Page 36 of Warrior

“Your room is upstairs?” I turn and glance at her over my shoulder.

Lyric’s face is pale and she nods her head, her teeth biting into her bottom lip. “Yeah. This feels so weird being back. I know I’m safe, but at the same time I feel like I’m right back there again, running up the stairs to hide from him. You know when the hairs on the back of your neck stand up…”

Keeping my eyes on everything around us, I pull her closer to me as we walk up the stairs. “I know the feeling. It's good to have awareness, although it's mostly just your brain reacting to the fight or flight sensors going off, while the other part is trying to release cortisol to battle that response and reassure you that you are okay.”

“You do remember I have a degree in psychology, right?” she snips back, and I can’t help the rumble of laughter at her response.

“Well then, come on, Doc, you should know what is causing that physical reaction,” I tease.

“Yup, you’re still a pain in the ass.”

We reach her bedroom door and I open it for her, scanning the room before I let her in. Lyric takes a hesitant step forward. Her eyes dart all over the place while she takes in a deep breath then moves farther inside. I follow behind her, standing between her and the door while she grabs a turquoise-colored suitcase from her closet and opens it on the bed. She starts putting clothes inside, and I take the opportunity to look around the room, and really take in who Lyric is now.

Back in high school, she had an entire corkboard dedicated to pictures of us and our friend group. Wolverine pendants and beaded necklaces with our school colors also adorned it. Her room used to be a cross between the teenage girl she was and the adult she was becoming. This room is completely different. There are no frills or lace. No pile of old porcelain dolls in the corner on shelves. Lyric’s room is light, in grays and purples.Sophisticated art pieces hang on the walls and candles are on every surface.

With a bundle of bright colors in her hands, she quickly shoves a pile in her bag, her cheeks bright red again while she avoids eye contact. My eyes land on the pieces of material and quickly realize it's her panties and bras. Clearing my throat, I quickly turn my back to the bed and glance at the far wall. And that's when I see them. Pictures of her and who I am now assuming is Jordan. Images of just the two of them when he was healthy and some when he looks like he’s lost weight and is lying on a couch. There are pictures of them with a group of who must be her other friends from college.

I’m thankful for Jordan and that he was able to help Lyric heal, and for what he did for her and Stella to help get them away from Lukas Deveroix. I’m also jealous of the man who got to spend that time with Lyric, to see her every day, to hold her. It's not fair to him or Lyric. It was my fault. I was stupid enough to let her go. While I’m happy she’s flourished into the beautiful woman she is, I can't help the searing pain in my gut knowing she loved him, that he had her. There’s no doubt in my mind that if he could have, if his life wasn’t cut short, he would have kept her. My jaw clenches and my determination becomes even stronger. I won’t let her go this time. I’m taking back what has always been mine.

“Colt!” Lyric says my name louder and I turn back to her. Her eyes are wide and she’s watching me. She must have been calling my name a few times.

“Sorry. My mind wandered off.”

“Uh huh,” she replies while closing up her suitcase. “I think I have everything I need for now.”

I nod and reach forward to take the bag from her. “Did you still want to stop by your office? Is there anything here for work you need?”

“No, I kept my most important things at the office. If we do have time, I’d like to stop.”

“We have plenty of time,” I reply, glancing once again at my watch. “Let's get moving.”

Lyric is quiet while she follows me back down stairs and we lock up her house. The neighbors are less speculatory as they watch us leave from the safety of their front windows while holding their cell phones.

Lyric chuckles. “Who knew my neighbors were such busybodies.”

We laugh as we head back into the little town she works in. I notice right away it's more similar to our hometown than where I live now in Braham. My eyes take in the row of businesses on the main street and the few churches that are sprinkled in between, with a few bars as well. We park in front of a light-blue building with a sign that states Blue Bird Behavioral Counseling. Underneath the sign in gold letters reads L. Taylor, LPCC, PhD. Heat flares in my chest. Lyric is accomplished and has built a reputation for herself. I’m proud of her and what she has done.

Whistling under my breath, I point at the sign. “You just about covered the whole alphabet.”

She shoves me slightly with her arm before getting out of the car. “Shut it, Street.”

The familiarity of her calling me by my last name makes my chest squeeze. I’m smiling ridiculously while I follow her to the front door and wait while she unlocks it. The first thing I notice is the constant humming noise that's coming from farther inside the building. Lyric runs through the entryway and unlocks another set of doors. Once she yanks it open, the noise is louder, more of a buzzing sound can be heard.

“Colt!” she yells, but I’m already right behind her, my arm sliding around her waist protectively while she stands rightwhere there should be a security alarm. Only there's a hole in the wall and the alarm is smashed on the ground.

“Stay here. Call Prez and tell him we need Jester’s guys here.” I hand her my phone from my pocket, before stepping farther inside the building and drawing my weapon from behind my back. Moving around the building I check each room and then Lyric’s office. There’s no sign of anyone being here anymore, but the place is destroyed. Her file cabinets are ripped open and tipped over, her computer is smashed and has a gaping hole in the monitor screen. The front desk area looks much the same with papers everywhere and drawers wide open. The furniture is ripped, the tears resembling the same damage from her house. In her office, I quickly grab the only picture frame that wasn’t destroyed. Inside is a picture of Jordan, Lyric and Stella.

“Cops are here,” Lyric says when I get back out to her. I hand her the picture frame and she holds it to her chest, while tears fall down her cheeks. “He destroyed all my safe places.”

I turn her to me, and wrap my arms around her body, holding her tight. “No, he didn’t. You’re safe with me. I won’t let anything happen to you. This, your house, it can all be fixed, Lyric. You are more important.”

Her head nuzzles into my chest and her body shakes with her tears and grief. I simply just hold her, rocking us gently, while we answer questions for the police. Once again, the doors are being taped off when we finally get to leave. I help Lyric back into the truck before sliding into my own seat and driving away from the building and flashing lights. She’s silent on our drive back, but her tears have stopped. She doesn’t even resist when I take her hand in mine and hold it the whole way home. Just the radio plays while we sit, each of us in our own thoughts. Losing the comfort of her home and her business in a few short days has been a lot for her. My need for revenge, to hurt the man who likes to hurt women, is practically tearing apart my insides.I want to hunt him down, terrify him, make him experience the same pain of feeling alone and hurt.

When we pull onto the dirt road a few miles from the clubhouse, Lyric finally glances at me. I keep driving until we reach the lone driveway that leads to my house, currently hidden by full, green trees.

“Where are we?”

I glance at her, watching her face carefully. “This is my place.”

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