My pulse kicked up before I could stop it, and I hated that. Hated that after all this time, after all the disappointment, my body still reacted like maybe this time would be different.
“You found him?”
“I found a lead,” Leroy said carefully. “A good one. But I'd rather show you in person.”
I closed my eyes and tried to steady my breathing, tried to shove down the hope that was already clawing its way up my throat. “Okay. Yeah. I'll be there.”
The driveinto the city took longer than it should have because the roads were still a mess from the storm. Snow had been cleared into piles along the shoulders, but the pavement was slick with ice and slush, and half the traffic lights were still out from the power outages earlier in the week. I gripped the steering wheel harder than I needed to and tried not to think about what Leroy might have found. Tried not to let myself spiral into the same hope-crash cycle I'd been living in for years.
By the time I pulled into the parking lot of the coffee shop, my hands were shaking and I was running through every possible scenario in my head. Maybe Leroy had found an obituary. Maybe Soren was dead, and this was the closure I'd been avoiding for over a decade. Maybe he was alive and wanted nothing to do with me, and Leroy was about to hand me proof that I'd been forgotten on purpose. Maybe I was about to walk in there and find out the last thirteen years of wondering had been for nothing because Soren had moved on and built a life that didn't include me, and I was the only one still stuck in the past.
I got out of the car before I could talk myself into leaving, locked the doors, and walked across the icy parking lot towardthe front entrance. The bell above the door chimed when I pushed inside, and the warmth hit me immediately, along with the smell of espresso and pastries and the low hum of conversation from the handful of people scattered at tables throughout the shop.
Leroy was already sitting in a corner booth near the back, nursing a cup of black coffee and looking every bit the professional investigator he'd been for the past twenty years. He was in his fifties, gray at the temples, with eyes that missed nothing and a calm demeanor that had probably saved him in more than a few tense situations. He looked up when I approached and gestured to the seat across from him.
“Thanks for coming,” he said as I slid into the booth and set my keys on the table. “Coffee?”
“I'm good.” I wasn't, but I didn't think I could hold a cup steady right now, and I didn't want him to see how badly this was already getting to me. “What did you find?”
Leroy reached for the folder sitting on the table next to his coffee and opened it slowly, deliberately, like he was giving me time to brace myself. “I want to start by saying I know this has been a long process, and I know you've been ready to move on. But I think you're going to want to see this.”
He slid a photograph across the table toward me, and I looked down at it before I could stop myself.
It was a promo shot, the kind bands used for press kits and social media. Four people standing against a brick wall, all dressed in black, all looking like they'd walked out of some underground music scene I'd never been cool enough to be part of. The lighting was moody, dramatic, and my eyes scanned over the faces automatically, looking for the one that mattered.
And then I found him.
Third from the left. Holding drumsticks loosely in one hand, shoulders relaxed, head tilted slightly to the side in a way thatwas so familiar it punched the air out of my lungs. He looked older. Rougher around the edges. His hair was longer, messier, and there were tattoos running down both arms, dark ink that disappeared under the sleeves of his t-shirt. But it was him. It was Soren.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't look away. Couldn't process the fact that I was staring at a picture of someone I'd thought I'd never see again, and here he was, alive and real and close enough that Leroy had been able to find a photograph.
“That's him,” I said, and my voice came out rougher than I'd expected. “That's Soren.”
“I know.” Leroy leaned forward, his expression careful and measured. “I found him through a source connected to his sister. Someone who works in the Toronto music scene and recognized the name when I was asking around. He's the drummer for a band called Neon Veins.”
Neon Veins. The name hit me sideways because I knew it. I'd been listening to them for months, ever since Finn had sent me a link to one of their songs and told me I needed to check them out. I'd added them to my workout playlist, played them on road trips, let their music bleed into the background of my life without ever once looking closely enough to see who was playing the drums.
He'd been there the whole time.
“How long have you known?” I asked, still staring at the photo.
“I confirmed it two days ago,” Leroy said. “I wanted to be sure before I called you. The band's been together for about five years, and they've built a decent following in the underground rock scene. Mostly small venues, a few festival appearances, but they're not mainstream. I couldn't find much about his personal life, but I did find this.”
He slid another piece of paper across the table, and I forced myself to look away from Soren's face long enough to read it. It was a flyer for an upcoming show. Neon Veins was playing at a club called The Voltage in Toronto in three days.
“He's here,” I said, and it didn't feel real. “He's in Toronto.”
“Has been for at least five years, based on when the band formed,” Leroy confirmed. “I don't know where he was before that, and I don't know why he left or why he stayed gone. But if you want answers, this is your chance.”
I looked back at the photograph, at the tattoos and the longer hair and the way Soren was standing like he'd learned how to take up space without apology. He looked good. Like he'd survived whatever had driven him away and built a life that didn't need me in it.
“Do you want me to keep digging?” Leroy asked, pulling me back to the present. “I can try to find more about his personal life, where he's living, whether he's?—”
“No.” I cut him off before he could finish. “This is enough. Thank you.”
I pulled out my wallet, but Leroy waved me off. “You're paid up through next month. If you need anything else, just call.”
I nodded, grabbed the photograph and the flyer, and stood up before I could do anything stupid.
