As Dust Dances (Play On 2)

Tears fell slowly down my cheeks and I let them. I had months of tears locked inside me. I would no longer be afraid of releasing them.

Bracing my head down and into the wind, I walked slowly back toward my apartment. I knew it wasn’t really my apartment but rather a haven. A place where I think I was finally ready to heal.

* * *

AS SOON AS I LET myself into the apartment, I knew someone was there.

I froze at the threshold. “O’Dea?” I called.

“In here,” his deep voice rumbled from the front of the apartment.

Relaxing, I closed the door behind me and wandered down the hall to find him. His coat and scarf lay draped over the couch and he was standing in the kitchen drinking coffee.

“What are you doing here?” My eyes landed on the guitar case lying on the island and my heart sped up. “Is that . . . ?”

O’Dea studied me as he put his coffee mug down. “The police returned it. They wanted to release it to you but I convinced Calton you didn’t need to make another trip to the station.”

A well of emotion churned deep in my gut as I walked over to the case. My hand trembled as I took my time unlatching one side, then the other. And then my breath faltered as I opened it and found my Taylor lying inside, right where I’d left it. Grasping the neck, I lifted it out carefully. O’Dea saw me struggling to turn it one-handed for inspection and stepped in to help me. I took in every inch of it as he held it up for me.

There wasn’t a scratch on it.

I focused on the personalization etched on the back along the curve of the body.

“Music is the outburst of the soul” and your soul is beautiful, my darling. Love you always, Mom.

And it hit me with the force of a car knocking me off my feet. She had known. When my words failed me, my music spoke, and it told her everything she needed to know.

She’d known I was unhappy and all she’d wanted was for me to say it out loud so she could help me. I knew it.

I could feel my throat closing with the need to keep the mass of emotion inside of me from exploding out in front of O’Dea. I didn’t want to have a meltdown in front of him.

“I need a minute,” I managed to whisper and hurried into the bedroom.

My body shuddered as I tried to lock the feelings down. I’d made the decision to let all the tears out whenever they wanted but not here, not in front of him.

“Music is the outburst of the soul” and your soul is beautiful, my darling. Love you always, Mom.

No, no, no, no! I squeezed my arms around myself but I couldn’t stop it. The sob got past my throat but I clamped my mouth shut, holding it in.

My heart was pounding so hard, the blood whooshing in my ears deafened me. That’s why I didn’t hear the door open and nearly jumped out of my skin at the touch of O’Dea’s hand on my shoulder. I whirled around, taking in his unsure, uncomfortable expression.

“I’m okay,” I said, sounding not okay at all. “I’m okay, I’m okay.” My voice grew shakier and shakier with each claim and I felt it coming again. God, get out, leave me! I wanted to scream. “Please, I’m o—” but I wasn’t okay.

She would have forgiven me. I knew it.

My mom would have forgiven me, so why couldn’t I forgive myself?

The sobs racked my body. I couldn’t hold them off any longer.

“Fuck, Skylar,” I heard O’Dea whisper.

I held up my hand to ward him off, but he gently knocked it out of the way and then my cheek was pressed to his hard, warm chest. His strong arms bound tight around me.

It was permission to let go.

So I did.

I cried, wrapped up in his strength, wondering if the tears would ever stop now that I’d really let them loose.

IT WAS BECOMING FAMILIAR TO wake up in bed momentarily confused about how I’d gotten there. It was still light out, daylight streaming in through the open curtains.

The last thing I remembered was sobbing in Killian’s arms.

Ah, shit.

He was Killian again.

Why did he have to be such a complicated asshole? Just pick a personality, I grumbled to myself as I got up and wandered into the bathroom.

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.