The melodies of our hearts

Chapter 4

Seattle's evening sky was draped in muted shades of violet and navy by the time Wolfe & Company took the stage. Lena was back at the edge of the crowd, her notebook in hand, ready to observe and scribble anything that caught her attention. But her focus felt fractured, her thoughts drifting back to the quiet conversation she'd shared with Elliot over lunch. She replayed his words in her mind, her heart tugging at the raw honesty he'd shown, brief as it had been.

The crowd surged as the lights dimmed, a sea of anticipation waiting for the band's opening chords. And then, with the stage illuminated in deep blue, Elliot strode forward, his presence once again commanding and intense. Lena watched him with fresh eyes, seeing past the rock-star charisma and into the man she'd glimpsed that afternoon. He seemed different tonight, more reserved somehow, his gaze distant even as he connected with the crowd.

"Seattle," he murmured into the mic, his voice low and husky. "You ready?" The crowd erupted, and Lena felt herself being pulled in with everyone else. The energy was electric as the band launched into their first song, the heavy bass vibrating through the floor and into her bones. Elliot's voice was rough and powerful, filling the space with a kind of aching intensity that left the audience spellbound.

She barely noticed when Nate joined her at the edge of the stage, nodding his head along with the beat. He leaned close to her, speaking loudly over the music.

"He's something, isn't he?" Lena looked at him, surprised by the comment. She hadn't expected Nate to notice her attention on Elliot, much less bring it up. "Yeah," she said carefully, trying to keep her voice neutral. "He really is."

Nate gave her a knowing smile, his gaze shifting back to the stage. "That's Elliot for you. Gets under everyone's skin, whether he means to or not." She laughed softly, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks. "I'm just here to do my job, you know." 

"Oh, I know," Nate said with a wink. "But I've been around him long enough to recognize when someone's actually seeing him. Most people, they just see the main man, the voice, the lyrics. They don't see the guy behind all that." He paused, his tone softening. "And sometimes, I think even he forgets who that is." Lena's chest tightened at Nate's words. She glanced back at Elliot, wondering just how many walls he'd built around himself to keep people out. The crowd couldn't see those walls, of course—they were too busy idolizing the image, the persona. But she'd felt the weight of them earlier, in every careful answer he'd given her, in the fleeting vulnerability he'd tried so hard to hide.

The song shifted, moving into one of the band's more somber tracks. Elliot's voice dropped, taking on a haunting quality that made the air feel heavy with emotion. It was a song about loss, heartbreak, and the pieces of ourselves that get left behind when someone walks away. As he sang, his gaze drifted over the audience, distant and almost haunted.

Lena watched him closely, unable to shake the feeling that he was singing more to himself than to anyone else. His face was set in an expression she hadn't seen before, a look that spoke of old wounds and hidden scars. For a moment, she wondered who—or what—had left those scars.

As the song came to an end, Elliot's shoulders slumped slightly, and for a split second, he looked vulnerable. But then, as the crowd roared their approval, he straightened, slipping effortlessly back into his role, flashing them a smirk that sent a fresh wave of cheers through the room.

The band played on, each song blending into the next, a seamless flow of sound and energy. Lena found herself getting lost in the music, in the way Elliot's voice carried raw emotion, as if he was reaching out to each person in the room. She could see why so many fans felt connected to him—he gave them pieces of himself, even if those pieces were carefully chosen. After the encore, the band left the stage, and the crowd began to disperse, buzzing with excitement. Lena packed up her notebook and made her way backstage, her heart still pounding from the intensity of the performance. She slipped through the narrow hallway that led to the green room, glancing around as she looked for a familiar face.

She found Elliot alone in the corner, sitting on a couch with his head tilted back, eyes closed. His hair was damp with sweat, and he looked exhausted, his face softening without the tension of the spotlight. She hesitated in the doorway, wondering if she should leave him alone, but before she could decide, he opened his eyes and noticed her.

"Hey," he said quietly, gesturing for her to come in. "Hey," she replied, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. She felt a rush of nerves, the lingering energy from the show making her pulse quicken. "You were... incredible tonight." He offered a small, tired smile. "Thanks. I try."

There was a moment of silence, a charged pause that hung in the air between them. She could feel the weight of everything unspoken, of the connection she'd felt watching him on stage. She wanted to ask him about the lyrics, about the meaning behind the songs, but she didn't want to push too far too soon.

Instead, she sat down across from him, folding her hands in her lap. "I don't know how you do it," she said softly. "You give so much on stage. It's like... like you're sharing a part of yourself that most people would want to keep private." Elliot studied her, his gaze intense and thoughtful. "Music's always been that way for me," he replied after a pause. "It's... where I put everything I can't say out loud. All the things that don't fit anywhere else." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression contemplative. "Sometimes it's freeing. Other times... it feels like I'm pouring pieces of myself into something that I'll never get back." He looked down, his voice dropping. "And sometimes, I wonder if I'll even recognize myself when it's all over." 

Lena's heart twisted at his words. She hadn't expected him to open up like this, to reveal so much of the person behind the persona. She wanted to reach out, to say something that would reassure him, but the vulnerability in his eyes held her back. It was clear that this was something he rarely shared, and she didn't want to break the fragile trust he'd placed in her by asking too much. "I think... that's what makes your music so powerful," she said carefully. "You're willing to go there, to show people the parts of yourself that most of us are afraid to show."

Elliot's lips curved in a faint smile, though his eyes remained shadowed. "Maybe. But it's a dangerous thing, letting people in like that. You do it long enough, and you start to lose track of what's real and what's just part of the act." 

Their eyes met, and Lena felt a jolt of understanding pass between them. She realized that, in a way, she was asking the same thing he was: who was the real Elliot Wolfe, beneath the lyrics, the music, the persona? And did he even know the answer anymore? He broke the gaze first, letting out a quiet sigh. "It's a strange life, this," he said, almost to himself. "A beautiful mess, but still a mess."

They sat in silence, the weight of his words settling over them. And in that moment, Lena felt something shift. She'd come here to tell a story, to capture the essence of Wolfe & Company for her readers. But sitting here, listening to Elliot share his fears and his truths, she realized that she was becoming a part of that story, too.

Maybe this wasn't just about understanding him, about pulling back the curtain on a famous rock star. Maybe, just maybe, this was about understanding something in herself—something she hadn't been able to put into words.

Elliot glanced up at her, his expression softening, and for a second, she thought he might say something else, something that would break the distance still between them. But then the door opened, and Nate popped his head in, a mischievous grin on his face. 

"Elliot! We're grabbing a drink. You in?" Elliot looked at her, his eyes flickering with something unreadable before he nodded. "Yeah, I'll be there." He stood, giving her one last, lingering look. "Thanks, Lena," he said quietly, his voice rough around the edges.

She nodded, watching him go, feeling a strange ache settle in her chest as the door closed behind him. She knew that tonight's conversation was only a small glimpse into the man behind the music. But it was enough to make her want to keep searching, to peel back the layers until she finally understood who Elliot Wolfe really was. And as she sat there in the quiet of the green room, she wondered if, by the end of this tour, she'd be able to understand herself a little better, too.

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