“You told me yourself that Killian has gone after anyone who has hurt you in the past.”
“Yes, usually by going after their career or giving them a stern, threatening, wordy warning by using his father’s connection to the criminal bloody underworld. But no one has ever physically hurt me before until now, and I knew he’d react physically in return. And that’s not okay. And I can’t believe you encouraged it! That’s not justice, Skylar. It’s revenge!”
I scowled at her in disbelief. “And all the other stuff he’s done to protect you isn’t an eye for an eye? Of course it is, Autumn. Just because he didn’t use his fists doesn’t mean it wasn’t revenge. There are no gray areas with revenge. And you know what, I don’t see him putting the fear of God into a guy who hit you and was set on harassing you as revenge. It was a threat, and it’s one that will save you from living in fear from some nutjob. So, yeah, I’m okay with that.”
She deflated a little but I winced at the look in her eye. At the pity. “Shelley at the label told me about the ‘police’ sketch. And I know that boy who attacked you ended up in hospital. I can only imagine that Killian’s dad had something to do with it. He hates his father but he wields the man like a bloody battle-ax whenever it suits him. How can you be okay with that?”
I flushed, knowing deep down that she was right to question me, but angry that she would. “Because that ‘boy’ followed me until he had me all alone, broke my wrist, and held me to the ground with every intention of raping me. I fought back but if that boy who was with him hadn’t stepped in, he would have raped me. I wouldn’t have been able to stop him on my own. The way Darren made you feel frightened and powerless . . . imagine that and then magnify it by a million.”
Tears gleamed in her eyes before she dropped her gaze.
“I left the States when they told me they’d run out of leads in my mother’s murder. The guys who did it weren’t a couple of idiots off the streets. They were organized, masked gunmen, after a painting I wish I’d never bought, and they left no trace of themselves. Like ghosts. The only lead we had was that painting, and it’s never shown up in the public art world. So I have to live with the fact that I’ll likely never get justice for my mom and Bryan. And that kind of anger does something to a person. What Jonathan Welsh did to me only compounded it. I don’t want that to ever happen to you.”
Her eyes flew up to mine and her tears slipped free.
“You befriended me, no questions asked. I wasn’t some project of your brother’s you needed to help with. You wanted to help me. And you have, Autumn. I spent eighteen months disappearing because it was easier to be invisible than to face all the shit that had happened. But you helped bring me back. And it’s hard and it’s every day, but I am healing.” I let out a shaky breath. “You’re important to me. I would do anything to help Killian make sure that life never changes you the way it has changed me and the way it has changed him. Anything. Even if that makes me a bad guy.”
She nodded, wiping the tears from her cheeks as she walked toward me. “You’re not a bad guy, Skylar. Neither is my brother. You’re both just . . .” Her lips trembled and more tears spilled down her face. “You’re both lost. And me too. But it’s a different kind of lost. I’ll find my way, I know I will. But I’m scared for you and Killian. I’m scared that what you both need is each other, and you’re going to mess up so badly, you’ll be worse off than ever.”
I listened to her heels clack on the floorboards as she walked away. I heard the front door close behind her.
Only then did I let my own tears fall.
* * *
HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN a car with someone and the silence between you is so excruciatingly awkward, an image of opening the door and throwing yourself out of the moving vehicle plays over and over in your head?
If so, you’ll know exactly how I was feeling as Killian drove us through Glasgow to a place unknown. He’d called and asked me to have lunch with him. He said, “We need to talk.”
That could’ve meant anything, so I was feeling a little nervous as I got into his car. We shared a hello and then I saw the bruising on his knuckles as he drove away.
“That must’ve been a helluva punch,” I observed.
“Believe me, I wanted to do worse.” His bruised hand clenched around the steering wheel.
“Autumn actually didn’t tell me what the extent of the damage was.”
“Swollen eye, broken nose. Nothing he won’t recover from.”
“Your sister said someone called the cops. How did you get Darren to drop charges against you?”
He shrugged. “I’m persuasive. And anyway . . . he’s a coward who thought he’d found someone he could manipulate in my sister. When she proved him wrong by breaking up with him, he tried to scare her into doing what he wanted. As soon as he realized he’d messed with the wrong sister, he practically pissed his trousers.” He shook his head. “Autumn knows how to fucking pick them.”
Feeling indignant on my friend’s behalf, I snapped, “It’s not her fault guys have been assholes to her.”
Killian threw me an impatient look. “I didn’t say it was. She’s openhearted and too trusting for her own good. Unfortunately, she’s had the bad luck of meeting only men who want to take advantage of that.”
“Well, hopefully, next time will be different.”
“It needs to be,” he replied. “I’m afraid meeting another arsehole might change her.”
“You won’t let that happen.”
This time his lips parted in surprise when he looked at me. Killian O’Dea was many things, including imperfect, but I believed in his love for his sister. That belief seemed to unsettle him and it was the last thing said between us until ten minutes later (it felt like ten hours!) when my curiosity prompted me to ask where we were going.
“Jaconelli’s. It’s a favorite of Autumn’s. She thought you might like it. It’s kind of a fifties American diner throwback.”
“Okay.”
And there was that damn silence again. When were we going to “talk”?
Killian cleared his throat. “It was in the film Trainspotting.”
“Huh?”
“Jaconelli’s. It was in Trainspotting.” He gave me a brief, questioning look before returning his attention to the road. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen Trainspotting?”
“Nope, I have not.”
“Please tell me you’ve at least heard of it?”
I chuckled at his disbelief. “I’ve heard of it. Ewan McGregor, right?”
“Oh, well, if it’s got Ewan McGregor in it, of course you’ve heard of it.”
I sniffed haughtily at his sarcasm. “I know it’s based on an Irvine Welsh novel.”
His lips twitched. “That’s something at least. Maybe I’ll forgive you for having not seen the film.”
“I thought it was set in Edinburgh?”
“It is. Little known fact: most of the scenes were shot in Glasgow.”
I smiled. I liked him like this. Chatting about nonsense. This was how he was when we were songwriting. My smile disappeared as I remembered his unkindness at the label. It was like he became a completely different person as soon as we walked into that place.
Just like that, silence fell between us again.