As Dust Dances

by Samantha Young

  “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.

  “No, that sounds fine. I would like to shower first though.” We approached his Range Rover.

  “Okay, we’ll stop at the apartment. Maybe we should grab some lunch?” He pulled open the passenger door for me and held my elbow as I tentatively placed my weight on my wrist by gripping the inside door handle. I stopped, wincing at the stiffness, and then I bore down on the seat with my good hand and slid into the car. Killian smirked at my furrowed brow. “Give it time.
”

  “Say that to me again and I’m going to find violent ways to work out the stiffness in my wrist.”

  The bastard hesitated and I saw the flicker of the devil in his eyes. He’d had a dirty thought and was stifling a retort. It didn’t take a genius to guess what kind of dirty retort he’d wanted to make. “Ugh.”

  He chuckled as he shut the door and hurried around to the driver’s side.

  We stopped at a sandwich place and grabbed food to take back to the apartment. Killian ate while I showered. The doctor had been in to see me before the nurse removed the cast and had prescribed painkillers for when my wrist inevitably began to feel uncomfortable. But he’d also told me that I needed to work out the stiffness, using my wrist as much as possible for light tasks. He’d told me the guitar was out of the question for a couple of weeks, which was not the news I wanted to hear. I was determined to get my wrist strong again, fast.

  I washed my hair, wincing in discomfort as I forced my wrist to help out with the task.

  By the time I blow-dried my hair, styled it, did my makeup, and got dressed, my damn wrist had swelled and was throbbing.

  Killian eyed me from a stool at the island as I strode out my bedroom with a face like thunder. “Problem?”

  I waved my wrist at him in agitation. “Look at it. A couple of menial tasks and it’s gone from an underfed Dr. Banner to the Incredible Hulk.”

  His lips curled at the corners and he pushed my sandwich along the countertop toward me. “Eat. Then you can take a couple of painkillers.”

  I did as he suggested and while I ate, he talked about what I was to expect at the label.

  “It’s merely an introduction. I want you to meet the staff who are going to be working on the album with us, let you go into the booth, get a feel for it. We’re not doing anything official today. I’d like to wait until we can get you in the booth with your guitar. I want this album to be authentic.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, ignoring the angry butterflies waking up in my belly.

  It had felt like I’d been living in this apartment for longer than five weeks. It felt like Killian and I had been writing the album together for longer than five weeks. It had been a suspended moment in time for me, living in a bubble where I was safe, healing, and bonding with Autumn and Killian in a way I hadn’t let myself connect with people in so long.

  Now reality wanted to burst that bubble.

  When we pulled up to the building that housed Skyscraper Records, I felt stuck. Physically stuck in Killian’s car. He walked around the hood to the passenger side to open the door for me.

  I had no choice but to get out.

  “Is your wrist still sore?” Killian frowned as he held the glass door to the building open for me.

  I nodded, taking in the large reception area. Marble floors, contemporary furniture, all white leather and steel. It was cold. I shivered.

  “Skylar?”

  “Let’s do this, O’Dea.” I was so locked up in my own thoughts, my voice sounded far away even to my ears.

  “O’Dea?” I thought I heard him mumble but I was too busy making eye contact with the big guy with the scar across his cheek who stood by the bank of elevators. He wore a smart black suit that strained across his epic biceps.

  “Sir.” He nodded at Killian, stepping aside to let us pass.

  The blood rushed in my ears as soon as we stepped into the open elevator.

  “Skylar?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m only going to ask this once more. Are you okay?”

  I glanced up at him without really looking at him. “I’m fine.”

  “If you’re worried about my staff recognizing you, they already know about you. They signed a confidentiality agreement. No one from my office will leak your whereabouts to the press.”

  That was something, at least.

  The elevator doors opened before I could respond and then I jolted a little at the feel of his hand on my lower back as he led me out into a huge open-plan office filled with people. This room wasn’t cold. There were music posters and artwork decorating every available space on the walls. The reception desk was directly across from the elevator.

  “Mr. O’Dea,” the young man behind the reception desk greeted us without a smile. I reckoned it was because Killian wasn’t a smiley guy and the receptionist knew it.

  “Justin, this is Skylar. Skylar, Justin is our receptionist.”

  “Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand across the desk and I shook it, still feeling dazed. “May I offer you a drink? Water? Tea, coffee? We have hot chocolate.”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Is Oliver in the recording studio?” Killian asked. “I want to start the tour there.”

  “Let me check.” Justin picked up the phone and pressed a button. After a second he said, “Ollie, Mr. O’Dea is here with Miss Finch and would like to know if you’re happy for them to come see you first? . . . Great, I’ll let him know.” He hung up and nodded. “Booth Two is free.”

  “Good. Tell Eve she’s needed.”

  “Mr. O’Dea, I’m here!” A young woman of Asian descent scooted around the reception desk from our right. She grinned as she skidded to a stop in front of us. Her dark hair was piled high into a messy bun and she wore thick-framed, green cat-eye glasses that sparkled with a few strategically placed crystals. Her Killers T-shirt hung off one shoulder and was short at the hem on the opposite side, showing a glimmer of her pale waist. She’d matched the casual tee with skinny jeans with turn-ups and a pair of battered green Converse.

  She looked about sixteen but had to be older.

  “I heard you’d arrived,” she said a little breathlessly, like she’d run from one end of the floor to the other. I suspected she might have.

  Killian gestured to her. “Skylar, this is Eve, my assistant. She’ll be happy to help you with anything you need.”

  “Hi.” I stuck out my hand and her eyes lit up as she shook it, holding it in both of hers. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too.” She refused to let go of my hand. “I promised myself I wouldn’t fangirl but your music was the soundtrack of my life for a while there.”

  A complicated flush of delight and agitation traveled through me. It was the greatest compliment in the world but also a horrible reminder that I was no longer just Skylar: Busker Girl. I was definitely, one hundred percent, Skylar Finch again.

  I gave her what I hoped was a warm smile. “That means a lot. Thanks.”

  “Eve,” Killian warned, and the smile fell off her face as she dropped my hand.

  “I didn’t mean to be forward. I’m sorry.”

  I shot Killian a quelling look and fell into step beside Eve as her boss led us down a hallway on the left side of reception, taking us past a bunch of closed doors. “You’re fine,” I promised her.

  She gave me a grateful smile.

  The silence among the three of us felt awkward, and I needed to distract myself so I wouldn’t faint from my overwhelming emotions. “How old are you, Eve?”

  “Twenty-one. I graduated from Glasgow Uni this summer and was lucky enough to get this job.”

  “What’s the goal?” I hoped I didn’t sound interrogative. I just needed her to keep talking, keep distracting me.

  “Goal?”

  “Producing, A&R, publicist . . . ?”

  “Oh. A&R. I love music.” Her hands fluttered in front of her body in nervous excitement. “It would be, like, absolute heaven to spend my days finding raw talent and then watching it grow into something mature and successful. I mean, like, imagine being the person who found Tellurian. Music is what matters, you know. It’s the soundtrack to every important moment in life. Your music helped me through so much my last year at high school and then uni. My parents’ divorce. The guy I lost my virginity to breaking up with me and then sleeping with a girl in my dorm the very next day. My turtle dying. All of it.”

  I smiled at the pained look Killian threw me. So his assistant w
as a “wear your heart on your sleeve” type of girl. She couldn’t have been more his opposite.

  I loved it.

  “I’m sorry you went through all that,” I told her. “But it means a lot that my music helped.”

  “Oh, it did. You were the soul of that band. Macy has a good voice but it doesn’t have that thing that makes you feel what she’s singing, plus the songwriting isn’t nearly as good. It’s no wonder their sales aren’t great.”

  The mention of my band and their new lead singer made the breath catch in my throat and Killian whipped around, halting us. He glared at Eve. “You want to keep your job, keep your mouth shut. Get Skylar and me a coffee and meet us at Booth Two.”

  Two bright splotches of pink appeared on her cheeks and her dark eyes widened as they glimmered with embarrassed tears. She turned and darted back down the hallway as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her feet.

  I turned to Killian.

  “She knows better than to get familiar with the artists,” he said defensively.

  “I asked her the questions.” I shook my head, grateful for this reminder. “You can be such a dick, O’Dea.”

  He walked away, hiding his expression as he said over his shoulder, “Try to watch your language while you’re here. Oliver’s waiting.”

  Oliver turned out to be the recording studio manager. He was a big guy in his late forties who sported a very impressive beard. He wouldn’t have looked out of place on Sons of Anarchy.

  After we exchanged greetings, he shot a questioning look between Killian and me, seeming to sense the current chill between us. Killian ignored him and let me into the sound booth so I could get a feel for it. Memories flooded in as I stood inside, staring out at Killian and Oliver on the other side of the glass.

  Recording with the band felt like a lifetime ago. As I looked around, I could see them on the other side of the glass, watching me work on the vocals. Brandon couldn’t sing but Austin and Micah could, so sometimes they were in the booth with me doing backing vocals. Their deep laughter filled my ears. I could almost feel Brandon hugging me and telling me, “good job, Sky.”

  I didn’t know what I felt for Micah anymore, but I was absolute in my feelings for Austin and Brandon. I missed them. I missed them so much it hurt.