Page 71 of Stolen Harmony
The blood roared in my ears, drowning out everything except the need to hurt him. To wipe that smug smile off his face, to make him pay for every casual cruelty, every calculated insult, every moment he'd spent making other people feel small.
My hands were already moving when rational thought kicked in. This was what he wanted. The reaction, the loss of control, the proof that I was exactly as unstable as he'd suggested. Getting arrested for assaulting my own brother would only confirm every suspicion he was already spreading around town.
I forced my hands to unclench, forced my breathing to slow, forced myself to take a step back instead of forward.
“Stay away from him,” I said quietly. “Stay away from me. And keep your mouth shut about things you don't understand.”
“Or what?” Victor's smile was pure provocation now. “You'll make me? You'll destroy my reputation the way you're destroying your own?”
I turned and walked out without another word, my jaw aching from the effort of holding back everything I wanted to say. The municipal building's hallway felt like a tomb, all echoing footsteps and fluorescent lights that made everything look sickly and wrong.
The anger rode with me all the way through the cold streets, my breath sharp in the winter air as I walked without destination. Harbor's End looked different when you were carrying rage like a weight in your chest. Smaller, meaner, fullof windows that might be hiding eyes that watched and judged and whispered about your business to anyone who would listen.
The truck's engine ticked as it cooled in the gravel parking area overlooking Gull's Point. I'd driven here without really deciding to, muscle memory guiding me along the winding coastal road while my mind wrestled with the conversation I'd had with my father earlier. His words about taking chances, about not letting fear make my decisions, echoed in the cab long after I'd turned off the radio.
Through the windshield, the Atlantic stretched endlessly, gray-green water catching the last light of evening. This had always been my thinking spot, the place I came when Harbor's End felt too small and my problems too large. The rocky outcropping jutted into the sea like an accusation, waves breaking against stone that had withstood centuries of storms.
I was reaching for the door handle when I heard it—the faint sound of guitar strings carried on the salt wind. The melody was tentative, incomplete, notes that started strong then faded into uncertainty. Someone was down on the rocks, hidden from view by the angle of the cliff.
My boots found purchase on the worn path that switchbacked down the rocky face. The music grew clearer with each step, revealing itself to be something melancholy and searching. The guitar stopped and started, the player working through changes, hunting for something that felt right.
When I rounded the last bend, I found him.
Rowan sat on a flat boulder maybe twenty feet from the water's edge, acoustic guitar cradled in his lap. His dark hair caught the wind, and he'd pulled on a thick sweater that madehim look younger somehow, more vulnerable. He was completely absorbed in what he was playing, fingers moving across the fretboard with the unconscious grace of someone who'd been making music since childhood.
I stopped walking, not wanting to interrupt. This felt private, sacred in the way that creation always was. The melody he was working on carried the weight of unfinished thoughts, emotions too complex for simple words. It spoke of longing and loss and the particular ache that came from loving someone you couldn't quite reach.
A piece of loose shale shifted under my boot, and the small sound carried on the wind. Rowan's head came up, his hands stilling on the strings. When his eyes found mine, there was no surprise in his expression, just the quiet acceptance of someone who'd been expecting company without knowing it.
“Didn't mean to interrupt,” I called out, my voice competing with the crash of waves against stone.
“You're not.” He shifted on the boulder, making space. “Come on down. The acoustics are incredible here.”
I picked my way down the remaining rocks, salt spray misting my face as waves found the deeper channels between stones. The air smelled of seaweed and storms, that particular scent of an ocean that never slept. Up close, I could see the concentration lines around Rowan's eyes, the way his jaw was set with the frustration of chasing something just out of reach.
“What are you working on?” I asked, settling onto the rock beside him. The stone was cold even through my jeans, worn smooth by decades of tide and weather.
“Nothing. Everything.” He ran his thumb across the strings, producing a soft chord that hung in the air before the wind took it. “I used to come here when I was younger. Thought the ocean would give me all the answers I needed.”
“Did it?”
“Sometimes. Mostly it just made me feel small.” He glanced at me sideways, something careful in his expression. “You know this place?”
“I've been coming here for years. Never saw anyone else, though.”
“I always came at night. Less chance of running into people who wanted to know why I wasn't in school or at home helping my mom with whatever crisis was happening that week.”
The bitterness in his voice was tempered by distance, old pain that had been worn smooth like the stones around us. I watched his fingers move restlessly on the guitar neck, muscle memory keeping his hands busy while his mind worked through whatever had brought him here.
“Play something,” I said.
“It's not finished.”
“Doesn't matter.”
He looked at me for a long moment, something shifting in his expression. Then his fingers found the strings again, and the melody that emerged was different from what I'd heard before. More complete, more honest. It started simple—just three chords cycling in a pattern that felt both familiar and new. But as he played, layers began to emerge. A bass line that his thumb picked out on the lower strings. A harmony that his voice hummed without words.
The music filled the space between us, rising and falling like the tide. It was the sound of someone working through grief, of trying to find beauty in the broken places. I found myself leaning closer, drawn by the intimacy of watching creation happen in real time.
