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Callie hands him the computer with trembling hands. I want to pull her into my lap to comfort her, protect her, but this is between them. When her gaze creeps toward me, I sense the wonder and empathy bubbling up inside me pour out to her.

“That was beautiful, Callie,” I say softly.

She returns a weak smile.

“Thanks, Callie,” Luke echoes faintly.

He hands the laptop back to her, then pushes to his feet.

Without a word, he disappears into the hall, probably stopping at the office based on the sound of the door closing. That damn office again.

Callie looks stunned as she stares after him.

“He loved it, but it was a lot for him,” I say to reassure her.

“I know.” She gives up on the empty corridor and joins me on the couch. “He’s with The Chair.”

Um…

“The chair?”

She nods like that’s a thing people do all the time. “He stole it from the café. I think it has something to do with Elena.”

Stunned, all I can do is blink at her for a long second. “I’m sorry, what?”

She returns a casual shrug. “The Chair is how we met. I was sitting at my table one day at Jemma’s, and he came in and askedme to move. Apparently, I was in his chair,thatchair. He’d go into the café every day and stare at the same one for several minutes. Freaked out the servers and café regulars, but no one asked questions or stopped him.”

She takes a breath, but I can’t. What the hell is she talking about?

“Finally, the day of the party this past weekend he just lost it and basically marched down to the café and stole the chair in broad daylight, right in front of the patrons and staff. I’m surprised there hasn’t been more about it in the news.”

I open my mouth to respond but nothing comes out. Words and images are streaming through my head, but none are fitting together.

“Luke… stole a chair. A cheap café chair?”

It doesn’t make any more sense out loud.

I rest my elbows on my knees, my eyes locked in a perplexed stare on the coffee table.

More images are rushing in. Memories. Nightmares.

And the biggest of all I still can’t answer: Whyhere?Why a chair inthiscity?

“Yep. Just a chair. He was obsessed with it before he stole it.”

My head moves in absent arcs. “And now what? What does he do with it? I don’t remember seeing it.”

“He keeps it in his office and sits in it.”

“And doeswhat?” I return, frustration mounting.

Just when I thought we were finally putting the pieces together…

There’s a stolen diner chair in the office.

She seems unfazed by any of this. In fact, she seems more upset thatI’mupset than the fact that our friend has traded iconic musician for furniture thief.

“Nothing. He just sits there. That’s where I found him yesterday when he finally broke down.”