Page 98 of Chasing Lyric
Dax slaps my shoulder. “Phase one is set in motion, big man.”
A tightness coils in my chest, my foot tapping restlessly against the floor as I try to ignore the itch crawling beneath my skin. I have no idea how Lyric’s going to react. “It’s been a big day. Hell, a big twenty-four hours. I think I’m gonna head home and catch up on some sleep.”
Dax grunts while shaking his head. “Sleep’s for pussies. We need to be celebrating the start ofLyrical Revival. We’re well into phase one. We can’t wimp out now.”
I let out a laugh. “Lyrical Revival… that code name’s gonna stick, isn’t it?”
Dax nods matter-of-factly. “Oh, hell, yeah.”
“Maybe another time. I need to go home and unwind.”
Dax groans. “Pussy!”
I ignore him but make the move to leave. It is a Sunday, after all, and I don’t really need to be here. So I duck out of the building, a low thrum of unease settling in my gut as I head for the car. I don’t know why I’m doing this. Maybe I need to feel like I’m still part of this in some way.
Still connected.
Still trying.
Sliding behind the wheel, I pull out and follow the route I watched Mary-B take, tension tightening across my shoulders with every turn.
I don’t want to interfere. I just… Ineedto know if Lyric’s okay and that she got the gift. That she didn’t throw it back in Mary-B’s face or slam the door on her. Hell, I’d even take a neutral reaction if it means she’s not hurting as badly as I think she is.
I know how this looks.
Sitting in my car, watching from a distance like I’ve got a damn tracking anklet under my jeans. But after everything I’ve lied about, catfished my way through, what’s one more morally gray decision on the pile?
I’m a convicted felon.
May as well act like one.
I drive like the law doesn’t apply to me, the engine growling beneath my grip as I gun it down the streets, my eyes locked on the sedan ahead. The second I spot Mary-B turning into Lyric’s driveway, I ease off, pulling in a little farther down the road, cutting the engine, and jumping out before I can second-guess myself.
This is reckless.
This is borderline insanity.
But it’s alsoallI’ve got left.
My shoes hit the pavement with quick, heavy steps, pulse thumping like a drumline in my chest. I keep low, angling in the opposite direction of Mary-B’s path so I don’t draw her attention. She’s too preoccupied, fiddling with the gift basket, rearranging things like it’s a goddamn art installation. Thank Christ for that.
I slip behind the hedge lining the front of the property, muscles tight as I creep along the edge of the house. The air’s cold, but my shirt clings to my back with sweat, the weight of everything pressing in on me as I crouch low near the front bay window. The shrubs scratch my arms, the branches stiff and unforgiving, but I stay down, shifting carefully as I move into position.
My breath is shallow.
My heart rate is not.
I wipe a hand down my face, muttering low under my breath, “Get your shit together, man.”
Inside, I catch a glimpse of Lyric. She doesn’t look angry. She doesn’t lookanything. And that’s somehow worse.
Mary-B’s still fluffing the basket like it’s about to be judged at a county fair. I watch her straighten the bottle of champagne, shift the Red Vines, then tilt the damn teddy bear like it matterswhat angle it’s sitting at. My nerves fray with every second that ticks by.
My legs are cramping. My pride’s in shreds. And here I am, lurking in the bushes like some lovesick fool in a Netflix thriller rather than the guy from the Hallmark movie she wanted me to be.
But I need to know.
I need to see if there is hope.
