“Rooke doesn’t mind.”
His voice was colder than steel. She dragged her gaze upwards to his perfect scowling mouth. It told her that he knew everything: she’d gone to the Song Mage’s house against the advice of his friends, she’d endangered Grace, and she’d barely escaped with her life.
And for what? She had nothing to show for it. No missing sheet music. Just a tarnished hairpin.
Emeline was exactly what he’d accused her of being: a reckless fool.
And he was here to rub it in her face.
She felt like an exposed nerve. A sparking wire.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to the Song Mage’s house?”
Emeline shoved her hands into her pockets. Ran her thumb over the butterfly pin. “You would have stopped me.”
“Of course I would have stopped you.”
A rowdy group of friends started towards them on the sidewalk—likely heading for The Acorn.
“I was looking for the missing sheet music. Which I would have told you about if I’d been able to find you.” Except she did find him—in the hall outside her rooms last night. Where she’d made a complete and utter fool of herself.
Humiliation scorched her. She lowered her voice. “I’m sorry for involving Grace.”
The group drew closer, shouting and laughing, giving no sign of letting her and Hawthorne pass. His warmth swept up her side as he pressed his hand to her lower back, dodging the group by cutting down a narrow alley and bringing her with him.
“Grace assured me she was a willing participant,” he said when they were alone. “According to Grace,sheconvincedyouto let her come.” His fingers closed around her elbow, turning her to face him. “I’m talking about you,Emeline. Throwing yourself into harm’s way. Over and over again.” He pinned her in place with his furious gaze. “Do you have such little regard for yourself?”
“Little regard?” She glared up at him. Three nights ago, in the middle of his kitchen, he’d accused her of being the most self-centered person he knew. “I abandoned my grandfather so I could selfishly pursue my music, remember?”
“Right,” he said. “Yourmusic.”
Emeline’s temper spiked at those words. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He quickly looked away from her, mouth twisting. “Nothing.” Releasing his grip, he returned to the now-quiet street.
Emeline stormed after him. “Tell me what you meant.”
He stared into the distance. “How can it be your music when you only sing other people’s songs?”
Ouch.Thinking of the music locked away in a folder on her phone, she murmured, “No one wants to hear my songs.”
Turning away from him, she continued to walk.
“According to who?” His voice sparked with anger.
“According to everyone. Joel, my manager, record labels,everyone.That’s why I have a writer.” She bristled. “Can we drop this? I don’t want to talk about it.”
But Hawthorne did. “So that’s your big dream? Singing someone else’s inferior songs, night after night, up on stage? It’s the shadow of a dream, Emeline.”
She stopped walking. It was absurd that he could affect her like this, but there it was: the words hurt.As if it mattered, what he thought. As ifhemattered.
“Fuck you,” she said, rounding on him. “You don’t even know me.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off.
“I’ve done what I’ve had to do.” Her voice was too high and shaky. She fisted her hands, trying to control it. “I couldn’t stay in Edgewood, so I ran. I couldn’t face my grandfather’s forgetting, so I put him in a home. My songs weren’t good enough to pay the bills, so I sing someone else’s.”
It was as if he’d ripped off a scab and she couldn’t stop the bleeding.
