As Dust Dances (Play On 2)

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?”