Hometown

Chapter Five

Her grip tightens slightly around the stem of the glass before she pushes off the counter and moves into the living room, flicking on the television more for the noise than anything else. The screen fills with light, voices spilling into the space, but she doesn’t really see it. Doesn’t follow it.

Her attention drifts.

To the windows.

To the dark outside.

Waiting.

She does not have to wait long.

Headlights cut through the glass suddenly, bright and sweeping, pulling her focus instantly. They stretch across the walls, across the floor, across her, before settling into a steady glow that makes her chest lift with something close to relief.

“Finally,” she murmurs, already setting her glass down.

The engine outside hums low, then dies.

Silence follows.

But this time—

It doesn’t feel quite so heavy.

Harmony pushes herself up from the couch, setting her wine glass down with a soft clink before heading toward the door. The house creaks faintly beneath her steps, like it’s waking up just enough to acknowledge the energy shift.

She unlocks it just as a knock starts to form on the other side.

The door swings open, and May is already moving.

She breezes in like she owns the place—like she always has—her purse slipping from her shoulder and landing carelessly on the chair by the front door without so much as a glance. “Why did you not come to Bonnie’s small party tonight?” she fires off immediately, toeing off her shoes as she steps further inside. “You never miss those.”

Harmony doesn’t answer right away.

She is already turning back toward the living room, already reaching for the comfort of her spot on the couch, the cushion dipping beneath her as she settles in and grabs her wine.

“I had to work tonight,” she says, casual, practiced, lifting the glass to her lips. “There was a lot of paperwork I had to finish.”

It sounds reasonable.

It should sound reasonable.

May doesn’t buy it for a second.

Harmony doesn’t even need to look up to know that.

Still—she does.

And there May is, arms crossed tightly over her chest, planted firmly on the other side of the coffee table like she’s about to cross-examine a suspect. Her expression is sharp, unimpressed, and far too knowing. “You did not come because of Axel,” she states plainly.

No accusation.

No question.

Just a fact.

Harmony’s jaw tightens, teeth pressing together as she takes a slow sip of her wine instead of answering. The silence stretches just long enough to say everything she refuses to.

May scoffs, shaking her head as she turns away, clearly unsatisfied—but not surprised. “Unbelievable,” she mutters under her breath as she disappears into the kitchen.

The sound of cabinets opening, glass clinking, and the familiar rhythm of someone making themselves at home fills the space. Harmony stares straight ahead at the television, though she couldn’t tell you what’s on it if her life depended on it.

Her grip tightens slightly around her glass.

She exhales.

Slow.

Measured.

May re-emerges a minute later, wine in hand, her earlier irritation still clinging to her like a second skin. She doesn’t sit right away. Just lingers, watching Harmony with narrowed eyes, taking a slow sip as if she’s deciding exactly how hard she wants to push. “You do plan to go tomorrow for her big bash, right?” she asks finally.

Harmony nods, almost too quickly at first, then steadies it into something more deliberate. “Of course I am.”

May hums softly, unconvinced but willing to let that answer stand—for now. She lifts her glass again, studying Harmony over the rim, her gaze dragging across her profile like she’s trying to peel back layers without permission.

There is a pause.

A calculated one.

Then—

“Axel was asking everyone he could about you…” she starts, her voice quieter now, less sharp, but heavier somehow.

Harmony’s fingers still against the stem of her glass.

Just slightly.

“…No one would dare speak of you,” May continues, setting her glass down with a soft, deliberate tap against the table. “No one. Not even me.”

That pulls Harmony’s attention fully. Her brows knit together, confusion flickering across her face as she finally looks at her. “Why?”

May lets out a short laugh, waving a hand like the answer isn’t loaded. “Oh, come on,” she says, pacing a step or two before turning back. “No one wants to be the one to tell him you’re in some shady relationship and own a strip club in the absolute middle of nowhere.” The words land harder than she makes them sound.

They always do.

Harmony leans back into the couch slowly, the cushions giving beneath her as she exhales through her nose. There’s no immediate defense, no sharp comeback.

Just… a decision.

Her hand reaches for her phone on the side table, fingers curling around it before she tosses it across the small space between them. It lands beside May with a soft thud, the screen lighting up on impact. “I broke it off with Dillan this morning.”

The words are calm.

Simple.

But they carry weight.

May’s eyes flick down to the phone, scanning the screen. The notification bubble sits there, almost obnoxious in its persistence—twenty unread messages stacked on top of each other like a warning sign she cannot ignore. Her brows lift slightly.

Harmony’s voice cuts in before she can say a word. “And before you say anything,” she adds, her tone sharper now, more defensive, “that was before I learned Axel was coming home.”

May’s lips twitch. Just slightly. Then she huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she looks back up at her. “I was about to ask,” she admits, not even pretending otherwise. But there is something different in her expression now.

Less judgment.

More curiosity.

More interest.

Because now?

Now this isn’t just avoidance.

Now this is timing.

And timing—

Is everything.

The phone vibrates again, shrill and insistent, cutting through the soft hum of the television. Harmony flinches, her fingers tightening around the wine glass. She doesn’t reach for it. She can’t. She won’t.

“Do you really have to keep letting him harass you?” May asks, eyes narrowing as she crosses the room again, glass in hand. She leans on the coffee table, studying Harmony like she’s analyzing a puzzle she’s determined to solve.

“I… I’m done,” Harmony says, a little too quietly, too tightly. Her thumb hovers over the screen, the repeated buzzes as tiny hammer taps against her restraint. “I told him this morning. I’m done. I’m not answering.”

May chuckles, low and dangerous, the kind of laugh that doesn’t belong in a living room. “Honey, I don’t think he’s asking for your permission.”

Before Harmony can protest, May snatches the phone off the side table. It vibrates violently in her hand, screen lighting up with a dozen more missed calls stacked on top of the last ones. She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t hesitate.

“Hello?” May says into the phone, calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that makes you certain there’s a storm hiding just behind it.

A pause.

Then, Dillan’s voice. Smooth. Entitled. Mocking. “Harmony…?”

May’s lips curl, the glass of wine untouched in her other hand. “Oh, I know who this is,” she says, voice low, deliberate. “And I think it’s time someone said a few things you won’t like.”

“What do you mean?” Dillan’s tone shifts slightly. Confusion. Unease. A crack in his practiced control.

“I mean,” May continues, each word sharp, careful, slicing through the speaker like a knife, “that you’ve been calling her nonstop, threatening her—whatever little games you’ve been playing in the dark—and you’re done pretending you’re the victim.”

Silence on the line.

“May… I—” Dillan starts, and May cuts him off.

“—No. Don’t. Don’t even try to charm your way out of this. You’re not fooling anyone. Least of all her. Least of all me. You’re abusive. You’re manipulative. And you are not welcome here. Ever. Got it?”

Harmony sits frozen on the couch, wine glass halfway to her lips, heart pounding. She feels like she’s watching someone else speak, but she’s not—May is fighting for her voice, for her safety, for her sanity. And it’s intoxicating.

Dillan swallows audibly. “You don’t understand—”

“Don’t you dare,” May spits, her voice rising slightly but controlled, like a whip snapping through the air. “You don’t get to rewrite reality. You don’t get to act like you’re the victim while terrorizing her. You’ve been caught. And if you so much as breathe in her direction after this, I swear I’ll make sure she never has to deal with your games again.”

Harmony lets out a long breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Her grip on the wine glass relaxes, but only slightly. The tension still hangs, thick and heavy, but it’s different now. Protective. Charged.

There’s another pause. Dillan’s voice cracks, quiet this time, a careful mask slipping. “Fine… fine. I… I wasn’t—”

May cuts him off again. “Save it. Save your apologies. Save your fake concern. Just stay gone. Stay away.”

The line goes dead. May lowers the phone, her eyes glinting in the lamplight, dangerous and satisfied at the same time. She sets the wine down on the table, steps closer to Harmony, and places a hand lightly on her shoulder.

“There,” May says, voice softer now. “You’re free. For tonight, at least. I’ll make sure he doesn’t try anything again.”

Harmony exhales, trembling slightly, wine glass still in her hand, and lets herself lean into the touch. Relief mixes with adrenaline, shaking through her in an electric pulse. She is still nervous—she always will be—but for the first time in a long time, she feels like someone else is standing between her and the storm.

May smirks faintly. “He’s the kind of guy who wants to look good in the dark. Let him. We’ll keep the lights on in here.”

Harmony can’t help it. She laughs softly, a little raw, a little breathless. And for the first time in hours, maybe days, she doesn’t feel trapped in her own silence.

The silence that follows feels different.

Not empty.

Not cold.

Just… still.

Harmony doesn’t move right away. She sits exactly where she is, the phone now dark on the table, her wine glass still caught halfway between her hand and her lap like she forgot what she was doing with it.

Her pulse is loud in her ears.

Too loud.

Each beat was a reminder of how tightly wound she had been, how quickly everything had escalated, how easily it could have kept going if May hadn’t stepped in.

She exhales slowly, the breath unsteady at first before it evens out, her shoulders lowering inch by inch as the tension begins to drain from her body.