Sometimes, when Calum had to babysit Connor, he’d bring her along and let her play with us on her keyboard. Even at nine, she was exceptional at it. She’d been taught by the best, by their grandmother. Her talent had showed in the recitals she had done, even as a child.
Mary O’Connor Murphy had been a prodigy on the piano; and her voice had been renowned, although she never took her gift farther than local venues and events or the church choir.
Calum was musically gifted, of course, but Connor was the true prodigy of the family.
Even as a young child, it was evident she had a remarkable talent. I could see it then, and I remember thinking…I can’t wait to see what she grows up to be.
Although I had always recognized her gift, I’dneverlooked at her the way I saw her now. Back then, I still considered her to be a contrasting extension of Cal—sometimes an annoyance—as we couldn’t go trolling for girls if we had to kick it with her. She was sweet and well behaved, but she always seemed to know when to crack a joke.
Connor was smart—wise beyond her years. When she looked at you, it was as if she was seeing all of you and accepting you anyway. She had a way of looking at the world, of seeing the beauty in its brokenness…of loving the broken anyway.
Conversations with her had always been enlightening and entertaining, even before I realized she’d captivated me more than she should have.
Connor had been dabbling in songwriting since she was a teenager, and in recent years, Cal had started tossing lyric ideas off her—coaxing her into low-key collaborating with us. She turned out to be a fucking master at it, and now we wouldn’t consider a song completed until she had a crack at it. She had a better way with words than all three of us, and always knew the best ones to use to complete the song and bring it to the next level.
When we left Lunenburg, Connor was fourteen, and so damn far from my mind. My focus was music and the band, and the girls my age and older who flocked to me because of it. For several years, that was happily where it stayed—even with her visits. Hell, I used to enjoy them just as much as Cal did; it was great seeing a familiar face from back home.
My perception of her didn’t shift until three years ago, when I was asked at the last minute to go pick her up from the airport.
Calum was stuck at an interview forEntertainment Weekly, and Evan was…well, wherever the fuck he was. Probably hooking up with someone he’d met at some event or concert or hell, even the gym at our condo. He’d pick up conquests from anywhere.
I’d been at the penthouse, trying to work out the chorus of a song, when Calum had called me in a panic.
Connor’s flight was an hour out from Pearson, and his interview had run over…he wasn’t going to make it to the airport in time to meet her. He wondered if I’d mind picking her up. It was her first time travelling alone, and he was worried.
I thought nothing of his request as I grabbed my keys and wallet before heading down to the parking garage to hop in my black Toyota GT-86—the first “big” purchase I’d splurged on after the royalties started rolling in. I rarely drove the blasted thing, didn’t have time to, normally, so any opportunity to get behind the wheel was an exciting one for me.
I made it and found parking fifteen minutes before her flight landed. I waited for her in the terminal, leaning against one of the pillars with my hands in my pockets. Despite the overwhelming number of travelers, nobody looked my way.
When I was out on my own without the other guys, I was somehow able to escape recognition. Unlike Calum and Evan, my arms were not inked with designs that were globally recognized. I had a talent of hiding in plain sight when I wanted to, all I needed were the proper shades and a hat.
The pillar I’d chosen to lean against gave me a perfect view of everyone coming through. When I saw her walking toward me, yearning slammed into me like a tidal wave before I could even registerwhoI was looking at.
She was dressed in skintight blue jeans with tears at the knees, and a grey tank, the hem tucked into her jeans to reveal the smoothness of her toned stomach and the swells of her full perky breasts. She’d completed the look with a black leather jacket, the hem barely reaching the top of her hips.
The outfit made her look sexy and badass andway fucking older than eighteen. I was salivating, instincts instantly in pursue mode, not even clueing in I was drooling over Connor Jacobs. The outfit was so unlikeanythingI’d ever seen her in, it had taken me a full minute to realize it was her.
I had but seconds to pry my jaw off the ground before she noticed me. Had to bite down on my fucking tongue to keep from scolding her over her outfit choice—or kissing her senseless because of it. Either way, my body’s immediate reaction to her had side-swiped the shit out of me.
Closing my eyes, I let the memory wash over me—how my body had responded before my mind could tell me who I was looking at.
Since that fateful day, I’d kept my true feelings from everyone, including Connor. Evan had his suspicions, but I’d never confirmed it. I knew better than to act on my desires and did my best to suppress them.
It was far easier when she was back home, tucked safely away in Nova Scotia, living her life and I was here living mine. I could push her from my thoughts and focus on making music and touring.
The few times a year she flew out to catch a show or visit for the weekend were a challenge though. To hide my feelings, to stay impassive, and yet act like nothing had changed when everything about how I felt was a struggle because I was too fucking self-aware to deny it.
Tonight, I was having an even harder time than usual. For the first time ever, she had brought a boyfriend along with her. That action had evoked a possessive jealousy I hadn’t even known I was capable of. I wasn’t the reactive one; I didn’t let myself stew in anger. I didn’t get into brawls, and the only punches I threw were in self-defense.
But the existence of Connor’s boyfriend pissed me off—enraged me. I’d wanted to deck him the moment he strolled in with her. I hated how he touched her, how even when he looked at her, it was like he wasn’t seeing what a fucking gift he had. Everything about him, about the situation, pissed me off.
Calum seemed okay with it—with him—and it really wasn’t my place to pitch a fit over who she saw anyway, so I kept my mouth shut. Acted like it didn’t bug me—likehedidn’t bug me—like I didn’t want to lay him out every time he touched her.
There were a million little things picking at me about him. I hadn’t liked how he seemed more focused on every other celebrity in attendance instead of the beautiful woman who should have been on his arm.
He’d spent the better part of the evening trying to impress Killian, instead of paying any heed to the birthday girl. Killian had noticed too. The tick in his jaw was an indication of his dislike for the guy. It was clear he seemed more interested in potentially advancing his own career than being with Connor.
My rolling discord for this guy, and my inappropriate feelings for someone I shouldn’t even want, had me twisted up inside, itching for a fight.
