Page 209 of Second Sets Omnibus
Now, I’m free from them for a few days. I don’t know why I thought this torture would be good for them. They flew through my rigorous training exercise with ease.
Bastards.
Sure, the first concert was like watching a cactus soak in the sun. They were stiff pricks, avoiding eye contact with each other, including the roaring crowd. After that, they took my critical notes and ran with them like wild animals. Everything I laid down, they took it like champs.
I had to get creative by torturing their asses somehow and enact a little revenge of my own. I can’t exactly burn the house down with them inside to get some retribution, so… I may have overextended their abilities on stage.
Just a little. Three shows in a thirty-hour period isn’t too horrible. They survived. Maybe on fumes.
Okay, maybe it was just a little too much.
So, fucking sue me.
If I had it my way, I would have shoved them on a boat, duct taped and unconscious, and driven them out to sea. Sleep with the fishes now, boys.
Fuck. Not really. I couldn’t do that. They’ve been?—
Great.
So, fucking wonderful with Ly. They’ve been here for me, too. Every step of the way. They aren’t fighting me on the demands I’m putting them through.
Asher makes her fucking breakfast every morning and brings it over. Even though looking at him simultaneously breaks my heart and hardens it. He’s still so bruised from their punches. And so damn subdued and polite.
It’s hard to hate a man who isn’t the same person he was years before when he pulled this stunt. He may wear the same face, but the demon that once sat on his shoulders disappeared the moment he confessed. Maybe my exorcisms really worked.
See? So damn conflicted.
Callum reads her bedtime stories, and sometimes Rad joins in for comedic relief.
Kieran spends as much time as possible with her on the beach with his guitar in his hand and her on his lap, teaching her the notes.
They’ve been fucking great. It both pleases the piss out of me and irritates me to no end.
Why couldn’t they be bastards so I could continue to hate them?
But no. That’s not what I want either.
Goddamn, my head aches with all the different opinions rattling through my head. I try to remember what Rocco and I talked about when he dropped soup off a few weeks ago and live by that mantra. I can’t fault these men for trying their hardest. Even when they fucked up in the worst possible way.
Take it day by day. Don’t roll over and forgive them. Make them beg. Make them get on their damn knees and earn your trust back. Let them see Lyric and prove themselves to her and to you.
And I’ve done that. I haven’t rolled over. Or forgiven them. It may be on the horizon. Sometime in the close future. But not yet. They still deserve more shit from me.
I slam through the front door of the band house and beeline it toward the beach behind my home. Nothing says refreshing like yelling at the ocean at midnight until your throat is raspy and your emotions are spent. It’s the remedy to my problems. For now, at least.
As soon as the warm night air hits my skin, everything crumbles. My facade. My walls. My fucking hormones. I’m in shambles. Reeling from the effects of being in their presence. How can four men wreck me so damn hard without even trying to?
Who said being a badass HBIC was easy? Commanding Whispered Words on what to do while performing on stage ishard as fuck. I’m feeling the after-effects of watching them for hours.
Vivid memories of their hands running down their bare chests as they whipped their shirts off and tossed them in my direction. Always at me. Never the screaming girls. Whether I was standing just off stage or in the front row, they made sure their shirts were mine. Sweat-soaked and all.
God fucking damn it. My head spins, weaving a mess of webs in my mind. Should I jump in headfirst, or should I just let them be fathers? It rattles around in my messed-up brain, pushing me further down the rabbit hole.
My broken heart is slowly stitching together piece by piece. They’re the menders of my soul. How fucking ironic, huh? The men who broke it are now fixing it with the little things. It’s always the fucking little things.
We’ve talked. Cried. Yelled. Argued. Raised our voices. Every bit of healing conversation has been present. The sorrys and stepping up are all there. They’re taking therapy extra seriously, too, which surprised the hell out of me. I never expected the guys to willingly talk to a stranger. I knew it would benefit them, especially after learning about their upbringing. Hell, Asher even goes into her office an additional time each week, and Kieran tags along.
Yet, I remember the way I felt when they walked away. They fucking eviscerated me. My heart literally shattered in my chest, turning into tiny fragments of what I once was and numbing me for so long. I tried every day to forget their existence. Whispered Words, who? But it never worked. Every time I felt Lyric kick inside me, I was reminded of who helped put her there. And the moment I finally saw her eyes, I fucking broke in half.
