Page 20 of My UnTrue Love
“Only sometimes.”
“You need to quit! You could be hurt.”
“Can’t quit. I gotta pay our bills.”
Her head tilted at the “our” part of that mild statement. “As your manager, I get twenty-five percent of yourmusicalpaychecks. Not anything else. That wouldn’t be fair.”
“Seems plenty fair to me.”
Clementine’s brows compressed. He was too new to the business to understand how things worked. People would take advantage of his generous spirit. She needed to help him. “Bill…”
He cut her off. “It’s twenty-five percent of everything.” His voice was inflexible. The man was so stubborn!
Fiddle music came from the other side of the wall, distracting her from the argument. Clem whirled towards it, her instincts lighting up. “Who’s that?”
“The teenager next door. Moved in a while back and he’s been playing that mournful damn fiddle every damn night.”
Sympathy filled her, because she heard the sadness, too. “Is his family dead?”
“More likely his ma hooked up with his coyote father and then regretted it. She left with the boy, who wasn’t much welcome when she eventually found herself a new man. The stepdaddy kicked him out. The ma stayed with the stepdaddy. Now, the boy is on his own.”
Something about the very specific, too-simple way he laid it all out made her frown. “Is that what happened to you?”
“It’s what happens to most coyotes.” He raised a shoulder. “Our fathers are long gone. Mothers don’t want us, especially when we reach our teenage years and get close to shifting. Usually we don’t know our siblings. Stolen-mates go off, searchin’ for their True Loves. The only way to survive is to need nothin’ but ourselves.”
“But that’s so unfair!” Clementine wasn’t appeased. “I would never leave my child. And I would never be with a man who wanted me to.”
“I know.” His eyes were soft as they traveled over her face. (They were the most amazing shade of blue.)
“Would you leaveyourchild?” She asked and then held her breath, because his answer was very, very important.
“No.” Bill said quietly.
She nodded, relief flooding her. “It’s very difficult to make it without your parents. It’s hard to feel connected and safe. Your neighbor is probably suffering over there, all by himself.”
“Coyotes are used to being alone.”
Clementine wasn’t so sure. Bill’s philosophy on only needing himself struck her as very lonely. And when shelistened to the kid next door’s playing, she could hear sorrow in every note. Coyotes didn’t entirely like their solitary lives.
The music kept going, engaging her magic in a way that rarely happened. Isolation, and anger, and despair. So many heartbreaking emotions in the performance. She could experience everything he felt. That teenager had the beginnings of true greatness.
“He’s exceptional.” She whispered.
The bow screeched across the strings, as the kid hit the wrong note.
Bill cringed at the shrill noise and gave her a dry look.
“He’sgoingto be exceptional.” Clem corrected. A muse always knew raw talent when she stumbled across it. The boy needed more practice and a better instrument, but there was boundless potential in his sound. “What do you know about him?”
“I told you what I know: Coyote. Male. Lives alone.” He paused. “Dangerous.”
“What makes you say he’s dangerous?”
“All of the above.”
“That’s ridiculous.You’rea male coyote who lives alone. Does that mean you’re dangerous?”
“Yes.”
