Hometown

Chapter One

“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, 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, striping 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 rear0view mirror.

The gravel crunches beneath her tires, familiar and grounding. The white farmhouse looks exactly 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 completely.

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 completely 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.

Harmony slides back into her BMW, the leather seats soft under her fingers as she tosses her bag into the passenger side. The car gleams in the sunlight, a small emblem of independence and taste—nothing lavish, but far from cheap.

The city sprawls in the distance as she drives, windows down just enough for the morning air to brush against her face, carrying with it the faint scent of asphalt and budding trees.

When she arrives at her home, she deposits her things on the white leather couch with a practiced lack of care. It is tidy, modern, comfortable—a place that whispers stability, even if she cannot feel it inside.

She pads toward the shower, steam slowly curling around her, hot water tracing over her bruised skin, loosening muscles taut from tension. Her mind refuses to release him.

Axel.

Even seven years away, he is heavy on her thoughts, a constant shadow over everything she touches.

She wonders if he is seeing anyone now, if he has found someone serious, someone who has captured the space she once held entirely in his world.

The thought twists her stomach into tight knots.

Her hand trembles slightly as the water sprays down her face, washing away sweat and city dust, but nothing can wash away the ache of memory—or the fear of losing him again.

The steam thickens around her, fogging the glass, softening the edges of the bathroom until everything feels distant and blurred.

Her fingers press against the tile wall, her forehead resting there for just a second longer than necessary.

Graduation night comes back to her in pieces.

The gymnasium had been transformed with cheap twinkle lights strung too high and crepe paper in school colors drooping from the rafters. The air had smelled like punch and hairspray and something electric—the end of something.

Axel had looked different that night.

Still hers.

But already leaning away.

They had slipped outside when the music grew too loud, heels in her hand, his jacket draped over her shoulders. The summer air had been thick and warm, cicadas buzzing somewhere in the dark beyond the parking lot.

“I don’t want you waiting on me,” he had said, staring straight ahead instead of at her.

She had laughed at first, thinking he was being dramatic. “You think I can’t handle distance?”

“I know you can,” he had replied quietly. “That’s not the point.”

She remembers the way his jaw tightened, the way he swallowed before continuing.

“You deserve a life that’s happening right in front of you, not one you’re putting on pause for me.”

She had stepped closer, gripping his shirt, heart thudding. “That’s my decision.”

He had finally looked at her then, dark eyes heavy with something she couldn’t name at eighteen.

“I won’t ask you to choose me like that,” he had said.

He kissed her that night—slow, deliberate, memorizing. Nothing like the clumsy creek-side kiss years before. This one had weight. Finality.

He left the next morning.

And she never got to decide.

The water runs cooler now, snapping her back to the present.

Harmony straightens, inhaling sharply.

Seven years.

Seven years of pretending she is not still standing in that parking lot.

Harmony pushed through the door of her establishment, the low, steady pulse of music already threading through the walls like something alive, something waiting. The air wrapped around her instantly—perfume and liquor, a faint trace of smoke clinging stubbornly beneath it all. It was familiar in a way nothing else ever quite was. Grounding. Possessive.

Hers.

Four years ago, this place had nearly torn Pickett’s Creek in two.

Back then, the road leading out here had been lined with protesters—tight-lipped women and hard-eyed men clutching handmade signs, their voices rising in righteous fury as if they could shout the building back into dust. Sunday sermons had sharpened, her name slipping into them like a curse disguised as concern. There had been threats too. Idle, most of them. Anonymous letters. Voicemails left late at night with voices that trembled more than they threatened.

They had been so certain she would ruin their town.

That she would bring in crime. Corruption. Decay.

But Harmony had never built this place to be reckless.

She had been deliberate. Careful. Smart enough to buy an old, forgotten warehouse just beyond town limits—close enough to reach, far enough to deny. It had been small, run-down, barely worth a second glance when she first stepped inside. Broken windows. Rust creeping along the metal bones. Silence thick enough to feel.

She had seen something else entirely.

And she had turned it into exactly what she envisioned.

Now, four years later, the outrage had quieted—not because they approved, but because they could no longer deny the truth. The crime never came. The chaos they predicted never followed. The town remained exactly as it had always been.

Only now, it had a secret.

Because Harmony’s establishment didn’t cater to just one kind of desire.

Men took the stage. Women took the stage. Nights rotated, curated carefully—some evenings drawing in women with laughter and low voices, others pulling in men who pretended they weren’t regulars, and plenty that blurred the lines entirely. It wasn’t just a strip club.

It was an escape.

And it drew in far more than the town would ever dare admit.

Mayors. The chief of police. A judge whose name never passed anyone’s lips in here. People who stood on polished reputations and spoke about morality in daylight, only to slip through Harmony’s doors once the sun dipped low enough to hide them.

What happened in Harmony’s Garden—stayed there.

Always.

Now, the town didn’t protest.

It ignored.

It looked the other way, choosing silence over confrontation, filing her business neatly into the category of things better left unspoken. A dark little secret tucked just outside the edges of respectability.

Harmony preferred it that way.

Tonight, though, would be anything but quiet.

Men’s night.

Half-off drinks meant bodies packed tighter, laughter louder, hands a little less careful with every refill. The kind of night where control had to be held firmly, or it would slip through your fingers before you even realized it was gone.

Exactly the kind of night she excelled in.

Her dancers spotted her the second she stepped fully inside, their energy shifting instantly. Greetings came from every direction—bright, excited, genuine. A hand brushing her arm. A quick hug in passing. A grin thrown over a shoulder as someone disappeared toward the dressing rooms.

Harmony acknowledged each of them in her own way—a nod here, a brief touch there—small, intentional gestures that reminded them she saw everything, even when she said nothing.

Especially then.

She slipped behind the bar with practiced ease, setting her purse beneath the counter in one fluid motion. The space settled around her like armor, familiar and steady, a place where nothing caught her off guard.

Or at least—that was how it was supposed to be.

Cinnamon noticed immediately. Mid-pour, she glanced up, eyes narrowing just slightly as she took Harmony in. The glass in her hand filled smoothly, amber liquid cascading over ice before she slid it down the bar without breaking focus. Then came the wink. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Cinnamon said, her tone light, but her gaze anything but careless. “You okay?”

Harmony forced a smile, though it felt thin, stretched at the edges. She reached for the whiskey without hesitation, already pouring herself a shot before she could think better of it.

“Some ghosts,” she murmured, voice quieter now, threaded with something she didn’t bother hiding completely, “come back to haunt you.”

The glass was heavier than usual.

She didn’t measure.

“Should I ask?” Cinnamon leaned her hip against the bar, curiosity flickering sharp and knowing.

Harmony didn’t look at her as she lifted the shot. m“I’d rather you didn’t.”

The whiskey burned its way down, settling deep in her chest, chasing the chill that had followed her inside. It helped—but not enough.

It wouldn’t be enough.

Cinnamon smirked, unsurprised.

“I hope you don’t plan on getting wasted at work,” she said, one brow lifting. “You remember what happened last time.”

There it was.

Harmony paused just long enough for the memory to flicker—unwelcome, sharp—before she lifted her index finger in warning. “Don’t even start.”

That earned her a laugh.

A real one.

The tension cracked just enough between them, the moment easing as they shared it, taking advantage of the quiet before the night swallowed them whole. Outside, the last stretch of daylight clung stubbornly to the horizon, but inside, the shadows were already settling in, stretching long and slow across the room.

It would not stay quiet for long.

Harmony reached for another glass, her movements automatic, precise—but her thoughts were elsewhere now, slipping back to something she couldn’t quite outrun.

Ghosts didn’t return without reason.

And whatever had followed her through that door tonight—wasn’t finished with her yet.

A few hours later, the club had filled to capacity.

The music no longer hummed—it throbbed, heavy bass vibrating through the walls hard enough to rattle the windows in their frames. Laughter rose in waves, loud and uninhibited, blending with the clink of glasses and the slick rhythm of bodies moving under colored lights. Shots were poured and passed just as easily as wandering hands, the line between indulgence and excess blurring more with every passing minute.

On stage, skin gleamed beneath the lights—men and women alike moving with practiced precision, commanding attention, feeding off it. The crowd responded in kind, drawn in, lost in it, exactly as Harmony had designed.

It was alive.

It was thriving.

It was perfect.

And Harmony wanted no part of it.

She moved through the chaos like a ghost of her own creation—unnoticed, untouched, slipping between bodies and shadows with a quiet precision that came from years of knowing exactly where to step and when. No one stopped her. No one questioned her. They never did when she wore that look—the one that said not tonight.

By the time she reached the back hallway, the noise dulled just slightly, the bass still pulsing but no longer suffocating. It followed her anyway, crawling through the walls, refusing to let her fully escape what she had built.

Her office door shut behind her with a soft click.

Silence—or as close as she ever got to it in this place—settled around her.

The bass still thudded faintly through the walls, a distant echo of the world just outside, but in here, it felt… contained. Manageable.

For a moment, she just stood there.

Then her eyes lifted to the clock.

10:56 PM.

The numbers seemed to stare back at her, unmoving, indifferent.

Axel was home.

The thought didn’t arrive gently—it hit, sudden and sharp, knocking the air from her lungs before she could brace for it.

He was here.

In the same town.

Under the same sky.