“You’re here but you’re not really here.” Mom suddenly burst into my bedroom suite.
After a disastrous gig in Glasgow, I asked Gayle to find me somewhere secluded to get away from Micah. She’d sent me to a summerhouse on the inner Oslo fjords in Norway. Finally, when I couldn’t escape my mom’s persistent questioning, I came home. To the house I’d bought my mom. A huge six-bedroom home on the outskirts of Billings with spectacular views. It was so big, I had my own suite. I’d naively assumed I could hide in it for the last two weeks before we went back to the recording studio to put together the new album.
Apparently, Mom had had enough.
“You ever heard of knocking?”
“Don’t.” She shook her head, anger flushing her pretty face. “Don’t do that. I am worried sick about you and you keep acting like nothing is going on.”
Distressed that I was causing her worry when that was the opposite of what I wanted, I got off the bed and walked over to her. I pasted a weary smile on my face. “Mom, I swear I’m just tired. I’m just . . . recharging the batteries before I head back to work.”
Mom studied me intently. And then decided, “You’re lying.”
“Mom,” I huffed.
“I know you’re lying. You’re avoiding me. You don’t return my calls. You’re never here . . . I’m shocked that you turned up. And I thought that meant you wanted to stop shutting me out and talk. But you’ve holed up in here the entire time.”
“Mom, I’m not shutting you out.”
“Is it drugs?”
My eyes widened. “No. Do you not know me at all?”
She shrugged. “The paper mentioned something about drugs.”
Anger roared through me. “My mom. My own mother? Are you shitting me? You’re listening to that made-up crap?”
“Well, my own daughter won’t talk to me so what else am I supposed to think?” she yelled.
“Not believe the tabloids like a moron.”
“Don’t you talk to me like that, young lady. You’re not a rock star in this house! Show some fucking respect!”
I blinked in horror. My mom had never screamed at me like that. Ever.
She shuddered, tears gleaming in her eyes as she realized it too. “I feel like I’m losing you,” she whispered.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to tell her it wasn’t her. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and sob and scream and tell her I was lonely. That I was lonely and miserable. That all her sacrifices were for nothing. That I’d pushed the boy I loved away for absolutely nothing. That I’d failed. That I couldn’t handle the fame.
That I wanted her to forgive me for railroading her life only to fail her and everyone close to me who mattered.
But I didn’t.
I choked down my loneliness.
I reminded myself that Micah, Brandon, and Austin were relying on me. That my mom was comfortable financially for the first time ever and that she was relying on me to keep her that way.
I was just having a bad few months. I’d get over it.
“You’re not losing me, Mom. I’m just tired.”
My bedroom door almost cracked off its hinges, she slammed it so hard on her way out.
I locked myself in my bathroom, turned on the shower to muffle the sound, and I cried.
When I eventually pulled myself together, I looked out the window to see her car pulling out of the drive. Hating that I was relieved, I wandered downstairs for something to eat.
In that moment, I hadn’t thought I could feel much worse about myself. But as I sat at the island on a stool eating a sandwich, my mother’s husband appeared. I automatically tensed, assuming I was about to receive a lecture.
He slid onto the stool right next to mine. He wore too much cologne. I dropped the sandwich, suddenly not so hungry.
“Your mom is upset.”
“I’m just tired.” I was getting bored of my own lie.
“I know.” He said and pointed to my sandwich. “You going to finish that?”
I shoved the plate toward him. He took a bite, eyeing me. I frowned at his perusal.
He swallowed and said, “I’ve been trying to tell your mom that you’re tired. She doesn’t get what the touring must be like for you.”
I was no longer shocked by Bryan’s turnaround. He liked the nice house and the nice cars. Bryan liked telling people his stepdaughter was Skylar Finch.
I didn’t get it. I didn’t get why this was the guy my mom finally chose. My mom was amazing. She was beautiful and smart and funny. Now that I was a little older, I had eyes enough to see that Bryan was a good-looking guy but that wasn’t enough. He knew he was good-looking and not in the charming, cocky way Micah knew he was gorgeous.
I couldn’t put my finger on it. There was something so false about him and I didn’t know why my mom couldn’t see it.
“Thanks, I guess,” I muttered.
“I won’t tell her that it’s because you hate the life,” he slipped in, giving me a knowing smirk.
My heart pounded. “What?”
“She has wondered about it out loud. If the reason you’re avoiding her is because you got what you wanted only to discover that you don’t want it after all. But don’t worry. I said that was ridiculous. You wouldn’t obsess about making the band a success, take all your mom’s money and time, nearly destroy her relationship with me in the process, and finally give her all the nice things she deserves only to turn around and say you don’t want it anymore. You wouldn’t fail her like that.” He brushed the crumbs off his fingers and smiled at me.
Hateful. Fucking. Bastard.
“There’s one thing I know about you, Skylar. You love your mom more than anything. You’ll stay in the band, make it work, as long as she’s happy.”
I eyed the butter knife. How much money would it take to get me off felony charges? No, Skylar, stabbing your stepfather would be bad.
“Sacrifice is never easy. I’m worried about you. I’m worried you’re lonely.”
His concerned tone brought my gaze back to his.
“I care about you, Sky. I don’t want you to be lonely in this. You can talk to me.” He leaned forward and his eyes dipped to my mouth.
What the fuck?
No?
No . . .
His hand rested on my thigh.
Blood pounded in my ears as I looked down at the sight of my stepfather’s hand on my leg. His fingers splayed on the inside of my thigh and he began to caress me.
Nausea made me sway, like I had motion sickness.
“You have no idea how beautiful you’ve gotten. You’re so special, Sky.” He slid his hand further up my thigh. “Hold on to that. And hold on to knowing I’m here if you need me. Let me be here for you.”
The son of . . . that mother-fucking . . .
I ripped his hand off me, pushing off the stool so fast, I almost fell. I backed up away from him and saw the flash of contained anger in his eyes.
“What . . . You . . .”
“No, Sky, whatever you’re making up in your head, stop.” His face hardened. “I was just comforting you. Like a dad. Don’t upset your mother more than you already have.”
I glared at O’Dea, having regurgitated the memory as if I didn’t have a choice but to get it out of me. “I never told her.”
Anger and sympathy mixed in his gaze. “Did he try anything again?”
I shook my head. “I never went back. I was so messed up, I kept second-guessing what had happened . . . But in the end, I knew. We both knew what he’d been trying to start that day. He was a sleazebag and I let her stay with him. I didn’t tell her what he was really like.”