“Nope.”
It felt like a problem once we were stuck in the elevator though. Awkwardness that hadn’t been there between us before made me shift from one foot to the other in discomfort.
“I guess you’re mad at me for some reason?”
I threw him a befuddled look. “I am?”
He threw back that bland stare of his, like nothing I did affected him. “Last time we spoke, I’d graduated to Killian. Now I’m back to O’Dea. And now the silent treatment.”
Hating his perceptiveness, I made a face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. And I’m not giving you the silent treatment. I’m nervous because I’m about to face the boy who tried to rape me and the one who stole my goddamned guitar.”
O’Dea flinched at the word “rape” and then his expression turned hard. “You’ll get your guitar back.”
“He sold it,” I said bitterly. Officer Calton had told me the boy they’d picked up was called Douglas Inch and they hadn’t found the guitar in his possession. The obvious conclusion was that the little shit had sold it.
“We’ll get it back.”
I didn’t share his out-of-character optimism, so I said nothing.
He opened his car door for me and I got in, murmuring thanks as he gently closed it. When he got in on the driver’s side, however, he slammed his.
“Problem?”
He cut me an impatient look and I felt a little gleeful that it had taken me less than a minute to wipe out his blank countenance. “You tell me.”
“O’Dea, I’m not mad at you. Why would I be mad at you?”
“Because I’ve been busy with work lately.”
“Well, how sane of me to be mad at you for working hard.”
His lips twitched at my sarcasm. “So . . . you’re not mad?”
“Like I said . . . I’m . . . I’m just a little nervous.”
“They can’t touch you. They won’t even know you’re there when you ID them.”
I nodded, but that didn’t make me feel any better.
The ride to the station was quiet, but this time O’Dea didn’t hold it against me. Officer Calton came out to greet us when we arrived.
“I didn’t want to say this on the phone, but we actually only have Douglas Inch here at the station. Jonathan Welsh is currently in the hospital. You’ll have to ID him from a photograph.”
I frowned in confusion. “What is he doing in the hospital?”
“Both boys had been attacked when we picked them up. Mr. Inch’s injuries were minor but Welsh’s were considerable. He’s got a broken femur, collarbone, and a few broken ribs.”
“What happened?”
Calton shrugged, like we were talking about afternoon tea and not serious assault. “This isn’t their first offense. They’ve been in and out of juvie for years. And word is that they got on the wrong side of the McCrurys.”
“The who?”
“Well-known Glasgow gang,” O’Dea answered for her.
“Oh.” The vengeful part of me was glad. Karma was a bitch after all.
“This way,” Calton said, and we followed her into a barren office. She rounded a desk and opened a folder, pushing it toward me.
I turned it around and found myself staring at a photograph of Johnny.
“Johnny, let’s go.”
“No before I teach this bitch a lesson.”
I flinched, hearing my breath shudder as I remembered clawing the ground to get away from him.
“Miss Finch?”
Suddenly O’Dea was beside me, his arm pressed against mine. I looked up at him and this time, he wasn’t hiding his emotions. Concern and anger seethed in his dark eyes. “Skylar?”
I nodded. “It’s him.”
“To clarify, Miss Finch,” Calton said, drawing my gaze reluctantly back to hers. “You’re identifying Jonathan Welsh as the man who attempted to rape you.”
“Yes.” Then I let myself think about something I hadn’t allowed myself to before because it scared me too much. “Does this mean it will go to trial?”
That the world would find out?
“If he pleads guilty, it won’t go to trial. But his defense might talk him into a trial. There is evidence but not so much that a defense lawyer might not chance his arm in court. You know you can ask your lawyer about all this.”
“Yes,” Killian stated. “I mean, we already did.”
We had? Obviously, Killian had thought to ask his lawyer, but I hadn’t. I’d been too busy recovering and adjusting to my new life to really think about it. All I’d wanted was justice. I hadn’t wanted to dwell on how I’d get it.
My mind whirred. What a mess. I felt numb as she took us to a room with a two-way mirror and they brought in Douglas Inch.
I didn’t know what I expected to feel when I saw him. He had bad bruising on his left cheek and eye and a split lip, but otherwise he was intact. I felt a bizarre mixture of gratitude and fury toward him. “That’s him.” I looked at Calton as she nodded. “I don’t think he’s a bad kid, you know. Just a moron.”
“Agreed.” She nodded. “We’ll see if we can get him to fess up, find that guitar of yours.”
“That would be appreciated.” I felt a little shaky and light-headed, like my blood sugar had dropped. “We done?”
“We’ll be in touch.”
As soon as we got outside the police station, I leaned against the wall for support, sucking in air like there had been none inside.
I felt O’Dea’s hand on my back. “Skylar?” He sounded worried.
I waved away his worry with my good hand.
His hand pressed deeper. “There won’t be a trial,” he murmured in my ear. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Confused, I looked at him, my breath stuttering at finding his face so close to mine. “What do you mean?” I whispered.
Determination hardened his gaze. “It won’t go to trial. I know people who can be very convincing when they want to be.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to.” He surprised me further by grabbing my hand and leading me back to his car. “You just need to know that I won’t let this situation become a public media circus for you.”
“You know what’s freaking me out?” I said as he opened the door for me.
“What?”
I met his gaze. “I believe you.”
* * *
A FEW DAYS LATER, AFTER being shadowed by Autumn almost twenty-four/seven since that day at the police station, I took a walk along the River Clyde on my own. It was mid-October now, the air was brisk, crisp and fresh, and filled my lungs in a way that made me feel a little light-headed. But in a good way.
All wrapped up, I didn’t mind the cold. It got as cold as this back in Billings at this time of year.
I meandered down the street along the riverbank, ignoring the itch in my cast. The irritation was getting increasingly worse, which meant it was healing. It didn’t hurt anymore, not unless I accidentally put too much pressure on it. The cast was due to come off in two days and I couldn’t wait.
My curiosity compelled me to take a fifteen-minute walk down Stobcross Road to the building that housed Skyscraper Records. The name had its obvious imagery but the building was nowhere near as tall as a skyscraper, only moderately tall and made entirely of glass. It looked like it housed more than Skyscraper Records. There were a few company names etched on the side of the large entrance door.
I hadn’t ventured down this way before, afraid of bumping into O’Dea, so I hadn’t realized how close the label was to the Hydro. The sight of it in the distance felt like a spear through my memories. I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering but not from the cold, as I remembered the last time my band played at Glasgow’s busiest event venue . . .
Glasgow, 2014
SSE Hydro
There is nothing quite like the feeling of thousands of fans singing your lyrics back to you. Sometimes it felt so big, I thought my chest might explode.
I wished it was only this for us.