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mrs-delaney · 3 days ago

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Hide | Chapter 13 | Viral

✨ Catch up on Hide if you’re new here! ✨ 🌟 Check out the masterlist if you want to see more by me! 🌟

pairing: joe burrow x riley carter (oc) word count: 12.7k requested: no

📝 this story is only posted on wattpad and tumblr under miss_delaney. if you see it anywhere else, it’s been stolen. 🚫 do not repost, translate, or share my work without permission. 🌻 requests: closed! 💌 want to be added to the taglist? drop a comment or message me.

📝 author’s note: dropping this chapter a little early because some stories won’t let you sleep until you get them out of your head. viral was tough to write. i kept coming back to that ache of public mess, silence, and what it feels like when everyone has an opinion except the person you need most. ⚠️ just a small heads up: this chapter contains a confrontation between riley and her ex, ethan, involving unwanted physical contact and public escalation. nothing graphic, but if that’s tough for you, take care reading. this chapter is about fallout—the kind that happens out loud and in private. it’s about what it feels like to watch strangers build a narrative out of your worst moment, and the heartbreak of missing someone you can’t quite reach. it’s about phones in pieces and the spiral of “what if.” but it’s also about the people who show up—the ones who bring snacks, coffee, comfort, and quiet company when you need it most. riley’s hurting. joe’s panicking. nobody has the right words, but the love is real. thank you for sticking with me and these messy, stubborn characters. this one’s raw and a little uncomfortable, but sometimes that’s just how life goes. i hope you find something honest in here, and maybe even a little comfort. 🌙

Taglist: @wickedfun9 @starsyoongi @amiets2 @palmettogal508 @throwaway12356123 @lilfreakjez @destinyg237

Riley's text comes through with the video attached: Missing you. Only two more weeks?

Joe clicks play and watches David Byrne performing "This Must Be the Place" in what looks like an old TV studio, standing next to a tall floor lamp. Byrne lets the lamp tip toward him, catches it gently, and sets it upright. Then does it again. And again. A simple dance with an inanimate object, but there's something mesmerizing about his careful attention to it.

Joe watches it again immediately. There's something about the way Byrne never lets the lamp actually fall, the deliberate care he gives to this one fragile thing. By the third time through, watching Byrne perform their song with such tenderness, Joe understands exactly why Riley sent it and calls her back.

"Hey lovey, did you get my text?" Riley says when she picks up.

"Just watched it three times. The way he catches it every time it tips—like he's protecting something fragile and beautiful. That's what this feels like with you."

There's a soft laugh in her voice. "You know what's crazy? Byrne said he wrote it as 'a real honest kind of love song' without all the usual clichés. No grand gestures, just... this quiet certainty."

"Dad's Sunday morning song is hitting different now. Like it means what it was always supposed to mean."

"Pancakes and vinyl and feeling at home?"

"Yeah. Except now I know what home actually feels like."

The silence stretches between them, heavy with everything they're not saying, everything they miss about being in the same room.

"God, I miss you," Riley finally says.

"Two weeks feels like forever right now."

"After this weekend, I'm all yours. Well, as much as I can be with tour prep being insane, but—"

Joe's looking at Riley's chaotic calendar on his phone while they talk. "I see you have something scheduled Saturday the 19th, but..." He squints at the screen. "Your calendar just says 'IMPORTANT DINNER - DON'T FUCK THIS UP' in all caps. So I'm guessing that's mandatory?"

Riley's laughing. "That's my very professional scheduling system, thank you very much. And, yes, unfortunately, it is very mandatory. Why?"

"A friend from college is getting married. I kind of decided last minute to go, and I wanted to see if you could break away."

There's a pause, and when Riley speaks again, her tone has shifted. "You want me to come with you? To a wedding?"

"Yeah. I know it's short notice, but... yeah. I want you there."

Riley's voice gets quieter, clearly torn. "Joe, I... God, I wish I could. We finally got this meeting with Ticketmaster. We've been trying to get in the room with them for months to talk about pricing structures, making sure our fans can actually afford tickets. It's me, the guys, Gwen, Haley, our whole team, everyone's been preparing for weeks."

Joe's understanding is immediate. "Right. No, I get it. That's huge. You can't bail on your whole team."

"I really wish I could, though. I want to meet your friends, I want to be your plus-one at things like this..."

"It's okay, Birdie. Really. This matters."

"The next wedding. Or whatever. I'll make sure I'm free."

"Deal."

"How are you feeling about tomorrow? Last preseason game."

"I'm just ready for the season to start," Joe says. "Preseason feels like... practice with an audience."

"I've been watching all the games," Riley says, her voice softer. "This will be the first season I actually care about football."

Joe feels something shift in his chest. "Yeah?"

"The Dolls are trying to talk me into starting a fantasy football team, except none of us know anything about football, so it would be based purely on vibes. Like, who has the best name or looks good in their uniform."

Joe's laughing now. "That's the worst fantasy strategy I've ever heard."

"Hey, vibes are important. I bet we'd do better than you think."

"You absolutely would not."

"Rude. I'm not asking for your help anymore."

"Good, because I wasn't planning to help."

"Well, now you're definitely not invited to our draft party."

Neither of them says it out loud, but they both feel it—how little time they'll actually have once both their careers kick into high gear, how Joe asking her to come with him, wanting her to meet his friends, feels like the kind of step forward that makes her having to say no sting more than a simple scheduling conflict should.

"How's tour prep going?" Joe asks, and Riley can hear the shift in his voice, more serious now, genuinely asking.

"Exhausting. We're rehearsing like twelve hours a day. Pete's being a perfectionist about the setlist, Andy keeps changing his guitar setup, and Daniel..." Riley pauses. "Actually, Daniel's been the only sane one, which is terrifying."

"When do you leave?"

"Three weeks after the season starts. So we'll have, what, a few scattered visits before I'm gone for two months?"

The weight of that settles between them, how little time they'll actually have before she disappears on tour.

* * *

Joe sends the text as he pulls into the venue parking lot, still humming "This Must Be the Place" under his breath. The song has been stuck in his head since Riley sent that video, and he can't shake the image of David Byrne catching that lamp every time it tips, protecting something beautiful.

Walking into the reception, he's immediately hit with the familiar chaos of former teammates reuniting. Justin Hilliard's wedding has drawn half their old Ohio State defense, and Joe can already hear someone recounting a legendary practice story from their sophomore year.

"Burrow!"

He turns to see one of his former teammates approaching with a drink. "Man, I was wondering if you'd actually show up."

"Last-minute decision," Joe says. "Couldn't miss Justin getting married."

"Where's the girl? Zac said you took them all to her show in LA. We've all been dying to meet her."

Joe takes a sip of his drink, deflecting with the ease of someone who's had this conversation before. "She's working. Big meeting she couldn't get out of."

"She real though?"

"Very real."

Joe's voice carries a certainty that makes his teammate look at him twice. Before he can ask more, someone calls his name from across the room.

"I want to hear more about this later," he says before disappearing into the crowd.

Joe finds himself smiling as he heads toward the bar, thinking about Riley explaining fantasy football based on vibes to a room full of people who've probably never heard of half the players.

* * *

Joe's halfway through his second drink when he hears a familiar voice behind him.

"Hey, stranger."

He turns to find Olivia approaching, looking genuinely happy to see him. She's wearing a soft blue dress that brings out the color of her eyes; she looks beautiful.

"Livi. Hey." Joe smiles, and it's easy. No awkwardness, just two people who used to know each other well. "You look good."

"Thanks. You, too." She signals the bartender for a wine. "I heard you might be here. Justin said you RSVPed last minute."

"Yeah, decided I needed to get out of Cincinnati for a day." He takes a sip of his drink. "How've you been?"

"Good. Really good, actually. I moved to Nashville a few months ago."

"Nashville? That's a change."

"My boyfriend's in music production. The move just made sense." She accepts her wine from the bartender. "Speaking of... I heard through the grapevine you're seeing someone. Riley Carter?"

Joe's not surprised she knows their circle is tight, and news travels fast. "Yeah. I am."

"The rock star. That's... not what I would have predicted for you," Olivia says, but she's smiling. "But you look good. Really good. Not just successful, like you're actually enjoying your life."

"I am happy." The words come out easier than Joe expected. "She's... I love her."

Olivia's face brightens. "That's wonderful, Joe. You deserve that."

Joe realizes what he just said so easily—words he hasn't even said to Riley yet. "With her, everything feels..." He pauses, searching. "Like I can stop calculating. Like, I don't have to manage every piece of my life. She... she makes me want to be present."

Olivia studies his face. "You know what? You deserve to be this happy without worrying about what everyone else thinks. I never saw you talk about anyone the way you just talked about her. Even us."

She's right, he has been worrying about what everyone thinks. His team, the media, and fans who have opinions about his personal life.

"I used to think that was just you being careful," Olivia continues. "But maybe you were just waiting for the right person to stop being careful with."

Joe looks at her, this person who knew him for years, whom he loved just differently. "You know I loved you, right? What we had was real."

"I know." Olivia's smile is gentle and understanding. "But this is different. I can hear it in your voice. See it in your face. You're not holding anything back with her."

Joe nods, feeling better. It's good to hear that from someone who knew him before, who can see the difference. "Thanks for saying that."

"Now tell me about the Nashville guy," Joe says, genuinely interested. "Music production?"

"Nick. We met on Raya, actually." Olivia laughs. "I know, I know, dating apps. But he's really great. Works with a lot of country artists, and he's got this studio in his house that's just incredible. He's been teaching me about music production and all that technical stuff I never knew anything about."

"Funny how we both ended up with musicians, in our own way," Olivia says with a smile.

"I guess we have a type we didn't know about."

"Right? And Nashville is..." She pauses, searching for words. "It feels like home in a way that Cincinnati never did. Even though I loved my time here."

Joe nods, understanding exactly what she means about finding that feeling of home.

Before he can respond, a woman with a camera approaches them. "Excuse me, would you mind if I got a quick photo?"

Joe and Olivia exchange a glance. It's innocent enough, and they are comfortable together in the way that only people who've genuinely moved on can be.

"Sure," Olivia says easily.

They pose naturally, Joe's arm around Olivia's shoulders, both of them genuinely happy. Joe is thinking about Riley and how talking to Olivia has clarified something for him, while Olivia is clearly content with her new life in Nashville. The photographer snaps a few shots.

"Perfect! Thanks so much," the photographer says before moving on to capture other moments.

The rest of the reception passes in a blur of congratulations to Justin, catching up with old teammates, and the easy rhythm of people who've known each other for years. Joe finds himself relaxed in a way he hasn't been in a long time at events like this. Usually, he's calculating how long to stay, who might be watching, and what the optics are of every conversation.

Tonight feels different. When Eli asks about Riley, Joe finds himself describing how she processes the world through music, how she's taught him that not everything needs to be planned. When another teammate jokes about meeting her, Joe realizes he's tired of compartmentalizing, tired of treating his relationship like classified information.

* * *

Joe's barely out of the parking lot when he reaches for his phone to call Riley, then remembers she's probably still at her ticketmaster dinner. He settles for sending a quick text: The Wedding was good, missing you. Call me when you're done?

The drive back to Cincinnati gives him time to think, and Olivia's words keep circling back: You deserve to be this happy without worrying about what everyone else thinks.

She's right. He's spent so much energy managing how things look, being careful about who he's seen with, when, and where. Keeping Riley compartmentalized is not because he's ashamed of her, but because he's been protecting himself. Protecting the image he's built, the careful brand of being uncontroversial.

But sitting in that reception, talking about Riley with people who've known him since before any of this shit mattered, Joe realizes he's tired of protection. He's tired of having something good, something real, and treating it like a secret that needs to be managed.

Riley's not a problem to be solved or a risk to be calculated. She's the person who makes him feel most like himself. And it's time to stop hiding that.

By the time he pulls into his driveway, Joe's made a decision. He wants to go public, not with some grand announcement or orchestrated photo op, just by living their life together without constantly looking over his shoulder.

He wants to bring her to events. Wants to stop cropping her out of his world. Wants to introduce her as his girlfriend without it feeling like he's revealing state secrets.

Joe sits in his car for a moment, engine off, thinking about Riley in that industry meeting, fighting for her fans to have affordable tickets. She's not hiding who she is or what she stands for. Maybe it's time he learned something from that.

He checks his phone one more time, but there is no response from Riley yet. She's probably still in meetings, still fighting for what she believes is right.

Tomorrow he'll call his team and tell them he's done being so careful. Tonight, he'll wait for her call and figure out how to tell the woman he loves that he's ready to love her out loud.

* * *

The private dining room at Republique is understatedly elegant, featuring exposed brick, soft lighting, and a setting where million-dollar deals are often made over wine and small plates. Riley sits across from three Ticketmaster executives, her team flanking her like a well-oiled machine. The leather-bound presentation Gwen had their team prepare sits open between them, charts and data points highlighting everything they've spent weeks perfecting.

"What we're proposing isn't radical," Riley says, leaning forward slightly. "We want to eliminate dynamic pricing entirely for our tour. Set a hard cap on face value tickets and stick to it."

The lead executive, a woman named Janet, nods thoughtfully as she flips through their proposal. "The numbers you're showing here, you're talking about leaving significant revenue on the table."

"We're willing to take that hit," Pete chimes in from Riley's right. "Our fans shouldn't have to choose between rent and seeing us live."

Andy, usually the wildcard, is completely dialed in tonight. "We've run the projections. Even with reduced ticket prices, we expect to sell out every venue. The loyalty that builds is worth more than surge pricing."

Riley watches Janet's face carefully. "Look, we know surge pricing works for you. Supply and demand, market forces, all that. But our fans aren't commodities. They're teenagers saving up from part-time jobs. They're parents who budget for months to take their kids to a show."

Daniel clears his throat. “Honestly, the numbers are clear, price caps make people happier, and there’s way less drama with customer service. Fans stick around. It works.”

Haley slides a tablet across the table, showing their social media analytics. "Rambles fans trust us because we've never treated them like ATMs. This keeps that relationship intact."

"And the bot management?" another executive asks.

"That's where we need your help," Gwen says smoothly. "Better verification systems, improved queuing technology. We're not asking you to work for free, we're asking you to work with us."

Riley can feel the energy in the room shifting. "On resale and scalpers, we want aggressive monitoring. Any ticket being sold for more than face value plus fees gets flagged immediately. We'll promote official resale only."

Janet closes the presentation and looks at her colleagues. "This is... actually more comprehensive than most artists bring us."

"Because most artists don't spend months researching every aspect of fan experience," Riley says with a slight smile. "We do our homework."

"I can see that." Janet's expression is impressed, maybe even a little surprised. "The revenue projections are conservative but realistic. And the fan retention data is compelling."

Riley feels the familiar rush of being in her element, passionate, prepared, fighting for something that matters. This is what she does best: taking care of her people.

"So what do you think?" she asks. "Can we make this work?"

Janet exchanges glances with her team before turning back to Riley. "I think we can definitely work with this framework. There are some details to iron out, but the core concept... It's doable."

Riley tries to keep her expression professional, but she can feel Pete's excitement radiating beside her. They did it. After months of preparation, they actually did it.

"That's incredible," Gwen says, speaking for all of them. "When can we expect a formal response?"

"Give us a week to run this through our systems people," Janet says. "But I'm optimistic."

As they start gathering their materials, Riley feels a deep satisfaction settling in her chest. This is exactly why she does this, not for the money or the fame, but for moments like these, where she can actually make a difference for the people who support her.

"Should we celebrate?" Haley asks, grinning. "This calls for another bottle of wine."

"Absolutely," Riley says, settling back into her chair. "We earned this."

The conversation shifts from business to celebration as they order another round and toast their success. Pete tells stories about their early days playing venues where tickets cost five dollars. Andy makes increasingly ridiculous suggestions for victory celebrations. Daniel, emboldened by wine and success, actually cracks jokes.

Riley feels loose and happy in a way she hasn't in weeks. Tour prep has been stressful, with the constant rehearsals and pressure building toward their first show. But tonight reminds her why it's all worth it, these people, this work, this ability to fight for what matters.

* * *

After the Ticketmaster executives leave with promises to follow up within the week, Riley and her team stay behind to properly celebrate. The adrenaline from the successful meeting has them all buzzing with energy.

"I can't believe they actually went for it," Pete says, shaking his head in amazement. "The whole thing caps, bot management, resale monitoring."

"Did you see Janet's face when we showed her the fan retention data?" Andy grins. "She looked like we'd just presented her with the holy grail of customer satisfaction."

Riley takes a sip of her wine, feeling genuinely proud. "Three months of research and number-crunching. Worth every spreadsheet Gwen made me review."

"Every boring conference call with data analysts," Gwen adds with a laugh.

Daniel, who’s been quietly glowing all evening, finally speaks up. “This is the kind of thing that actually makes a difference for the fans. It’s huge.”

"That's the point," Riley says simply. "We've got a platform, we might as well use it for something good."

They spend another twenty minutes rehashing the meeting, analyzing every response, getting giddy over the implications. Riley feels the warm buzz of wine and success, surrounded by people who've become family over the years of building this together.

"Alright," Gwen finally says, checking her watch. "I should head out. Early morning tomorrow."

"Same," Haley agrees. "This was amazing, though. Really amazing."

As they settle the bill and start gathering their things, Riley feels loose and happy in a way she hasn’t in weeks. She wants to hold onto this feeling when tour prep ramps up again, wants to remember that all the stress is for nights like this, moments that make the hard parts worth it.

They're walking toward the restaurant's exit, still talking and laughing, when Riley spots a familiar figure at the bar. Her stomach drops instantly.

Ethan Mills is slumped over a whiskey, clearly several drinks past his limit. His hair is disheveled, his expensive shirt wrinkled, and even from across the room, Riley can tell he's not just drunk, he's obliterated.

"Shit," she mutters under her breath.

Pete follows her gaze and immediately tenses. "Is that—"

"Yeah." Riley's mind is already calculating. Exit strategies. How to get past him without being seen. "Let's just go. Quickly."

But it's too late. Ethan's head lifts, and his unfocused eyes land directly on her. A slow, unpleasant smile spreads across his face as he slides off his barstool with the unsteady determination of someone very drunk with an agenda.

"Riley fucking Carter," Ethan calls out, loud enough that several other diners turn to look. "Look what the cat dragged in."

Riley's team immediately shifts into protective formation around her, but she puts a hand on Pete's arm. "It's fine. Let me handle this."

Ethan stumbles toward them, and the smell of whiskey hits her before he even opens his mouth again. “Word is Riley’s got herself a quarterback now. That's cute."

Riley's blood runs cold. "How do you—"

"Oh, come on, babe. You didn't get all our friends to yourself in the breakup." Ethan's words are slurred but pointed. "People talk. Even when y'all are trying to keep it quiet."

"Ethan, you need to go home," Riley says calmly, though her heart is racing. "Call someone."

"Don't tell me what to do." His voice grows louder and more aggressive. "You always think you know better than everyone else, don't you? Think you're so fucking perfect now."

Andy steps forward. "Dude, back off."

"Oh, the cavalry," Ethan sneers. "Still need your little boyfriend to fight your battles, Riley?"

"He's not my boyfriend," Riley says firmly. "And I don't need anyone to fight anything. You're drunk. Go home."

But Ethan's not done. "So what, you're too good for musicians now? Gotta upgrade to America's golden boy? Hope he likes surprises, never a dull moment with you, right?"

"That's enough," Pete cuts him off.

Riley can feel the eyes of other restaurant patrons on them now. This is exactly what she was trying to avoid: a scene, drama, the kind of spectacle that follows her around like a shadow from their toxic relationship.

"I'm leaving," she says simply, turning toward the exit.

That's when Ethan's hand shoots out and grabs her wrist, pulling her back toward him.

"Don't walk away from me," he hisses, his grip tight enough to hurt.

Riley jerks her arm free, her face flashing with anger and something that looks like fear. In that split second, with phones already recording and cameras flashing, the optics are all wrong; it seems like she's the aggressor, as if she pushed him, as if she's the one causing problems.

"Don't ever touch me again," she says, her voice shaking with fury.

But the damage is already done. The photos are already taken. And by tomorrow morning, the headlines will paint her as the unstable ex attacking her former boyfriend at an upscale restaurant.

Riley doesn't know this yet. Right now, she's just trying to get her team safely out of a restaurant while her hands shake with adrenaline and her ex-boyfriend calls after her with increasingly nasty comments about her life, her choices, and the quarterback she's supposedly not good enough for.

* * *

Riley's hands are still shaking as she slides into the passenger seat of Pete's car. The others have scattered to their own rides, but Pete insisted on driving her home, and she's grateful for it. She doesn't trust herself behind the wheel right now.

"What the fuck was that?" she breathes, running her fingers through her hair. "How does he know about Joe? We've been so careful."

Pete starts the engine, his jaw tight with anger. "Ethan's always been a piece of shit, but that was next level. Grabbing you like that—"

"The photos," Riley interrupts, the reality hitting her. "Pete, there were people filming. This is going to be everywhere."

"Hey." Pete reaches over and squeezes her shoulder. "We'll figure it out. Call Joe. He can help you process this."

Riley nods, pulling out her phone with trembling fingers. She needs to hear his voice, needs him to tell her it's going to be okay, that they'll figure this out together.

The phone rings once, twice, three times. Straight to voicemail.

"He's not answering," she says, trying again immediately. Same result.

"Try one more time," Pete suggests gently.

Third call. Still nothing.

Riley stares at her phone, feeling something crack open in her chest. She knows he's probably just asleep, probably had a long day at the wedding, but right now it feels like abandonment. Like when she needs him most, he's not there.

"He's probably just—" Pete starts.

"I know," Riley cuts him off, but her voice wavers. "I know he's probably asleep. It's just... fuck, Pete. Everything was going so well tonight. The meeting was perfect, we were celebrating, and then Ethan just..."

"Ruined it. Like he always does."

Riley leans her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes. "He knows about Joe. Which means other people know. Which means we're not as private as we thought."

"That doesn't change anything though, right? You and Joe, you're solid."

"Are we?" The words slip out before Riley can stop them. "I mean, yeah, we are. But this... this is exactly what he's been worried about. Drama, headlines, his image getting dragged into my mess."

Pete pulls into Riley's driveway and turns off the engine. "Riles, this isn't your mess. This is Ethan being a drunk asshole. Joe will understand that."

Riley wants to believe that, but something cold is settling in her stomach. She keeps thinking about Joe's careful nature, his team's concerns, how hard they've worked to keep their relationship private.

"I'm staying tonight," Pete says, not making it a question. "Daniel and Andy are worried sick, and honestly, so am I. You shouldn't be alone right now."

"You don't have to—"

"I'm staying," Pete repeats firmly. "We'll make some tea, watch terrible movies, and tomorrow we'll deal with whatever fallout comes from tonight. But right now, you need someone here."

Riley nods, grateful beyond words for Pete's steady presence. "I love you, you know that?" she says quietly.

"Love you too, Riles."

As they walk toward her front door, she tries Joe's number one more time.

Still nothing.

* * *

Riley curls up on her couch with a mug of chamomile tea that's gone cold in her hands. Pete's in the kitchen, puttering around and giving her space to breathe, but she can feel his worried energy from across the room.

Her phone sits face down on the coffee table, but she can't stop herself from picking it up every few minutes to check if Joe has called back. Each time, nothing.

"Stop torturing yourself," Pete says gently, taking the chair across from her. "It's midnight here, but it's, what, three in Cincinnati? He's definitely drooling on his pillow by now."

"I know." Riley takes a shaky sip of tea. "I just... I needed to hear his voice tonight, you know? After everything with Ethan."

"Want to try again?"

Riley shakes her head. Three missed calls are enough. More than enough. She doesn't want to seem desperate, even though that's exactly how she feels.

"Let's see if anything's posted yet," she says, reaching for her phone.

"Riles, no. That's a terrible idea."

But she's already opening Instagram, searching for any mention of her name or the restaurant. It doesn't take long.

The first video appears on a gossip account with 2.3 million followers. The caption reads: "Riley Carter's restaurant meltdown - is the rock star back to her old ways?"

Riley's heart sinks as she watches grainy phone footage of the moment Ethan grabbed her wrist. Out of context, it appears that she's pushing him, making her seem like the aggressor. The angle completely misses Ethan's grip on her arm, completely misses his drunken state.

"Oh god," she whispers.

Pete moves to sit beside her on the couch. "Let me see."

More posts are appearing by the minute. Twitter is already exploding with speculation. #RileyCarterMeltdown is trending. The comments are brutal:

"Same old Riley, different day"

"Thought she cleaned up her act"

"Poor Ethan, he looked scared"

"Rock stars never change"

"Turn it off," Pete says firmly. "None of these people were there. None of them knows what actually happened."

But Riley keeps scrolling, unable to stop herself. Each new post feels like a punch to the gut. The narrative is already set: troubled rock star attacks ex-boyfriend at upscale restaurant. The fact that Ethan was blackout drunk doesn't matter. The fact that he grabbed her first doesn't matter.

"I should call Gwen," she mumbles.

"It's midnight, Riles. Call her tomorrow."

"This is going to be everywhere by tomorrow. Joe's going to see this and think—"

"Joe's going to see this and understand that your drunk ex ambushed you," Pete interrupts. "Because he knows you."

Riley wants to believe that, but she keeps thinking about all their conversations about being careful, about his image, about how they've worked so hard to keep their relationship private. And now this is exactly the kind of drama he's been worried about.

She opens Twitter again, searching for any mention of Joe. That's when she sees it: a photo from the wedding, posted by someone named Amy with the caption "Great seeing old friends tonight! ❤️ @justinhilliard's wedding was perfect!"

In the photo, Joe has his arm around a beautiful woman with dark blonde hair and light highlights. They both look relaxed, happy, and comfortable. Riley's stomach drops as she recognizes Olivia from Google searches she's done in weaker moments.

"Who's that?" Pete asks, looking over her shoulder.

"His ex," Riley says quietly. "Olivia."

They look so natural together, so easy. While Riley was getting ambushed by her toxic ex, Joe was posing for photos with his. The contrast feels devastating.

"It's just a picture, Riles. Doesn't mean anything."

Riley nods, but her throat feels tight. She knows it doesn't mean anything romantic, but right now, seeing Joe looking that comfortable with someone else while she's falling apart, it feels like everything.

Her phone buzzes with a text from Andy: Saw the videos. Are you okay? Want me to come over?

Then Daniel: This is bullshit. Everyone knows you're not like that anymore.

Then her mom said, 'Baby, I saw the news.' Call me.

Riley turns her phone face down again, feeling overwhelmed. "I can't deal with all of this tonight."

"Then don't," Pete says simply. "We'll watch something mindless until you fall asleep, and tomorrow we'll figure out how to handle it."

But as Pete scrolls through Netflix options, Riley can't shake the image of Joe and Olivia looking so perfectly at ease together. Can't stop thinking about how this night started with such a victory and ended with everything falling apart.

* * *

Joe wakes up at 9:23 AM feeling better than he has in weeks. The wedding, the conversation with Olivia, and his decision about going public with Riley —everything feels clear in the morning light. He's ready to stop hiding, ready to bring Riley into his world properly.

He reaches for his phone to text her good morning and sees seventeen missed calls.

His stomach drops immediately. Seventeen missed calls before 7 AM means a crisis.

The first call back is to Mark, his agent, who answers before the second ring.

"Jesus, Joe, finally. We've been trying to reach you for hours."

"What's wrong?" Joe sits up in bed, fully awake now.

"Have you seen the headlines? About Riley?"

Joe's blood goes cold. "What headlines?"

"Check your texts. I'm sending you links now."

Joe opens the first link Mark sends:

"Riley Carter's Restaurant Meltdown: Rock Star Attacks Ex at Upscale LA Eatery"

The photo shows Riley with her arm extended toward Ethan, her face twisted in anger. Out of context, it appears exactly as the headline suggests: an unprovoked attack.

"This is everywhere, Joe," Mark continues. "TMZ, People, Entertainment Tonight. The video's been viewed three million times since last night."

Joe scrolls through more headlines: "Troubled Rock Star Riley Carter Back to Old Ways," "Riley Carter's Violent Outburst Caught on Camera," "Is Riley Carter Spiraling Again?"

"Shit," Joe breathes.

"It gets worse. People are already asking what you think about this. Twitter's blowing up with questions about whether you're going to comment, whether you're still together. Your mentions are a mess."

Joe's phone buzzes with another call, Bill, his publicist.

"I need to take this," Joe tells Mark.

"Joe, thank God," Bill says the moment Joe answers. "We need to talk about damage control. This Riley situation is about to become your Riley situation."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, social media is already speculating about your connection to her. And with your season starting, we cannot afford to have your name tied to this kind of drama."

Joe stares at the photos on his laptop screen. Riley looks unhinged and aggressive. Nothing like the woman who sent him that David Byrne video yesterday, nothing like the person who fights for her fans' affordable tickets.

"Have you talked to her?" Bill asks.

"No, I—I just woke up."

"Good. Could you not call her back yet? We need to discuss strategy first."

"Strategy?"

"Joe, this is exactly what we've been worried about with this relationship. Her past and reputation were always going to be a liability. And now it's playing out in real time."

Joe feels something cold settling in his chest. Yesterday, he was ready to go public, ready to stop caring what people thought. Today, faced with actual consequences, he's not sure.

"This is exactly what we've been worried about," Bill continues. "Her past is catching up, and now you're getting pulled into it. Every story about this is going to mention you by the third paragraph."

Joe looks at his phone and sees three missed calls from Riley from late last night. She was trying to reach him while this was happening, while her world was falling apart, and he was sleeping off wedding champagne.

"What are you suggesting?" Joe asks, though he's afraid he already knows.

"You need to be extra careful now. No comments, if anyone asks. Definitely no being seen together until this dies down. And Joe? Is this relationship worth this?"

Joe stares at the headlines again. The photos. The comments calling Riley unstable, violent, and a mess. Part of him knows there has to be more to the story. Riley doesn't start fights, doesn't attack people. But the evidence is right there on his screen, and his team's panic is infectious.

"I need to think," he says.

"Don't think too long," Mark chimes in, having joined the call. "Every hour this story grows, it gets harder to stay out of it."

After Joe hangs up, he sits in his bed staring at Riley's missed calls. Yesterday, he was ready to tell her he loved her, ready to stop hiding their relationship. Today, looking at these headlines, all he can think about is protecting himself.

He doesn't call her back. Not yet. First, he needs to figure out how to handle this without destroying everything he's built.

* * *

Joe stares at his phone for another ten minutes before finally calling Riley back. It's nearly 10 AM, and she tried to reach him at midnight. Realizing how long she's been dealing with this alone makes him sick with guilt.

She picks up on the first ring.

"Joe." Her voice is raw and exhausted, as if she's been crying.

"Hey. I'm sorry I missed your calls. I saw the headlines this morning and—"

"You saw the headlines before you called me back." It's not a question.

Joe pauses, realizing how that sounds. "My team called. They were panicking about—"

"About how this looks for you."

"Riley, what happened? The photos... they're saying you attacked Ethan."

Riley takes a shaky breath. "I didn't attack anyone. He was drunk out of his mind, Joe. Like, blackout drunk. He came up to us after our meeting and started saying things about you and about us. When I tried to leave, he grabbed my wrist."

"He grabbed you?"

"Yeah. And when I pulled away, that's when someone took the photo. It looks like I'm pushing him, but I was trying to get his hands off me."

Joe can hear the exhaustion in her voice, the hurt. "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay! I've been watching this story explode all night. People are calling me unstable and violent. They're saying I'm back to my old ways." Her voice cracks. "And the worst part? Ethan knew about us. He said people talk, that we weren't as private as we thought."

Joe feels that familiar clench of anxiety. "What exactly did he say?"

"Does it matter? The point is our relationship isn't as secret as we hoped, and now I'm a PR nightmare for you."

"That's not—"

"Isn't it?" Riley's voice gets sharper. "Joe, I needed you last night. I was falling apart, and I called you three times, and you were... where were you?"

"I was asleep. I didn't know—"

"You were at a wedding. With Olivia."

Joe's stomach drops. "Riley—"

"I saw the photo. You two looked really comfortable."

"It was completely innocent. We just talked, caught up. She's seeing someone, she moved to Nashville—"

"While I was getting ambushed by my drunk ex, you were posing for pictures with yours."

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" Riley's voice rises. "You want to talk about fair? I got attacked last night, had cameras shoved in my face, and when I call you for support, you're too busy to answer."

"Riley, I'm sorry. I should have answered. But right now, with everything that's happening—"

"What? What about right now?"

Joe takes a breath, and he can hear his team's voices in his head. "We need to be more careful."

The silence that follows is deafening.

"More careful," Riley repeats slowly. "More careful than what, Joe? More careful than never going anywhere together? More careful than me having to crop you out of every photo?"

"Just until this blows over—"

"There it is." Riley's voice has gone cold. "Until this blows over. Until I stop being an embarrassment to your image."

"That's not what I meant."

"Yes, it is. I know this is the part where you say you panicked, you didn't know what the fuck to do, it all looked bad. I get it. But not once was it because I was ashamed of you."

"I know that—"

"Do you? Because it sounds like you're more worried about how this affects your precious reputation than about the fact that your girlfriend got grabbed by her drunk ex."

"Riley, you know that's not—"

"What I know is that when push comes to shove, I'm the problem you need to manage. Not the person you want to protect."

Joe feels everything spiraling. "I'm trying to protect us—"

"No, you're trying to protect yourself. There's a difference."

"Riley, can you just—"

"What? Can I just what? Disappear until I'm convenient again? Make myself smaller so you don't have to worry about how it looks?"

"That's not what I'm asking—"

"Yeah, it is."

The line goes quiet except for the sound of Riley's uneven breathing.

"I can't do this," she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Riley, wait—"

But the line's already dead.

Joe stares at his phone, the silence echoing in his ears. The quiet lasts maybe five seconds before panic sets in.

He calls back immediately. It rings four times, then goes to voicemail. He hangs up and tries again.—Same result.

"Riley, please pick up," he says after the third attempt goes to voicemail. "I know I fucked that up... please call me back."

Fourth call. Fifth. Sixth.

By the seventh call, it goes straight to voicemail without ringing. She's turned her phone off.

Joe sits in his kitchen, his phone silent in his hands, and knows that somewhere across the country, Riley is doing exactly what he would do protecting herself from more damage. The difference is, this time, he's the one causing it.

* * *

Joe rubs his face with his hands, replaying the conversation. Riley's voice when she said his name—raw, exhausted, like she'd been holding her breath all night waiting for him to call. And his first response wasn't to ask if she was okay, wasn't to tell her he was sorry she went through that alone. It was to mention the headlines.

You saw the headlines before you called me back.

She was right. He had seen them first. He had let Mark and Bill get into his head, had let their panic become his own. By the time he called her, he wasn't calling as her boyfriend who was worried about her, he was calling as someone who needed to manage a crisis.

The photos flash through his mind again. Riley looks angry and aggressive. Ethan looked startled, almost afraid. Joe knows Riley knows she doesn't start fights, doesn't attack people. In all the time he's known her, she's never violently lost her cool. She gets passionate, sure, but not aggressive.

But if he’s honest, looking at those headlines, he let himself believe it for longer than he should have. Or at least, he acted like he did.

I needed you last night.

That's him. While he was sleeping off wedding champagne, feeling good about his decision to go public, Riley was getting ambushed by her drunk ex. She was dealing with cameras and questions and her past being weaponized against her, and she'd had him. Three times.

And he'd be unreachable.

Joe thinks about the David Byrne video she'd seen just yesterday. The way she said she missed him. The conversation about their song, about home, about love that doesn't have to be justified to anyone else. How had he gone from that to "we need" to be more careful in less than twenty-four hours?

His team. Is this relationship worth it?

Bill's question sits like a stone in his chest. Three hours ago, Joe would have said yes without hesitation. Riley was worth it; he was worth the media attention, worth the complications, worth people having opinions about his personal life. She made him feel like himself in a way he'd never experienced before.

But when faced with actual consequences, actual headlines, and actual crises, he'd falter.

Joe gets up and walks to his living room, surveying his perfectly organized, impersonal space. Everything in its place, everything carefully curated. Before Riley, this house felt like enough: clean lines, no drama, no mess to manage.

Now it just feels empty.

He thinks about Riley’s in New Orleans, how every room feels lived in, every corner full of music and memories. The records stacked by the window, the mismatched mugs, the way it felt like home the moment he walked in.

While I was getting ambushed by my drunk ex, you were posing for pictures with yours.

The photo with Olivia. Joe pulls it up on his phone, him and Olivia smiling, his arm around her shoulders. They do look comfortable. Happy. Like two people who don't care about the world.

Meanwhile, Riley was fighting off her toxic ex and getting photographed at her worst moment.

The contrast is devastating when he really thinks about it. Olivia, who he'd told he loved Riley before ever telling Riley. Olivia, who'd encouraged him to stop worrying about what other people think. And there he was, twelve hours later, telling Riley they needed to be more careful because of what other people might think.

Joe drops onto the couch, the same spot where Riley had curled up against him just weeks ago, talking about her grandfather, her music, her fears about trusting someone new. She'd be vulnerable with him in ways she probably hadn't with anyone since Ethan destroyed her trust.

And this morning, he'd proved that trust was misplaced.

When push comes to shove, I'm the one you need to manage.

That's what she'd said, and Joe had denied it. But sitting here now, he realizes she was exactly right. The moment things got complicated, his instinct wasn't to protect her—it was to protect himself. To distance himself. To treat her like a liability instead of the person who'd made him happier than he'd ever been.

His phone sits silent on the coffee table. Part of him wants to call her back again, to try to apologize once more, to explain that he panicked and said all the wrong things. But he can hear the finality in her voice when she says she can't do this. Can see the pattern they've just fallen into—him pulling back every time external pressure mounts.

The worst part is that his team was probably right about the practical stuff. This will be a headache. There will be more headlines, more questions, more people having opinions about his personal life. Dating Riley Carter was never going to be simple.

But yesterday, sitting in his car after the wedding, he'd been ready for complicated. Ready to figure it out together instead of trying to solve it by keeping her at arm's length.

Now he's here, he gets another chance to choose differently.

Joe looks around his empty house and realizes that for all his talk about being careful, he might have just made the most careless mistake of his life.

The silence stretches on, and for the first time in years, Joe Burrow doesn't know how to fix what he's been. Worse, he's not sure he deserves the chance to try.

He'd told Olivia yesterday that he loved Riley. Said it so easily, so naturally, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And less than twenty-four hours later, when Riley needed him to prove that love meant something, he'd failed completely.

The irony isn't lost on him—he'd spent his whole career learning from mistakes, adjusting, getting better. But with Riley, every time it mattered, he kept fucking up.

* * *

Riley sits on her couch, phone clutched in her shaking hands, trying to process what just happened. The conversation replays in her head on a loop—Joe's careful tone, his measured responses, the way he said "we need to be more careful" like she was a problem to be solved.

Her phone starts ringing again. Joe's name lights up the screen.

She doesn't answer.

It rings again. And again.

"Riley?" Pete calls from the kitchen, where he's been giving her space but clearly listening. "You okay?"

She's not okay. She's the furthest thing from okay. The phone keeps ringing—fourth call, fifth call—and with each buzz, something inside her breaks a little more.

By the sixth call, Riley can't take it anymore. She sees Joe's name appear again and something snaps.

Riley hurls the phone across the room.

It hits the brick wall next to her fireplace with a sickening crack. The screen goes black immediately, pieces of glass scattering across her hardwood floor.

The sudden silence is deafening.

“Riley!” Pete rushes in from the kitchen and takes in the scene—Riley hunched on the couch, her phone shattered against the wall, glass glinting on the floor.

"I broke it," she says through tears, staring at the wreckage. "I broke my phone."

"Okay," Pete says gently, sitting beside her on the couch. "We can get you a new phone."

"He kept calling." Riley's voice is barely above a whisper. "After telling me we need to be more careful, after basically saying I'm too much drama for his perfect life, he kept calling like that would fix it."

Pete carefully steps around the glass to examine the phone. The screen is completely shattered, and the device is bent at an unnatural angle. "Yeah, this is definitely dead."

Riley lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Perfect. Add it to the list, right?”

"Hey." Pete sits back down, his voice serious. "Talk to me. What did he say?"

Riley pulls her knees to her chest, making herself small. "He said we need to be more careful. Like we haven't been careful enough already. Like I haven't been hiding in the shadows of his life for months."

"And?"

"And I told him the truth. That when it matters, I'm just a problem he needs to manage." Riley's voice cracks. "He didn't even deny it, Pete. He just... he didn't deny it."

Pete is quiet for a moment, processing. "Maybe he was just scared. People say stupid things when they're scared."

"No." Riley shakes her head. "This wasn't scared. This was calculated. This was him choosing his image over me."

She thinks about last night—how confident she'd felt after the Ticketmaster meeting, how proud she'd been of fighting for her fans. How quickly it all turned to shit when Ethan showed up with his poison and his cameras.

"I called him three times last night," she continues. "Three times, Pete. And he was off taking cozy photos with his ex-girlfriend."

"You don't know that's what—"

"I saw the photo. They looked..." Riley struggles for the word. "Happy. Comfortable. Like two people who don't have to worry about being 'too careful' with each other."

Pete shakes his head. “It’s just a picture, Riles. Doesn’t mean anything.”

But Riley barely hears him.

“I’m such an idiot,” Riley says, burying her face in her hands. “I really thought he was different. I thought he saw past all the stories, past everything people think I am. I thought he actually saw me.”

"He does see you—"

“No, he doesn’t. Because if he understood me, he’d know I’d never start something like that. He’d know Ethan was the one who grabbed me. He’d know I needed him last night, and he wasn’t there.”

Riley looks at the shattered phone again, at the pieces of glass scattered across her floor. It feels symbolic somehow—the destruction of connection, of hope, of the carefully constructed bridge she'd built between her chaotic world and his ordered one.

"What am I supposed to do now?" she asks quietly.

Pete follows her gaze to the broken phone. "First, we clean this up. Then we get you a new phone. Then..."

"Then what?"

"Then we figure out how to get through this without him."

The words hit Riley like a physical blow. Without him. The thought of going back to her life before Joe—before someone who made her feel seen and valued and worth protecting—feels impossible.

But sitting here, surrounded by the debris of her broken phone and her broken trust, Riley realizes she might not have a choice.

"I can't keep doing this," she whispers. "I can't keep being someone's secret. I can't keep pretending it doesn't hurt when the person I love chooses everyone else's opinion over me."

Pete reaches over and squeezes her hand. "Then don't."

Riley nods, but inside, something fundamental has shifted. The walls she'd slowly let down for Joe are rebuilding themselves, brick by brick. And this time, she's not sure anyone will be able to break through them again.

* * *

Pete looks at Riley crying on the couch, then at the shattered phone, then back at Riley. In all the years he's known her—through the worst of the Ethan days, through panic attacks before big shows, through family drama and industry bullshit—he's never seen her this broken.

"Come on," he says gently, standing up and extending his hand. "Let's get you outside. You love it out there by the pool."

Riley doesn't move. "I don't want to—"

"I know. But you need air, and I need to make some calls." Pete's voice is firm but kind. "Trust me."

She lets him pull her up from the couch, and he guides her through the sliding glass doors to the backyard. The pool sparkles in the late morning sun, lounge chairs lined up under the wide sky, the sound of water trickling from the small fountain she installed last year. Usually, this is her sanctuary. Today, it just feels like another place where she’s alone.

Pete settles her into her favorite chair, the one with the soft cushions that she always curls up in when they're writing songs out here. "Stay put. I'll be right back."

Riley nods, pulling her knees to her chest and staring at the water.

Pete goes back inside and pulls out his own phone. First call: Haley.

“Pete? What’s wrong?” Haley answers immediately, her voice a little panicked.

"Riley needs us. Can you get over here?"

“Is this about the Ethan thing? I saw the videos—I’ve been trying to call her all morning.”

"It's about Joe. He fucked up. Bad. And Riley's..." Pete looks out at her through the glass doors. "She's not okay."

"I'm already getting dressed. Twenty minutes."

Next call: Daniel.

"Everything alright?" Daniel's voice is groggy—he was still asleep.

"Riley needs you here. Now."

The grogginess disappears instantly. "On my way."

Andy answers before Pete even hears it ring. "Dude, I've been watching Twitter all night. How bad is it?"

"Worse than the internet knows. Get here."

"Fuck. Yeah, I'm coming."

Last call: Laura.

"Pete? What's up?"

"Riley needs you. Joe broke her heart, and she broke her phone, and I need all hands on deck."

Laura doesn't hesitate. "I'll stop and get coffee on the way. The good stuff from that place she likes."

Pete pockets his phone and looks out at Riley through the glass doors. She's still curled up in the chair, staring at the water. Before going back outside, he opens his messages and finds Joe's contact.

Dude what the fuck. I've been in your corner this whole time. What are you doing?

The response comes faster than Pete expected.

I fucked up. Is she okay?

No, she's not okay. She threw her phone at the wall and broke it. She's crying her eyes out.

I've been trying to call her back

Well, you can stop now because her phone is in pieces

Pete, I know how this looks, but I panicked. My team was freaking out about the headlines

So you chose your team over her?

The typing bubbles appear and disappear several times before Joe's response comes through.

I don't know. Maybe. I wasn't thinking straight.

Joe, she needed you last night. She called you three times after Ethan ambushed her, and you didn't answer.

I was asleep. I didn't know what happened until this morning

And your first instinct was damage control instead of making sure she was okay

You're right.

She loves you, you know that, right? And you just told her she’s too much trouble for your perfect life.

That's not what I meant

But that's what you said. That's what she heard.

Another long pause before Joe responds.

How do I fix this?

Pete looks out at Riley, still staring at the water, and types back:

I honestly don't know if you can.

He puts his phone away and goes back outside. Whatever Joe's response might be, Pete doesn't want to see it right now. His focus needs to be on Riley.

"They're all coming," he says, settling into the chair next to her.

"You didn't have to—"

"Yes, I did." Pete's voice is matter-of-fact. "This is what we do. When one of us is hurting, we show up."

Riley looks at him, and for the first time since the phone call, her expression softens slightly. "I don't know what I'd do without you guys."

"You'll never have to find out."

They sit in comfortable silence, the quiet broken only by the fountain and the distant sound of wind moving through the canyon. Pete knows Riley well enough to know she’s replaying the conversation with Joe, picking apart every word, every pause, every implication.

"Want to talk about what he said?" Pete asks finally.

Riley shakes her head. "I want to wait until everyone's here. I only want to say it once."

Pete nods. "Fair enough."

"Pete?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For staying. For calling everyone. For..." She gestures vaguely. "For knowing what I need before I do."

"That's what family does."

Riley's eyes fill with tears again, but these feel different. Not the desperate, betrayed tears from earlier, but something softer. Grateful.

"I love you guys so much," she whispers.

"We love you, too. And we're going to get you through this."

Pete means it. He's watched Riley survive worse than Joe Burrow. She's stronger than she knows, even if she can't see it right now.

But as he sits there watching her stare at the water, Pete can't shake the feeling that this particular heartbreak might take longer to heal than the others. Because this time, Riley had actually let herself believe it might be different.

* * *

Haley arrives first, twenty minutes after Pete’s call, with that focused expression she gets when there’s a crisis to manage.

"She still outside?" Haley asks, not bothering with pleasantries.

"Yeah. By the pool."

Haley nods and heads straight out, settling into the chair next to Riley. She pulls out her phone and starts scrolling through something work-related, creating a quiet presence without trying to force conversation.

Daniel shows up next, looking like he rolled out of bed and grabbed the first clothes he could find. His hair is going in three different directions.

"Brought snacks," he says, holding up a bag of gas station junk food. "And these." He sets down a case of White Claws.

Andy steps inside, worry written all over his face. “Okay, what’s going on? Pete sounded serious.”

Laura walks in last, carrying the good coffee from that place Riley likes and a small pharmacy bag. "Figured she might need caffeine and Advil," she says practically. "Where is she?"

They end up by the pool, everyone grabbing chairs or settling on the ground. Andy immediately cracks open a White Claw and offers one to Riley, who shakes her head. Daniel sprawls in a chair and closes his eyes. Laura distributes coffee. Haley stays close beside Riley, scrolling through her phone.

It's Riley who finally breaks the silence.

"Joe told me we needed to be more careful," she says to the water. "After Ethan grabbed me last night, the photos made it look like I attacked him."

The fidgeting stops. Everyone's attention shifts to Riley, but nobody jumps in with questions or outrage.

"More careful how?" Haley asks.

Riley explains the phone call, Joe's team's panic, and his suggestion that they lay low until things blow over. Her friends listen without interrupting, letting her get it all out.

"So I hung up on him," Riley finishes. "And then he kept calling, and I threw my phone at the wall."

Andy speaks first. "Good. The hanging-up part, not the phone-breaking part. That was expensive."

"Andy," Daniel says.

"What? I'm proud of her for hanging up. That was some weak-ass bullshit from him."

Pete looks around the group. “Her phone’s done for—smashed it after he kept calling.”

Laura nods. “So it’s not like she can talk to him, even if she wanted to.”

Riley just shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t know what to say to him anyway.”

"How about 'go fuck yourself'?" Andy suggests helpfully.

"Or nothing," Haley says. "You don't owe him anything right now."

They spend the next few hours just existing in Riley’s space. Andy reorganizes her outdoor speakers and starts playing music. Daniel helps Haley clean up the glass from Riley’s broken phone, moving quietly. Laura forces everyone to eat the sandwiches she ordered, and Haley keeps Riley close.

No one tries to solve anything or offers advice about what Riley should do next. They just stay, filling her house with the familiar chaos of people who know how to be around each other.

After Pete texts Papa to let him know Riley’s phone is out of commission, it only takes a few hours for her mom to call Pete’s phone, worried. Word travels fast in Riley’s family. Pete hands off the call, and Riley finds herself retelling the story to someone who’s already planning a trip to Cincinnati to “have words” with Joe Burrow.

"Mom, no," Riley says. "I can handle this."

"I know you can, baby. But you shouldn't have to."

After she hangs up, Riley looks around at her friends scattered across her backyard and feels something loosen in her chest. Not better, exactly, but steadier.

"Seriously thanks for coming," she says. "All of you."

"Where else would we be?" Daniel asks, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

* * *

Riley sits cross-legged on her bedroom floor at 2:47 AM, acoustic guitar balanced on her lap, surrounded by crumpled pieces of paper. Her friends left hours ago, but Pete's asleep in the guest room down the hall. The house is quiet except for the occasional creak of settling wood, too full of thoughts she can't shut off.

She strums a chord progression she's been picking at for the past hour—something haunting and raw that matches the ache in her chest. The melody feels familiar, like it's been waiting inside her since that phone call with Joe.

Mmm, mmm, mmm

She hums softly, testing the sound. Sometimes songs start with nothing but a feeling, a vibration that needs to find words.

Riley's fingers move across the strings, and fragments start coming:

Everyone says I look happy...

She stops, shakes her head. That's not quite right. She tries again:

The more that you give, the less that I need...

She scribbles lines in her notebook, crossing out, rewriting. The melody pulls her toward something rawer, more honest:

'Cause they say that misery loves company It's not your fault I ruin everything And it's not your fault I can't be what you need

Her voice cracks on the last line. This is the part that hurts most—not that Joe was wrong, but that maybe she really is too much. Too complicated, too messy, too likely to bring chaos into someone's carefully ordered life.

Baby, angels like you can't fly down hell with me

She stops playing, staring at the words she's just written. The line came from nowhere, but it fits. It's about the distance between them—not just physical, but fundamental.

I'm everything they said I would be

Riley plays the line again, feeling the weight of it. Simple words, but they carry everything—all the ways she's been labeled, all the expectations she's lived up to whether she wanted to or not.

She keeps working, the words coming easier now:

I'll put you down slow, love you goodbye Before you let go, just one more time

It's about the inevitable ending she can see coming. The way loving her always seems to hurt the people who try. The way she's learned to protect herself by leaving first.

A little more hurt won't kill you Tonight

The words feel like confession and accusation rolled into one. Like admitting she knows she's poison while daring someone to love her anyway.

Riley writes until her fingertips are sore from the steel strings, until the notebook page is covered in lyrics that tell the truth about being the kind of person who breaks things just by existing in them. The song isn't finished—songs like this never really are—but the core is there. The raw honesty of knowing you're someone's biggest mistake.

By the time she finally sets the guitar aside, dawn is creeping through her windows. Her fingers ache and her voice is hoarse from singing the same phrases over and over.

Riley climbs into bed, leaving the notebook open on her nightstand. The pages are covered in her messy handwriting—crossed-out lines, fragments, half-formed thoughts that might become something real.

She closes her eyes and for the first time in days, the silence doesn't feel heavy. The song isn't finished, might not ever be, but it's hers. Her truth, her pain, her choice about what to do with both.

Sleep comes easier than it has since that phone call, dreamless and deep.

* * *

Saturday, 11:47 PM Can we talk?

Sunday, 7:23 AM Riley

Sunday, 10:15 AM I saw the actual video. I'm sorry.

Sunday, 2:33 PM Please answer

Sunday, 6:45 PM I know I fucked up

Sunday, 9:18 PM Don't want to lose you over this

Monday, 6:30 AM Riley

Monday, 11:42 AM Just want to talk

Monday, 3:55 PM Your team won't answer either

Monday, 7:21 PM This silence is killing me

Monday, 10:33 PM I was wrong about everything

Tuesday, 8:15 AM Practice today. Thinking about you

Tuesday, 12:00 PM Are you still coming Friday after my game?

Tuesday, 4:47 PM Riley please just tell me you're okay

Tuesday, 8:30 PM Long day. You would have made it better

Tuesday, 11:52 PM Can't sleep without knowing we're okay

Wednesday, 7:45 AM Your flight's still booked for Saturday

Wednesday, 2:20 PM I'll pick you up at the airport if you let me

Wednesday, 9:15 PM Last preseason game Friday. Then I'm free

Thursday, 6:30 AM Game tomorrow. Season starts next week

Thursday, 1:10 PM Remember when you said this would be your first season watching?

Thursday, 8:00 PM Still hoping you'll be there Saturday

Each message shows as delivered but never read. Joe stares at his phone after sending the last text, the simple words feeling inadequate but also all he can manage.

He doesn’t know that across the country, Riley’s phone is still in pieces in a drawer, and she’s been borrowing Pete’s phone for the essentials, staying offline the rest of the time.

He doesn’t know that she picked up a new phone yesterday but hasn’t set it up yet—no texts, no calls, nothing beyond what her team and family need.

He doesn’t know her flight to Cincinnati is still booked for Friday, or that she’s been staring at the confirmation email for hours, unable to decide whether to cancel or just not show up.

All Joe knows is the silence, and the growing realization that she might not be coming this weekend after all.

* * *

Joe stares at his phone Thursday night after sending what feels like his hundredth unanswered text. The silence is eating him alive, and tomorrow's preseason game feels meaningless when all he can think about is whether Riley will be on that flight Saturday.

He scrolls through his contacts and calls his dad.

"Joey," Jimmy answers on the second ring. "How you doing, son?"

"Not great."

Jimmy's tone immediately shifts. "What's wrong?"

"Riley and I... we had a fight."

There's a pause. Jimmy knows how Joe feels about Riley—he's been asking about her for months, has seen the change in his son since they started dating.

"What happened?"

Joe gives his dad the short version—the headlines, his team freaking out, telling Riley they needed to be more careful.

"She hasn't talked to me since," Joe says. "It's been five days."

"You try calling her?"

"Phone goes straight to voicemail."

Jimmy is quiet for a moment. "You know what doesn't work when you mess up?"

"What?"

"Sitting around waiting."

Joe feels something shift. "You think I should go to LA?"

"I think if you care about her, you don't let her sit there thinking you chose everyone else over her."

"What if she doesn't want to see me?"

"Then you'll know. But Joey, from everything you've told us about Riley, she's not someone who gives up easy. If she's not talking to you, there's a reason."

Joe thinks about that last conversation, how hurt she sounded. "My game's tomorrow."

"Saturday's when she's supposed to come here?"

"Yeah. If she still is."

"Then you better figure out how to get to LA Saturday morning."

Joe's chest tightens. "What if I get there and it's over?"

"What if you don't go and she thinks you don't care enough to try?"

After Joe hangs up, he sits in his house thinking about Riley's voice when she hung up on him. How she said he was treating her like a problem to manage.

He calls Sarah to book a private flight to LA for Saturday morning.

Joe books it.

Tomorrow's the last preseason game. Saturday he'll find out if he still has her.

Either way, he's done waiting.

* * *

Riley stares at her new phone, Joe's messages lighting up the screen one after another. She got the replacement yesterday after living phone-free for three days, borrowing Pete's when absolutely necessary. Now all of Joe's texts from the past few days are flooding in, a steady stream of apologies and questions that her broken phone never received.

She could respond. Could end this silence that's been stretching between them for five days now.

She doesn't.

"He's asking if you're still coming Saturday," Haley says, reading over Pete's shoulder at Joe's latest message. "To Cincinnati."

Riley looks at her laptop screen, where the flight confirmation email sits open. Departure: Saturday 4:20 PM LAX to CVG. She's been staring at it for twenty minutes, cursor hovering over the "cancel trip" button.

"I don't know," she says honestly.

"What does your gut say?" Andy asks from where he's sprawled across her living room floor, supposedly helping her reorganize her vinyl collection but mostly just making piles based on "vibes."

Riley’s gut twists with how much she misses Joe. She keeps reaching for her phone to text him the stupidest things—a weird billboard, a song that made her laugh, even the fact that she caught herself watching his team’s highlights on SportsCenter just to feel close to him.

Her gut also says that nothing he's texted changes what he said to her on that phone call. That when things got complicated, his first instinct was to protect himself, not her.

"My gut says I'm tired of being someone's secret," she says finally.

Daniel looks up from the corner where he's been quietly tuning his guitar. "But you were okay with keeping it private before."

"Yeah, well, that was before I realized I'm always gonna be the problem." Riley's voice gets sharper. "The messy one, the complicated one, the one who makes everything harder. I'm so fucking tired of men treating me like I'm too much."

"And you think Joe's ashamed of you?" Laura asks gently.

Riley considers this. "I think Joe's more worried about how I look on paper than who I actually am."

Her phone buzzes with a text from—

Gwen: How are you holding up? Ready for rehearsal Monday?

Riley types back: As ready as I can be.

It's not entirely true. She's been trying to channel her heartbreak into her music, but everything she writes comes out either too angry or too sad. She needs the sweet spot—the place where pain becomes art instead of just noise.

"You know what's fucked up?" she says, looking around at her friends scattered throughout her living room. "I was actually excited about football season. I downloaded apps, I was going to understand down and goal and all that shit. I was ready to care about something I've never cared about because I cared about him."

"You still could," Pete offers.

Riley shakes her head. "Not anymore. Every game would just remind me of this."

Her phone buzzes again with another message from

Joe: Still hoping you'll be there Saturday.

The casual hope in that message breaks something in Riley's chest. Like he just assumes she'll show up, that she'll swallow her hurt and pretend everything's fine because it's easier for him.

"I'm not going," she says suddenly.

"To Cincinnati?" Haley asks.

"To Cincinnati. I'm canceling the flight."

She pulls her laptop closer and clicks "cancel trip" before she can change her mind. The confirmation disappears, replaced by a cancellation notice and a small refund to her credit card.

"There," she says, closing the laptop. "Decision made."

Andy sits up from his record sorting. "How do you feel?"

Riley takes inventory of her emotions. Relief, mostly. And something that might be disappointment—not in herself, but in Joe. In the possibility of them that she's officially letting go.

"Free," she says, and means it.

Her phone buzzes with another message from

Joe: Remember when you said this would be your first season watching?

This one hurts because yes, she remembers. She remembers being excited about learning his world, about having something to root for besides her own career. She remembers texting him that silly David Byrne video and feeling like they were building something real together.

"He doesn't know you're getting all of these," Laura observes.

"No," Riley agrees. "And I'm not telling him."

"Why not?"

Riley thinks about it. She could text him, let him know she’s seen his messages and explain why she’s been silent. It would probably fix things, at least for a little while.

However, it wouldn't address the bigger problem: that Joe's first instinct in a crisis is to pull away from her, rather than toward her. That he spent more energy managing the situation than supporting her through it.

"Because his first reaction told me everything I need to know," she says. "About him, about us, about what happens when things get hard."

“For what it’s worth, I think he’s panicking. Like, losing his mind a little…or a lot.”

"Good," Riley says, and she's surprised by how much she means it. "Maybe he'll learn something from it."

"And if he doesn't?"

Riley looks around her living room—at Andy surrounded by vinyl records, at Daniel with a guitar, at Pete and Haley and Laura, who've all rearranged their lives this week to make sure she wasn't alone. At the evidence of a full life that existed before Joe Burrow and will continue to exist after him.

"Then I'll be fine," she says. "I was fine before him. I'll be fine without him."

It's not entirely true yet, but she's working on making it true. And for the first time since that devastating phone call, Riley thinks she might actually get there.

Her phone stays silent for the rest of the night. But for once, the silence doesn't feel like abandonment.

It feels like choice.

* * *

@PopSpotter:

Not Ethan Mills and Riley Carter fighting in public again…She’s always in something messy.

@NFLFanatic89:

Why is Joe Burrow’s name getting dragged into this Riley Carter drama? Man’s never been messy a day in his life.

@AnonMusicTea:

So are Riley and Joe Burrow actually together, or did TikTok just make that up? Either way, if they are, I’d be running after last night.

@RileyCStan:

Okay but you can literally see Ethan grab her wrist in the video and people are calling her unhinged? Do better.

Instagram

@starwatchupdate:

Swipe for video: “Riley Carter Restaurant Meltdown? Fans spotted her arguing with ex Ethan Mills last night. Rumors swirl that NFL star Joe Burrow is ‘freaked out by the drama’—but nothing confirmed.”

Top Comments:

goldengoosefan: If she and Joe were together, he’d be long gone after this lol

ethanisoverparty: How is Ethan always at the center of the mess?

softvinylz: Feels like everyone’s blaming Riley when Ethan’s right there starting it.

r/popculturechat [Megathread: Riley Carter, Ethan Mills, and Joe Burrow Rumors]

u/notanotherstan:

Why is everyone acting like Joe and Riley are a thing? I feel like there’s no actual evidence except one tabloid photo from months ago.

u/football_boy:

Honestly if she was with Joe, you think he’d deal with all this drama? Guy hates being in the spotlight unless it’s football.

u/musicrocks:

Poor Riley. Every time she gets her life together, some ex drags her back down.

TikTok

@popcultdive (duet with viral restaurant clip):

“POV: You’re Joe Burrow, waking up to your name trending because of someone else’s drama. The man’s probably making coffee in total peace and the internet’s like: what would Joe DO?? #notmycircus #rileycarterdrama”

@rileysrideordie:

[compilation of Riley’s best live performances and a caption: “She’s been through worse. Stop blaming women for their ex’s bullshit.”]

News/Blog Headlines

“Blind Item”

Blind Gossip:

“Which low-key NFL star is allegedly regretting his private flirtation with a headline-making musician after her ex caused a scene in public? Sources say he’s ‘focused on football and not here for the drama."

youtube

#joe burrow #jiley #hide fanfic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow fanfiction #joe burrow fluff #nfl fanfic #nfl fan fic #nfl fanfiction #joe burrow smut #nfl smut #joe burrow series #joe burrow x oc #nfl x oc #nfl fluff #joeyb #Joe burrow series #nfl series #Youtube

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