Chapter Twenty-Five #2
“Well, Lyri, you’re worth it, and so much more. They see that.”
Her fingers tighten around mine as the gates swing open and I drive us down the long, paved stretch as if I have done this a hundred times before.
Most guys would be wide-eyed walking into a place like this, but I live in Beverly Park.
I know exactly what these kinds of estates bring to the table.
Immaculate lawns, trimmed within an inch of their lives.
A towering fountain out front that probably costs more than most people’s cars.
Marble steps that say money talks before you even reach the front door.
Not to mention the floor-to-ceiling windows, which let everyone know the owners have nothing to hide, but everything to flaunt.
It’s familiar territory, hell, it’s not far off my own place, just dialed up a notch, or seven. The Griffin mansion is bigger. Bolder. Louder.
But I guess loud is what a rocker’s mansion is supposed to be, right?
As we roll in to park, my gaze flicks to the flower garden just off to the side by the front steps, the one Lyric mentioned when she told me about this place.
I didn’t expect to care, but damn if it doesn’t catch my eye.
It’s sharp, perfectly kept, as if someone’s been tending to it religiously.
Rows of blooms in full color, no weeds, not a petal out of place.
Turning back to face her, I see her looking at her old home in awe, and I tilt my head in the direction of the house. “Here we go,” I tell her as she opens her car door.
She bounces on her seat as I step out. The cobblestone beneath my feet crunches as I make my way to Lyric, who’s staring up at the mansion like a million memories are mulling through her mind.
I reach out for her hand, our fingers threading together. “You okay?”
A bright smile lights her glorious face. She’s beaming. “It’s been so long since I’ve been here. I guess I didn’t think I’d ever be back. It’s a little overwhelming.”
I tighten my grip on her hand. “C’mon, you can do this, Lyric Griffin. If there is one thing I know about you, it’s that you’re as strong as they come.”
Footsteps crunch on the ground, making us both turn, as an older man wearing green coveralls and a worn, floppy brown hat approaches. “Is that you, Lyri?” he calls out.
“Thomas?” Lyric shrieks as she races off toward him.
A smile brightens my face as she slams into the older man, almost knocking him over. They embrace tightly as I make my way to the pair.
“I haven’t seen you for years, my girl. How’s the shop? Your father has told me only good things.” His voice is raspy, frail. I have no idea how old he is, but if I were to guess, it would be in his seventies or even eighties.
They separate, and Lyric’s practically glowing. The energy shining from her is so bright that I’m sure they could see her from space. “It’s going so well. Actually, it’s how I met Chase…” She turns to me. “Chase, this is Thomas. The man who changed the course of my life.”
Thomas chuckles, placing his hand out for me to shake. “That’s a big accolade, my girl, but I did no such thing. You put in the hard work. I simply showed you the way.”
It all clicks into place. The dirt on his knees, the fact that they know each other so well. “You’re the groundskeeper?” I ask, shaking his dirty hand firmly.
Thomas nods proudly. “And you’re the boyfriend?”
“Yes. Sorry. Chase. He’s my boyfriend, and I’m so glad you both could meet—the two men who have changed my life dramatically,” Lyric chimes.
My chest warms as I reach out, pulling her to me. “I think it’s you who’s changed our lives.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Thomas replies, making me laugh.
“It’s good to meet you, Thomas. Thanks for teaching Lyri everything you have. Without her moving into floristry, we wouldn’t have met.”
Thomas waves his hand through the air. “Love has a mysterious way of working out. You would have met in one way or another, but I’m glad to have been a part of letting love flourish.”
Lyric smiles so wide, then she pulls Thomas in for another embrace. “I’d better let you young whippersnappers get inside. Wouldn’t want to keep those rock stars waiting.”
“I’ll try not to keep it so long between visits next time,” Lyric tells him as she squeezes his hands.
“I’d like that.” He dips his hat, then takes off at a slow pace, picking up a rake that was leaning up against the house as he goes.
“I really like him,” I whisper against Lyric’s ear, and she exhales contentedly.
“Today’s going to be a good day. I can feel it.”
Smiling at her, I gesture for the house. “Shall we go inside?”
Lyric turns to face the main entrance. “Yeah, let’s go.
” She steadies her shoulders, and we walk up the white stairs to the front door.
She bursts out laughing as her eyes widen when she turns to face me.
“Holy shit! I have to show you something.” She presses the doorbell, and it plays a Savage Riot chorus from their very first hit.
I glance at Lyric, and she’s beaming. “How cool is that? Did you know you can get customized doorbells?”
My chest swells with pride at the affection she has for her family. “Got to give Stylo credit. He does love his band.”
Lyric exhales. “Oh, I know that all too well.” She lets out a soft chuckle and reaches for the door, but before she can push it open, it swings wide, and there she is, Lyric’s mother.
Blonde hair twisted into some fancy updo like she’s about to walk the Grammys red carpet.
Diamond earrings hang from her ears, catching the sunlight just right, shooting spears of glare straight into my eyes.
Her black top hugs her body tight, cut with slashes that flash bare skin just above her cleavage.
It’s bold and deliberate. Her jeans are so tight they’re practically painted on, and ripped just enough to look expensive, not careless.
For a split second, I wonder if she’s actually getting younger, but then I catch the faint lines at the corners of her eyes.
She’s clearly had work done, but hell, she looks almost exactly like she did the last time I saw her, which was years ago.
She’s untouched by time. Polished. Dangerous in that way women get when they know exactly how to play the game, when they need to stay young because their husbands are uber famous.
“Mom,” Lyri yells, then slams forward, wrapping her arms around her in a tight hug. “It’s so good to see you.”
Her mom eyes me, a little too suggestively, as she wraps her arms around her daughter tightly, then swings her from side to side.
“Baby girl! When your father said you had lost weight, I didn’t think he was telling me the truth.
You were always a little tubby in the belly, but look at you, getting all trim for your man. ”
I furrow my brows at her in disgust.
Who says shit like that?
Lyric pulls back, glancing down at her tummy with an exhale. “Speaking of… Mom, this is my boyfriend, Chase.”
She sticks her hand out for me to shake. “Chase, I think we met once when your company was dealing with Savage Riot.”
I tilt my head. “Oh?” is all I manage to say, feeling an overwhelming urge to mention her minimal wrinkles, but drill down that she does, in fact, have them.
This woman is really rubbing me the wrong way.
Her eyes linger on me longer than necessary, and I can’t help but feel uncomfortable. “Your father was in a meeting with the band, and I was waiting outside the office. I asked for coffee, with something a little… stronger,” she says with a quick wink my way.
Oh, yeah, that’s right! She grabbed my ass and asked if I could lace the coffee with whiskey.
“Good to see you again, Mrs. Griffin.” I grab her hand to shake, but she turns her hand as if she wants me to kiss the back of it.
I don’t.
“Annie. Call me Annie, please. We’re practically family.”
Lyric glances from her mom to me and back again. She can either see the way her mom is eye-fucking me or the way I’m definitely uncomfortable, so she grabs my arm, effectively pulling my hand away from her mother’s. “Is Dad inside?” Lyric asks.
“Yes, baby girl, come on in. Make yourself right at home.” She waves her hand through the air to lead us through as Lyric scrunches up her face.
“This was my home, Mom.”
Annie grimaces, letting out a mock laugh. “And it still is, baby girl.”
Lyric stays close, her arm threaded through mine, steadying herself as we step into the house.
The tiles beneath our feet shine with a high-gloss finish, the kind of result that doesn’t come from a quick mop but from someone down on their knees, working until the floor practically reflects every detail.
There’s no doubt someone’s been paid well to keep this place pristine in their absence.
I take it all in.
This isn’t just wealth, it’s curated prestige.
The kind of luxury that doesn’t need to announce itself, because it’s already built into every corner. From the carved wood paneling to the carefully chosen fixtures, everything has been designed to impress and maintain the illusion of effortless perfection.
My place is high-end, no question, but this space wasn’t just made to be lived in, it was made to leave people speechless. It’s where fame and power settle in, comfortable in the knowledge that nobody’s ever going to question whether they belong.
We move through the grand foyer, the kind of space made for dramatic arrivals and bigger-than-life egos, and head toward the back of the house, where the noise picks up.
Sounds of voices, footsteps, and bursts of laughter, that unmistakable buzz of a full house.
Lyric grips my arm a little tighter. I keep pace, ready to meet whatever this moment holds.
Lyric turns to me. “I think there are other people here,” she whispers to me, her eyes turning downward like a sad puppy.
I know she wanted to spend time with her parents, and if they’ve turned this into a who’s who of rockers, then that’s not fair to their daughter.