Chapter Twenty-Three #2
My heart jerks hard in my chest, blood surging with confusion and the sudden urge to protect, fix, do something.
My body tenses, ready to react, muscles coiling like I’m gearing up for a fight.
I rush toward them, eyes flicking between Dax’s bruised face and the fury radiating off Lyric like a massive heatwave.
“What the fuck happened?”
Lyric spots me. “Ha! Should’ve known you’d take me against my will. Lying, kidnapping, anything else you want to do to me, Chase?” she snaps, her voice full of pure venom.
“What the fuck, Dax?”
He groans. “Woman’s got a mean right hook, but I swear she’s as stubborn as an ox. Wouldn’t come with me, so I had to use a little… persuasive force.”
My eyes widen as she folds her arms over her chest in defiance.
“Persuasive force? What the hell does that mean?”
She throws her hands up, exasperated. “It means… he said if I didn’t go with him, he’d leak that damn karaoke video from the bar to the press. So I did what any rational woman would do, I punched him in the face, and then I let him drag me here. Which, I’m guessing, is your place?”
My jaw ticks as I swing my glare toward Dax. He gives me a helpless shrug, like this is somehow not the most insane plan he’s ever cooked up.
“Jesus, Dax…” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair as frustration pulses behind my eyes. I turn back to Lyric. She’s got her arms crossed like a shield, her body tense, her mouth drawn tight, but damn, she’s even more gorgeous when she’s furious.
I take a breath and try to calm the storm inside me. “Yeah,” I say, voice low, steady. “It’s mine. And despite how you got here, I’m glad you’re here.”
“In my defense, I was lying about the tape. I didn’t record you, Lyric. I just said that to get you here.” We both turn to glare at Dax to shut him up as I step closer to Lyric.
But she takes a cautious step back from me.
I exhale. “You already know I’m sorry. But if you’d let me explain what happened, why I did what I di—”
“You dragged me here against my will to explain yourself?” she asks, her voice laced with frustration as she cuts me off.
I nod, steady and unapologetic, watching her eyes narrow as she groans and throws her hands up in exasperation. “Fine,” she bites out. “But you’d better get me a drink first. A strong one. I’m talking blackout levels, Chase.”
That fiery spark in her hasn’t dulled one bit. It’s still there, burning through every word, every glare she throws my way, and hell if it doesn’t twist something fierce in my chest.
I’ve missed this.
Missed her.
Even angry and cursing me out, she’s everything.
I run a hand down my jaw, forcing back the grin that threatens to surface. As much as Lyric wants me to think she’s furious, I see the cracks in her armor.
She’s here.
She came.
And that’s a start.
I nod toward the living room, letting the weight of the moment settle between us. “Then come with me. I’ve got something better than a drink waiting for you.”
She doesn’t say a word, just storms ahead with that signature fire in her stride, flipping her hair like a battle flag. I follow, pulse pounding, every nerve in my body stretched tight with hope that maybe, just maybe, I’ve still got a shot at winning her back.
Dax knows when to call it, and he spins to leave me with my fiery woman. I dip my head at him in thanks. He looks at me with a go-get-’em-tiger stare and heads upstairs to leave us alone. I turn toward the living room, stepping in behind Lyric and her sweet-smelling perfume.
She stops at the top of the stairs as she gazes down on the room.
Her mouth hangs wide open as she takes in the sight before her.
Every surface has vase upon vase filled with various colors, shapes, and sizes of Chinese carnations—her favorite flower.
Her hand flies to her chest, fingers splaying wide like she’s trying to ground herself, like what she’s seeing in front of her can’t possibly be real.
Her breath catches audibly, and for a split second, she simply stands there, frozen in place.
I step in beside her, not close enough to touch, but close enough that the space between us hums with static.
The tension is thick. Palpable. It coils in the air, winding around us like it’s alive, crackling with all the words we haven’t said and all the feelings neither of us has been able to outrun.
I want to close the gap. I want to reach for her, drag her into my arms, and bury my face in her neck to remind myself Lyri’s really here, that I didn’t lose her for good.
But I don’t.
She’s not ready.
I can see it in the tight set of her jaw, the wary glance she tosses my way even as her eyes shimmer with something dangerously close to tears. So, I anchor my hands by my sides and let restraint burn like fire through my veins.
Let her take it in.
Let her feel it.
And if she steps toward me, even just an inch, I’ll be ready.
But until then, I wait.
Because loving her means knowing when not to touch.
Even when it’s killing me not to.
Now it’s time to help her relax, not feel more tension, so I gesture for us to head for the sofa, and she steps down into the sunken living room.
She shakes her head. “How did you do this?”
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Lyri.”
Her eyes meet mine, and she exhales, dropping down on the sofa, then leans across to the coffee table, smelling the flowers in front of her. I move in, sitting next to her.
“Why did you get Dax to bring me here, Chase? You know how I feel about you!”
Crap.
“I do… you love me. No matter how hard you fight against it, Lyri, you still love m—”
“That’s sooo not what I meant.”
“No, but it’s true, though, right?”
She turns away from me slightly. “It’s irrelevant, Chase. I don’t trust yo—”
Suddenly, there’s a knock at the front door, interrupting us. My chest squeezes knowing Lyric’s second and biggest surprise has arrived.
“I’ll get it,” Dax hollers from upstairs.
I reach out, grabbing her hands. She turns to face me, narrowing her eyes, but she doesn’t pull away. This is a good sign. “Lyri, I want you to know I did this out of love. I hope you like your surprise.”
She tilts her head as her eyes widen a little, like my surprises are scaring her. I guess she never knows what she’s going to get with me.
“Lyric,” a deep voice rings through the living room.
We both turn as the front door creaks open.
A man steps inside, silhouetted by the fading light.
His long, tatty hair brushes his collar, the brown leather jacket he wears is cracked with age, and the ripped jeans hanging off his lean frame tell a story of a life lived loud and without apology.
He’s older, sure, but there’s something magnetic about him.
He could walk onstage at any moment and make a crowd fall silent.
His eyes, lined with faint guy-liner tattoos, are gritty and intense, locking onto Lyric with the weight of a thousand unspoken regrets. They gloss over in an instant, and that’s when I know.
She knows, too.
Lyric freezes, sucking in a slight gasp.
Her body stiffens beside me, as if all the air has been pulled from her lungs.
Her trembling hand rises slowly until it covers her mouth.
Lyric’s eyes are wide, but not in fear, in disbelief.
She’s seeing a ghost she’s dreamed of hugging, but never expected to actually face again. At least not for the next few years.
“Daddy?” she breathes out the word, barely louder than a whisper, the word hardly escaping her mouth.
Stylo Griffin steps further into the room, his voice gravelly and low. “Yeah, baby girl, it’s me. I’m sorry I’ve been away for too damn long. But I got a call, I heard you needed me. And if my girl needs me…” he pauses, emotion tightening his throat, “… I’m gonna be right here.”
She doesn’t speak.
She doesn’t have to.
Lyric stands, then takes one shaky step forward, then another, and suddenly she’s sprinting across the room, dress fluttering behind her like wind in a storm.
She launches herself into her father’s arms with a cry that cracks me straight down the middle.
Her sobs hit fast and hard, her arms wrapped so tight around him it looks like she’s trying to hold time still, afraid that if she lets go, he’ll disappear all over again.
He catches her with that same desperate strength, arms wrapping around her like he’s been waiting years to feel this exact moment.
And I swear to God, I nearly drop to my knees. My chest feels like it’s caving in, pride and pain fighting for room inside it. My hands fist at my sides, not from anger, but from the sheer force of holding myself together.
This is what she needed—something real, something tangible, something irreplaceable.
This is her peace.
Her anchor.
Her beginning again.
The woman I love is falling apart and rebuilding right in front of me, all in the arms of a man I have known for years on a business level, but will thank every damn day for showing up.
She pulls back just enough to cradle her father’s face between her trembling hands, memorizing every line, every weathered wrinkle, every part of him she thought she wouldn’t see for years. Her smile is drenched in tears, eyes sparkling like they’re made of sunlight and saltwater.
“Are you really here?” she whispers.
Her dad chuckles, hoarse and emotional. “I ain’t going anywhere, baby girl.”
I take a step back, needing to catch my breath. To let them have this. Because this moment right here? It was never about me. But damn if it doesn’t make me love her even more.
And when she turns just slightly, her cheek pressed against her father’s chest, and her tear-streaked eyes find mine across the room, I see it.
Gratitude.
Raw and wordless.
She knows I did this, and even if she never says it out loud, it’s there.
We’re not healed.
Not yet.
But this? It’s the beginning of something new.
And I’ll wait however long it takes for her to be ready.