Page 8 of Bound By Crimson

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Velora leaned back against the counter, bracelets clinking softly. “It’s been two years. People will try to come back. Especially the ones who regret how they left.”

Lyric lowered her eyes, tracing the edge of the countertop with her thumb. She hadn’t thought about it like that. Two years. And yet it still felt raw some days.

“It’s easy to blame the woman,” Velora added gently. “Always is. But it’s rarely that simple. That boy always had wandering eyes.”

Lyric gave a faint, sad smile. She’s right. She’d spent so long clinging to anger because it felt safer than the truth—that Rowan might have been just as lost as she had once been.

Velora leaned forward, her voice softer now. “I’ve known you girls since fourth grade. You used to come in here giggling, making friendship bracelets out of my old ribbon scraps, thinking you’d grow old together.”

Lyric took a deep breath.

“I never thought anything could come between you. And I love Rowan just as much as I love you. She’s a good person, Lyric. She made a terrible mistake—but she’s still living in that mistake. Maybe she stayed with him because she thought she had no one else left.”

Lyric swallowed hard, her throat tight.

“But,” Velora continued, “forgiving someone who’s still standing beside the person who hurt you? That’s… harder.”

Lyric hesitated, fingers tightening around the lighter. “Has it really been that long?”

Velora nodded softly. “Two years.”

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Lighting candles gave Lyric something to do. A task with a beginning, middle, and end.

The flick of the lighter. The soft bloom of flame. The comforting breath of sandalwood smoke.

It was better than thinking. Better than remembering.

Two years.

Had it really been that long?

She wasn’t sure if she was still angry. Not in the way she used to be.

It was quieter now. Older.

But it hadn’t gone anywhere.

Have I been too hard on her?

The thought surfaced and vanished just as fast.

No. Rowan had stolen the one person she thought was hers.

Her first love. The boy she’d imagined marrying.

The boy she’d cried to Rowan about since sixth grade.

And Rowan had listened—until she took him.

They’d been inseparable once.

Lyric used to call her for everything. Big things. Dumb things.

And for the longest time after it happened, she still reached for her phone—Only to remember she couldn’t.

But then her parents died.

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