Just A Little Bit ✔️

22. Riley

Riley Jameson, In Real Life

Six months later...

I wake up to the soft fall of rain outside the large window of my hotel room. It's a peculiar thing, since it doesn't normally rain in Los Angeles. It reminds me of being in London, which gives me comfort when I'm thousands of miles from home.

My stylist will be here in a couple of hours to get me ready for the red carpet. Tonight, Faraway Blues will visit the American Music Awards. We were nominated for Best International Artist, which is a huge honor. We only recently released our second studio album, but it got us enough traction to wind up here.

I'm sure Kinley knows it's for her. If I could have dedicated it to a single person, it would have been Kinley.

We titled it Rise seeing as we've only been going up in popularity. Ever since my incident, things have been on an upward trend. Aside from losing the love of my life, I can't complain. It doesn't mean I miss her any less.

Holly has been cancelled. In social media terms, that means she's been kicked out of our circle. The fanbase has turned against her since she came clean about what happened the night of the infamous kiss. She came onto me, and as the press often does, they cut out the parts where I rejected her. I'm not sure if Kinley cares about the true circumstances, seeing as I shouldn't have been out with Holly in the first place, but I'm comforted knowing that, maybe, she'll finally see that I love her.

Because I do. I love her.

I've stayed off the socials, hoping to concentrate on the music in my downtime. She's shut me out entirely. I made a real arse of myself, so I'm not surprised, but it still stings to see her so far away, lost and divided from me.

Her album released a couple of weeks before ours, and we've been competing on the charts ever since. She was nominated for multiple categories, which is unsurprising, because of how bloody good her EP and new record were. She followed up Sincerely, K with The Postscript which was tragically beautiful, lyrically complex, and so fantastic I listened to it for endless nights while I got wasted in my bed.

I'm not proud of that part, but sometimes a man has to drink to cope. That's precisely what I did in the time between heartache and recovery. She definitely struck a chord somewhere in me. I remembered those melodies from mornings in the shower, or when she'd hum on the balcony and clink her glass of champagne to mine.

God, Kinley.

She never answers my messages. Stephie says she'll come to me when she's ready, which doesn't seem like it'll happen anytime soon. I still text her at least once a week, reminding her that I haven't given up on her yet.

Before I'm even up for the day, a knock sounds at the door, loud and insistent.

"What?" I groan.

"Get out of bed, you lazy little shit," Stephie calls from the other side. "Stop being depressed and get some breakfast."

"I'm not feeling like it."

"Well, that's because you're hungover," Freddie adds, announcing his presence. "I'm sure you'll thank me for the pancakes later."

"Open up!" Stephie says, pounding on the wood again.

I stumble out of bed and let them in, trying to hide my annoyance. My head is throbbing, the remnants of alcohol slipping through my bloodstream. I'm dizzy and a little disoriented, which is often where I find myself. If we're being honest.

"You look like shit," says Freddie, sitting down on my couch.

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

Stephie sighs. "You better find your way out of this funk of yours soon, because Kinley is going to be at the AMAs, and the press will want photos of their favorite ex-couple. You wrote some of the most popular songs of the year with her."

"And she's avoiding me like the plague," I remind her. "I don't think I have to worry about talking to her."

"I beg to differ," Freddie jumps in. "Play nice. Don't be a child, mate."

I shake my head, taking a slow sip of the latte they brought for me. "This was an intervention, then?"

"More like your best mates intervening. Your stylist hasn't signed an NDA, so if she thinks something is up, she could create more drama with one call to a journalist. We have to get you in the shower, and maybe sober." Stephie explains. "But first, food."

We eat pancakes together with the TV on, listening to the early coverage of the awards to come. It's weird, being in our pajamas when we'll be completely glammed up later. I suppose we're all more than just one thing. I don't understand how my stylists work so well. I'm a mess most of the time.

"I picked a suit for tonight," Stephie announces. "I couldn't let you guys run away with my brand."

"Well, shit," Freddie remarks.

"She'll be showing us up," I joke.

"Perry is going with this gorgeous red dress," she continues. "I couldn't rock it if I tried. She's so hot."

Freddie cringes. "Please don't call my sister hot."

"She doesn't bat for my team, so no worries there. I promise the flirting is all platonic," Stephie assures him.

Everything about this moment feels surreal. We're in a five-star hotel, far away from where we were at the beginning. In the golden days, we were just the kids from Manchester who wanted to make it big, and now we're here.

I'm missing something. I know I am.

True to punctuality, my stylist knocks at exactly ten o'clock, ready to get me prepared for the party. Stephie and Freddie were already whisked away for the same process, so I'm alone as I don my classic black suit with gold trim and cufflinks to match. My tie, a white, shimmering color, is an interesting accent piece, but I don't question it.

I let her pluck my eyebrows, fix my hair, and try to get me looking like the heartthrob every tabloid wants me to be. By the time I have to leave, I feel like a different man, even if all I've done is change my clothes and give myself a good shave.

The five of us meet in the lobby, knowing plenty of cameras are waiting anxiously outside for their glamor shots. All of us are dressed to the nines, but underneath it all, they're still my friends, and they have my back.

On my left, Perry threads her arm through mine, beaming up at me reassuringly.

"This is how rumors start," I say, trying to tease her.

She shrugs. "Let them talk."

Stephie joins her in the gesture, sliding her arm through my free one.

"Look at you, you get all the girls," Stephie says with a laugh.

And, just like that, we leave.