Page 130 of Stolen Harmony
“I am tired,” I said. “Tired of watching everything I care about slip throughmy fingers.”
He winced. “The boy means that much to you?”
I barked out a laugh that had no humor in it. “You don’t get to ask me that. Not after everything.”
His eyes dropped. “Fair.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, the way he always did when he wanted to smoke but had promised himself he wouldn’t. “I see him in you sometimes, you know. The way you used to be. Restless, certain the world had cheated you out of something. I know that look too well.”
“You don’t know him,” I said.
“I’ve seen enough to know he’s hurting.”
I leaned forward, anger bubbling despite the exhaustion dragging at my limbs. “Everyone’s hurting. Harbor’s End runs on it. But Rowan—Rowan isn’t just some broken kid you can sum up with a glance. He’s…” I trailed off, the words catching before I could admit them out loud.
Dad studied me in silence, and I hated that he still had the ability to make me feel twelve years old again, as if one look could peel me open and see what I hadn’t said.
“You love him,” he said finally, not as a question but a truth he was laying bare between us.
The air went out of me. I sat back, staring at him, waiting for the disgust, the lecture, the warning about what people would say. But it didn’t come. He just looked at me, weary and sad.
“Yes,” I said hoarsely. “And I don’t know how to live with that anymore.”
The firelight painted lines across his face, deepening every wrinkle, every shadow. “You remind me of myself,” he said softly. “More than you’d want to.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “That’s supposed to be comforting?”
“No.” His voice was raw. “It’s supposed to be a warning.”
The room filled with silence again, thick and suffocating. I could feel the unspoken words pressing against theedges of it, whatever he was holding back. My chest tightened with the weight of it.
“What are you not telling me?” I asked finally.
Dad shifted, his hands gripping his knees until his knuckles whitened. “Elias…” He hesitated, eyes flicking to the fire before landing back on me. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
I stared at him, the dread in my stomach coiling tighter. “Then tell me.”
He didn’t. Not yet. Instead he looked around the room, at the pictures on the walls, the shelves filled with relics of another life. “Do you remember when your mother died?” he asked suddenly.
The question blindsided me. I blinked. “Of course I remember.”
“You blamed me,” he said quietly. “And you were right to. I was too proud, too stubborn, too angry to hold on to her. I’ve thought about that every day since. How easy it is to lose something because you weren’t brave enough to do what was needed.”
My throat felt tight. “Why are you bringing this up now?”
“Because I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did,” he said. “Because I see you walking down the same road, holding back when you should be holding on.”
I shook my head, my voice rough. “It’s not that simple. You don’t know what Victor’s done, what he’s holding over me?—”
“I know,” Dad cut in, his tone sharper than I expected. For the first time, he met my eyes without flinching. “I know exactly what Victor does when he wants to break someone. I know better than anyone.”
The words sank deep, heavy with implication, but before I could press him, he leaned back again, his shoulders sagging under invisible weight.
“You think you’ve been carrying this alone,” he murmured. “But I’ve been carrying it too.”
My breath stuttered. “What are you talking about?”
His eyes flicked to the flames, then back to me. “Victor owns me. He has for a long time now.”
The words hit like a punch. “What are you talking about?”
