Rock ‘n’ Troll (Harmony Glen #16)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Portland, Oregon

GRüSH

“Great show tonight, Grüsh.”

I give the driver a nod as I reach the bus’s top step. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

Same interaction every time. Maybe the man’s being genuine, maybe not. After a year of back-to-back shows on the road, all I know is that it’s getting old.

Not just the generic back-and-forth with the bus driver after every stop on the tour.

All of it. Superficial fans more interested in connecting with my troll anatomy than my songs.

The “it’s tried-and-true, so don’t so much as tweak a single note” set list. The monotonous routine.

Most of all, though—the endless noise that’s replaced meaningful sound.

Never thought I’d be happy for a tour to end, but I’m looking forward to a few weeks off after we wrap up in California next weekend.

Dropping into the custom-made seat designed for my troll-sized physique, I close my eyes, breathe deeply, and tune out the rest of the band as they board the tour bus.

Conversation slows the process of getting underway.

The faster they’re settled, the sooner the driver can hit the road.

Ten, maybe eleven hours until we reach the next stop on the tour schedule, where, if I’m lucky, I’ll get a few hours’ sleep in an actual bed before I have to be at sound check for tomorrow night’s show.

This is the life I wanted. Free to see the world, perform in front of crowds, earn a living doing what I love.

Stuff I never expected to become reality all those years I secretly strummed and sang in the woods, in the time before monsters stepped out of the shadows and integrated with human society. I have everything I dreamed of.

Not everything, whispers the irritating inner voice that refuses to let me forget the one thing my life is missing.

But that was something I hadn’t dreamed of having, so it doesn’t count.

The empty space inside me that no amount of success ever fills stretches wider, and I cross my arms over my chest in an attempt to close the chasm, or at least buffer it. Futile, like every other time.

The memory of her laughter rises from the hole, winding through me like a melody I could never tire of hearing, yet wish I could forget.

“Looking forward to the Cali shows? Fans there are always very enthusiastic and grateful, am I right?” Benny asks from nearby.

I keep my eyes closed and ignore his questions, as if he’s talking to anybody else, because why would he start a conversation with someone who’s clearly not looking to engage? Or talk to me about hooking up with fans. When he nudges my booted foot, I ignore that too.

But I can’t ignore my phone when it buzzes in my pocket. A ringtone I rarely hear. The one I chose for my brother, my only living family. Ogram hasn’t called me in…a long time. I’m equally to blame for the disconnect. The last time we spoke was when I told him about this tour. Over a year ago.

We’ve never had much in common. Ogram had no desire to leave Harmony Glen, before or after it became possible to integrate with humans.

He’s the traditional, perfect troll—steadfast, quiet, solitary.

Connected to the land, with an affinity for making things grow.

Farming was all he ever wanted to do, and he now owns a large working farm.

We’re both living our dreams, different as they are.

As it rings again, I bring the phone to my face. “Hey. Been a while. How’re things in Harmony Glen?”

“Everything is perfect.”

Did not expect the enthusiastic answer, and definitely not the happiness and lightness in his voice. Trolls are serious by nature. We don’t do light.

“Perfect is a damn high bar. Did you win the lottery and buy more farmland?”

A rumbled laugh filters through the line. First the upbeat tone, now this? Something’s changed.

“Better than that,” he says.

I can hear the smile on his face. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“I found my mate.” The words are barely out when he chuckles again. “Her name is Hope, and she’s shaking her head at me because technically, she found me when she walked into the farm market while I was working.”

“Congratulations. Happy for you, brother.” I am. Genuinely. Yet my stomach churns in a way that has nothing to do with physical condition. “Nice that more trolls have moved to the area and you met someone,” I say, pushing the unwelcome feeling aside.

“Hope is human.”

It’s as if a bomb went off inside me and my chest is caving in. “I’m glad you met someone and you’re happy, but a human can’t be your mate.” I’m a prick for shitting on his news.

“Hope is my mate. I also wouldn’t have thought it possible to be mated with a human, but the moment I met her, I knew. It’s a truth you feel with every cell of your being. Heart, soul, body. I don’t expect you to understand. I didn’t until I experienced it.”

“I believe you,” is what I say. Sure as hell can’t tell him anything else. “Hey, the Portland crowd was high energy and we played extra encores. The tour bus is just getting rolling and I need to catch some shut-eye, but thanks for calling to share your news. It’s good to hear from you.”

“Before you go, Grüsh, I have more news. Amazing news.”

“Amazing on top of ‘everything is perfect’?” I follow with a chuckle that fails to mask the sourness in my question.

Ogram deserves better than my crap-ass cynicism.

“Sorry, brother. Long night. Long tour. Think I’m due for a break. Hit me with your amazing news.”

“My news might help you take that break you need,” Ogram says. “Hope and I are getting married. We would both be very happy if you can make it.”

Shit. I’m on hook now. The inescapable point is already digging in, even without hearing the details. “Where’s the wedding?”

“Here. A small ceremony on the farm. Outside, if the weather cooperates, in the barn if it doesn’t.”

Going back to Harmony Glen is the last thing I want to do, but with the ceremony at the farm, at least I can avoid going into the town itself. I’ll fly into Ithica, drive a rental to Ogram’s place, then leave after the groom kisses the bride.

Ogram has always been a solitary loner, and if Hope is his mate, it’s likely she’s equally quiet and antisocial.

Their “small ceremony” will probably consist of his farm employees, Hope’s family, and me.

No crossing paths with the one person I’ve spent six years trying to forget because she gave me no other choice.

Just thinking of being anywhere near her is already messing with my head, my gut.

“I want to be there with you to celebrate, but the summer tour schedule is already set, and I don’t have many free days available. I doubt there are any weekends I’m not committed to being onstage somewhere.”

“I know you wouldn’t be available during a tour. Fortunately, the wedding is a week after the last show on your current run. I checked your website and there are no events listed for that period of time.”

Damn it. I lift my head for the sole purpose of letting it thud against the plush upholstery. “Looks like you’ve thought of everything. Can’t wait to meet your mate and wish you well for a couple of hours.”

“We hope you’ll stay longer than that. At least a couple of nights, so you can join us for a small get-together the night before the wedding and the reception after the ceremony,” Ogram says. “I reserved you one of the Green Glen Cabins, near the conservation area. Private and quiet.”

Shit. “Yeah, I’m ready for both of those things. Send me the details and I’ll be there.” For as short a time as possible. And I won’t be making any detours toward downtown. Just farm to cabin, then cabin to get the hell out of there.

“I’ll have Hope text you now. See you in a couple of weeks.” The line goes dead, Ogram saving me the awkwardness of further small talk or pretending to be excited about a trip back home.

Home. Why does my brain continue to assign that label to Harmony Glen when I haven’t lived there in six years? My condo in Los Angeles has every amenity imaginable. The best of the best. It’s quiet and secluded, with top-notch security ensuring fans and press don’t make it to the elevator.

Those are the only people trying to get close. No one who matters because you let her go, the damn voice inside my head whispers.

“Fuck.”

“Everything okay?” Benny asks. No follow-up question. No boot nudge when I ignore him.

My damn mind is full of mental images of her, my cock is trying to bust free of my jeans, and my fucking soul is aching. Everything is not okay.