Page 12 of Collide

“Well, I came here to party, like we said—you and me!” She laughs. “We’re going to fuck New York up!”

I can’t help the flicker of suspicion curling in my gut. The timing feels too perfect. Too convenient. A part of me wonders if my father is behind this—if he pulled strings to bring Riley here, thinking it would win me over.

New York has always been our dream.

Every other summer, I would be shipped here for weeks, and I promised Riley that one day, I’d bring her too.

I wouldn’t put it past my father to use that promise against me.

“I’ll leave you guys to it,” Philippa laughs, heading out of the room.

“When did you get here?” I ask, my brain still buzzing with excitement.

“I’ve been in town about two weeks.” She shrugs.

Oh.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Figured I’d give you a few days to settle in before shaking shit up.” She winks. “Plus, Philippa wanted to surprise you.”

Maybe itwasto surprise me…But I can’t help that my earlier thoughts linger.

“I brought cream cheese blueberry bagels,” Riley announces, holding up a paper bag like it’s a trophy.

I shake the thoughts away. Riley’s here, and it doesn’t matter if it’s my father’s doing.

I grin, scooting over on the bed as she plops down beside me. “My hero.”

We settle in, catching up on everything we’ve missed. Having Riley here feels like a piece of home dropped into my lap, wrapped in unruly red curls and the kind of laughter that makes your sides hurt.

We met back in school after I moved to Australia—me, the bug-eyed Yank, and her, teased for being a ‘soulless ginger.’ I punched Cody Richards square in the nose for dumping paint in her hair, and that was it. We clicked. She saw the lyrics scrawled in my notebook; I saw the sketches filling hers. She was the artist, I was the musician, and from then on, we were inseparable. She dragged me out of my shell, out of my comfort zone, into trouble and joy in equal measure. The best and worst influence I’ve ever had, and I love her for it.

“So, you did it! New York!” She beams, her eyes bright with excitement. “I’m so damn proud of you.”

I exhale, shaking my head. “Yeah…it was dark there for a bit.”

“I know, babe.” Her voice softens, the teasing dropping away. “It was hard seeing you like that.”

Her words stir something deep inside me, pulling me back to those lost years after my mother died. Riley missed the funeral because she was off the grid at some shaman retreat in the mountains. The moment she found out, she got the first flight home, but by then, I was a ghost of myself. A comatose couch zombie who barely left the house, barely ate, barely washed my hair. I couldn’t even listen to music, let alone create it.

Jack had let me be, at first. He was dealing with his own grief, and maybe he thought I’d figure it out eventually. But I didn’t. Days bled into months, and the light I once carried dimmed into nothing.

Until Riley came crashing in.

She refused to let me disappear. Between her and Jack, they nudged me—inch by inch, moment by moment—back to life. A morning walk here, a song on the radio there. Riley would blast music through the house until, one day, I found myself humming along. Then came the moment I sat at the piano, only for a second, pressing a single key. The sound was foreign, but something in me flickered awake. It took time, but music slowly seeped back in—hesitant at first, then louder, until I could finally breathe again.

A reminder that I was still here, that my mother wanted me to live, not just exist. They pieced me back together when I didn’t have the strength to do it myself.

“It’s okay, Riley,” I murmur, grounding myself in the moment. “You’re here now.”

She squeezes my hand, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Damn right I am. And we’re going to have so much fun!”

I burst out laughing, knowing what her idea of fun means.

Boys.

Booze.