Still, I can’t help the twist in my gut. She’s pissed. Hurt. And I deserve every second of her side-eye. But I did think the Red Vines would at least score a smile.
“Rawrr…lardass, lardass,” Polly Parton calls out from the back room. It should make me laugh, but instead, I simply feel like an asshole.
I wonder,is he still eating his apples or being a stubborn boy for Lyri?
“Quiet, Polly. You’re not such a slender bird yourself.”
“Rawrr…fuck off.”
Lyric groans as she drops the basket onto the coffee table like it might bite her, staring at it with the kind of suspicion usually reserved for live grenades. “Polly, be quiet. This is a serious situation right now.”
I stay crouched low, barely breathing. The rest of the world fades out—cars, wind, time itself—it all dissolves into static.
All I see isher.
Every little movement she makes, I take in like I’m starving. The scrunch of her nose when she mutters to the parrot. The frustrated flick of her fingers as she pulls the ribbon. The soft way her lip gets caught between her teeth when she spots the toy for Polly. I watch it all like a man on the outside looking in, because I am.
And I hate it.
She lifts the champagne out of the basket and holds it up like it’s a peace offering from a stranger she’s not sure she wants to forgive. “This’ll do nicely,” she mutters, setting it aside and digging deeper. She moves slow, hesitant, like the gift might explode if she lets herself believe it means something. When she pulls out the bear and reads the shirt, a dry laugh escapes her lips. “This has got to be from Chase because heisan idiot.”
I smirk because she’s not wrong.
Then she reaches for the card.
My breathing spikes in anticipation, but she doesn’t even open it right away. She just holds it, staring at the envelope like it’s some final verdict she’s not ready to hear. Her fingers tremble, not much, just a flicker, but I see it.I fucking feel it.I want to break through this window, race in there, and hold her. Tell her over and over again that…
I’m sorry I made her hands shake like that.
That I made her eyes red like that.
That I made her hurt like that.
I want to make it okay, but I know breaking into her house right now would do worse things than if she knew I was sitting outside watching her like a damn creeper.
Lyric finally finds her inner strength, and my chest tightens as she pulls the card free. Her eyes fall to the goat on the front, and a faint smile appears on her lips.
My chest tightens as she slowly opens the card, that long, measured breath of hers cutting straight through me. It’s likewatching a live wire inch toward something explosive, and I’m powerless to stop it.
God, I wish I were in there with her.Just for a second. To see what she’s really feeling. To hear her say my name, not in anger or heartbreak, but like she used to, when everything between us felt like a possibility instead of ruin. But instead, I’m the dumbass crouched in a bush, eyes locked on her every move, silently begging the universe not to let her chuck that card straight into the trash.
Something behind me catches my attention.
It’s only faint, but it’s too heavy to be the wind making the hairs on my neck stand up.
“Whatcha doin’?”
Before I can even process it, warm breath hits my ear.
I jerk so violently, I swear my soul leaves my body. My feet scramble for footing, but the mulch gives way beneath me, and I lose balance entirely and crash back into the bush with a sharp crack of branches and a rusted garden gnome snapping clean off its base as I roll over it. Something pokes me in the ribs, probably a rogue sprinkler head, but I’m too busy trying to shove my heart back down from my throat as I roll along the grass.
Lyric’s head snaps toward the window.
Shit.
I scramble to my knees, keeping low, to get back under the window, flailing like a soldier under duress. Beside me, crouched with all the grace of a smug bastard on a mission, Dax peers through the leaves with a wide grin like he’s just found treasure.
“Jesus Christ, Dax!” I hiss, barely able to breathe as I twist and press myself flat into the grass. “I nearly shit myself,” I whisper through gritted teeth.
