Page 137 of Stolen Harmony
The voice was familiar and warm and completely unexpected. Elias, calling from somewhere in the city, sounding tired and uncertain and nothing like the controlled man who'd walked out of my apartment a week ago.
“What do you want?”
The question came out harsher than I'd intended, but I was still reeling from the shock of hearing his voice. He was supposed to be in Harbor's End, living his safe, uncomplicated life without the burden of inappropriate feelings for his dead wife's son.
“I need to see you,” he said simply. “There are things you need to know. Things I should have told you before.”
“I think we've said everything that needs saying.”
“No. We haven't. Not even close.” His voice was rough with something that might have been desperation. “Please, Rowan. Just give me an hour. If you still want me to leave after that, I will.”
I should have said no. Should have hung up and blocked his number and gone back to the business of forgetting that Harbor's End had ever existed. But there was something in his voice, a vulnerability I'd never heard before, that made me hesitate.
“Where are you?”
“Downstairs.”
The words sent my pulse spiking. He was here, in my building, close enough to touch if I was stupid enough to let him up. Close enough to hurt me all over again if I was dumb enough to give him the chance.
“I didn't say you could come up.”
“I know. But I'm not leaving until we talk.”
“Wait.” Something cold settled in my stomach. “How did you even find me? I never gave you my address.”
There was a pause on his end, long enough that I could hear the ambient noise of the city through the phone. Traffic, distant voices, the eternal hum of New York that never quite went quiet.
“I asked around,” he said finally. “Called some contacts in the music industry. People who know people. It wasn't hard to track down where Harbor's End's prodigal son ended up.”
“You had people looking for me?”
“I had people who owed me favors make a few phone calls. Your name's not exactly unknown in certain circles, Rowan. Talented musicians from small towns don't disappear completely, especially when they've got the kind of raw ability you do.”
The determination in his voice was new, different from the careful control he'd always maintained. Like he'd made some decision that had changed the fundamental equation between us.
“Fine,” I said, though every instinct I had was screaming that this was a mistake. “But if you're here to deliver another speech about inappropriate relationships and timing, you can save us both the trouble.”
“I'm here to tell you the truth.”
The line went dead, and I was left staring at my phone like it might explain what the hell was happening. Elias was downstairs. In New York. With truth he claimed I needed to hear.
I looked around my apartment, taking in the chaos of empty takeout containers and unwashed clothes, the evidence of a week spent falling apart in private. Not exactly the impressionI wanted to make, but it was too late to pretend I had my shit together.
The knock came five minutes later, soft but insistent. I opened the door to find Elias standing in my hallway, suitcase at his feet, looking like he'd driven straight through without stopping. His usually perfect hair was messed, his coat wrinkled, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion that went deeper than just physical tiredness.
“You look like hell,” I said, which wasn't exactly the opening line I'd planned.
“So do you.”
We stood there for a moment, taking each other in across the threshold that separated my chaotic apartment from the hallway where he waited like a supplicant. He looked older than I remembered, worn down by whatever had driven him to make the trip to New York.
“Can I come in?”
I stepped back, letting him into my space, watching as he took in the disaster zone I'd been living in. His expression didn't change, but I caught the way his eyes lingered on the empty bottles, the scattered clothes, the general air of someone who'd stopped caring about basic human maintenance.
“Nice place,” he said, which was clearly a lie.
“It's temporary.”
