I thought sunglasses might make me look more conspicuous and instead I’d layered my clothing so my body appeared bulkier. I kept my head down, tucked my hands into my pockets, and tried not to think about how hot I was, despite the low temperatures, with all the clothes on.
Not really sure what I was looking for, I headed toward Buchanan Street. All I knew was that I couldn’t stay in that hotel room one more second grieving for Killian and fighting the need to go to him. To change my mind.
There were no shops open yet and traffic was still light. I wandered aimlessly, pausing whenever I saw a homeless person sleeping in a doorway. Killian and I had been in the middle of setting up the charity I had in mind for the homeless. What would happen with that now? Would he turn it over to someone else to help me with it? My idea was for a soup kitchen/shelter. It would be first come, first serve. There would be plenty of reserves of food and as many beds as we could provide. Too many homeless people’s lives were in danger during the winter. They needed someplace warm to go.
Thinking of Mandy, I wandered toward Argyle Street.
I faltered when I saw Ham huddled under a shop doorway near the closed Arcade.
Deciding not to run from him, I made my way over and he looked up at me as I approached, opening his mouth probably to ask for spare change. He squinted at me and I lowered myself to my haunches.
“Hey, Ham,” I sounded hoarse from all the crying.
I knew my eyes were still swollen too.
He narrowed his gaze, trying to place me, and then recognition hit. “Busker Girl?”
“You can call me Skylar, Ham. How are you?”
“I feel better than ye look.” He flashed me a cheeky grin. “Too hot in all those clothes?”
I chuckled and almost immediately felt tired by the action. “Had a bad few days.”
“Aye, I ken what that’s like.”
“You okay?”
He shrugged. “Same old.” His face fell. “Mandy left.”
Curious to know if she’d taken my advice, I asked, “Do you know where she went?”
“Aye, one of oor pals says she got help. She’s living in shared housing. Got a cleaning job, believe it no.”
Relief moved through me that she’d taken my advice. “That’s good.”
“I dunno aboot that. We were doin’ awrite here.” He grumbled. “We had each other.”
I contemplated him; his cheekbones looked even hollower than before. It was awful but I didn’t want to give him money. I knew he’d only use it for drugs. “Can I buy you something to eat?”
He stared at me, seeming to read my thoughts. He pushed, “Money would be better.”
Sighing heavily, I stood up. “I’m not giving you money, Ham.”
Curling his lip in disdain, he retorted, “Ye’re no any better than us, ye know. Whoever ye are now, once ye’re like us, ye cannae go back.”
No, I couldn’t go back. Everything that had happened to me here would always be a part of me. Including Killian.
Heroin wasn’t my addiction. Killian was.
But unlike Ham, I would beat mine.
“Goodbye, Ham.” I walked away.
“I REALLY THINK IF YOU’RE going to launch this album, you should take some of these interview requests,” Gayle said as we talked on the phone a few hours later.
I’d snuck back into the hotel through the service entrance and was safely ensconced in my suite.
“I’m not doing it.”
“Yeah, Killian said as much.”
I flinched at the mere sound of his name. “Well, he was right.”
“But there’s so much positivity out there about this, Sky. It’s opened up a lot of discussion about so many things, including the importance of mental health. You know how amazing it is when celebrities admit they’re normal people too with the same fears and problems as everyone else. You could do a lot of good here.”
“At the sacrifice of my own mental health?”
She was silent a moment and then huffed, “You’re right. I’m sorry. Anyway, I really didn’t call to annoy you. I called because I wanted to let you know that if you want me to, I’d be happy to manage you again through your solo career.”
Grateful for the offer, I also knew I had to be honest with her. “Gayle, I would like that, but you have to know that once I’m done fulfilling my contract for this album, promoting it, touring, whatever, I’m out.”
“You’re out?”
“Yes. I don’t want to do this. Be a star.”
“Then what do you want to do?”
I’d thought about that a lot and the answer was kind of glaringly obvious. “I want to write and produce music. I want to be behind the scenes.”
“Okay. Well. That’s not my forte. I don’t handle songwriters, generally, but I can make an exception. If you want to be a songwriter, I’ll help you do that.”
For the first time in what felt like days, my lips stretched into a genuine smile and I felt a glimmer of excitement at the prospect of that life waiting for me. “Gayle Leiderman, you just became my new favorite person.”
“Fantastic,” she chirped. “I’ll send over a new contract to the hotel. We’ll keep it yearly for now since we’ll have to change the language when you change careers.”
“Great. I’ll let the hotel know you’re faxing it over. And Gayle . . .”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For understanding.”
“It’s hard for me but I try.”
We hung up and for a moment I didn’t think about my pain. Hope smashed through it in that second. I was only twenty-four, after all. I still had time to get my life back on the path I wanted it to be on.
The hotel phone ringing shattered the nice moment.
“Hello?”
“Miss Finch, I have an Eve Smythe of Skyscraper Records on the line. Can I connect her?”
Those butterflies I’d grown so accustomed to made themselves violently known. “Sure.”
I waited until I heard Eve’s tentative, “Hello?”
“You’ve got me, Eve.”
“Oh, good. Hi, Skylar. I’m calling to let you know that Mr. Byrne would like you to meet with him today at one o’clock here at the label.”
Shit. The last thing I wanted to do was be in the same room with that guy. “Regarding?”
“The current media situation and the launch of your album.”
Knowing that this was going to happen at some point whether I liked it or not, I decided to get it out of the way. But first, “Will Mr. O’Dea be in attendance?”
“Yes, he’ll be here too.”
A burning weight pressed down on my chest at the thought of seeing him so soon. “Okay. One o’clock it is.”
* * *
I DIDN’T REALIZE HOW BAD I looked until Eve winced when she met me at reception that afternoon.
“This whole thing is really taking its toll on you,” she said sympathetically as she led me down the hall. “Can I get you a cup of tea?”
I shook my head. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“You know, you should ask the hotel for some cucumber slices. For your eyes. They’ll reduce the puffiness.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, “So people won’t know you’ve been crying.”
I gave her a pained smile.
“Bloody tabloids. Bottom-feeders.”
I’d agree but they weren’t the reason I looked like I’d been crying nonstop for a week.
Eve drew me to a stop outside James Byrne’s office and knocked.
“Come in!” he barked from inside and I pinched my lips together. Ass.
Killian’s assistant shot me a commiserating look, I guess because I had to deal with the prick, and opened the door. “Miss Finch is here, sir.”
“Send her in and go.”
Ugh.
I stepped into his office and immediately halted at the sight of Killian sitting on one of two chairs in front of a glass-and-chrome desk. His uncle sat behind the desk, a floor-to-ceiling window behind him with a fantastic view along the River Clyde. It would’ve been a mirror image of Killian’s office if the walls weren’t so bare. Whereas Killian’s was covered in his passion for the job, his uncle’s had two probably expensive pieces of artwork on his walls and nothing else.
I looked at Killian. He sat sprawled on the chair, his left ankle resting on his right knee. Although he wore a suit, his tie was loose and askew and he had an overall disheveled demeanor. He hadn’t shaved either.