Hometown

“Axel! Wait up! You’re going too fast!” Harmony calls after him, her little legs pumping furiously as she wobbles on her bicycle. The handlebars tremble beneath her grip, tires bumping over uneven sidewalk cracks while the summer wind tangles loose strands of her hair against her flushed cheeks. Axel is already yards ahead, standing on his pedals for extra speed, laughter spilling freely from him as he glances back every few seconds. He always makes sure she remembers he is stronger. Faster. A step ahead. But he never rides so far that she cannot see him. Harmony refuses to fall too far behind. A tomboy through and through, with scraped knees and a sunburned nose, it is rare for anyone to catch her playing with the girls from school. She prefers racing, climbing, and daring. Prefers Axel. The sidewalk dips toward Pickett’s Creek, and Axel finally slows, skidding to a stop near the bank. He drops his bike carelessly into the grass and jogs toward the water’s edge just as Harmony barrels down the hill, brakes squealing. “You are a pickle-headed jerk!” she fusses, breathless, hopping off her bike and letting it fall beside his. Axel only chuckles, crouching to retrieve a smooth stone. With an easy flick of his wrist, he skips it across the shallow creek. One, two, three, four skips before it sinks. “Are you sure I am a jerk?” he teases, not even looking at her yet. Harmony narrows her honeyed gaze at him, planting her fists on her hips. “As sure as the sky is clear!” He rises slowly, dusting his palms together, turning toward her. The sunlight filters through the trees above, stripping his face in gold and shadow. His dark eyes are perfectly outlined by thick lashes that look unfair on a boy. Too dramatic. Too distracting. She fights not to blink. He makes her furious—the smirk, the confidence, the way he is always two steps ahead. But the second she looks into his eyes, something traitorous happens inside her chest. A stutter. A stumble. A skipped beat- she doesn’t understand yet. He steps closer. Close enough that she smells creek water and sun and boy. Before she can decide whether to shove him or insult him again, his lips press clumsily against hers. For a second, her mind goes blank and bright all at once. Dizzy. Her eyes flutter shut without permission. The world narrows to the warmth of his mouth and the thundering pulse in her ears. Then it registers. She shoves him back with both hands. “Stop being such a boy!” she shouts, wiping her mouth dramatically with the back of her hand. Axel’s laughter echoes around them—but it starts to distort. Stretch. Hollow out. As if the creek bed has turned into a tunnel and his voice is bouncing off distant walls. Harmony jerks awake in her current boyfriend’s bed, the warmth of the dream still clinging to her skin for half a second before reality settles like a weight on her chest. The room smells faintly of stale beer and sawdust. Dillan is sprawled beside her, one arm thrown over his head, mouth slightly open, breathing thick and uneven. He works construction—long hours, hard labor, rough hands. He drinks often. And when he drinks too much, something in him splinters. His rages come fast and loud, and they usually land on Harmony. She stays still for a moment, listening. The ceiling fan ticks lazily overhead. A truck passes somewhere down the street. Dillan shifts in his sleep, mumbling something incoherent before settling again. Careful. Always careful. She slowly peels the blanket off her legs and eases herself from the mattress, wincing as the springs give a faint protest. Her bare feet touch the cold floor, and she inhales through her nose, steadying herself before crossing the bedroom. Five years ago, her parents died in a car accident. Just like that. No warning. No goodbyes. The world went quiet and never quite got loud again. Since then, it has just been her. Just Harmony. She slips into the bathroom and shuts the door without letting the latch click. The light is too harsh when she flips it on. She squints at her reflection. There it is. A bruise blooming along the left side of her chin, darkening at the edges, faint yellow already creeping beneath the purple. Dillan had smacked her last night. Not hard enough to knock her down. Just hard enough to remind her. Her fingers hover near it but don’t touch. She keeps telling herself she is going to leave. That this is temporary. That she deserves more than apologies that smell like whiskey and promises that dissolve by sundown. But the silence of being alone terrifies her more than the chaos of staying. She turns off the bathroom light and moves quickly now, slipping back into the bedroom. She grabs her jeans from the floor and pulls them on, the denim rough against her skin. Her shirt follows. Shoes in her hand instead of on her feet. Dillan exhales heavily and rolls to his side. She freezes. Waits. When he does not wake, she quietly gathers her belongings—phone, keys, purse—every small movement practiced and deliberate. Then she moves toward the door. The morning glow enhances the bruise on her chin as she turns into Axel’s parents’ driveway. The early sunlight is soft, almost forgiving, but it still catches the discoloration before she can turn her face away from the rear-view mirror. The gravel crunches beneath her tires, familiar and grounding. The white farmhouse looks the same—wraparound porch, wind chimes clinking faintly in the breeze, the oak tree out front still stretching its branches like protective arms. It is Bonnie’s birthday today. Harmony always makes sure to visit when she can, even when life is heavy and work keeps her running in circles. Something about this house still feels safe. Still feels like before. She cuts the engine and searches her purse, fingers fumbling until she finds her compact. Flipping it open, she studies the bruise again. The purple has deepened since she left Dillan’s house. She powders her face carefully, layering enough to dull the color, though she knows she cannot erase it. Good enough. She grabs the neatly wrapped present from the passenger seat and climbs out of the car, smoothing her shirt down instinctively. Fred is already at the front door, unlocking the screen as if he has been watching for her arrival. He smiles at Harmony as she approaches, but there is something different in it—a restrained excitement. The kind of smile that holds a secret and enjoys holding it. “Morning, kiddo,” he says warmly. Before she can respond, he pulls her into his usual bear hug, enveloping her in the scent of aftershave and cedar. The hug lingers just a second longer than usual, as though he is bracing for something. He steps aside and leads her into the kitchen. The country kitchen smells like sugar and vanilla, sunlight pouring through lace curtains and catching in the floating dust motes. Bonnie is moving quickly between the counter and the oven, flour dusted across her apron, hair pinned up but already loosening at the temples. She looks like she is late baking her own birthday cake. “Bonnie, are you all right?” Harmony grins, setting the gift on the worn wooden counter. Bonnie turns so fast she nearly knocks over a mixing bowl. “You are not going to believe it, Harmony!” She hurries forward and grabs Harmony’s hand, bouncing slightly on her heels in a way that feels almost girlish. Harmony has not seen Bonnie like this in a very long time — not since before the quiet settled into the house. “What?” Harmony laughs softly, though a strange tightness begins curling in her stomach. “Axel is finally coming home!” Bonnie beams, squeezing her hand. “He will be here tonight!” The words hang in the air. Axel. Finally. Coming home. Harmony feels as though the floor has shifted beneath her feet. The kitchen seems smaller suddenly, the sunlight brighter, the room humming in her ears. Her fingers go cold inside Bonnie’s grasp. She thinks of a creek, of laughter echoing, of a clumsy kiss, and honeyed sunlight. And she feels as though she is about to faint. Axel has been away for the last seven years in the Air Force. Seven years. Harmony remembers the last time she saw him as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. They had been dating since the sixth grade—awkward hand-holding, shared lunches, football games, whispered promises under bleachers. It had always been Axel and Harmony. No one questioned it. It was simply understood. Graduation night, beneath the glow of string lights and cheap rented decorations, Axel dropped the bomb. He was joining the Air Force. She had been surprised, yes—but not devastated. She had told him she could handle it. Travel did not scare her. Distance did not scare her. She would wait. She would visit. She would make it work. Only Axel had shaken his head. He had not been okay with leaving her behind to wait on him. That was no life for her to live, he had said. She deserved more than phone calls and countdowns. More than empty chairs at holidays and lonely nights. Harmony’s heart had been breaking as he kept talking. He had framed it as something noble and selfless. He wanted her to live her life, not live it waiting on him. She had wanted to choose that for herself. He left the next day. And he has not returned home since. On holidays, Fred and Bonnie would travel to visit him instead. Photos would appear online—uniform, crisp, posture straighter, smile more restrained. New cities in the background. New people. It was as if he erased her from his life. Now, he is returning home. Bonnie’s voice pulls her from the spiral of memory. “Will you be able to be here tonight?” Harmony forces her expression steady and shakes her head apologetically. “I have to work, but I can stop by tomorrow sometime,” she promises, reaching for the gift again as a distraction. Something to do with her hands so Bonnie will not see them tremble. She gently pushes the present toward Bonnie. “Happy Birthday.” Bonnie unwraps it carefully, peeling the paper back to reveal the expensive bottle of wine and bath oils nestled together. Her eyes brighten immediately. “Oh, Harmony,” she laughs warmly, hugging her around the neck. “You spoil me.” Harmony smiles, but it feels thin at the edges. “I have to go,” she says quickly, already stepping toward the doorway before the conversation can circle back. “I will see you guys soon.” Fred gives her that same knowing look as she passes, and for a second, she wonders if he sees more than she is saying. The screen door creaks behind her as she steps back into the daylight. Fred waits until he hears the screen door click shut behind Harmony before he speaks, his voice low and measured. “Axel is going to find out,” he murmurs to Bonnie, leaning against the counter, hands clasped loosely in front of him. Bonnie looks up at her husband, the glass bottle paused mid-hand. “You do not say a word to Axel,” she whispers, her tone sharp with quiet command. “It is Harmony’s life. You saw what happened when we tried to push her to leave last time. She didn’t come around for a month.” Fred shakes his head slowly, the lines around his eyes tightening. “If her folks were alive… Jack would have killed Dillan.” Bonnie exhales, setting her gifts on the counter with a soft clink. “It didn’t help that she had no one to get her through her parents’ death.” Fred folds his arms, frowning, brows knitted. “We were there.” Bonnie shakes her head, softer now, a shadow of frustration in her gaze. “That’s not what I meant.” The air between them hums with unspoken truths, the weight of years, and the tension of secrets.