Chapter Five
ELIAS
I finished my song, and euphoria amplified satisfaction, the applause and adoration emanating from the crowd answering my call and fulfilling the demands of my compulsion. The energy invigorated my body with emotional fuel. What a rush.
I climbed down the steps eager to find the woman from the beach among the sea of men and women pressing toward the stage.
On any other night, I’d entertain their attention and soak up their praise like a sponge, quenching my siren’s thirst. But not tonight.
Tonight, my preoccupied mind had other plans.
I craned my head over the crowd even as I answered questions and shook hands.
There. She tossed her credit card onto the bar.
Wait, what? She was... leaving? How? I sang to her. Right to her. I’d poured power into those words.
Frantic, I excused myself from the group of adoring fans and wove my way through the gauntlet of attention toward the bar. I broke through the crowd just as she rose from her stool and slung her purse across her shoulder.
I tried my best at nonchalance despite the urgency gripping my insides. I stepped up to the bar, leaned in, and threaded my voice with as much allure as I could manage without singing. “Leaving so soon?”
Startled, she jerked around, and her eyes went wide when they met mine. Her full, glossy lips formed an “Oh,” and she shifted her weight as if unsure what to do next.
“Elias.” Her voice cracked halfway through my name, and she cleared her throat.
“Are you leaving? I was hoping we could have a drink.”
“I...” She glanced over her shoulder toward the parking lot, then back to me, her brow furrowed.
She parted her lips to say something, and I knew from the conflict playing across her face she was about to make an excuse and leave, but then her mouth snapped shut, and her features relaxed. “Sure. Why not?”
“Right on.”
Relief loosened my tight muscles. The last thing I needed was the physical backlash of an outright rejection. I pulled out her stool for her and sat down on the one next to it. She avoided eye contact and instead tried to flag the bartender.
I rested my elbow on the bar. “You have me at a disadvantage.”
She gave me a sidelong glance. “I do?” She resumed her quest for the bartender, extending an arm and waving her hand. She finally caught his attention, and he came to take our order.
“You do. I still don’t know your name.”
Her head snapped up, eyebrows jumping toward her hairline.
Finally, I had her attention.
She scrunched her nose, and a hint of pink colored her freckled cheeks. “I never did mention my name on the beach, did I?” Her tone was half remorseful, half embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I’m Lena. Lena Sommer.”
“Nice to officially meet you, Lena Sommer.” I winked.
“Really.” She leaned in and winced apologetically. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t in the best of moods earlier. I’m still not to be honest, but that’s no reason to be rude.”
“You’re fine. I was just teasing. And we’re here now, aren’t we? Sharing a drink?”
The bartender returned and set our drinks on the bar. I lifted my beer. “Consider this a do over.”
Her shoulders relaxed, and the corner of her mouth kicked up. “Done.”
Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I twisted on my stool to find a curvy redhead with too much makeup and too little clothing standing behind me. I should have seen this coming.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Are you going to sing again tonight?” Her voice was high and flirty, and her question sounded more like a plea.
Time to let her down gently, make sure she’d come back another night. “No, not tonight,” I said and plastered my face with regret. “But I sing here regularly. So does Niko—my friend who performed earlier? Maybe you’ll catch us another time.”
“Ohhh.” She drew out the sound in a long whine, crossed her arms, and pouted. “I’m here for the golf tournament. I’m leaving Sunday.”
What a shame.
She lingered for an awkward moment like a fly caught in honey, stuck there by my voice. I turned back to Lena who bit her lip, trying not to laugh, and sipped my beer.
“Have a good night then,” the woman squeaked and flounced off.
Lena’s resolve broke, and she snickered deeply, the husky quality of her voice making even her mocking sexy. She lifted an eyebrow, and there was more than a little judgment in that look.
“What?”
“You have quite the fan club.”
I shrugged. She wasn’t wrong.
She made a point of craning her neck to look over my shoulder, so I followed her gaze.
Several women cast furtive glances in our direction, whispering, gesturing, giggling.
I turned back to Lena who, for the first time since I’d met her, smiled, her grey eyes sparkling with amusement.
I didn’t care how many other women gawped at me as long as she continued to look at me with that combination of delight and mischief.
“Does this happen often?”
I shrugged again, not knowing what to say, because, well, it did. “I like music. I like to sing. It makes me happy, and it makes other people happy.”
“That’s an understatement. You’re an excellent singer. Is that what you do for a living? Are you a musician?”
“No. I do it because I love it. I teach the occasional guitar lesson for the local kids, but singing is just for me.”
“I’m surprised. Your performance was so professional, so moving.” Her eyes grew distant, and her body relaxed as if she was reliving my performance and it brought her peace.
So, I had affected her.
“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “I like to think my singing brings others as much joy as it brings me.”
She stared down at her drink and ran a fingertip around the rim of the glass. “I haven’t heard that song in years.”
“It’s a good song.”
“It is.”
“And it seemed like a good fit for tonight.”
She tilted her head, and her eyes held mine in a pensive stare. “It was for me.”
I nodded and swigged my beer. “Live music is special and, in my experience, even more special when it holds a message you need to hear.”
“Hm.” Her eyes returned to her drink, and the curve of her mouth turned down. She took a sip, winced, and tipped her glass in my direction. “You’re perceptive.”
“It wasn’t that hard to see.” I spun my beer bottle in one hand. “You have beautiful eyes, Lena, but there’s sadness in them.”
A flush warmed her cheeks, and she nervously tucked loose hairs behind her ear. “That obvious, huh?”
I chuckled. “Yeah. You looked like you needed a reminder of lightness and fun, the good things in life.”
This was getting heavy, and I wasn’t Niko. I didn’t get into deep conversations with women I didn’t know. And yet… “Wanna talk about it?”
What the hell? My brain hitched on the words escaping my mouth.
“With a complete stranger?” She gave me a wry look. “Not particularly.”
She needed to talk to someone, that much was obvious, and I didn’t need to be a siren to see it.
Yes, I sensed the heaviness she emanated, but she wore her emotions in her expression and body language as obviously as the kids running around with their faces painted.
Niko had been right. It was no wonder the full strength of my call had so little impact.
The emotional burden she carried was heavy.
“Sometimes it’s easier with a complete stranger,” I said, nudging her along. “No history. No fear of judgment. Besides, I’m not a complete stranger. We met this afternoon. And now we both know each other’s names.”
“Not going to let me forget that, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Fair enough.”
She sighed, set her glass on the bar, and poked at the ice cubes with the stirrer.
“My grandma passed away last week.” Her delicate throat moved through a swallow, and my chest clenched at the wave of grief that washed over her as she said the words.
“That’s why I’m here. She and I... We used to live here together before I graduated high school.
I’ve lived in Charleston since then but visited often. Maybe not as much in recent years.”
Regret and bitterness laced those last words. She’d mentioned a divorce…
She rolled her shoulders as if she could shake off the new, toxic emotion.
“We were each other’s only family. When she passed, I inherited everything. I’m trying to sort through it all. There’s just so much”—she waved her hand in circles—“paperwork and the lawyer and the house and the gaping hole in my life and…”
Her voice wavered, and she stopped, her throat bobbing. She looked up from her drink with glassy eyes. “So, yeah. I’m trying to figure out what to do with all that.”
“I’m sorry, Lena. It’s difficult to lose family.”
“Thank you. But...” She shifted her gaze to the crowd and blinked away the unshed tears.
“But what?”
“I have no idea why I’m telling you this,” she muttered, the words incredulous.
“Maybe because you need to talk about it.”
“Maybe.” She cleared her throat and fidgeted with her stir stick again.
“It’s not just that she was family. I mean, she was, of course, but it’s more than that.
” She pushed away her empty glass, the stir stick apparently no longer providing the distraction she needed.
“My father left shortly after I was born, and my mother died a year later. My grandma was the only parent I ever had, the only family I’ve ever known.
She was my support system. And now, she’s gone. ”
Lena’s loneliness gaped like a black hole, swallowing me into its dark depths.
I sucked in a breath at the shock of its intensity and strangled my beer bottle trying to pull myself out of my empathy and back into myself.
I finally had her attention, but I hadn’t bargained on such a deep emotional connection.
Overwhelmed, I reached for her hand. Her palm was slick with nervous sweat, and as I wrapped my fingers around hers, they quaked.
“I am so sorry, Lena. I can’t imagine what that must be like.
My family means everything to me. But—” I ran my thumb across the back of her hand.
“—you’re not alone. At least, not right now.
” I quirked my mouth, hoping the goofy grin would lighten the mood.