Page 131 of Stolen Harmony
“I sold him the house,” Dad admitted, his voice hoarse. “He paid off debts I couldn’t dig out of, but the deal wasn’t clean. I live here at his mercy. This roof, this chair, even the firewood in the grate—it’s all his. And when Victor owns you, Elias… he doesn’t let go.”
I felt the air thin around me. “So you’ve been working for him.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Dad said quickly. “At first it was small things. Who came by, what people were saying. He told me it was nothing. But then…” His throat worked. “Then Rowan came back. And I crossed a line.”
My chest tightened. “What line?”
His voice cracked. “I slept with him. I told myself it was just one night, that it wouldn’t matter. But Victor found out—he always finds out. He held it over me. Said if I didn’t keep feeding him information, he’d destroy both of us. So I kept quiet. I kept giving him what he wanted.”
The room tilted. My father. My own father. And Rowan.
“You betrayed me,” I said, the words jagged.
Dad’s eyes glistened. “I betrayed both of you. Victor made sure of it. He bought this house, he bought my silence, he bought every piece of me I didn’t think I’d ever sell. And when that wasn’t enough, he used Rowan. He usedyou.”
The fire cracked, sparks leaping like accusations.
“Why?” My voice broke. “Why would you let him do this?”
Dad’s face crumpled, shame carving him hollow. “Because I was weak. Because I wanted to believe I still had somethingleft to give. Because I was afraid. And Victor, he knew exactly how to use that fear. He dangled this house in front of me, reminded me every day that I don’t even own the walls I sit inside. And I let him.”
I stood, shaking, the betrayal burning through me like acid. “You let him ruin Rowan. You let him ruin me.”
Dad’s voice cracked, desperate. “I never meant to hurt you. Or him. But by the time I realized what I’d done, it was too late. Victor had me by the throat. And he isn’t finished, Elias. He won’t stop until he’s taken everything.”
Something inside me tore. I didn’t know if it was muscle or memory, but I heard it—the small, decisive sound of a thing giving way under pressure. My hands were already on the mantle and then they weren’t, and for a second the room tilted and I saw us from the ceiling: a tired man and his son at opposite ends of a fire that couldn’t keep either of them warm.
“You let him,” I said, and my voice wasn’t a voice so much as a rasp pulled over gravel. “You let him take me. You let him take Rowan. You—you handed us over.”
“I didn’t—” Dad started, and stopped. His throat worked. “I didn’t know how to stop him.”
“By saying no.” The words blew out of me. “By telling him to go to hell. By choosing me for once. And yet you enabled him.”
“I chose you,” he said, and there was a wildness in him I almost didn’t recognize. “Every terrible choice I made, I told myself it was to keep you safe. Keep a roof over your head. Keep this place standing so you’d still have somewhere to come back to when the world chewed you up.”
“And instead,” I said, “you sold the house to the man who’s been trying to ruin me since we were boys.”
Dad flinched. His eyes glossed and cleared and glossed again like he couldn’t decide which version of pain to settle on. “I thought I could manage him. I’ve been managing him my whole life.”
“No,” I said. “You’ve been afraid of him your whole life. You just called it management so you could sleep.”
The fire popped. A log shifted and slid, scattering embers. I crouched to shove it back with the iron poker and the movement brought me too close to the edge; when I straightened the room swam and I put a hand to the wall like I was on a boat, like I could steady the house by sheer force.
“I told Rowan to leave,” I said. The confession ripped out before I could stop it. Dad’s head snapped up. “Victor had the envelope, the footage, the lies. He said if I loved Rowan I’d make him go. So I did. I made him think it was his choice. And I watched him walk away.”
The devastation stamped across Dad’s face was swift and total. His mouth opened, closed. “I did that,” he said hoarsely. “I put you in that box and handed you the lid.”
I laughed, and it was a broken thing, too bright for the room. “We did this,” I said. “You. Me. Victor. Everyone who loved Elaine enough to destroy the part of her she left behind.”
At her name something fractured between us—something brittle and old. Dad pressed his palms over his eyes like he could block out the past if he made it dark enough. When he lowered his hands, tears had made clean tracks through the soot of his exhaustion.
“I am sorry,” he said, and it was not the easy sorry of men avoiding consequences. It was raw, and it came from somewhere that had been shut for years. “God, Elias, I am so sorry. I should have protected him. I should have protected you. Instead I—” His voice failed. He shook his head, a small, helpless movement. “I failed both of you.”
“Why him?” I asked, the question landing between us like an accusation and a plea all at once. “Why Rowan?”
Dad swallowed. He looked down at his hands, at the calluses that had never quite gone away. “Because I was lonely,” he said, and the honesty in it stole my breath. “Because he looked at me like I wasn’t finished yet. Because I wanted to believe I could still be wanted without having to pay for it.” He lifted his gaze. “Because I am a selfish man who forgot there are costs you cannot make someone else carry.”
Something in me softened and then hardened again, because forgiveness and fury kept trading places faster than I could flag them. My eyes burned. I blinked, and the heat spilled over, hot on my cheeks. I scrubbed at my face with the heel of my palm, angry at the wetness, angrier at the part of me that still wanted to set my head on his shoulder the way I had when nightmares wore simpler shapes.
