Page 28 of Lyric & the Heartbeats

The notion of his words hit her a split second after she opened her mouth for a rebuttal, and she snapped it shut. He was right.

She was singing lazily, because… she didn’t want to be vulnerable around this alpha.

Singing, whether it be for a performance, practice, or to an empty room, was an intimate thing. Something that she chose to share with the world, yes, but it was also a piece of her.

Music had been there for her when she’d had nothing. Her best work had come from a dark place in her life, and each time she revisited those songs, she went back there.

Each practice was to prepare for the tour. She was supposed to put her heart and soul into each rehearsal, just like she was going to do on stage.

She knew the words. She knew the notes and the keys and the tempo changes by heart. Anyone could sing her notes, perform her songs with the band. But only one person could put her emotion into each song, knew the story behind each lyric.

She just had to be willing to do that in front of everyone, including the alpha before her.

Why did it not faze her to imagine singing in front of an entire venue, but she froze up when she sang in front of Emerson?

“You’re right. I’m singing lazily,” she admitted.

Because of you, she wanted to say. But then she’d have to explain why.

Explain that she had the stupid urge to earn his approval while telling herself she didn’t need anyone’s approval. Explain her need for a promise that he would withhold his judgment.

He didn’t speak, shock blanketing his features, as if her response wasn’t one he was prepared for.

“I was singing lazily. But I won’t anymore. Tomorrow, I’ll do better.”

With that, she left the practice space as he stood there gaping.

She didn’t need to rehearse, didn’t need to practice her own songs. What she needed to do was get over herself.

People would always be judging her. It was part of being a musician. Critics. Bloggers. Radio hosts. They all had an opinion, and none of them were shy.

But somehow, Emerson’s words… hurt.

And at the same time, she wanted to show him how wrong he was.

No, she didn’t have to prove anything to him.

But she was going to anyway.

The next morning, she drew resolve around her like a protective cloak.

She was Lyric Ceran. She was a badass. She could totally flay herself open and sing for the band. On tour, she’d be doing it every night to a venue full of people. It wasn’t that much different to do it in the rehearsal space.

Her steps were quiet as she ghosted down the hallway to their room, her heart racing with each step. As she drew closer to the door, she realized it was cracked open, and voices drifted out to the hallway.

“Are you going to put your fudging attitude away and play today?” Adra asked, his voice deep and rumbly.

Emerson grunted in response, and a dull thud sounded. “Ow, asshole,” he muttered.

“I’m not the one with an attitude. It’s Lyric,” he hissed.

“Yeah, we get it, you have a hate-on for her.” Desi’s sharp voice cut through the hallway. “But put it in your pants and be nice. Fucking alphas,” she muttered.

Lyric couldn’t fight her smile at the last comment but remained utterly still as she shamelessly eavesdropped.

“What the—A what on?”

“A hate-on. You know, you really wanna hate her so you’re looking for any reason to do so. Just get over it, man. She’s an angel and she’d fucking sing like one if you’d quit shooting daggers at her all day.”