“I love her more every time I see her,” Brenna says with a bright smile. “She’s like a little Kate Hudson. Only not as blond. Or as perky, thank God.”

“Don’t you two have an a cappella contest you should be commentating on?”

Scottie’s perfect mouth twists. “A cappella? What are you nattering about?”

Brenna snorts. “She’s cute. No,” she says to me in an overloud voice. “We’ve moved on to solo acts, kid.” She bumps my hip with hers as she walks up into my house. She does it so easily, I don’t even think to stop her.

Thankfully Scottie has some manners and inclines his head. “You really do not want to let her loose in your house unattended, Ms. Bell. May I come in?”

“If you can control Thing One, then you might as well.”

Already Brenna has poured three glasses of ice tea and is rummaging through the kitchen for God knows what.

“Where are your cookies?” she mutters, opening a cabinet. “Kitchens like this always have cookies. I’ve seen it on TV.”

“I have crackers, yogurt, and very sharp knives.” I shoo her away.

“No cookies?” She lays a hand on her chest. “I’ve been waiting all day for some.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” I barely have any food in the house. I haven’t felt like eating—I’m shocked too.

But because my hospitality gene kicks in, I put the drinks on a tray and take them out to my living room. Scottie and Brenna follow. For a minute, we sit sipping ice tea in heavy silence. Well, Brenna and I do. Scottie won’t touch his glass, just eyes it suspiciously. I’m tempted to tell him it’s not poisoned. Then again, part of me likes the idea of him fearing it just might be.

Setting my glass down, I get more comfortable in my chair. “All right, then. Why are you here?” Why isn’t Killian here if they are? I miss him so much it hurts to breathe, and their presence makes it worse.

Scottie’s expression begins to sour as if he’s choking down something particularly distasteful. He can’t blame my tea, at least. Brenna, on the other hand, starts to snicker. A lot.

Scottie shoots her an ugly look before leaning forward. “Killian has a message for you.”

“A message?” My heart kicks into high gear, but my mind skids to a halt. “What the hell is this? The fifth grade? Why can’t he just call me?”

The corner of Scottie’s eye twitches, and Brenna coughs loudly into her hand. Tears are forming beneath her cat glasses.

“Yes,” Scottie grinds out through his teeth. “That would have been the logical choice.” The twitching by his eye gets worse. “However, we’re here to deliver it—”

“Is it a singing telegram? Because that might be worth it.”

Brenna loses the fight and erupts with laughter, her slim form doubling over.

“Go search for cookies,” Scottie snarls at her, though he hasn’t really lost his cool. He’s as contained as ever—well, aside from the eye tick thing.

Still hooting, Brenna staggers off, and Scottie turns his focus back to me. “There are days I truly hate my job.” He pulls a folded piece of paper from his inner breast pocket and hands it to me. “Don’t ask. Just read the bloody note.”

Well then.

I hate that my fingers shake as I take it from him and open the smooth, creamy paper. Killian’s penmanship is slanted and messy. And my heart instantly squeezes. Damn, I miss him.

Libs,

You gave Scottie shit about this, didn’t you?

I pause, and part of me itches to look up to see if Killian is hiding somewhere in the room. It’s silly, but Jesus, sometimes the man spooks me. I push aside the thought and keep reading.

You don’t know how much it kills me to miss seeing Scottie choking on his disdain.

I fight a smile. He’d have loved the singing telegram part.

You don’t know how much it kills me not seeing you, Liberty Bell.

The note ends there, and I snort, not at all amused.

“If he wants to see me,” I can’t help but complain to a silent Scottie, “then why the hell isn’t he here? And what the hell is this little—”

With a long-suffering sigh, he holds out another note. I pluck it from his grasp.

I can’t be there. I’ve committed to practice and have been threatened with bodily harm if I try to sneak out. Have a little pity and read the damn notes, okay?

Lips twitching, I look up at Scottie. “Give me the next one.”

Grumbling under his breath, Scottie pulls out a larger tri-folded paper.

I can’t be there, Libby. But you can be here. You know you can. Come to me, Libby. Get on a plane and be with me. I miss you so much, I can’t even call you. Because hearing your voice, hearing you say no, you won’t join me, would rip my guts out.

So, like a coward, I sent Scottie and Brenna. (Plus payback’s a bitch, and Scottie was due. He’s dying right now, isn’t he? Go on, laugh. It will make it worse for him.)

I do laugh, because I can hear Killian’s voice in my head, cajoling and teasing. He wants me. A shuddering breath escapes me, and I blink to clear my vision.

These songs I wrote with you, they’re our songs, not mine. I wrote them because of you. I’m not going to sing them with anyone else but you.

Come on tour with me. Meet the Animal firsthand. She’ll purr for you, Libs, I promise.

Say yes, Liberty. Say it. Come on, just one little word. Part those pretty lips and say it. Y-E-S.

Okay. I’m not going to write any more. Except for one last thing.

The letter ends, but Scottie is already holding out another note, this one a bright, obnoxious yellow. I have to bite my lip at his pained expression, and I take it in silence.

Killian’s scrawl is deep and thick in this one.

If you don’t get your sweet butt on a plane, I’m going to send Scottie and Brenna to your house every other week until you or they crack. I’ll do it, baby doll. Don’t think I won’t.

Yours,

K

“He’s deranged,” I mutter, lovingly folding up the paper and toying with the edges.