Page 136 of Wild Eyes
“Have you ever?”
I scoff now. “Of course I have. I…must have…”
“Like, what parts?”
Rosie’s gaze wanders my face as I rack my brain to remember the parts of my life I can honestly say I’ve enjoyed. “I like singing.”
“You can sing at church, Skylar. What is it that makes you want to go out there and perform? Sellthe music? Do the interviews? See and be seen?”
“I…” My mouth opens and closes as I scramble, searching for the answer. It shouldn’t be this hard to find. In fact, I’m so well media-trained that I can recite all the answers people want to hear.
I love my fans.
It’s a thrill every time.
I have the best job in the world.
But none of them ring true.
“I…I guess…I guess I just always have. I was told to as a child. It started with pageants and modeling and snowballed from there.”
Rosie nods along, bent over her legs as her fingers flick through the different pebbles at her feet. “Has anyone ever toldyou that you don’t have to? You don’t have to keep doing this job if it doesn’t bring you joy.”
It makes me miserable. It makes me sick.
I whisper, “No. No one has ever told me that.”
Rosie sits up and looks me in the eye. “Skylar, you have done more in your young life than most people accomplish before they die. How much money do you need to live comfortably? Happily?”
“I…” I shake my head. “It’s not about that.”
“Then what is it about?”
I don’t answer her because I don’t know. No one has ever asked me what I want when it comes to my work.
She takes my hands in hers and squeezes as she orients in my direction. “You are allowed to quit.”
I suck in a breath.
“I know you don’t need my permission. But it’s okay to turn over a new leaf. It’s okay to sing. Hell, it’s okay to record and release songs for absolutely no one but yourself. So what if they don’t top charts? You don’t have to feed the machine for the rest of your life. Especially not when it’s clearly killing you. You could behereandhealthy.”
Silent tears roll down my face as I squeeze her hands back.
I wish it were that simple.
Maybe it would be healthy for me to stay here, but what about everyone else?
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
WEST
When I hearthe front door open and close, I grimace. And then I glance back at my son, who I picked up from school sporting a split lip and a black eye.
His gaze slices to mine and back down. Emmy is sitting at the kitchen counter beside him, glaring at me, holding his hand like she’ll be the one to protect him from getting in trouble.
“Hey, kiddos. Are you home?” Skylar’s voice filters in, but it’s not brimming with excitement for life like I’ve come to expect. It’s flat with a little warble.
She sounds like she did when she first showed up on my doorstep. Like she’s going through the paces of life. Like the night Emmy shattered that glass all over the floor.
