This had been the refrain for the past month. The first time I’d floated the idea past Lara, she’d nearly lost her mind. She’d told me I would ruin my career. Burn all my bridges. But I didn’t have much of a career at the current juncture. It had all been blown to smithereens. Or the people who were interested in my art only wanted it for some perversely morbid reason.

I hadn’t drawn or painted or done anything in the art realm in months. And I missed it like a phantom limb. This part of me that had ceased to be in a violent tearing. But every time I tried to put even a pencil to paper, I seized up, images of how my art had been turned into something twisted filling my mind.

“Brody…”

Lara’s voice brought me out of my spiral. “Sorry. What?”

She shared a look with Carson. This was one area where they were on the same page. “Stay. You need your family right now.”

I gave my head a shake. “I’m going.” I left it at that. I’d tried explaining myself time and again. It never did any good. With either of them. I’d miss Lara and Car. I’d miss the noise and the scents of the city. The chaotic rhythms that came from the life that flowed through this place. My favorite deli on the corner. The local bar my crew and I invaded every Thursday.

New York was massive. But it was also a small town. My town. And it would never stop being a part of me—as much as the skin that stretched across my bones. I would carry it with me always. It was just everything else I needed freedom from. The darkness that had crept into my life when a man had taken my creations and turned them into walking death.

3

Shay

I made my way down the stairs and towards the open living and dining space. One more walk-through. Just to make sure everything was perfect. The cleaning crew had come yesterday, and I’d hovered so much, they’d almost throttled me. I’d already boxed up and sent all of the Dowds’ personal belongings to Seattle. But the new owner was keeping the furniture in the house.

Brody James. The enigma who would hopefully be my new boss. I wiped my hands on my jeans, but my palms simply dampened again. He would like me. No, he would think I was the best caretaker he’d ever encountered.

I’d hounded his assistant, Lara, for a list of his favorite foods. The household brands he preferred. Was there anything she thought he’d need from the mainland that I should order now? The woman probably thought I was a head case.