Page 11 of Two Hit Wonder

"The view is lovely."

"Iona." Maeve looked up, and there was something in her face that made Iona's rehearsed speech evaporate entirely. "You didn't come all the way to Scotland to compliment my view."

"No," Iona admitted. "I didn't."

Maeve finished with the bandage and released her hand. She put the first aid box away, closed the cupboard door, and leaned against the kitchen counter with her arms crossed over her chest. Her expression was unreadable again, closed off in a way that Iona remembered and had never liked.

"So," Maeve said. "Why are you here?"

Chapter Five

The directness shouldn't have surprised her. This was Maeve, after all. No small talk, no easing into things. Just the question, delivered with all the warmth of a tax audit.

Iona took a breath. Her hand throbbed under the bandage, a reminder that even the wildlife here wanted her gone. But she'd come all this way. She'd survived the train, the bus, the walk, and the sheep. She could survive this conversation. She could be in a room with Maeve MacDonnell for ten minutes.

"Cam's broke," she said.

Maeve's expression didn't change. "And?"

"And she wants to get the band back together." The words came out faster than Iona had planned, tumbling over each other like they were afraid of being caught. "A reunion. One album, maybe a tour. Nostalgia is huge right now. Everyone wants to relive their youth. We could actually make real money, Maeve. Enough for all of us."

"No."

Iona finally took a breath. "You didn't even think about it."

"I didn't need to." Maeve pushed off from the counter and moved to the window, looking out at the gray Scottish sky. "The answer is no."

The Aga ticked in the corner, radiating heat that did nothing to warm the chill in the room. Iona studied Maeve's back, the tension in her shoulders, the way her bare feet were planted firmly on the stone floor like she was bracing for impact.

"Can I at least explain properly?"

"You just did. Cam's skint. You want money. You need me to get it." Maeve turned around, arms crossed over that ancient jumper. "Did I miss anything?"

"The part where this could actually be good," Iona said. "Not just the money. Playing together again. Making music. Remember what that felt like?"

Something flickered across Maeve's face. There and gone, quick as a heartbeat. "I remember a lot of things."

"So do I."

The words hung between them, weighted with fifteen years of silence. Iona felt her cheeks warm and looked down at her bandaged hand, pretending to examine the gauze.

"The answer is still no," Maeve said, but her voice was infinitesimally softer.

"Why?" Iona was aware that she sounded like a child, but couldn’t help it.

"Pick a reason." Maeve ticked them off on her fingers. "I'm sober. Twelve full years now. Do you know how hard that was? Do you know what it took to build something stable? I'm not going back to that world. The parties, the pressure, the bottles everywhere you look."

"It doesn't have to be like that."

"It was always like that."

"We were kids, Maeve. We were barely nineteen. Things are different now."

"Are they?" Maeve's voice was flat, but there was something underneath it. Fear, maybe. Or something older. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly the same. Cam's made terrible decisions with money, you've come running to fix it, and I'm supposed to drop everything to bail everyone out. Just like before."

That stung. Iona felt it land somewhere between her ribs and stay there.

"That's not fair."