Just A Little Bit ✔️

2. Riley

Riley Jameson, In Real Life

When Ted slams a magazine down in front of me, I know I'm in trouble. I only just got back from the hospital, but he's ready to grill me about everything it seems. I have a feeling he'll give me a good smack upside the head if I say anything to get on his nerves, but the urge is there as he paces the room.

The headline reads: Is Riley Jameson bringing Faraway Blues down? Bandmates dish on the details (see pg. 43)

"So?" I drawl, pushing a hand through my hair. "It doesn't mean anything."

"This type of propaganda is all over every magazine in Britain, Riley!" Ted spits. "Album sales are down. So are downloads. You've lost a hundred followers on Instagram in just one month."

"It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter?" he echoes in disbelief. "Doesn't matter? The future of the band depends on you. You are the face of Faraway Blues. You don't get to check out because you had a bad day. What were you thinking?"

I know he's talking about the X. Lately everything circles back to that night. I was supposed to be clean, immune to it. Ted got my habit under control after Britain's Got Talent. We were able to keep the whole thing quiet, and I wasn't supposed to break. I was supposed to be his perfect poster child and yet... here we are.

"I wasn't."

It's the truth. When I bought the bad batch, I wasn't planning on destroying the band. I was thinking about the pressure getting my head and I caved. I was bevved and stupid and I nearly killed myself in the process.

Though I suppose my death would've made for good publicity.

"Lay off him, Ted," Freddie jumps in. "He just got out of rehab. We haven't gone under yet."

"Yet," Ted repeats, jabbing a finger into my chest. "Thanks to this idiot, we might be coming close."

I know better than to open my mouth and push back. It was Ted who got me into the best clinic in the country and saved my sorry ass. He's done everything for this band from the beginning and everything for me. Because of that, I let him be angry. He has every right.

It was Ted who got me an audition for the reality show in the first place. He plucked us out of every pocket of the UK and put together a rag-tag group called Faraway Blues. It shouldn't have worked, but it did. The man has magic to him.

I wish I could say the same. Maybe then I wouldn't have utterly demolished my own life.

I emerged from rehab five pounds lighter and much shabbier than I would've liked. It's a wonder I managed to keep a low profile. I can only imagine the headlines if the paparazzi got shots of me in my current state. The persona Ted has worked so hard to cultivate would be reduced to nothing overnight.

To be honest, there's something admirable about honesty until you're a musician. Once you enter the spotlight, everything becomes staged. We act like we're being candid when, in reality, the details of our little scripts were orchestrated.

The only avenue to be truly blunt, to express myself, is the music itself. It's the only thing keeping me here. Without the lyrics and the instrumentals to project myself into, I would've left a long time ago.

Thanks to me being a stupid git, we're behind schedule. It's going to take a long time to recover. I love this band and what we do more than anyone, but I'm dragging us down all the same. If that isn't ironic, I don't know what is.

That's why Ted called this meeting. The five of us are congregated in his office, sprawled out on every chair and sofa, to come up with a game plan. That's how he put it, anyway. What he actually meant was "we're calling an official band meeting to fix Riley's mess."