Page 19 of Sweet Strings


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Jesus Christ. Talk about someone reaching in and tearing your heart out. Only she’s itty bitty and holds my beating heart in her hand with just those simple words. My face falls as I try to recall if she’s said her name, but my goddamn brain rattles in my head. God. I haven’t taken a spill like that in years.

Reaching forward, I put my hands on her shoulders, forcing her eyes to meet mine. I swallow hard, staring into the eyes of my former best friend, and my stomach falls out of my ass.

“Your eyes,” I murmur in amazement. “You have such beautiful eyes.” The same brown spot located on the same side as Kieran’s twinkles back at me.

“It’s Lyric,” River says, coming back into the room with cotton balls and a bottle of alcohol. “And I didn’t know it could be hereditary. Apparently, genetics are a hell of a thing.”

My fingers tremble on her tiny shoulders, slightly shaking her. That’s all the damn confirmation I need to send my heart into a flutter. Question after question runs through my mind. Like how? Why didn’t she tell us? Fuck. What the hell happened after we left?

River had a kid—that I knew of as of yesterday, at least. But she had our kid—Kieran’s kid—and no one knew. Fuck. Fucking Kieran. That dog dick. His words from yesterday echo in my rattling mind, and I groan. I’m too injured to think this damn hard about anything. He knew. And he doesn’t give a shit about her.

I curl my fingers into fists and grind my teeth. Not only from the pain of the alcohol on my back but from Kieran’s betrayal, too. Even if River fucked us over, he has a living, breathing human with his DNA walking around, and he discarded her existence. For what? Fame? Fortune? The band?

“Lyric,” I confirm, turning back to the little girl, slowly wiping away the fat tears dripping down her cheeks. “Hi, Lyric. I’m Rad.”

Her little eyes narrow at me. “I know. You’re my daddy. Mommy said,” she says in a small voice, waving a hand at River, who stiffens beside me.

“Why don’t you give Daddy a little slack, Ly? He hit his head, remember? Always remember to wear a helmet. How about you cover his boo-boos in those bandages and make him feel better.” A sly smirk tugs at the corner of her lips as the scent of rubbing alcohol fills the air. “Might hurt a bit,” she murmurs before placing the cold as fuck alcohol on my stinging wound, which I don’t think she minds doing one bit. In fact, I hear a sadistic laugh from under her breath every time she cleans a wound.

I hiss through my clenched teeth, making Lyric smile as she pulls out a wad of bandages, and I know by the determined look in her eyes she’s about to punish me for not knowing her name by placing those brightly colored bandages filled with images of ocean life to my skin.

“So, Lyric,” I start, grunting when she climbs onto my lap and starts placing Band-Aids on certain spots on my jaw, cheek, and chest. “How old are you?”

“I’m four. Mrs. Harper is my teacher; she’s not very nice. Apple says she’s only mean ‘cuz she had to poop.” I snort at her story, cracking a smile as she continues rambling and placing three more Band-Aids on my face.

“Lyric,” River chastises, shaking her head with a laugh.

“Go on, Little Pretty Girl. Tell me all about Mrs. Harper and how mean she is,” I indulge her, fighting through the pain of River dotting my wounds with more alcohol.

“I’m in preschool,” Lyric says, poking her tongue out again when she sticks a Band-Aid right over my pierced nipple. Her nose crinkles. “Are you a robot?” she asks, touching it through the bandage with a scrunched-up face.

I chuckle. “Nah, Little Pretty Girl. It’s a piercing. Like this one,” I say, pointing to the septum piercing I’ve had for years. “And a few more.” Like hell am I telling a four-year-old there’s metal in places she’s not allowed to see below the belt. Only her mother would get that honor. If that ever happened again, that is.

Her little eyes light up, tearing the shadows away from my heart. If this is what happiness is, then I never want to leave. No matter what River did, this tiny human calls me daddy, and that’s all that matters to me.

“Mommy, I want my booby pierced, too. Just like Daddy,” Lyric says, causing River to choke on her own spit. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to cover the smile begging to emerge. This kid is something else.

“Jesus, Ly. No booby piercings for you. Where did you even hear that word?” She shakes her head, and a red tint spreads across her cheeks. “You have got to stop watching TV,” she murmurs to herself.

Lyric shrugs, looking over my face and chest with satisfaction. “All done!” she beams, wrapping her arms around me. Gently, she squeezes herself against me and pulls back, cupping my cheeks. “All better, Daddy,” she murmurs with furrowed brows. “Will you come see me again?” She blinks a few times.

“As long as your mom says it’s okay,” I whisper, pushing a few strands of her hair out of her face, and she lights up. “I’m right across the street now.”

“And my other daddies?” she whispers.

“All there,” I breathe without thinking about my words.

“Okay, Ly. I’m sorry. But it’s your bedtime. It’s ten-fifteen, and you, my love, need your beauty rest.” River offers her a hand, and she quickly takes it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Daddy,” she says with the biggest, heart-melting grin as they disappear behind the wall separating the living room from the rest of the house.

“See you,” I whisper, clamping my eyes shut, letting everything I’ve learned in the past forty-five minutes really sink in. I have so many questions for River and so few answers to go on.

My head still pounds when I stand from the chair, checking out the pictures lining the bookshelf near the fireplace across the room. Young River with baby Lyric in her arms, nestled in a hospital bed. Wet tears line River’s cheeks, but her smile lights up the damn picture.

“It was right after she was born,” River says, standing stiffly beside me. “I was two weeks overdue, and she refused to come. Longest day of my life,” she says, blowing out a breath. “Nine pounds, three ounces, and twenty-one inches long.”

“She’s amazing, Pretty Girl,” I rasp, trying to keep the brewing questions at bay when she sighs.

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