Strike a Pose (Blame It on Fame #1)

28. Willow

Chapter 28

Willow

A fter dinner with Riley’s parents, the two of us climb into his truck and begin our drive to an unknown location.

“You really won’t tell me where we’re going?” I ask about thirty minutes into the drive for the millionth time.

He glances sideways at me, smiling. “Nope.”

“I really hope you’re not about to murder me.”

“I wouldn’t murder you.” He furrows his eyebrows. “You’re way too high profile. Somebody would come looking for you, for sure.”

He pulls the car over into an unlit turnoff.

“This really seems like a murder spot.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, hopping out. I follow suit, meeting him at the back of the truck, which is full of blankets and pillows.

“This has taken a sharp turn from scary to romantic,” I say as he helps me climb up.

“I thought you might want to see the stars without all that light pollution, city girl,” he says. “But if you don’t want to, that’s fine. We can do something else. ”

“No, sorry, I’ll stop whining. Let’s stay,” I say, settling into the blankets and looking up at the sky. “This is incredible,” I breathe, awestruck by the thousands of stars I can see, not to mention the literal belt of the Milky Way. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the night sky like this in all twenty-two years of my life.

“It’s one of the best spots in the country for stargazing, light pollution-wise,” Riley says, reading my mind. He climbs in next to me, keeping a respectable distance. “My parents have been taking us here since we were kids.”

“I can see why.”

We lie in silence for a while before Riley finally breaks it. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m wondering if anyone else is staring back at us,” I answer.

“Like in a God way or in an alien way?”

I chuckle lightly. “I guess both. But I meant in a God way.”

“What do you think?”

“I like to think someone is looking out for us. I don’t know, though. If there is a God, I can’t help but think he must be a pretty sick fuck.”

“There’s still plenty of good in the world,” Riley presses.

“But sometimes it feels like there’s just as much bad, if not more,” I reply. “What about you? Do you believe in God?”

“Most days.”

I feel inclined to agree. I turn my head away from the stars and toward him, taking in the beauty of his profile. He does the same. His hair is slightly tousled, and maybe it’s the dim lighting, but his face seems extra-chiseled right now, his nose and cheekbones looking like they were carved from marble. His bottom lip is slightly swollen from where I know a bruise lays on his jaw, obscured by the near-dark. Even with a punch to the face, he’s obscenely attractive .

“Can I ask you something?” he asks, tenderly brushing a piece of hair out of my eyes and behind my ear. “You don’t have to answer, but I feel the need to ask.” He lets his hand linger a second longer than necessary before he pulls it back.

“Sure,” I whisper, already missing the contact of his fingers against my skin.

“I heard about your mom earlier today. Are you okay?”

I pause. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

“How could I be?” I sigh after a few seconds of silence. “I don’t know. I haven’t really unpacked it yet.”

“Do you want to?” he asks gently.

“I don’t know—maybe.” I turn back toward the night sky. Riley does the same, tucking his arms behind his head, giving me the time to piece together my thoughts. “I was researching all night when I first learned about it. They say—they say it’s more deadly than breast cancer, colon cancer, and prostate cancer combined. But, they caught it fairly early, the tumor is pretty small, and it’s only in one lung.”

“That’s good,” he offers.

“She hasn’t had any severe symptoms yet. And I’m planning to be there for her surgery tomorrow to remove the tumor and chemo to hopefully wipe out the rest…but even then, the survival rates are low. It said—” I take in a shaky breath of pine-laden fresh air. “It said she has a one in three chance of seeing another five years.”

Riley inhales sharply next to me. He must not have known the prognosis was so bad. “One in three isn’t unheard of. She’ll pull through, Willow,” he assures me with a steady voice. “She will.”

“And if she doesn’t?” I conjure up the nerve to ask.

“Then you’ll cross that road when you come to it. But no use worrying over something that may not even happen, right? You’ll just drive yourself crazy.”

“Yeah.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes before a thought pops into my head, and I start laughing uncontrollably. A nervous Riley turns to face me, concern written all over his face.

“The funny thing is—” I continue laughing, “—she never smoked. She never smoked a single fucking cigarette .”

The laugh quickly turns into a sob, and to my horror, I don’t even have half a mind to be embarrassed. I can’t think of anything except the fact that my beautiful mother, my role model, my likeness, is slowly dying from the inside out.

“Willow,” Riley says, his voice cracking as he sits upright and pulls me tightly against him. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, stroking my hair as I cry into his chest.

“It’s not fair,” I cry.

“It’s not,” he agrees.

He holds me like that until I finally seem to have cried myself dry.

I sniff and sit up, realizing that a section of his hoodie is now soaked through with my tears. “I’m sorry,” I say as I try to rub it away. Riley grabs my hand in his to stop me.

“Don’t apologize,” he says. “I’m always here for you, Willow.”

“I ruined such a beautiful night,” I say.

“You didn’t,” he insists, wiping a rogue tear off of my cheek. Neither of us has let go of the other’s hand.

“This is like the exact same argument we were in last night, but with the roles reversed,” I comment as I study his face.

“I guess we’re predictable,” he replies.

“Thank you for the great trip, Riley, really. It was just what I needed.” I take a centering breath, trying to collect myself .

“Thank you for coming. I just wish you didn’t have to go so soon.”

“I wish I didn’t have to, either. Maybe I’ll come visit you on tour. See if you can actually sing live.” I force a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

Riley chuckles, his face dangerously close to mine. “I’d like that.”

I tip my head a little, angling my lips millimeters away from his.

“Willow,” he cautions. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“No,” I answer. “But I want it anyway.” As if weighing all the outcomes in his head, he doesn’t move. “Please, Riley,” I whisper. “Distract me.”

“Fuck it,” he mumbles, closing the distance between us.

Our lips meet slowly, tentatively. I feel a spark travel from my lips and down my body—that’s never happened to me before from just a kiss. My hand moves to rest on Riley’s shoulder, and his moves to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. The kiss quickly becomes more desperate, as if he feels the same need that I do. Despite the chilly air, my skin feels like it’s on fire. I slip off my jacket one arm at a time, keeping a hand on Riley at all times for fear of what will happen when I let go. He takes advantage of my motion, sliding me fully horizontal beneath him with one fluid motion. I run my hands through his hair, down his back, and back up again as he rests one hand on my waist and uses the other to hold his weight above me. And we make out like a couple of kids, neither of us pushing for more until I eventually come to my senses and reluctantly pull back.

This was a bad idea . Because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to kiss anyone else again after knowing it could be like this. For me, kissing is usually just something you do before sex. I’ve never actually enjoyed it as though it’s the main event. Like I just felt kissing Riley… .

“Riley,” I pant. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

He chuckles lightly, resting his head in the crook of my neck. “I know,” he says.

“I have too much going on right now. I can’t…I can’t commit to anything with you. And I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

“I know,” he repeats, rolling to the side and lying beside me. His eyes are semi-glazed, sated from the kiss. “No pressure.”

“I think we should just stay friends for now. At least until things calm down a little. I mean, with me traveling all the time, you touring, and my mom sick?—”

“It’s okay,” Riley assures me. “I understand, really, I do. You have enough on your plate right now. We’re just friends, Willow Jordan.”

“Just friends,” I agree, my lips tingling in protest.