In the wake of his departure, I ventured back out into the kitchen where my dinner was waiting. His sat almost finished.

I shot a dirty look in the direction of the hallway. What a dick. “Martyr,” I muttered. But my anger toward him didn’t stop me from finishing the meal he’d cooked. In fact, I cleared both the plates and for the first time in a long time, I went to bed feeling satisfyingly full.

Pissed off.

But satisfyingly full.

* * *

IT WAS ODD TO NOT wake up with birds chirping around me. I actually missed the early wake-up call. However, the next morning I didn’t need my nature alarm. After all the sleeping I’d done the previous day, I woke up around five thirty.

I showered, nearly slipped and fell trying to get out of the bathtub with only one good hand, and got ready for the day as best as I could. My bruising was turning that ghastly yellow color, which meant it was healing but it also made me look like there was something amiss with my red blood cells and thus probably dying.

Putting the hair dryer down after a vigorous one-handed blow-dry, I considered my hair. I’d always kept it long because Micah asked me to. The rainbow colors were Gayle’s idea. She wanted me to look “adorably alternative.” I didn’t mind. Back then, I would have done anything to make the band work.

All of the dye had grown out. My hair hung down to my bra strap, lifeless. I was naturally blonde, kind of medium tone, but it always seemed a little boring, which was why I didn’t mind throwing all the color at it.

I fingered the ends, contemplating.

And suddenly I knew what I’d ask the hairstylist to do.

To my surprise, I felt a twinge of excitement about it. Like it mattered. It didn’t matter.

“Maybe it does,” I murmured to myself. “Maybe it’s all part of moving on.”

Moving on.

That sounded exhausting.

A little while later I was in the sitting room watching a morning television show, eating buttered toast (it had never tasted so good!) and drinking English breakfast tea when I heard the lock turn in the apartment door.

I tensed, readying myself for another encounter (and possible altercation) with O’Dea. But the footsteps walking down the hall weren’t his. It sounded like a pair of heels clacking along the floorboards.

And I was right.

Staring up over my shoulder, I froze with a piece of toast to my mouth at the sight of the beautiful young woman standing in my doorway. “Who the hell are you?”

She blinded me with a stunning white-toothed smile. “I’m Autumn.” She lifted her hands in which were a ton of shopping bags. “And I bring lots of goodies!”

Ah. Okay. This was O’Dea’s sister. I ate the toast, getting to my feet. Her eyes widened a little as she took me in. “I know. I’m a mess,” I mumbled around the toast.

Autumn’s perfectly shaped eyebrows drew together. “You’re just . . . Killian told me what they did to you but . . . those little fuckers!”

I grinned because the word sounded so odd coming out of her mouth. She had a melodic accent much like Killian’s. Lilting and charming and a little well-to-do. That, along with her shining auburn hair curled into waves, her perfectly manicured nails, wrinkle-free shirt, blazer, and cigarette trousers, and four-inch stiletto sandals, she was all class.

Her makeup looked like it had been applied by an artist.

Big, warm, gorgeous brown eyes—exactly like Killian’s—stared at me, framed with thick lashes that seemed to go on forever. Were those real?

Of course O’Dea’s sister was gorgeous. That family had good genes.

“If you think I look bad, you should see the other guy,” I joked.

“Killian said you were a smart arse. But I won’t joke about this, Skylar.” Autumn strolled toward me, studying me, as she promptly dropped all the shopping bags on the floor at our feet. “Those little fuckers deserve a long stint in prison for doing this to you.”

I thought about the one called Johnny who I kept seeing every time I closed my eyes at night.

And his friend, who I could’ve forgiven because he’d saved me, if he hadn’t run off with my goddamned Taylor. “I agree.”

Sympathy shined in Autumn’s eyes as she assessed my face. “Once the bruising fades and Brenna gets your weight back up, you’ll be good as new. Beautiful as ever.”

I snorted. I wasn’t beautiful. I had an interesting face and unusual eyes but no one could ever say I was beautiful. Micah used to, but that was different. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder and all that crap.

“Enough of that,” she tutted at my wordless disagreement. “Look at your eyes, for Christ’s sake. And those lips!”

I squirmed, hating compliments. “My eyes . . . heterochromia.” I had one hazel eye and one gray-blue eye. “They’re weird. Austin used to say ‘Here, girl!’ when he wanted to talk to me. Like I was husky. I have a bump in the bridge of my nose. And my lips? Too big for my face.”

“Maybe right now they are because your face is too wee but once you put on some weight, you’ll be back to your lovely self. And Austin, whoever he is, is an arsehole for referring to you as a dog.”

“My bandmate. He’s like a brother.”

“Brothers are always charming that way.” She gestured to the shopping bags. “I brought you quite a few pairs of jeans and some shirts in both the sizes Killian gave me. I also got you some new underwear and socks.”

My pride was pricked. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no big deal. I used Killian’s credit card.”

“Oh, well then, let’s see what you got.”

She laughed and put her purse down on the counter. “Okay, we have some time before Brenna gets here.” She grabbed up the bags, all of them, and strode into the bedroom.

I stared after her. Was she was seriously going to stay in there with me while I tried on the clothes?

“You coming?”

I guessed that was a yes. Feeling uncomfortable about undressing in front of a stranger, I walked slowly into the bedroom. She’d thrown the bags on the bed and was emptying them.

“Um, I can handle it from here.”

“Won’t you need a hand? The cast?”

“Oh, I’ll be fine. I can dress myself.”

“But it’ll be quicker with my help.”

“Look, you seem very nice—so nice, in fact, I think you should get a DNA test to make sure you and O’Dea are actually related—but I don’t know you that well and I’m a little uncomfortable stripping to my underwear in front of a stranger.” Weird, it hadn’t bothered me so much at the swim center, but that was different. I never saw those people again. I didn’t know them.

Signing this contract with O’Dea implied that Autumn would inevitably be around more. I didn’t want to be in her company knowing she’d seen my scrawny ass at its worst.

Huh. I guess I did still care, I thought, not happy about that realization.

“Oh.” She shook her head, her auburn tresses bouncing like a shampoo ad around her shoulders. “Of course. I’m sorry. I . . . I can be a little too enthusiastic and I don’t think. I just . . .” She fingered a cute Ralph Lauren tee she’d bought me. Wow. When she shopped, she shopped. “I want to be helpful.”

More curious about her and O’Dea than I wanted to admit, I found myself taking a step toward her. “Are you O’Dea’s PA or something?”

She frowned at me. “Why don’t you call him Killian?”

Because it was too personal. He wasn’t that to me. He was the guy corralling me into the fame pen again. I shrugged. “So, you’re his PA?”

“No. I’m between jobs at the moment. When Killian asked me to help out, I jumped at the idea. He told me a little about your story and I,” she bit her lip, “you deserve to get your life back on track, Skylar. Anything I can do to help . . . you know I’m here.”

“But you don’t even know me.”

Her eyes dimmed with sadness. “I . . . I kind of know what you’re going through. Not totally . . . but I lost my parents a long time ago.”