into her hands.
"You know she didn't ever resent you for leaving. At least, not when you were leaving with Lucas," Josh comforted her, sinking from the couch onto the floor next to her, "He was the only person that she was ever willing to share you with."
"I should have come back here when I left him. I should have been here, for both of them," Riley sighed, getting choked with the regret.
"You've never told me where you went."
She's waiting at the curtains when his car pulls into the driveway. She's been waiting all morning, but a glance at the clock on the wall, shows that he's early for what they agreed on. Another testament to the manners that his mother had instilled in him from birth.
She can see his profile, as he drums his fingers against the steering wheel and talks to himself, though she can't see enough of his lips to guess at what he's saying. He's all nervous energy and she can't remember the last time that she saw him this worked up.
She can't help wondering what he's already guessed.
Without warning, he jerks his car door open in a single motion and glances behind himself, as he heads for her front door. She's not sure what he's looking for, but she highly doubts that he's going to attract any stares in this neighborhood. His Armani suit is practically dress code for their zip code, though she's never, actually, seen him look comfortable in anything that costs more than two digits.
He makes his way up the front walk, with the ease of someone who's made that same journey a million times, before disappearing out of her range of view. Though, she can imagine, as he takes the two steps onto the porch and the five steps to the front door.
There are three, quick knocks and she sighs, as she mentally prepares herself for the conversation ahead. She's half convinced that she's going to back out, but there's another part of her that knows it's her only option.
"Come in," she calls, knowing that it would be faster for him to let himself in, then for her to try and make it to the front door. She's pretty much confined to the chair that she'd always thought of as Lucas's, though she can see little signs of improvement in her mobility every day.
"Is it really such a smart idea to be keeping your door open?" Zay questioned, his eyes lingering on her for a half-a-second too long, before he shrugged out of his suit jacket and hung it on the doorknob of the coat closet.
"Because we're in such a dangerous neighborhood?" she pointed out, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"You're surrounded by politicians, Riles. You should have two deadbolts and a gun stationed by your door," he joked, slipping out of his shoes, as he hesitated on the edge of the room, "You look pretty messed up."
"I know," she agreed, thinking of the first time that she'd seen her face in a mirror. The bruising was in multiple shades and colors and the swelling was taking a long time to go down. She'd never considered herself vain, but that hadn't stopped her from insisting that no one see her.
"But, I heard you're going to make a full recovery; no permanent damage," Zay pivoted, "I'm sure there's a million Botox-ed wives out there crying themselves to sleep at night over the news that you'll be reclaiming your position as the most beautiful woman in any room. Not that you aren't, now."
"Nice save," Riley offered, sighing as stared at the cast on her arm.
"What do you need?" he questioned, his voice going serious.
"I need a favor and what I'm asking isn't fair, it probably isn't even right," Riley admitted, unable to meet his gaze.
"You know that I would do anything for you," Zay reminded her, no hint of hesitation in his voice, "I owe you, Riley, more than I could every pay back."
"I don't want you to feel obligated to do this. I want you to feel like you have a choice," Riley looked up, blinking away the tears that were gathering in the corners of her eyes.
"What do you need?"
"I want to sell you my story," Riley admitted, "I got my file from the hospital and there are pictures."
"The public would eat you alive. If you need money, I'll give you a loan, you don't have to do this," he insisted, his words coming out choppy as he struggled to catch up with the conversation.
"I don't need a loan, Zay. I need money wired to an off-shore bank account and a ticket to Johannesburg."
"South Africa?" he clarified, looking at her in shock.
"I have to get out of here, you've seen what this place has done to me. And, if I stay, sooner or later the story is going to come out and it will ruin Lucas's career. At least this way, he's not hiding anything and I'm not holding him back," Riley kept her tone even.
"He'll never forgive me. If I do this none of our friends will ever forgive me," Zay pointed out, rubbing the skin between his eyes.
"I told you that it wasn't fair. But, I don't trust anyone else to do this," Riley admitted.
"You don't trust anyone else to ruin your reputation? I'm sure there's a compliment in there, somewhere," he laughed, humorlessly.
"I almost died. I should have died. And, I don't remember anything. I don't know when the drinking got out of hand, I don't remember anything that happened that day, I don't remember the accident. I'm losing my mind and we both know that it would destroy Lucas if he had to walk away from everything that he's worked for."
"You don't think that it will destroy him if you do?" Zay argued.
"Zay," she breathed his name, closing her eyes.
His hand reached out and closed around hers and her eyes snapped open, "I'll do it. You wouldn't have called me here if you didn't know that I would."
"Thank you."
"South Africa," she answered Josh's question, shaking off the memory, "I went to South Africa."
"That's definitely not the first place that I would have looked for you," Josh agreed.
They lapsed into another silence and Riley found her index finger, slowly, tracing the glue across the table in the same patterns that Savannah had traced, "Her husband throws her through a glass table and she glues it back together again."
The image is too clear in her mind of Maya on her hands and knees, trying to repair the remains of her life that lies shattered on the ground. She would have kept the table as a reminder; one more reason not to trust, not to hope, not to believe.
"There was only bruising when she came to me, if she'd shattered this table, there would have been cuts," Josh offered, keeping his voice matter-of-fact.
"The police think she was meeting someone at the hotel," Riley offered, pulling her knees up to her chest, as she tried to hold herself together.
"They have any idea who it was?" Josh questioned, his voice taken on a strained note.
"Not that they shared with me."
"Well, maybe, we should figure it out."
She sits on the edge of the bathtub, relieved to be tucked away where no one can see her.
The phone feels heavy in her hands, almost as if it's gained weight, since she last picked it up. The screen glows blue, in a generic screensaver that says nothing about the owner. It's better that way, less of a chance for someone to think that there's anything remarkable about it, but she's always been the kind of girl to use pictures.
Growing up it had always been something of her and Maya that would greet her whenever she needed to use it, later it was a picture of Zay and Farkle that they'd changed it too, while holding it for her. Then, Lucas had made a comment about never getting any screen space and he'd become her permanent picture, shifting with their memories over the years, but always of him.
Now, it's blue. It's not even her favorite color.
She lets her fingerprint unlock the screen and pulls up her contacts, ignoring the twinge in her heart when she sees Maya's number in the first favorite slot, followed by James, and, then, Tessa.
She should just rip the band aid off and call him, but she's scared of what he's going to say. She doesn't want a lecture on security, or concern about how she's doing. She doesn't want to talk to someone who didn't know Maya intimately, who never understood the complexities and history of the relationship.
She doesn't want the inevitable question of when she's coming home.
She pushes the button and holds the phone up to her ear, waiting as it rings.
"Riley," his voice is filled with relief and traces of sleep and it takes her a minute to calculate how early it must be for him.
"I'm sorry it's taken me so long to call," she offers, her voice sounding mechanical, even to her own ears.
"I get it, of course I get it. How are you?" he presses and she can see him in her mind, all nervous energy as he tries to establish a connection with her across all of those empty miles.
"We're finalizing the funeral plans," she evades the question, not sure what the right answer is.
"Right, of course," he repeats and her hair falls into her face, as she hunches over, "I miss you. Nothing smells like you, anymore, and it's strange to have spent so much time without hearing your voice. I wish I was there with you."
"It's already a media nightmare and that's without adding royalty to the mix," she pointed out, "They're bringing in Secret Service for the funeral and all that security would just turn into a turf war."
He lets a second of silence go by and she wonders what he's doing, "You're not tempted to drink?"
"I haven't relapsed," she assures him, though it sounds like another evasion.
"If you need me, if you're tempted, if you fall; you'll call me, won't you?" he presses, his voice filled with a vulnerability that's a privilege given to just her. It's the promise that he'd move mountains, hide bodies, and forgive her every mistake, if she'd only ask.
"I'll call," she assures him.
"Promise?"
Leaving Lucas is a premeditated decision. She knows the day, the time, exactly how she's going to do it. She goes over it in her head so many times that she thinks that she can disconnect herself from the situation enough to go through with it.
Because it might be the bravest thing she's ever had to do, it's definitely the hardest.
The week before she's already weaning herself off of pain killers, forcing herself to learn to bear it, although there's an ache in her arm that leaves her gasping for air any chance she stops to dwell on it. Her face looks like a shredded piece of hamburger and she knows that it's going to take her several weeks to recover enough that she can blend in without drawing attention to herself.
She lays motionless in the bed they've shared through three states and more years than can be counted on one hand, as he pulls his suit jacket on over his dress shirt and toes his shoes on in the dark. She'd normally be in the kitchen blending a protein shake for him to take with him on the road, while scrolling through news articles on her phone, but she hasn't been much of an early riser, lately.
"Hey," his voice is a whisper, despite there not being anyone else in the house to wake.
She bites her swollen lip, rather than risking her voice, as he sits down on the edge of the bed and brushes a piece of her hair behind her ear.
"You sure you're okay with me going back?" Lucas questioned, his eyes searching hers, desperately looking for answers that she can't give him.
She nods once, taking a measured breath as it pulls at the bruises that line her entire shoulder.
"Smackle's going to stop by to check on you and I'll call at lunch," Lucas assured her, "And if you need anything, I want you to call me."
She nods again, her eyes drifting back down to the striped sheets that are pulled tightly around her. They're smooth against her skin and her eyes drift back to the ceiling, when the angle proves too difficult to hold.
She briefly wonders what happened to the white ones that they'd always used.
"I need you to take these before I go," Lucas insisted, jiggling a pill box that had sorted her medication through days of the week.
"Later, I just want to sleep," she lied, her voice coming out rough from disuse.
"Riles, I couldn't take it," he paused, choked with emotion, "If anything else happened to you. Promise me that you're going to take care of yourself."
"Promise," Riley squeezed his hand, before dropping it and turning onto her side.
"I love you," he whispered, pressing a kiss into her hair, before he headed towards the door.
She doesn't say it back.
"I promise," she agrees, rushing through the words, "Listen, I need to go."
"Okay," he sounds taken off guard, "I love you."
They're just words; words she'd spent her entire life throwing around without any knowledge of the gravity that they held. She'd loved easily and without limitations, but that isn't who she is, anymore.
"James, I-," she starts.
"You don't have to say it, I know," he cuts her off.
"I'll talk to you soon," those words are meaningless and she can barely look at herself in the bathroom mirror, as she shoves the phone back into her pocket and heads for the bedroom.
The French doors leading out to the balcony are open and Riley can feel the wind making its way through the curtains and across the room. She has the white comforter pulled up to her neck, but the sting of the air still hits her face and she turns into her pillow in an attempt to avoid it.
"You want me to close them," a voice whispers into her ear, close enough that she can feel his breath ruffling her hair and tickling her ear.
"I think it's my turn," Riley replied, slipping out of the bed and grabbing her robe from where she'd discarded it at the side of the bed. She pauses at the French doors as she takes in the view of the mountainside stretching out in front of her. They're snowcapped and the sight is enough to leave her awestruck.
It's one of those rare, perfect moments where she finds herself completely content, completely happy….
She knows what her next line is. She's supposed to turn around to find her husband watching her intently from the bed that they had both been sleeping in and she'll ask him whether they can just stay here forever.
But, they never do.
And the moment after she'll find herself waking up with tears running down her face and a hand clutched to her chest, as she tries to stop the internal hemorrhaging of her heart.
She's relived this moment enough times to know what it means.
"You're in the city, aren't you?" Riley questioned, wrapping her arms around herself as her eyes traced the ridges and curves of the mountains. She can't bring herself to turn around and look at him, but his gaze has a physical weight on her back.
"I'm close," he replied, the sleepiness in his voice gone.
"Did you bring her with you?" Riley asked, closing her eyes as she leaned against the glass door.
"That's not what you're supposed to ask me," he reminded her, something melancholy in his tone.
"We can't go back to what we had, Lucas. The moment is gone and reliving it, isn't going to change anything," she sighed.
"Then why do you keep coming here?"
Her eyes snap open and her fingertips immediately find their way to her chest, as she feels the steady heartbeat and the expansion and contraction of her lungs. Her body seems to be unaware of the significance of the dream and her eyes remain dry, as she stares up at the ridges of the ceiling.
It should probably feel like progress.
It mostly just feels empty.
The cedar chest had originally been Riley's idea; a going away present when she'd moved to Texas with Lucas. Maya had been in the beginning phases of her modeling career and talking about California and Riley had realized that a separation was inevitable.
She'd chosen the Eleanor Roosevelt quote as a joke, thinking of the scandal that Maya's career was starting out with. She'd done a Post-Partum photo spread that had stirred up plenty of controversy and her pictures had only gotten bolder from there. Maya never was one to do things halfway.
She'd had the chest made special and presented it to Maya the night before she was set to fly out and meet Lucas for their newest adventure. She hadn't been entirely surprised when a box had arrived in the mail almost a month later inscribed with, "Good Girls Go to Heaven, Bad Girls Go Everywhere." The fact that it was such a Maya thing to say, had kept the chest in a center spot on her vanity for most of her adult life.
It was currently sitting on a bedside table an entire ocean away, waiting for when she would bring its sister home.
Maya's box should have been titled Pandora.
It sits in front of her on the bathroom floor, a striking contrast of dark wood against the cold, white tile.
She'd seen the wedding pictures, when she'd opened the box with Savannah, but been unable to bring herself to look at them. She'd wanted to cleanse her life from all of the memories, but, now, there's just a half-inch of wood between her and them and she's not sure that she's strong enough to turn away.
She peels back the lid and pulls out the picture of their core group of friends, setting it aside, along with the photos of Savannah's childhood. The postcards that had once had a designated spot on their apartment wall, showcasing how far from home Farkle had traveled, were all stacked neatly and just as easily discarded with the rest of the pile.
There's a yellowing envelope with Maya's name on the front that is still sealed, though it's crinkled, as if Maya had spent a lot of time holding it. Next, is a piece of hotel stationary in Josh's messy scrawl informing her that he'd gone out in search of sustenance and would be back soon.
Maya's never been the sentimental one, but each scrap of paper feels like another intimate thing that Maya probably wanted taken to her grave. There's a part of her that wants to analyze every secret that Maya had shoved into the box and another part that wants to give Maya the privacy that she never got in life.
Before she can decide, she's already happened upon the wedding photos. She spent a second on the photo of herself getting ready, before flipping to photo of herself and Lucas standing on the church steps.
He's looking at her with the adoration that had promised a lifetime of commitment and she can almost feel his arm wrapped around her waist, as he pulls her in closer to his side.
The next photo is of him kissing her a second later and she can't stop the tears that instantly fill her eyes and run down her cheeks. They had started out their life together with plenty of promise and, somehow, it had all gotten messed up along the way.
She slowly shifts back, letting her back lean against the edge of the tub and her head rest along the lip. She'd thought she was doing a good job of keeping the memories at bay, but Maya's death had seemed to bring every unresolved feeling back to the front of her mind.
She closed her eyes, focusing on the feeling of the cold porcelain that was pressed against the bare skin of her neck and not the pictures and scraps of paper that fan out around her in a graveyard of lost hopes and dreams.
It almost works.
"It figures that we would be days away from my funeral and you'd be sitting around crying about Huckleberry," Maya muses, her voice coming from right next to Riley's head.
"It doesn't feel real, yet," Riley admitted, wondering when she'd slipped into insanity and how no one had noticed, "I'm still waiting for you to walk into the apartment and inform us that it's all some elaborate joke."
"Out of the two of us, you were always better at pulling a disappearing act," Maya pointed out.
"You were the first place they looked when I decided to leave," Riley reminded her, "And if Lucas had found me, I would have gone back."
"Like I would have let you, after what you told me at the hospital. Remember?" there's something about the words that pulls at something in the back of her memory, but it slips away from her whenever she thinks that she's getting close.
"No, I don't," Riley admitted.
"Open the envelope, Riley. Someone has to know all my secrets, now that I'm gone."
Her eyes snap open and sunlight is already streaming under the door. Her neck is stiff and she's not sure when she dozed off, though it's the only explanation for her hallucination. The pictures are still spread out around her and the envelope is sitting right next to her hand, as though it's just waiting for her to open it.
She, slowly, picks it up, feeling something hard through the white paper. She runs a finger under the top and turns it over in her lap, watching as a key settled between her legs, along with a carefully folded note.
She turns to the paper first, the words giving little context into what she had stumbled upon:
M,
Hope you never have a reason to open this, but if something happens, you might need the insurance.
Always,
Z
Honestly, I hate this chapter. I've had massive writer's block for months and those people who tell you to write through it, have never read what I've come up with when I'm trying to write through it. This chapter required massive editing, I ended up losing most of the flashbacks in an unfortunate technical problem, and there are still parts of this chapter that really make me cringe. But, if I stare at it any longer, I'm going to give up writing altogether.
That said, I'm incredibly grateful to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and has continued to support my stories. I'm sorry that I'm so behind on responding to reviews and updating. It's been a rough a couple of months, but I appreciate everyone that's been willing to stick with me.
Thank you for reading! And I would love it if you would let me know what you think!