Page 109 of Lyric & the Heartbeats

Right…

Nohen got to his feet, grabbed the glasses and the plastic container, and walked her inside. He was a little dumbstruck, unable to conjure up more than a few words to mirror her own goodnight.

It wasn’t until her hand was on the knob that he reached out and circled her wrist with his fingers.

She paused, turned to face him, and gazed up at him.

“Goodnight,” he repeated, and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger. He leaned down and ghosted his lips over hers, just a gentle reminder that he was there.

Hopefully she’d spend the rest of the night dreaming about it like he did.

Lyric let free a sigh as she left the shower and ran to her nest. Now that the sweat was finally scrubbed from her skin, she felt a little more human. Lyric collapsed on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, still in her towel. It was quiet, and she soaked in the silence…

For only a few moments. Then her skin began to itch and she glared at the ceiling. It was too quiet.

The others were still in the venue, probably hanging out in the greenroom.

Grumbling, Lyric rummaged through her clothes, looking for her comfy sweatshirt.

Now that the bus was fixed, they were back on schedule for the rest of the shows, and two performances in a row had been flawless.

“Where is it?” Grumbling, she grabbed her overnight back she’d neglected to unpack, and dumped it upside down on the bed’s surface. All she wanted was that one sweatshirt, the green one with the—

A white packet tumbled out last, landing on the pile of rumpled clothes, and Lyric froze.

No way, she thought, a slow panic creeping up from her chest and strangling her breath.

“No. I took them,” she declared, but still reached out to lift the white square off the pile. “I took one…”

Lyric envisioned the night before. Walking onto the bus after the show, showering… waiting for the others. Even eating and checking social media before she finally fell into a dead sleep. There was only one thing missing from the movie in her head—taking her suppressants.

Sliding the pills out of the sleeve, she counted the days and…

“Oh fuck.”

She was four days off.

The foil packet screeched in protest as she tightened her grip, denial and panic wrapping around her ribs to squeeze at her heart.

Four days isn’t that bad. I can double up and get caught up. It’ll be fine.

Lyric wasn’t perfect. She’d missed a day here and there in all the years she’d been taking suppressants, but four?

How did I let that happen? I really just forgot?

She guessed with all the stress from the bus breaking down and sleeping away from her nest, then rushing to get to the next shows, and then performing her heart out to deal with the guilt for having to cancel that show…

Lyric’s phone beeped, a very specific sound, set to alert her when a very specific alpha needed her attention.

Shit. Do I tell Henry?

Grabbing the first clean shirt she found and a pair of leggings, she glanced at her phone as she pulled the shirt over her head.

She half expected the message to be a scolding, as if Henry would somehow know she’d fucked up when she hadn’t even realized it until that very moment. But no, the message was casual. It was her brain that was overreacting.

Henry: Late dinner catered. Want your plate in the greenroom or bus?

Lyric finger combed her wet hair into a presentable appearance and then sent him a text back.