“It’s up there. I hope you’re good at climbing up ladders.”
I suck at climbing up ladders, but that’s irrelevant right now. I’d climb up a ladder to the moon and back for a chance to see his personal space.
Peering back up, I realize I should have known. This place is so huge, there has to be a top floor. I saw the windows outside.
Kellan leads us to a narrow staircase, which I didn’t even notice until now.
He climbs up hastily, his enthusiasm palpable in his swift strides.
I follow him through a trapdoor and let him help me to my feet. As my gaze sweeps over the space, I’m struck speechless.
The top floor is huge. Like an entire apartment huge.
And way more modern than I would have anticipated. There’s a leather couch, a television set, even a small kitchen, with modern appliances.
“Wow,” I say stunned.
“This is my tiny abode,” Kellan explains.
“Tiny?” I laugh. “Kellan, this is huge. And I’m not even thinking by NYC standards.”
“When I was fifteen, my father decided that it was time my brothers and I got our own space. I think he did it to get rid of us. We were quite the noisy bunch.”
I spin in a slow circle, taking in the guitar and musical instruments set up in a corner. Even I know this isn’t the usual stuff you get in the shops. It’s way too polished and huge, and there’s other stuff, like amplifiers and other black boxes, I think are for recording, but I’m not sure.
“Is one of your brothers a musician?”
“All of us were,” Kellan says. “We had our very own band. We called ourselves The Boyd Brothers, until we grew too old and developed other interests as well.” He winks. “Think girls and panties.”
Yeah, that’s exactly the kind of story I don’t want to hear.
I pick up the guitar. “Is this yours?”
He steps behind me. I expect him to reach out and take it out of my hands, but he doesn’t. “How did you know?”
My fingers travel over the initials engraved on it. “It says K.B.”
“My sister bought it for me. It was my first guitar.” He hesitates. There’s something there. I know it. I can feel his unease, so I put the guitar back and turn to look at him.
“Sounds like she’s great,” I say softly.
He nods. “When we were young, this was our thing. Friends used to hang out here all the time. The place was packed each weekend. There were parties.” He catches my glance. “Not that kind. The kind where you sit outside, in front of a huge fire, and everyone’s singing and having a great time. God, that was such a long time ago.” His voice is melancholic, his eyes distant, focused on a past far away. “Then, life happened. We grew up. Everyone went their separate ways.”
I nod, envying him because at least he had all those experiences.
“And by everyone you mean—” I prompt.
“Ryder, whom you’ve already met, and Cash.”
“And your sister?”
He falls silent, and something flashes across his face.
I cannot bear it anymore.
“Who’s the blond woman in the picture on the fireplace?” I ask, even though I asked the same question before and he’s already given an answer.
He doesn’t blink. “I already told you. That’s my sister. At least…was.” There is a short silence. His face distorts to...something, and then he walks away without another word.
I give him a minute before I follow after him.
I find him sitting outside the barn. I kneel down next to him, making sure not to touch him. His posture is rigid, his shoulders tense.
“I’m sorry I asked,” I start, unsure what else to say.
“It’s okay.” His voice drops to a whisper. He looks up at the sky, his eyes dark and hooded, but, oh my god—the sadness.
“What happened to her?” I ask, fighting the urge to touch him.
There is a short pause, then, “She’s dead, Ava.”
I turn to him, even though I know he probably doesn’t want my presence. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too. She died five weeks ago.”
I stare at him, shocked. It makes so much sense. The pain is fresh. He’s struggling to come to terms with such a great loss.
I don’t want to impose, and yet I find myself asking, “What happened? Do you want to talk about it?”
He takes his time replying. “She died in a bomb blast.”
“She was the best friend you told me about.”
He nods. “She was the best of everything you can have. Clara was…” He sighs, and a soft, sad smile tugs at his lips. “She was a good person. Her heart was in the right place. Ever since I can remember, she wanted to help others. If she set her mind to it, she went all the way. When she told our family she wanted to join the military, no one wanted her to. They were all afraid she’d get hurt.” Another pause. He clears his throat, and I sense something huge is coming. “Except me. I told her to go after her dreams, that I’d be proud of her. Back then, I was so sure she’d be okay, because she was strong and she wasn’t scared to get in a fight.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. His eyes are cast downward now, focused on a spot at his feet. “I’ve been regretting that for the last five weeks, day and night, even in my dreams. There’s not a single thing I can do to take those words back. If it weren’t for me, she’d still be here. She’d be alive.”