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About halfway down the path, strains of soprano strings catch my attention.
“Do you hear that?” Piper tugs on my elbow, and we set a course toward a crowd of about six circling a middle-aged woman playing a violin.
It’s a familiar song: “Sunday Bloody Sunday.” There’s something haunting about the notes being played with the solo string instrument. I take a deep breath of the cool fall air and try to immerse myself in the music.
“Remember when I would come and visit before I moved to LA and you would take me to listen to your favorite buskers?”
I nod. After Aria died, I made a point of spending time with my younger siblings whenever they asked, whenever they needed to get away from Whitby for a spell.
Piper considers me, her gaze thoughtful. “You were always so good at unearthing raw talent. Have you ever thought about starting your own record label?”
The question knocks me back on my heels. “No.”
I wouldn’t even know where to start. Is it an option? I never would have thought of it. Before I have a chance to ruminate on the idea, Piper’s hand squeezes my arm, pulling me from my thoughts. “Look, it’s that guy.”
I follow her gaze across the crowd, and when my eyes lock onthat guy, my entire body flushes with embarrassed heat.
It’s the guy from earlier, the guitar-wrangling doctor. The one who somehow knew my name. Piper’s words are another piece in the mysterious puzzle.
I tilt my head toward hers. “How do you know him?”
“You don’t remember?”
I shrug. “Should I?”
“Well, yeah. He was at that release party we went to at Nowadays last summer.”
I frown and check him out again, mind rifling through the events of that night, most of which involve Piper’s ex. I had dragged her with me to the party, and Ben had snuck into the event. She left with Oliver, and I took Blake home for the first time that night. Two relationships that have had opposing trajectories since that momentous occasion. While she’s ecstatically happy in paradise, my life is in shambles.
I shove the thoughts away and focus on Piper’s words.
“He wanted you to sign him with Rebel Records. What was his name? Liam or Linus?” Her nose scrunches. “Larry?” She glances at me for confirmation.
I shrug. Until this morning I didn’t know him from Larry.
Her look is skeptical. “He held up a boombox outside your building to get your attention. That doesn’t seem like something you would forget easily.” She snaps her fingers. “Luke! That’s it. Luke . . . something or other.”
Oh.Wait. The boombox does trigger something. I do remember him. I was annoyed at his efforts. It was before my life went to shit, back when I was a big deal and falling in love with an asshole and thought I was too good for such theatrics.
How the mighty have fallen. Now I’m the one who might be holding up boomboxes to get an interview.
“He was really nice to me. We should say hi.” She takes a step in his direction, dragging me along with her.
“What? No.” I dig in my heels, forcing her to stop.
“Why not?”
One, I don’t want him to tell Piper about my head injury and make her worry. Two, I’m mortified. How did I not recognize him? Am Istillso self-centered?
Before I can come up with any kind of adequate excuse, she’s dragging me along again. “Oh, he’s walking away. Come on, let’s catch up.”
I try to remove my arm from hers, but she’s latched on like a python and marching even faster now.
“We shouldn’t bother him.”
We weave through the small crowd, moving farther away from the violinist, the music fading away behind me.
“He’s got his guitar—maybe he’s looking for somewhere to busk. I want to hear him play. Luke!” she calls.
