Why had he lived when they’d died?
“What future?” By all rights Killy should be as dead as the newspapers said, buried alongside Elliot and their mother. He gently scratched at the healing flesh across his chest. Ouch. Still sore.
Gus’s expression gave away nothing, a trait he employed time and again to manipulate clients to his bidding and win the occasional poker game. He released a dramatic sigh and placed a hand on Killian’s arm. “Dude, you’ve been through a lot, but you can’t sit around the rest of your life. Look, I’ve been preparing a press release. It’s time to tell the world you’re not dead. After that, a series of talk shows, and I’ve been looking for musicians…”
“What?” Killy nearly shot from his chair. “Why?”
Gus spread his hands wide. “Are you kidding me? You coming back from the dead is huge. You’ll be on the covers of all the hot magazines. We need to make the most of the publicity.”
Was he out of his fucking mind?
Nearly bouncing in his chair in excitement, Gus swept a hand in the air in a grand gesture to match his grand plans. “You’ve got lots of material you haven’t recorded. Have you thought about touring again?”
Thought about it? Sure. Wanted to? Oh, hell the fuck no. Gus had been good to Killy when he’d needed help most, agreed to let things sit while he figured out the next step in the dance of his life. Deep down, it had always been a matter of time before Gus started doing what Killy paid big bucks for and managing his career.
His career. Killy let out a disgusted snort. “What about the lawsuits?”
A muscle at the corner of Gus’s mouth twitched. “Don’t you worry about legal matters. We’ve got the best lawyers taking care of that.”
Ace’s parents wanted money for his death.
Rob’s too. His folks didn’t deserve a fucking dime. Of course, if Killy said so, he’d have to admit to remembering more than he’d let on about the night the bus crashed.
He wasn’t ready.
Might never be ready.
“I’m not going back on the road.” What was the point without Elliot?
“Then we’ll set up some studio sessions. Start recording your new songs.”
“You’re not listening.” Killy gritted his teeth to keep from yelling, and deflated. This wasn’t Gus’s fault. None of this was the manager’s fault. Gus had been against Rob from the beginning, yet never once said, “I told you so.”
No, the fault rested squarely on Killy’s shoulders. He took a deep breath and tried again. “My career is over. I know you’re working on releasing some of the stuff we’d already recorded, and that’s fine, but Trickster died that night in North Carolina. We’re dead and gone.”
Gus tapped one perfect fingernail on the glass-topped table. “But aren’t you going to let the world know you’re alive?”
“Why? No one around gives a shit. They only want what they can get from me.” Every relative Ace and Rob had squirmed from the woodwork, hands out. Ace’s family kicked him out years ago, and not for being bi either, but for the sin of pursuing music over a legal career in the family firm. Asshats never once even bothered to call him on his motherfucking birthday. No, he’d cried to Killy and Elliot every year on November twelfth. Spent holidays at their house.
Or on the road.
Now everyone who’d turned their backs were all, “Boo-hoo, my poor cousin/uncle/son/former roommate/someone I fucked once in a club bathroom.” All wanted money, when they hadn’t wanted Ace. They couldn’t even be bothered to attend his funeral.
Worthless vultures.
Killy hadn’t attended either. The whole being in a coma thing cost him a few weeks of his life.
He closed his eyes and balled his fists, a knot of pain where his heart should be. Waking up to find his world upside down, his brother dead. Ace dead.
Him dead, from the newspaper accounts.
He’d wakened to a nightmare he’d never escape.
Though no one asked, Killy made sure the bus driver’s family was taken care of, with a college fund waiting for the eagerly anticipated grandchild to come into the world, grow up, and graduate high school.
The man who’d entered Killy’s life two months after his mother’s overdose dropped his voice to cajoling. “What about Johnny? Sooner or later, we have to addressthatproblem.”
Johnny. Fuck. Another loose end being dead tied up nicely. Maybe. The fuckwad finally broke the agreement to stay in the shadows, neither confirm nor deny Killy’s sexuality. Then again, maybe Killy being dead negated the contract. He’d have to ask.
