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Because as soon as the words left my lips, my whole world was swallowed up into blackness.
ChapterOne
LYRIC
NOW
I knewthis day was going to be difficult; it was the hardest day of each year, no matter how many had passed, but the heartbreak never failed to take me by surprise. From one year to the next, I kept waiting for the pain that came every time my little brother’s birthday rolled around to stop feeling like a white-hot poker being stabbed beneath my ribs, but that never happened.
This year, however, was exceptionally worse. When I’d woken up this morning, after the haze of sleep wore off and realization kicked in, the memories created an agony so intense it could have kept me in bed, curled up in a tight ball, all day long. It had taken everything in me to keep from falling down a deep black hole of misery and sadness. The pain in my heart had been almost physical—a stabbing, burning, throbbing thing that only got worse with every passing moment. But I’d still managed to drag myself out of bed. I’d gone through the motions of getting ready for the day and forced myself into the town’s public library where I worked.
Every minute was its own special kind of torture, having to go through the motions, wearing a fake smile and pretending everything was just peachy, when in reality I was trapped in my own personal hell. Yet, somehow, I managed. The seconds ticked by slower than usual, time moving at a snail’s pace until it felt like the day would last an eternity, but, damn it, I’d managed. I was giving myself that win.
I knew going home wasn’t an option. If I was left to my own devices, I’d fall right back into that pit of despair, and there was no telling how long it would take to pull myself out of it. As much as I didn’t feel like being social, I also didn’t really want to be alone either, so I settled on the next best thing.
I’d drink until I was numb, then, if fate felt like being kind, I’d pass the hell out for the remainder of this godforsaken day.
I wasn’t surprised to see so many cars in the parking lot of Bad Alibi when I pulled in, even thought it was the middle of the work week. The place was a popular hangout for locals as well as people from the neighboring towns. It wasn’t packed to the gills like it usually was on the weekends, but the crowd was plenty big enough to line the waitresses’ pockets nicely.
“Lyric! Hey.” Speaking of waitresses, I turned just in time to offer a smile I hoped was believable to my friend, Farah.
“Hi,” I greeted while glancing toward the bar from the corner of my eye. “How’s it going?” My attempt at small talk was lame, at best, but it was all I could manage at the moment.
“It’s good. Are you meeting Deva or any of the girls here?” she asked, speaking of my best friend, Deva Kent, who I’d met only a couple weeks after moving to Redemption, and the rest of the crew we’d accumulated over the past months.
I shrugged. “Nope, it’s just me. Didn’t quite feel like going home yet. Thought I’d stop in for a drink.”Or six,I thought. Six should be enough to drown the pain, right? As long as the bartender was feeling generous with his pours.
She tipped her head just slightly and studied me closely. “You okay?”
I slid my mask back into place, making my smile brighter and forcing it to reach my eyes. “Yeah, I’m great,” I answered brightly.
She looked like she wanted to press, but a person at one of her tables must have waved to get her attention. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“Absolutely.” I motioned to the table that had caught her attention. “Looks like you’re being summoned. I’ll just be—” I finished my sentence by pointing in the direction of the bar.
A sigh of relief hollowed my chest when she reached for my forearm, giving it a quick squeeze before heading off to do her job. I loved the circle of friends I’d made over the past few months. It had been a very long time since I’d had friends like the ones I’d made here in Redemption, but at times like this, the only way I knew to cope was alone.
I started back on my original path, offering half-hearted smiles and waves of greeting to the other people who called out to me. That was small town life for you, everyone knew everyone. Most days I loved it.Most days.
I couldn’t bring myself to be outright rude to the people of my new town, not when they’d been nothing but warm and welcoming since my arrival, but I needed to get a drink in my hand, as soon as humanly possible.
I finally made it to my destination, but instead of hopping up onto one of the vacant stools and ordering something one hundred proof, I stutter-stepped to a halt at the sight of the broad back covered by clean white cotton stretched taut by mounds of muscle beneath.
I would have recognized that back anywhere. It belonged to none other than the town’s golden boy and heroic provider of law and order, Deputy Holton Clarke. The man who’d melted my insides like butter in a hot skillet since the first moment I laid eyes on him...
I’d barely crossed the town line when I had to pull over for gas. I was standing at the pump as it chugged along, filling the tank of my car when a white SUV emblazoned with the sheriff’s department logo and star across the side pulled into the station and parked near the door.
My jaw dropped as he stepped out. He was the kind of man who made everything he wore look good; even the unappealing khaki uniform was runway worthy on him. Long legs that seemed to go on forever led upward to thick thighs and higher to what had to have been the firmest, nicest ass I’d ever laid eyes on. His gun belt wrapped around a perfectly tapered waist and a flat stomach that I justknewwas carved with muscle. The seams of his shirt sleeves were put to the test by cut, rounded biceps that led to corded forearms roped with even more muscles.
The whole man-in-a-uniform thing might have been a cliché, but it was guys like him who made it such a popular one. He wore his hair longer than you would have expected for a cop, but it looked damn good on him. It was a cross between dark blond and light brown, like it couldn’t decide which color it wanted to be, so it picked both. There were streaks of light and dark throughout, and when a breeze kicked up just then, rustling the strands, it reminded me of a field of wheat swaying in the wind.
“Mornin’, Deputy Clarke,” an elderly man with white hair, hunched shoulders, and a ballcap greeted from the propped door that led into the gas station, lifting his fingers to the brim and shooting the deputy a salute.
“Frank,” the man who’d had me utterly transfixed returned, his voice rough and deep in the most delicious way, like stone covered in velvet. “You got a fresh pot brewing in there for me?”
His voice had a low, smoky, seductive quality to it, like warm honey and fine Scotch.
“Just so happens, the pot finished gurglin’ right before you showed up.”
