Page 149 of Stolen Harmony

“What did you do?”

“I had evidence,” he said. “Documentation of his... activities. Financial improprieties, abuse of power, the kind of thing that ruins political careers and sends people to prison.”

“Evidence from where?”

“People talk. Especially when they've been hurt.” His voice was quiet, but there was steel underneath. “Victor made a lot of enemies over the years. It just took the right person asking the right questions to get them to speak up.”

I studied his face, looking for signs of whatever this had costhim. Because it had cost him, I could see that in the careful way he held himself, the exhaustion around his eyes that had nothing to do with lack of sleep.

“Why?” I asked finally.

“Why what?”

“Why go to all that trouble? Why risk everything to take him down?” The question came out smaller than I'd intended, vulnerability bleeding through despite my best efforts to stay guarded. “Why fight for someone who was stupid enough to fall for his lies in the first place?”

Elias set down his own mug and took a step closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne, see the flecks of darker blue in his gray eyes.

“Because you're worth fighting for,” he said, and his voice was steady, certain, like he was stating a fundamental law of physics instead of offering his opinion.

No one had ever fought for me before. Not my father, who'd walked away when things got complicated. Not my mother, who'd loved me but from a careful distance. Not the parade of strangers who'd used my body without caring about the person inside it.

But Elias had seen me at my worst, had watched me self-destruct and make terrible choices and still thought I was worth saving.

“I want you to come back with me,” he said. “To Harbor's End. Not forever, not unless you want to. Just for a while.”

The thought of going back to that small town, to the place where everyone had watched my mother live and die, where gossip spread like wildfire and secrets were impossible to keep, sent panic racing through my system.

“I can't,” I said automatically. “People there, they'll talk. They'll make assumptions.”

“Let them talk.”

“You don't understand what it's like to be the center of that kind of attention. To have everyone watching, waiting for you to fuck up so they can feel better about their own lives.”

“You're right,” he said. “I don't understand that. But I understand what it's like to be so afraid of other people's opinions that you end up living in a cage you built yourself.”

The words hit too close to home, and I turned away, staring out the kitchen window at the narrow slice of sky visible between apartment buildings.

“What if it doesn't work?” I asked. “What if we get there and realize this whole thing was just trauma bonding?”

“Then we figure that out too.”

“You keep saying that like it's simple.”

“Maybe it is simple. Maybe we've been making it complicated because complicated feels safer than admitting we want the same thing.”

I turned back to him, searching his face for doubt, for the moment when he'd realize what he was offering and take it back. But there was only patience there, and something that looked like hope.

“One day at a time,” he said again, like it was a promise.

It took us a week of planning and conversations with the band before we were ready to head back to Harbor's End. The band didn't take the news well, obviously, but I assured them that I could return at any time and that they would continue as a group in my absence.

The drive to Harbor's End stretched six hours, most of it spent in comfortable silence broken only by the soft sound of Roxie purring in her carrier and occasional comments abouttraffic or weather. Elias had offered to book us a flight, but I'd wanted the transition to be gradual, needed time to prepare myself for returning to a place that held too many complicated memories.

We stopped twice for gas and coffee, and once so Roxie could stretch her legs in a rest area parking lot. She stayed close to my feet, suspicious of the open space and the strange smells, but she didn't try to run. Smart cat. She'd learned that sometimes the safest place was right beside the person who'd chosen to keep you.

As we got closer to the coast, I could smell the salt in the air, could feel the particular quality of light that came from being near large bodies of water. It was different from the Hudson River, more alive somehow, more wild. Harbor's End had always smelled like possibility and disappointment in equal measure, like dreams that might come true if you were brave enough or lucky enough or both.

“You okay?” Elias asked as we passed the sign welcoming us to Harbor's End, population 8,347.