Chapter Fifteen
LENA
I wiped down my mat, mopping up the sweat pooled there from practice.
It had been especially hot, the heat and humidity amping up this late in May and adding their own punishment to the practice room.
Only two other students had attended class, and they’d already left, so I tidied up the space in peace.
I rolled up my mat, walked into the foyer, and considered the studio, soon to be my studio.
Harry had given me my own set of keys so I could come and go as I pleased while we finalized the sale.
It would take at least a month to complete the transfer, and in the meantime, I could make plans for the refurbishment and help with teaching.
I gathered my things and walked outside, fishing in my purse for the keys to lock the door.
“Lena?”
I spun around to find Niko standing behind me, hands shoved into his pockets and a hopeful yet worried bend to his tight mouth.
I had exactly zero desire to talk to him, especially if he was on some ill-advised messenger errand for Elias.
I’d wanted my anger to kill any remaining thoughts of forgiveness, but my outrage had dissipated over the past two weeks, replaced by memories of the hurt in his eyes, the sincerity in his voice, and the gentleness in his touch.
Yes, he’d violated my trust and, worse, tried to manipulate me, but he had sought me out to explain, and my brain latched onto his words: “But none of that matters if you’re not in my life. ”
Now, I wanted to give him another chance.
Maybe that made me a pushover, but part of me—a large part of me—didn’t care.
I had picked up and put down my phone so many times over the past two weeks I’d lost count.
Fingers hovering above the screen, trying to think of the right words.
But each time, I put the phone down, determined to protect my fragile heart.
I’d had to carefully stitch it back together again, and it was barely holding in one piece.
“Niko. What are you doing here?”
“I—” He cleared his throat. “I stopped by your house, but you weren’t there. I need to talk to you.” His voice sounded tentative, his words clipped and halted with worry.
I frowned. “What’s wrong?”
He ran a hand down his face, and his eyes darted around the parking lot. “Can we talk somewhere private?”
Worry invaded my stomach. “Sure. We can talk in here.”
I unlocked the studio, and we went inside. I flipped on the lights and gestured to one of the benches by the cubby holes, but he shook his head and started pacing across the foyer.
“What’s going on, Niko?”
“It’s Elias.” He stopped pacing and squared his shoulders to face me. “He’d kill me if he knew I was here, but…” His jaw twitched. “He’s my best friend. He’s my family. I can’t watch him do this to himself.”
I narrowed my eyes in confusion. “How about you start from the beginning?”
He examined his feet, clearly struggling through some inner turmoil. “Right. Okay.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wiped the palms of his hands on his jeans, and looked up. “Elias told me you know about us. Or, at least, he thinks you do.”
He stared at me, waiting for acknowledgement. I replied with a terse nod.
He blinked, his eyes expectant as if waiting for me to run or pass judgment. When I did neither, he let out a breath and nodded.
“Right. So, you know about our compulsion, our need to draw people to us with our voices. The adoration, the devotion, the positive emotions it evokes in others satisfies our compulsion. It’s why our song is inescapable.” He paused, eyes shifting.
“Yes, I know you’re sirens. I know you manipulate people with your voices.” The words came out harsh and accusatory.
He glared at me. “That’s not true.” I scoffed.
“But that’s not the point and not why I’m here.
” He took a step toward me. “Look, if someone manages to break free of our voice—if someone rejects the song and walks away—it causes—it’s like an emotional backlash.
The compulsion turns inward and starts physically attacking us, trying to force us to sing again and capture the missing attention.
And it won’t stop until it’s satisfied.”
Realization struck, worry thickening until it was so dense my stomach dropped. “And Elias… Elias is being attacked?”
He nodded and continued his nervous shifting from foot to foot.
“He made me swear not to tell you. Said he never should have sung to you and that it was up to you if you wanted to see him again. He thinks he deserves what’s happening to him.
But Lena—” He closed the final distance between us, and tears welled in his eyes.
“Elias does not deserve what’s happening to him. ”
I swallowed, but through my empathy, indignation rose. My patience for this entire conversation snapped.
“Then why don’t you go find one of his groupies? I’m sure there’s a long line of women eager to listen to him sing and shower him with praise.”
The muscles in Niko’s jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring as he breathed. He pressed his lips together so tightly they turned white. “He wouldn’t do that.” His words came out clipped and biting.
“Really? Because from what I saw at South Beach, that’s exactly what he’d do.”
He tilted his head up to the ceiling and sighed, hands fisted then flexed, and bounced on the balls of his feet.
“I’m not even supposed to be here.” He swiped a hand down his face again and met my eyes.
“Look. He could’ve sung to you again, you know that, right?
Forced you to submit? He didn’t. He wouldn’t.
And he could’ve sung to someone else. Anyone else.
Hell, I begged him to. He flat out refused.
Elias has never been good with this shit.
He might be able to feel others’ emotions, but he’s never been in touch with his own.
” Sincerity blazed in his blue eyes. “But I know this—he’s crazy about you, Lena, and he’s torturing himself, thinkin’ it’s what he deserves for hurting you. ”
He grabbed my hand, and shocked by his profession, I didn’t pull away.
“If you have any feelings for Elias at all, if you’re willin’ to give him another chance, please come see him.
He needs you.” He dropped my hand and took a step back.
“But if you don’t, and I’ve misread this entire situation, I won’t bother you again.
It’s what Elias wants. But I had to at least try. ”
He swallowed hard, searching my eyes one last time, then brushed past me and walked out the door. I stood frozen, my hand still outstretched where he’d held it, and tried to process what Niko confessed.
Elias was crazy about me. He’d refused all other women. He was sick—torturing himself apparently—and needed me.
Doubt warred with hope, indignation with compassion.
I’d latched on to the belief that I was reliving my life’s biggest mistake, that once again I was falling for the wrong man.
But when I examined that idea, it didn’t hold up to even the slightest scrutiny.
Elias wasn’t my ex. The friendship, the respect, the trust. His personality, his vitality, his energy.
All genuine. And as for the compulsion? The compulsion hadn’t drawn me out of my depression.
It hadn’t taught me to swim. It hadn’t come to my yoga class.
It hadn’t shared those intimate moments we’d had together on the beach.
My feelings weren’t for the siren’s song. My feelings were for Elias.
I grabbed my purse, locked up the studio, and hopped on my beach cruiser. I needed to get to him. Fast. I’d started down a path into my new future, and I refused to let the man who’d helped me see that path destroy himself. Especially when I wanted nothing more than my future to be by his side.