O’Dea had lost his parents? “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t know them so well. I was only six. Killian was eleven.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated. Truly sorry. “I get it.”

“Well.” She gave me a shaky smile. “Here I am. And I want to help.”

More curious than ever, I eyed the clothes, trying to sound casual as I asked, “So . . . does O’Dea do this with all his new artists? Send his sister to look after them, cook them meals, buy them clothes?”

“No.” Something in her tone brought my gaze back to her. She was staring at me speculatively, a little smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “He doesn’t.”

My breath caught. Clearing my throat, I gestured to the bed. “You did all this in a day?”

Autumn laughed. “Oh, I am a champion shopper. Killian told me he hired a personal shopper for you and I promptly made him cancel that appointment. Now, I don’t know your taste or what suits you best but you pick what you like out of this stuff and then when your weight is back to normal, I’ll take you shopping. We’ll need to get an everyday wardrobe with some nicer pieces thrown in just in case. Don’t worry about the album and promotional photography. Killian will bring in a stylist with amazing choices for you for that.”

I tried not to hyperventilate at the thought. “Let’s just concentrate on this stuff.”

“Okay, well, I’ll wait outside. You got any orange juice?”

“In the fridge.”

“You want some?”

“Sure.”

I waited for her to close the door behind her before I turned and looked to the bed. Exhaling slowly, I reached for the hem of my shirt.

This was it.

Everything was changing again.

IT WASN’T A SURPRISE THAT Autumn had great taste. Some of the stuff was a little too preppy for my tastes, but for the most part, she’d intuitively surmised that the rocker girl in me still existed. I had a lot of new chilled-out black slogan tees and a couple of new pairs of jeans. To my relief, I fit into the size UK six, which meant I only needed to get back up one size to feel healthy again.

All I used to wear was skinny jeans because I’d liked showing off that I had an ass and hips. But since those were temporarily on leave, I didn’t exactly suit my skinny jeans. Because of all the walking I’d done, my calves were muscular but my thighs were too lean. Somehow Autumn had thought that through too. When I’d seen the boot-cut Levi’s in the bag, I’d been bemused. But then she explained that they’d be more flattering for my current shape. And she was right. She was kind of a genius.

“You can go back to your skinny jeans when Brenna gets a little more meat on you.”

By the time Brenna came to the apartment, I felt almost stylish again. Well, you know, except for the bruising and crazy hair.

Brenna was in her late thirties. She and Autumn had met when Autumn was doing a degree in food science. Brenna had been a guest lecturer. Autumn didn’t finish the degree but she made a friend for life in Brenna despite their age difference.

Tall, slender, with short dark hair, Brenna had glowing copper skin that made her look younger than her age, and maybe that had something to do with healthy eating. More than likely. I was a great believer in the benefits of good diet and exercise.

“How I’d usually start is asking you to keep a food journal for a week and we’d go from there, correcting where we needed to,” Brenna said. “However, I understand that this is a different situation. So, if you’re comfortable to speak about this in front of Autumn, can you talk to me about your eating habits over the last few months?”

She was standing across the island from me, sipping tea, and I got that she was trying not to be interrogative. Autumn sat next to me on a stool.

“I can go,” Autumn assured me.

“It’s fine. I . . . uh . . . I know a lot of people feel shame about being homeless but my circumstances were different. I chose it. No one else I met chose it. I know people would argue that drug addicts, alcoholics, they all indirectly chose it, but you can’t say that. No one knows what it’s like for them. I know the people that I spoke to . . . well, if they’d had it in them to fight their addictions, they wouldn’t be on the streets.” I flushed a little, realizing I’d gone off topic. “Anyway, I, uh . . . I ate cheap. I tried to eat breakfast every day, although there were some days I didn’t. But mostly I ate breakfast. It was usually a banana and a bacon roll. The banana for protein and the bacon roll filled me up. And it was cheap. Lunch was sporadic. Some days I’d have one, other days not. Usually it would be a sandwich that was going off that day so it was on sale. Tuna, chicken, whatever they had. Most of the time, I waited to have an early dinner instead. Fish and chips mostly. Burger. Fries. Fast food stuff. Cheap. But,” and here was where I admitted how I’d fallen down, “I couldn’t stomach it in the last few weeks. That stuff is filled with grease and I . . . it started to nauseate me.”

Brenna frowned. “Is that when you began to really notice weight loss?”

“Yeah. I mean, I was losing a little because when I wasn’t busking, I walked. I backpacked through Europe so that’s when I noticed my jeans were getting a little loose. But yeah, I guess the last few months it changed from turning fat to muscle to dropping a dress size.”

“And drinking habits?”

“No alcohol,” I said immediately. “I needed my wits about me, which meant no being drunk and no spending money on unnecessary shit. I drank water. Nothing else.”

“And did you get plenty of water?”

“A couple of liters a day. It was all I could afford.”

“Better than nothing.” She nodded, her gaze direct as she put her mug on the counter. “It’s not too bad, actually. I think that you’re small-boned with high cheekbones anyway, so any weight loss like this is going to look worse than it is.”

“I . . .” I stumbled, pondering whether I should admit this or not. But it was playing on my mind so . . .”I missed my period this month. And I’m definitely not pregnant.”

Autumn tensed beside me.

Brenna nodded. “Okay, that’s not unusual and it’s actually more likely to do with malnutrition. It might even be stress related. You’ve been through a lot. Autumn said you have a health-check appointment, so be sure to mention it and also that you’re seeing a nutritionist. Once we get the nutrients that you need back into your body, we’ll see if everything returns to normal.”

“I’ll get my period back?”

“That’s the hope.” She pulled a folder out of the bag she’d brought with her and flipped it open. “So, I have a few questions.” From there she asked me about my weight history, current and past medical history, family medical history, food allergies or intolerances, my likes and dislikes, my eating, sleeping, and exercise habits, past weight-loss attempts, and my emotional and social ties to food. I’d never had a problem with my weight before. I had a good metabolism and I was young, so it had never been a concern. Plus, I actually enjoyed eating healthy food. And, I reiterated to her what I had told O’Dea, that to keep up my strength for touring, a healthy diet had been a necessity. Brenna was happy to hear it and even more so when I told her what my diet used to be like.

“Then this should be easier for you than it is for most of my clients. We’re going to dose you up a little more heavily on nutrients to begin with, and some calorie-dense, high-protein foods to get your weight back up. Peanut butter is going to be your new best friend.”

Brenna had also brought a scale with her, connected to an app on her phone, and she’d made me step on it. Not only had she taken my weight, she’d measured me. My BMI was under so she wanted that back up in the healthy zone. She would be measuring and weighing me every week too.

By the time Brenna left, I was feeling more than a little overwhelmed. Autumn now had a grocery list in her hand and I’d downed a green smoothie filled with kale, banana, coconut milk, and peanut butter. I didn’t mind the taste, which was good because Brenna made me promise I’d have two smoothies a day on top of the meal plan she’d devised.