Golden

69

Harry's POV

The drive with John felt impossibly long, almost maddeningly so. And with nothing besides my own racing thoughts to keep me preoccupied from the looming, unknown fear of what awaited me at the cabin, my mind naturally wandered back to my favorite place to find comfort: Lucy.
I hoped that she wasn't alone. I hoped that she was instead surrounded by our friends and they were offering her the support that I couldn't right now. I knew in the back of my mind that Lucy would soon figure out what was happening and why I was doing what I was doing. I hoped that she wasn't upset with me for what I had done, why I had chosen to do this for her, for me, for us, for our future together – because I couldn't stomach thinking that the last emotion she felt towards me was anger. I hoped that she was still safe. If I couldn't protect her myself, Finn, the twins, Tally and Quinn were certainly the next best thing.
But most of all, I hoped with everything I had in me that I got to see her again after all of this. I knew the risks when I had decided to get into John's car and go with him. I knew the danger I'd be putting myself in once I closed the car door and was trapped inside. I knew the gamble I was taking and accepted it all. I knew that if I wanted to get John out of our lives forever, I had to do this. I had to try. Even if Lucy would hate me for leaving her. Even if our friends thought I was insane. Even if it meant this mental torture I had to endure right now.
It would all be worth it if I could give Lucy the peace she never had. The peace she deserved. The peace she earned after years of terror and living inside of a manipulative chess game that had always been rigged against her.
But God, I would give anything to just see her face again. I'd do whatever it takes to just–
"Get out."
John barked his command and I was abruptly pulled from my thoughts and blinked back into my nearly numb body. His lip curled upward into a snarl and I just stared at him from my seat, taking a moment to study his dark features up close for the very first time since I had first laid eyes on him all those years ago.
I certainly remembered meeting him – the very same night I had met Lucy for the first time – and sensed right away that something sinister was brewing just below the surface of this powerful, threatening man.
Though I had just been introduced to Lucy mere moments before John came barreling through what I had deemed to be one of the most important nights of my life, I had been a secret fan of Lucy's for a long time before we had officially met on the balcony of the Four Seasons. I had watched her on stage night after night from afar, picking up on the little things about her that many others would overlook or not bother to memorize.
But I did.
I knew her mannerisms. I knew her habits. I knew her ticks. I even knew when she had a bad day and was pushing through a performance, noticing the vacant look behind her eyes that I could spot even from the dark corner of the bar. I knew when she had a particularly good day and was enjoying every minute of being on stage, basking in the spotlight like she was made for it. I knew when she was nervous about singing a new song for the first time in front of a group of people, wondering how it would be received or if it was too personal to play in public. I knew when she was tired from a string of sleepless nights, stifling yawns throughout the setlist and gently rubbing her eyes in between changing instruments to try and stay awake. I knew when she was sad, her singing much quieter and more subdued, her body seeming heavy and drained. I knew when she was happy, her tone bright and clear and confident and her movements sharp and precise. I knew when she was distracted, watching her gaze sweep the crowd over and over as she sang in a more hurried pace, like she was searching for a certain person in the audience. Those nights I would desperately wish that she would find me in the overwhelming sea of people. But she never did.
So I waited. And dreamed. And hoped.
Until I saw her at the Gala event.
I remembered racing after her, like a moth drawn to a flame, my feet chasing her before my brain could question if what I was doing was a good idea or not. I followed her outside, not daring to take a single breath as I closed the balcony doors behind me, sealing us off from the rest of the world. I stared at her with wide eyes, watching as she kicked off her heels and looked out onto the city below, wanting to run my fingers through her hair that cascaded halfway down her back. I was pulled towards her, my body physically yearning to get even closer, to touch her, to feel her, to hold her.
But first, I had to talk to her.
My voice, though it had been even and casual, ripped through the silence between us, interrupting her moment of peace and giving away my presence. She stared back at me. Her gaze sizing me up, her heart and soul recognizing me before the rest of her caught up with the realization.
She said my name.
And it was an answer to a question that I had been asking myself for years and years.
And I knew then – life would never been the same. I felt like I had known her forever, like a part of me had been searching for her for as long as I could remember. And when I finally locked eyes with her, something deep inside of me at last clicked into place. And it was her all along. It had always been her. And I'd do anything to keep her now that I had found her.
So when she asked me if I wanted a drink, I immediately said yes, realizing I would have agreed to go absolutely anywhere with her as long as we were together. I still remember walking through the swarms of people back in the crowded dance room, following her and never allowing her to stray too far from me. I watched from behind as the lights caught the bodice of her dress – the very same dress she had worn for me tonight – the diamonds making her skin look like it was sparkling. And seeing her up close, just merely being with her and having her acknowledge and speak to me was so overwhelming that I almost confessed that I loved her right then and there. I almost admitted how I felt like we were meant to find each other – in this lifetime and every other lifetime in existence after and before this one. That we were forever. Enduring. Timeless.
But before I could make such lofty declarations, John appeared.
And I instantly picked up on the way Lucy's whole demeanor changed the moment he materialized in front of us. Lucy's previously playful energy and charming wit when we were alone on the balcony suddenly evaporated and she became closed off and on edge in a matter of seconds — so quickly that it felt like whiplash. The moment John was looming over her at the bar, I watched as her shoulders slumped and her whole body seemed to turn in on itself out of some kind of self preservation tactic, as if making herself small was the only way she could defend herself against him. I saw her eyes glaze over, like a precious light inside of her had abruptly been extinguished and now she was fumbling around blindly, searching for a way out of the pitch dark that abruptly consumed her.
I hadn't realized at the time that I had offered that desperately desired escape when I not-so-subtly reminded John that he wasn't supposed to be at the event in the first place. I still remember the incredulous look he gave me, the hateful flash in his blackened gaze that sent a cold chill down my spine and made my stomach tighten into a knot.
And this was all before I knew what he was really capable of.
I wondered if John had declared me his enemy right then and there. I wondered if I had unknowingly put a target on my back the moment I warned him about his wrongdoings and protected Lucy without giving a single regard for who or what he was. I wondered if he plotted this kind of revenge on me from that very first moment we had met.
Because I think something deep down inside of me knew exactly what he was all along. The second I saw Lucy's spark fade from her eyes when he approached her. The second he told me his name and he shook my hand so tightly that my knuckles turned white. The second I noticed that Lucy couldn't seem to breathe or move or even think when he was near.
I knew what he was then.
And he had only gotten worse.
"Get out," John repeated when I hadn't moved from the passenger seat yet, louder this time. "Now."
I sighed and followed his orders, opening the car door slowly and hopping out of the vehicle. An overwhelming sense of deja vu washed over me the moment I stood on the familiar gravel and breathed in the chilly, fresh air of the woods. A light dusting of snow covered the ground and I stood frozen in my place for a moment as I peered up at the tiny cabin from the driveway. My chest ached at the memories this place housed – some good, some bad, all important – and I noticed the lone front porch light was glowing in the distance. I held my breath, trying not to cry as Lucy's singing voice infiltrated my mind: