I smiled at the imagery. “I took ballet when I was six for a year. I was useless. I didn’t know you were a ballerina.”
She grimaced. “Yes, but not an exceptional one, I’m afraid. Which was why I never got into the Conservatoire here. It’s in the top five in the world for performing art schools.”
“Did you stop dancing after the audition?”
Sadness flickered in her eyes. “When I didn’t get in to RCS, my uncle refused to pay for any more dance classes. Or anything to do with dance. What was the point if I wasn’t going to be the best?”
I felt my skin flush hot with anger on her behalf. I hadn’t even met their uncle, but my level of dislike for him was growing by the day. And I’d just signed to his goddamned label.
“Your uncle sounds like a man with a very tiny dick.”
Autumn burst into surprised laughter, stopping us near the exit to the department store. Her body shook mine as she laughed until tears pooled in the corner of her eyes. Finally, she wiped at them, her giggles slowing. She beamed at me. “Thanks, Skylar.”
I smiled at her. “For what?”
“For making me laugh when I told you that story. There are a small handful of people in the world who know that story, and not once has it ever ended with me in fits of laughter.”
I squeezed her elbow with my good hand. “What can I say? I have a gift.”
The bitter wind hit us as we strolled back out onto Buchanan Street and I was glad for the winter coat O’Dea had bought me a few weeks ago. Autumn and I huddled into each other as we walked toward Argyle Street, my gaze drawn to the guy busking a few feet from us.
He was pretty good.
A twinge of longing caused an ache in my chest.
“Do you miss it?” Autumn asked as we passed him.
“Busking?”
“Yes.”
I nodded. “It was simple.”
“Killian told me you’re reluctant to get back into the music business. Something about hating the fame part of it all.”
“He did, huh?”
I felt her scrutinizing me. “He thinks it’s fear after all the horrible publicity surrounding your parents’ murders.” Her voice was gentle, as if she was afraid to mention it, but I still flinched.
Murder.
I still couldn’t wrap my head around that.
My mom and Bryan were murdered.
And the bastards who did it were still out there somewhere.
“Your brother believes what he wants to believe,” I said, bitter.
“He thinks if you really weren’t interested in a music career, you would have found another way. That you had other options. Don’t you think there’s a possibility he’s right?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted dully. “When I was in the band, my complicated relationship with Micah put us in the eye of a storm we couldn’t escape. Maybe if things between us had been less messy, if fans hadn’t picked up on it, the fame would have been different. But I don’t know that. All I know is that I had everything I thought I wanted and I was desperately unhappy.” I gave her a sad shrug. “Does that mean I will be again? I don’t know. So, I guess I was less afraid to take that risk than I was to face the guys. They were my family too and I . . . I abandoned them. I wasn’t ready to face them yet, so I agreed to do things O’Dea’s way and hope that it pans out okay.”
“You’re angry at Killian,” she murmured.
“No, I’m not. What was he supposed to do? Let me live in that apartment, feed me, clothe me, all for nothing? I was a stranger. He offered me an alternative to living on the streets and I accepted it. Now I’m here on a work visa instead of being kicked out of the country, I have travel insurance, a place to stay, and time to sort things out. In exchange for something that frankly scares the shit out of me. I’m not mad at him. I resent him a little,” I huffed, “but I’m not mad. I’m just . . .”
“You’re just . . . ?”
I shook my head, not sure how to finish the sentence.
“My brother will help you through this, Skylar, you have to know that.” Autumn gave me big, sincere puppy eyes and I almost laughed. It was so obvious that she wanted me to like O’Dea. It became even more obvious when she continued, “He’s highly competitive. Very ambitious. And I’m not blind to his faults. I know he can be ruthless. And cold. But our uncle, our upbringing, made him that way.
“Nothing was ever good enough and while I didn’t care as long as I had Killian, my brother needed someone too. He was like a parent to me, so I’ve always had that kind of support and love in my life. But Killian lost his when our parents died. He didn’t have someone older to protect and love him. His dad is a criminal who has spent more time in prison than out—he’s currently behind bars—and my uncle . . .
“For the longest time, Killian wanted James to love him, to be there when life got hard. But when he realized that wasn’t going to happen, Killian strove to prove something to him. He’s brought more success to that label in the years he’s worked there than the label has seen in its entire thirty years. Do you think my uncle acknowledges that? Never. And as much as I try to convince Killian otherwise, all that does is drive him to do better, to get that elusive pat on the shoulder.
“It’s never coming.” She looked desolate. “And I don’t want my brother to lose himself trying.”
“Like Sisyphus,” I murmured, feeling bleak for O’Dea. “Rolling that damn boulder up a hill only for it to roll back down, an eternity of futility.”
“Exactly. But in my brother’s case, one of these days, that boulder is going to roll back down and flatten him.”
Feeling as if a weight had been placed on my shoulders, I sighed heavily. “Why are you telling me this, Autumn? I doubt very much that O’Dea would be happy you’ve told me something so personal about him.”
She drew to a stop outside a shoe store, strangers passing in my peripheral like blurs. She seemed to plead with me with her eyes. “You’re right. Killian would be so angry at me, which is why I’m going to ask you not to repeat any of this. But I’m worried about you both. I’m worried what happens when the tabloids come knocking because we know they will, Skylar. I’m worried for you and for my brother. And I don’t want you to hate him.”
“I don’t hate him.”
“Not now, you don’t,” she said, sounding almost prophetic.
Confused, I shook my head. “Why? Why does it matter if I hate him?”
Autumn exhaled slowly, shakily. “Because he’s not acting like himself. He hasn’t been acting like himself for weeks.”
Something fluttered in my chest. I didn’t know if it was panic or something worse. Like excitement. “And you think that has something to do with me?”
With a little smirk of knowing, Autumn turned and began walking again. “The timing is interesting.”
“We haven’t spoken in days,” I argued, but I did it knowing that deep down we hadn’t spoken in days because we had connected that night in the apartment. I suspected that freaked O’Dea out. No wonder. It would be the height of stupidity to explore that connection.
“Busker Girl?” a familiar voice called out before Autumn could reply.
The voice drew my gaze to the entrance of Argyle Arcade. Sitting on her own, shivering in a hoodie and sleeping bag was Mandy.
I moved toward her without even thinking about it, ignoring Autumn’s questioning voice as she followed me.
“Hey,” I said softly, not hiding my accent. “How’s it going?”
She grinned at me with those yellowing teeth. “Right as rain. So ye dropped the fake accent . . .” Her gaze flickered to Autumn and narrowed a little. “Got yerself a rich sponsor?”
“This is my friend.” I knelt, looking around. “No Ham?”
“Nah. I gave him the heave-ho.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was time.” She shivered, huddling into herself. “The man’s gonnae kill himself. I dinnae want to be there when he does.” Her eyes dropped to my cast. “What happened to ye, then?”
“Little prick tried to steal my guitar.”
Her expression turned admonishing. “I always worried about ye, Busker Girl.”
“You were right to. But I’m okay now.”