I've tried three different times to write a recap for this chapter. I tried piecing together relevant scenes from previous chapters, which ended up being longer then this chapter itself. Then, I tried to summarize it with a quick paragraph, but it turned into an unorganized dump of information. There is a recap in the previous chapter that you can read, though it won't give you all the information you need to know for this particular chapter. If you can handle it, I would recommend a re-read of the entire story, so you don't miss anything. And, if you can't, I'd recommend, at least, reading the chapter: Last Call, so you know where we're picking up with Zay this chapter.

"No escaping though you're running, you cannot find home

Drowning in your desperation
Conviction seems to follow accusations alone
No place here for an easy redemption
If I lack your tears of joy, please forgive my heartless ploy
Said the fool to his majesty dethroned
Now excuse me

Who was it who wanted every sec of the fifteen minute flame
To name a love to last through all your infamy
Who was it who wanted ingratiation in their definitions
When name alone can jail eternally"

-Poets of the Fall, "15 Minute Flame."

The lines are long, mostly filled with tourists; who are speaking a number of languages that he can barely pick out against the background noise. Overhead, a speaker is announcing that they shouldn't be leaving their luggage unattended and he can't help wondering if anyone has noticed that he's the only one in line to have nothing with him, but his passport, his wallet and the clothes on his back.

The line moves forward, again, and he feels the passport start to shake in his hand; as the enormity of what he is about to do fully settles on his shoulders. He'd pledged himself to his country once; been raised on patriotism and the idea that death for ones' homeland was of the noblest ways to die.

What he's about to do will go down as treason and he can feel his ancestors turning over in their graves.

He steps up to the window; handing the blue passport to the man with the stamp and squeezing his hands into fists, as he struggles to keep his shaking under control.

"Please state your purpose for entering Froacia," he offered; barely checking that the passport picture matched up to the person using it.

"I'm seeking asylum," Zay offered and the man finally looked up; gesturing to one of the security men that were just on the periphery of Zay's vision, "I have information about a plot against the royal family."

The script for his life is written long before it occurs to him to want anything else. His grandfather had lived out his career in the Navy, his father had served before disappearing off the face of the earth, and his older brother had given his life to the cause almost a decade before.

But, it's not honor or duty or expectation that propels his steps when he walks into the recruitment center. It's the knowledge that this is one door that promises him time and distance from the place he'd learned to call home. It doesn't require forging his own path and the trail feels familiar, even if it isn't one he's ever walked before.

It's only after his name has been signed in all the appropriate places and he's at home staring at his ceiling; that he realizes the full impact of what he's done. He's not sure his mother will ever forgive him and, in trying to run away from everything he's ever known, he's managed to, also, isolate himself in a way he's never been before.

He paces the short hallway; pausing to look in at his mother, who has fallen asleep with the TV on like she always does. His grandfather's door is closed and locked, though he can hear the restless turning and whimpering that signals the nightmares that never really leave him.

Maybe, they'll be his own, soon.

He thinks about calling Lucas; knowing that his best friend wouldn't begrudge him the late-night wake-up-call. He might even still be awake, on the phone with Riley, as the two of them wait to see who can fall asleep first.

He'd always thought that Lucas would be enlisting with him. They'd talked endlessly about it in Texas; about going out and making their own stamp on the world. They were going to be heroes, or, at the very least, the kind of men that would finally achieve the respect of the people most disappointed by them.

He knows, now, that Lucas won't follow him. Anyone with eyes can see that Lucas is practically glued to Riley's side and he'd never ask her to wait for him; not when he's seen what the waiting had done to his mother.

He tells his own mother in the morning and he can see the old ghosts reflected in her eyes; the memory of a dishonorably discharged husband, choosing to leave, rather than live with the judgement of his father-in-law and of a son that came home in a box, with a flag spread across the top.

His grandfather pats him on the back; wordlessly assuring him that she'll come around and giving him the approval that Zay had always had to fight for.

And, he lets himself pretend that he's doing this for all the noble reasons they think he is and that he's not a child running away the only way he knows how.

The windows have bars on them, though he can still catch glimpses of the sea between the cold cylinders of metal. The walls are made of heavy, white brick and the floor is made of cracking, gray tile that crunches with each step of his feet. The only furniture in the room is a single table that wobbles and two chairs that are made of splintering wood.

Zay keeps time with the watch around his wrist and wishes he'd gone with someone more practical, instead of picking the most expensive piece out of the case. He'd surrendered his cell phone and wallet after being taken into custody and had already endured having his picture taken and his fingerprints run through their computer systems.

He's never been arrested before, but he imagines that the feeling must be similar. The looks that people had given him as he was escorted from the airport and into the nondescript transport had been enough to make him feel like a criminal.

"We'll take your statement in writing," the agent assigned to his case, informed him; stepping into the room with a bundle of papers and a single pen.

"And then?" Zay questioned; already feeling a bone-deep weariness set-in.

"And then, your statement will be reviewed; verified where we can. After that, we'll decide whether you qualify for amnesty or not," the agent explained; sounding, as if he were reciting from a well-known script.

"How long will all of that take?"

"Finish writing your statement, tonight, and, then, we'll take you somewhere to sleep," the agent offered; setting the papers and pen in front of him, "It's in your best interest to be as honest and thorough as possible."

Zay nodded once and waited until the man had left the room to stare down at the blank page. He'd written his own articles when he'd first taken over the magazine; a business venture Vanessa had claimed would never pan-out, but a distraction that he'd needed.

It had taught him that nothing could look more intimidating, then a blank sheet of paper.

He's not sure where the story starts really; the events tied so closely together that it could easily start with two boys who grew up together in Texas, or the woman that changed both their lives in New York, or the accident that he'd stopped believing was just an accident.

He's spent the last handful of years telling everyone else's secrets, while guarding his own. It's almost a relief to come clean; to lay out his own sins for judgement.

Riley's the only one that shows up at the dock to see him off. She's wearing a white-dress that flares out around her and a big, blue bow is cinched around her waist. It sways in the wind; along with the curls that seem to be blowing straight out of her hair. It makes her look young; like a child that a parent had dressed up and was putting on display.

"He wanted to be here," Riley reached out to grab his hand and he realized that the dress was for Lucas. His flight was supposed to have landed almost three hours ago, "His plane was grounded for repairs and he tried to switch to another flight, but he's not going to make it."

"It's okay," Zay assured her; squeezing her fingers with his own.

She's the personification of innocence and redemption and he holds onto her a little tighter then he should because he's not sure that he'll ever feel the way he does in this moment again.

He'd said goodbye to his mother that morning, knowing that she didn't have the strength to come all the way to the dock and watch him leave. It was better if she could pretend he was headed out to school, kissing her cheek goodbye just like he'd done for all of those years.

His grandfather had shaken his hand on the way out the door and told him that his time at sea would build character and discipline; that he should enjoy it. And he'd nodded and pretended that he wasn't filled with fear.

"I told Maya she should come and say goodbye, but she's being stubborn," Riley continued, "She'll miss you, be waiting for you to come home just like the rest of us."

It's a boldfaced lie, but a kind one and Zay tries to ignore the way it pierces at his heart.

There's nothing more to say, really, and he looks around at the other families saying goodbye.

"Take care of him for me?" Zay says it like a question, although he already knows that she will.

"Always," she agrees; crossing the space between them and pulling him into a hug.

He breathes her in; closes his eyes and lets himself indulge in this one last piece of home that he's leaving behind.

"Come home," her voice is a whisper in his ear and her lips brush against his cheek, as she sinks back down onto her heels and steps back from him.

"Only because you asked so nicely," he joked; surprised to see the depth of the sadness in her eyes.

He'd thought their main link had always been through Lucas, but, for the first time, he lets himself believe that, maybe, their friendship had some of its own merit, too.

"I'll see you around, Cotton Candy Face," he assured her; tipping his cap, as he backed away from her.

"Stay out of trouble," she raised her voice and he shot her a reckless smirk, before turning his back on her for good.

"No promises."

The sea calls to him outside of the window and he can't help glancing up at it, whenever he loses his train of thought and his pen stops moving on the page. He'd never managed to get the call of it out of his blood, despite turning away from that life.

He understands his grandfather's love for it so much better, now.

He hears a rustle from outside of the door and his head turns in time to catch the door being hastily swung open by a guard that is simultaneously trying to straighten his uniform. One act being significantly better performed then the other.

"We weren't told that you were coming," Zay's agent was saying; his eyes looking wild, as he stopped to look at Zay.

"I was only recently informed of what was going on," the voice was smooth and accented and one Zay had only ever heard on TV.

"We wanted to see if his claims held anything before we brought it up the chain of command," the agent explained.

"Which is very admirable of you, but it's not every day we have a media mogul willfully submit himself to our custody," the voice continued and Zay blanched at the realization that this man was just as aware of Zay, as Zay was of him, "You'll give me a moment, won't you?"

"Of course, Your Royal Highness. Let me know if there's anything you need," the agent stammered and Zay watched as the prince stepped into the doorway and a predatory smile spread across his face.

"Almost," just might be his least favorite world. He almost went to NYU, he almost pursued a career in ballet, he almost got the girl.

He swirls the amber liquid in his glass, unable to bring himself to drink it, as he sits and contemplates the state of his life. He's not sure what the name of the bar is or how he managed to get himself there, but he's not entirely surprised when a brunette enters and slides into the seat next to him.

He'd called Riley pretty once, but that would have been his last description if he had known what she was going to grow into. Adulthood had been kind to the once gangly and uncoordinated brunette. She'd learned to control her long limbs, leaving with her with the grace of a dancer, probably helped along with her time on the dance team in high school. And her passion for life hadn't wavered, but had been refined with time, leaving her the definition of elegant and sophisticated.

The girl that had said goodbye to him on his first deployment was no longer visible, although he didn't doubt that her goodness and generosity were close under the surface.

Lucas was lucky to have her.

"Your wife is looking for you," Riley informed him, reaching over to snag the drink out of his hands. The liquid spills; getting on her hand and his wrist, but she only rubs the liquid off onto her jeans and looks at him expectantly.

"I'm going to leave her," he admitted, grabbing a napkin to wipe off his own hand.

To her credit, she doesn't look surprised and he wonders what Lucas has told her about his situation, or maybe she's been talking to Vanessa. Does she know his failings as a husband? That he's becoming just as absent in his children's lives as his own father? That decisions that he should see as his best choices, are mistakes that he might undue if given a second chance?

"What about your kids?" Riley questioned, her eyes dark against the dim lights.

"You know, I sat down and added up all the time that I've been gone. It's been over a year; months and months of time that I'm never going to get back. I go to sea for six months and when I get home, I can barely recognize the kids that I left behind. And the worst part is, that it feels like a relief. It's a relief to be away from my family and the responsibilities that I never signed up for. At least, I knew what I was doing when I enlisted," the words spill out and he's unable to control them. He's never been good at keeping secrets and that's one thing that time hasn't changed.

"You don't mean that," Riley's voice was filled with confidence, "I've seen you with those kids."

"You see the best in everyone," he reminded her, his eyes flickering away from her and settling on the napkin holder.

"Maybe, but I know you, Isaiah Babineaux. You're one of the most sensitive, kind, loving people that I've ever met. And I don't see that person tearing his family apart because life just got too hard," Riley informed him, her entire body leaning towards him with her words.

"You going to drive me home?" he questioned, sliding off of the stool and holding out his arm to her.

"It's a beautiful night for a walk," Riley took his arm, guiding him in the direction of the exit.

"Did I ever tell you about the first time Lucas and I got really drunk?" The words are a bait and switch; the same defense he's been using since his youth and something in her eyes tells him that she knows exactly what he's doing.

"That sounds like a good Lucas story," she offers, her hand squeezing his arm, as they find themselves out in the warm, summer night.

There are crickets chirping in the background and the streetlights have just come on, though there's still a hint of daylight illuminating the sidewalk in front of them.

"You're an angel, Riley Friar," he informed her, smiling as her laughter drifted through the air.

He's only ever seen Prince James Nikolaus Crista of Froacia ruining his reputation across the pages of magazines and on television and none of those things have prepared him for what it is actually like to suddenly find himself in the man's presence.

In theory, Zay's the owner of one of the most read magazines in the United States and parts of Europe, which means that he has an idea of what attributes women have found most compelling beyond James's title. His hair is dark, though it looks almost red when the lighting hits him just right and his eyes are several shades darker then the cornflower blue that James had always been known for. Though, the greatest difference may just be the hulking frame that towers over him and dominates the room.

"Riley calls you Zay," James informed him, turning the splintering chair opposite of him around and straddling it.

"Isaiah's kind of a mouthful," Zay pointed out, "Especially when you add in my last name."

"Yes, I suppose it is," James agreed; his eyes drifting to the papers that Zay had been writing on, "She's not very happy with you."

"Not very many people are," Zay agreed; his defenses rising against the seemingly innocent conversation starter.

"On the contrary, I owe you a debt. If you hadn't published the pictures of Riley and I, I may never have gotten the commitment from her that I had been seeking," he leaned back in his seat, folding his hands on the table that sits between them.

His rage simmers just under the surface, as he makes his way off the elevator and passes several groups of people going over the layout for the mornings publication.

He can still fill the faint buzz of the alcohol he'd been downing at the speakeasy, but his mind can only process the emotion that had propelled him back to the office he'd left only a handful of hours ago.

Kendall's door is propped open; something she only does during the hours after the office has cleared out, when she's kicked her heels into a corner and settled in to get what she calls, "The real work," done. Any other night he would be hovering, and she would be accusing him of trying to micromanage everything, but she'd kicked him out early that night, insisting that he trust her to get the magazine completed because he was falling asleep at his desk.

Isadora Smackle had ruined any chance of that.

"What are you," she trails off, as she gets a glimpse at whatever expression has settled on his face.

"I want these on the front page," Zay dropped a torn envelope and a stack of high gloss photos onto her desk and she blinked several times, as she struggled to catch up with the momentum.

"Where did you get these?" Kendall questioned; spreading the photos out in front of her and pausing on one that showed Riley standing on a balcony in only a buttoned-up dress-shirt that hit her mid-thigh. A man had his arms wrapped around her waist and his head buried in her neck and she was laughing in a way he hadn't seen her laugh in years.

Like she hadn't just burned her life to the ground and left him choking on the ashes.

"Does it matter?" Zay questioned, his attention landing on another one that showed a clear view of exactly who she was with.

"I've been in this business longer than you. I know that you've been buying up every photograph of Riley since she left Friar and burying every new story about her before it can get off the ground. You went easy on her with the car crash scandal and you completely dropped the narrative on Lucas's coverup. You've been protecting them and, now, you're going to tear their lives apart with a cheating scandal."

"I didn't tear their lives apart, they did that to themselves," Zay disagreed, his hands bunching into fists at his sides, "And she doesn't get to do what she did and walk away without judgement."

The words hung heavy in the air and he watched the defeat settle on Kendall's face.

"We don't have an article to go with these," Kendall sighed, sinking back into her chair.

"I'll write it myself."

"The best kind of commitments are formed under duress," Zay baited him; wanting to wipe the smirk off his face.

"Don't misunderstand me, she would have gone public with how serious our relationship was, eventually. You only forced our hands," James corrected him, "Unfortunately, you only had half the story, but that's nothing new for your personal brand of journalism."

"You must be curious about who gave me those pictures?" Zay attempted to gain the upper hand.

"I'm more curious about why you would do that to her. I've always had my suspicions, of course, of what possesses a man to ruin his relationship with his best friend in order to help his best friend's wife escape. You must have had expectations of what would happen when the story died down. And, then, someone shows you exactly where she ran to."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Zay fumed; his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands.

"You expect me to believe that you've come here to offer information about a threat against my family, when you have always been the greatest threat. Your fixation with my fiancé has not gone unnoticed, Mr. Babineaux. You thought your temper tantrums would draw her out or, maybe, you thought that you would hurt her as much as she hurt you. But, in the end, you've only insured your own obliteration from her life. Coming here, now, insures us of only one kind of safety and that is your silence; your inability to continue to harass my family and the woman that I love."

"If you love her, you'll listen to what I have to say."

"By coming here you put yourself at my country's mercy. There's no one in this room willing to buy your exaggerated lies," James stood from his seat, brushing off his pants, "Nevertheless, you'll have plenty of time to reflect. Legally, we can detain you for ninety days before rejecting your asylum and sending you back to where you belong."

"Before Riley left Lucas she was in a car accident," Zay forced the words out, relieved when James paused to look at him, "It was a massive car crash and it should have killed her. Lucas was out of town and he couldn't get a hold of his Chief of Staff, so he called me and asked if I'd go to the hospital and be with her. That night Riley told Maya that someone was trying to kill her."

"Riley is an alcoholic," James dismissed his claim.

"And, yet, have you ever seen her even struggle with saying no to a drink? Or seen her tempted to relapse after a bad day?" Zay pressed; leaning forward in his seat.

"What are you trying to suggest?"

"I have proof that someone was drugging her for months leading up to the accident and I believe that they still want her dead."

Thanks for reading and big thanks to everyone that has continued to support my writing, despite how long it's been taking me to update. My life has been crazy, since I started my new job and every time I think things are going to start to slow down, they really don't.

I'm in the process of rereading Laws of Motion and Laws of Timing before I attempt to update that universe, but I'd like to get these stories completed before the end of the year. We'll see how well I do. My fall schedule for work and school is pretty intense and barely takes into account time to sleep.

I would love it if you left me a review!