My face was splotchy and my eyes swollen from crying so hard. Using my good hand, I splashed water on my face, not caring about my makeup since it had already bled off with the tears.
Feeling exhausted from my emotional release, I wandered back out into the living area, stumbling to a stop at the sight of Killian sitting on the couch, typing something on his phone.
I’d expected to be alone.
“You’re up,” he said, his eyes assessing if I was going to have another meltdown.
“Yeah.” I looked away, embarrassed. The clock on the oven told me I’d only been out for an hour or so. “Coffee?” I asked, shuffling into the kitchen.
“Aye, sure.” He got up and slid onto the stool across from me as I set up the coffee machine. Keeping my back to him was rude after his kindness, so I turned around and met his gaze.
“You’re still here?”
He shrugged. “Wanted to make sure you were okay.”
I frowned. “You’re not going to try to put me in therapy, are you?”
“Depends. Do you think you need it?”
I sighed. Heavily. “Killian . . .”
He tensed at his name and something I didn’t quite understand flickered in his gaze before he banished it.
“I . . . I’m dealing with things my own way. I’m getting there. I actually think my music got there before I did.”
Killian nodded like he understood. “‘Music is an outburst of the soul.’ Frederick Delius.”
“Mom knew it was one of my favorite quotes.”
“And very true.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
I gave him a weary smile. “I’ve decided I’m going to try to forgive myself for not telling her about how I felt about the band and about what happened with Bryan. I know that she would’ve forgiven me. That’s who she was. That’s why I adored her.”
“And her . . . her death?” he asked.
The quiet rage that lived in me simmered. “I don’t think there’s ever a way to get over that. If it had been an illness or an accident, I might have been able to one day. But they shot her in the head because she had the audacity to wake up while they were robbing her. My mom was murdered. She and her husband were murdered.” My voice cracked on the word. “And the people who did it have not been brought to justice and I don’t know if they ever will be. I think I just have to . . .” I sucked in a shuddering breath. “I have to learn to live with that anger. Find a way to manage it. I can’t let them ruin my life like they ruined hers.”
Killian eyes gleamed with empathy. “I think you’re right.” The coffee machine beeped. When I handed him a mug and raised mine to take a sip, he asked, “And the band?”
I knew what he was asking. Was I ready to face them? Face the world? “Today was a big day. I feel like I’ve been walking around with this giant knot in my stomach and today it got a little smaller. Let’s just go with that for now.”
He was silent while he processed and then finally said, “Take all the time you need.”
We were quiet as we sipped our coffees. My Taylor was now propped against the wall at the couch, the guitar case closed beside it. I stared at it lovingly. “Killian.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
When I got no response, I pried my gaze off my guitar. My breath caught at the softness that warmed his dark eyes. God, I could drown in his eyes when he looked at me like that. They made my already tired limbs feel like jelly.
“You’re going to be okay, Skylar,” he pronounced. And he said it like he really meant it.
And for the first time in two years, I believed I might be.
THE BUZZING OF THE CAST saw was unpleasant to say the least. I kept trying not to flinch, worried the doctor was going to cut my damn wrist off, even though I knew that wouldn’t happen. Finally, the doctor was done and she left to see to another patient while the nurse took a pair of scissors to cut through the padding. He told me I could slip my arm out.
Killian stood off to my side. I shot him a look, nervous about the state of my wrist and how long it was going to take until I could get my guitar back in my hands. He looked emotionless and stoic as he gave me a nod of encouragement, but I was starting to realize that was his mask for the rest of the world. Like being homeless had been mine.
I sucked in a breath, nodded back, and then turned to look at my wrist as I gingerly slipped out my hand. I wrinkled my nose at the sight. It smelled. Yuck. And it looked tiny and damaged.
When I tried to bend it, it stiffly refused. “What the . . . ?” I glared up at the nurse like it was his fault.
He gave me a patient smile. “The doctor told ye it would take time for the stiffness to ease.”
I frowned.
Killian seemed to read my impatient mind. “Give it time.”
“And the way it looks?” I didn’t want to draw attention to the smell by asking about that.
“Yer wrist has been inactive for weeks. It’ll get back to normal over time. Don’t scrub at it to clean it.” The nurse addressed the smell for me so I guessed that was normal. “All the skin we shed that we don’t ever see or think about has gotten trapped in yer cast and on yer skin this past month. I know ye’ll want to scrub it clean but the skin is very sensitive at the moment. Take a warm shower and the extra skin will slowly come off.”
I looked up at Killian. “I’ve never felt sexier than I do right now.”
As if he couldn’t help himself, he flashed me a rare grin, and suddenly I couldn’t give a shit about my gross wrist.
When I turned back to the nurse, he was grinning at me too. “I can give it a little clean with a baby wipe now, if ye’d like?”
“Oh, I’d like. While you’re at it, you could put the cast back on so I don’t scare your other patients with my zombie wrist?”
He chuckled and rolled his stool across the room to look through a drawer. He returned with the baby wipes and took my hand to give it a gentle clean. My fingers tingled to life and I felt a keen urge to make the wrist move. I wanted to play my Taylor. These past two days I’d been eyeing it like I was starving and it was a giant, juicy chicken wing.
It was such a relief to have it home with me again.
“All done.” The nurse dropped the baby wipes in a nearby bin as he held onto my hand and gave me a reassuring smile. “Ye’ll be zombie-wrist no more before ye know it.”
I extricated my hand from his. “Well, thanks to you and the doc for trying your best not to make cutting into my wrist with a saw any scarier than it had to be.”
“Ye’re welcome.” He reached for me as I moved to push up off the hospital bed. “Careful with that wrist.”
“I’ve got her.” Killian held my arm as he stared at the nurse, his expression unyielding and the nurse’s bemused. The nurse hesitated and then removed his hand from my arm and stepped back.
“Thanks again.” I grabbed my purse with my good hand as Killian led me out of the room.
Staring at my unsightly wrist, I wrinkled my nose. “I need a shower.”
“Now?”
“Yeah. That a problem?”
He seemed perturbed. “I was planning on taking you to the label today.”
Suddenly all the good, girly feelings I was experiencing fled. Reality hit. “Oh. Big day for me, huh.”
Before my appointment at the hospital, Killian’s lawyer called to say the boys had confessed to attacking me and stealing the guitar. Douglas Inch was pleading guilty to theft, and Jonathan Welsh was pleading guilty to assault and attempted sexual assault, which meant there would be no trial. Killian’s lawyer would be in touch to let us know what sentence they got. It was a relief to know there was going to be justice without me having to face a trial, but it was a lot to digest.
Then my cast came off.
And now Killian wanted me at the label.
“If it’s too much . . . ?”
No, no, it wasn’t. It was exactly the splash of cold reality I needed. Killian and I . . . yes, I knew that we had become friends. There was no denying that. But he was also the guy railroading my future.
Suffice it to say my feelings for him were extremely complicated.