Nowhere USA: Book 1 of the Nowhere Trilogy

14. Man in a Suitcase

Is it me, the man with the stranger's face - The Police

1:58 p.m. Sunday, September 26, 2021

Bollocks! What to do now? Phoenix is going to find a magazine, and she's going to put two and two together. It was always inevitable that the P's would find out who he is, but not like this. When she sees the photo and compares it to the man she knows, Phoenix will consider it a personal betrayal. Another in a long line of them, it seems.

Rising from his bar stool at the kitchen countertop, Harry moves in the direction she'd disappeared. "Phoenix! Wait!" He calls, but it's too late. She's already upstairs.

Turning back to Patrick, Harry practically begs the younger man, "Stop her, please!"

With a curious look at his new friend, the teen bounds up the stairs. "Phoenix!" His bellowing can likely be heard three houses over.

Pacing down below, Harry wonders how to handle this. Asking them to keep his presence a secret from the rest of the town seems rude. Being incognito is a new adventure for him. He can walk around town and attend events like Pirate Day without being ambushed. On the other hand, life is easier when people know his history. It's an automatic conversation starter.

As he considers his options, the only thing he knows for certain is that he can't let Phoenix and Patrick find out by happenstance. It would devastate them. He would lose their trust.

"I don't know what he wants, Phee, but you better come downstairs." Patrick's voice carries over the balcony as he reappears, head down, hands in pockets. Phoenix follows soon after, and her expression resembles that of a criminal being led to the electric chair.

"Ummmm....." Harry begins, biting his lip. "Would you....uh....have a seat?"

The kids exchange a glance before they settle on the sofa, sides touching, as though they are lending each other strength. They're both leaning forward, their arses barely on the edge of the cushion. Double bollocks.

Fear courses through Harry's body. How should he start? What should he say? After nearly leaving a groove in the wood floor, Harry turns to the two. Towering over them, he looks around for a chair. The nearest is too big to move. Holding up a finger, Harry disappears into the kitchen, returning with a wooden chair from the table.

Planting the legs of the furniture in front of the coffee table, Harry lowers himself down. Resting his elbows on his knees, he places his head in his hands. Silence is broken only by the incessant ticking of the grandfather clock.

Taking a deep breath, he makes eye contact with each of them.

"You don't need to look for a magazine picture, Phoenix," he begins. "I'm, uh, well aware that I resemble Harry Styles from One Direction."

Her brow furrows, confusion evident. "Ooooo-kaaaay," she draws the word out.

Looking away, Harry swallows before turning back to them. "Because I am Harry Styles from One Direction. Well, technically, not One Direction. Not anymore. I mean, we've been on hiatus since 2016, and we all have solo careers. So really, I'm just Harry Styles. And not the one from the salon in town, although it's a cute name, and if I need a haircut, I wouldn't mind stopping in there. But the truth is that I'm Harry Styles, so there's no need to look for pictures to prove it. In fact, I can probably tell you exactly which magazines have the best pictures of me, but most of the ones from One Direction are when my hair was super curly, so I'm not fond of them. I think I've grown some since the beginning. After all, I've been working out quite regularly and watching what I eat the last several years. My muscles have developed...."