When We Break (The Blackwells of Montana #2)

Prologue

SKYLA

“I have to go.” I shake my head as I shove a jumper into my suitcase as both men who mean the most to me watch. Connor, my older brother, leans against the doorjamb of my bedroom, broodily glaring at me through his black-rimmed glasses, while Mikhail, my dance partner and best friend of ten years, paces in front of my bed.

“You do not have to go,” Mik insists, his voice thick with emotion and the Russian accent he never lost even though he’s lived in New York City since he was fifteen. “Dammit, we will send him to jail.”

I scoff at that and shake my head, then reach over and scratch Riley’s belly before I return to my closet to grab more clothes.

“He always skirts just on this side of the law,” I remind them as if we could forget. “But he scares me. I can’t dance professionally anyway, Mik. Not anymore.”

He snorts and shakes his head stubbornly. “You’ll recover.”

God, I love this handsome Russian. We’ve danced together since we were sixteen, and he’s always been loyal and stubborn.

“I’m not going to recover from this one.” I reach out and take his hand, then give it a squeeze. “We both know it. We’ve had our last curtain call.”

My emotional Russian shakes his head again, and Connor rakes his hand through his hair in agitation.

I think this whole situation is worse on my big brother. He’s beyond wealthy, he’s powerful, and he’s strong.

And even he can’t fix this.

“Where will you go?” Mik doesn’t meet my eyes, but he pulls me into his arms and hugs me, kissing the top of my head.

“Montana.”

Mik gasps and pulls away. Connor scowls.

“What the feck?” Connor asks, his Irish distinct when he gets upset. “Bloody why?”

“Because I like it there.” I shrug and toss another jumper in the bag. It’s cold in Montana, so I’ll definitely take all my jumpers. The rest can be shipped to me later. “And no one would think to look for me in a small town.”

“Skyla.” My friend shakes his head, obviously not happy with this news. “What happens when you are ready to dance again?”

“Mik.” I sigh and sit on the edge of the bed, facing them both. “Dancing is over for me.”

Mik mumbles some swear words in Russian and paces away.

“It’s been ruined. But my life isn’t over, so I’m taking it back. I’m going to Montana, where I’ll settle in and open a dance studio. I’ll teach.”

“You are not a fucking teacher,” Mik insists, practically spitting out that last word. “You are a prima ballerina . You’ve danced as Giselle and Kitri. You are not some small-town dance teacher. I won’t allow it, malishka.”

I glance over at Connor, who’s stayed quiet, observing us.

“You’re too quiet over there.”

“You know my feelings on the matter,” my brother replies with a shrug. “It’s pissed I am that you’re running away, but more than that, I’m fecking furious that this bleeding arsehole won’t leave you be. I’ve threatened him. I’ve done everything I can legally do, and you won’t let me?—”

“No.” I shake my head, swallowing hard. “I won’t let you call someone to have him dealt with.”

I couldn’t live with having a person’s life ended on my account.

Even if that arsehole has tormented me every day for the past two years.

“You have an expensive, well-trained dog,” Mik reminds me, eyeing Riley, who watches us from the middle of the bed.

“Not the one I wanted to buy her,” Connor adds, and I sigh once again. “We should have gotten the one that’s trained to attack. To kill.”

“I didn’t want that. I want a dog that looks intimidating, is well trained and alert, and is also my best friend. Riley helps me feel better. I don’t want to deal with an aggressive dog.” I lift my chin, and neither has a comeback for that. “I’m going to Montana. You’re always welcome there, but I won’t ever return to New York.”

“I wish you’d go to Ireland,” Connor says. “You’d be safe with Ma and Da. Lewis wouldn’t find you there.”

“We don’t say that arsehole’s name in my house.” I narrow my eyes at my brother, and he rubs his hand over his forehead in agitation before pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Go to Ma and Da,” he repeats.

“I’m not a child.” Shaking my head, I walk into my brother’s arms and hold on tight, soaking him in. “Besides, you’ll come see me all the time. You’ll fly out in your fancy jet and stay with me.”

“As often as I can,” he confirms, hugging me close. “But running away doesn’t erase what’s happened.”

“He won’t leave New York.” I sound surer than I feel, but I need to believe that. Because if I’m wrong, I won’t be safe anywhere. “I’m actually excited for this new adventure. To start fresh somewhere new, to make friends, to teach.”

Mik scoffs, still pacing angrily.

My Russian friend has a hot temper.

“You go then,” he says, flailing his arm dramatically my way, yet still looking so graceful as he does. “You go teach and leave me here to pick up the pieces.”

“I have an understudy,” I remind him. “And she’s been filling in for me for three months.”

Three brutal, agonizing months.

“She’s not you.”

Mik frames my face in his big hands, and as usual, I feel so loved. These incredible men have my back, and I know I’m lucky to have these guys in my corner.

“I’ll miss you too, a stór .”

His lips tremble. “I cannot leave as often as Connor can, but I will come visit.”

“Good.” I grin at him. “Bring Benji with you.”

“Like he would let me go without him.” Mik shakes his head. I know what he’s thinking. We’ve always been able to read each other’s minds.

This is the end of an era.

But if I’m going to live— and have a chance to live a good life —I have to do this.

“Connor will fly you there?” Mik asks us.

“Of course,” my brother replies.

“No.”

“You won’t fecking argue with me on this,” Connor insists.

I sigh. “Fine. You’ll fly me.”

To my new start. To my safe place.

Please, God, let it be safe.