Page 94 of Hero of Havoc

She wraps her arms around my middle, catching me off guard for a second before I return her embrace.

“If you need me, just say the word,” I insist, and she nods.

“Thank you, Ivy. This was nice, but I need you to make sure my brother doesn’t break right now,” she states, walking me to the door. She opens it wide, her smile turning nervous as she nods toward a door down the hall. “He’s through that door and up the stairs.”

Another noise comes from the same spot.

“I feel like I’m intruding,” I whisper, and she nods.

“You may be, but he needs it.”

21

IVY

Ihear Arabella’s door close behind me before I reach the one in front of me, nerves twisting through my body as I gnaw on my bottom lip, considering how bad an idea this might be.

The thumps increase, like there’s a rhythm to it.

It should probably scare me away, but instead, it has me reaching for the doorknob.

My breath lodges in my throat as it twists, the door opening to reveal a steep set of stairs leading up, a soft glow from above offering just enough light to make out each step.

I still as the noise changes. Without the door wedged shut between us, the sound isn’t as muffled.

It sounds like… music.

Glancing over my shoulder, I double check that Arabella is tucked safely in her room before I dare to step over the threshold, closing the door quietly behind me.

I let the music guide me, the volume not loud enough to shake the house, but it has a way of seeping into my bones, each beat drawing me closer. Leaving my nerves at the door, while my heart rattles in time with the bass, I climb.

The same soft glow fills the entire room as I reach the top of the stairs, but I’m frozen in place, unable to move as my gaze lands on Archer, and I can’t look away.

Tucked beneath the sloping roof sits an old drum kit, hiding most of Archer’s frame as he sits, perched on the worn leather stool. Sweat traces the lines of his abs as his shoulders roll with expert precision. I don’t know where his shirt is, and I don’t care to find out; I’m too enthralled by the blurred drumsticks tangled between his fingers.

Every strike feels deliberate, every move intentional as the music comes alive before him. It’s the same measured and skilled Archer, but with an air of recklessness, a lack of restraint, and a need for release.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I edge farther into the room, tingles running through me as his bare foot knocks the kick drum, making the floorboards vibrate beneath me. Staring at him, in all his glory, I’m in awe. Sweat darkens his hair, the ends unkept as they fall over his face instead of the usual tamed style.

I have no idea what the song is, or if it even is one to begin with, but it’s intoxicating regardless.

Approaching cautiously, he continues to play, his eyes closed, until I step on a groaning floorboard and he stills.

Eyes latch on mine, dark and heated as his chest rises and falls in quick succession, matching the rhythm of the beat he just pounded out.

My pulse rings in my ears as I blink at him, his skin glistening as he flicks his hair back off his face.

“Arabella?” he asks, and I gulp.

“Sleeping,” I murmur, and he nods.

I want to ask him if he’s okay, but I know that he isn’t.

I want to tell him that it’s all going to be okay, but I don’t know that it is.

I want to understand what’s going on here, but it’s impossible for me to press.

He sniffs, fingers flexing around the drumsticks. “My mother is in the basement with urgent care. It’s all set up for her; she’s just going to need a little time.”