Page 113 of Chasing Lyric
“Right… so, now we up the ante. Do something with animals. Something Lyri is not going to be able to resist?” I blurt out.
“Exactly! Do you have something in mind? Or do you need my brilliant expertise?” Dax chuckles.
“I do. We just have to organize it. C’mon, let’s go,” I announce, dragging him off and back to the car.
After what I have planned, Lyric will be falling at my feet in no time.
You know what they say…
Phase three is the charm.
Chapter Twenty-Two
CHASE
Friday
Dax and I have spent all week organizing. It’s been a challenging task to recruit the right people for phase three, but we’ve managed to secure what we need. After Monday’s notes, I was eager to get this underway, but the planning took time. It has taken me four days to make another move.
I haven’t given up on her.
The fact is, I willnevergive up.
Whether she knows that or not is a moot point.
I know I’m fighting.
I know I’m putting in the effort.
She might not want me, she might not like me very much, but I love her, and I’m going to do everything, within reason, I can to get her back.
Today’s the big day.
I have a feeling in my gut that phase three will be the one to unravel her. To really break the anger she’s holding onto, maybe even crack the walls just enough for me to make my move and slip inside.
Now comes the ultimate trial—waiting.
Dax and I sit low in his car, parked just far enough down the street to avoid being clocked, but with a clear view of her front yard. My eyes stay locked on her driveway like I’m lining up a target. The setup is perfect. I made damn sure of that. Eight golden retriever puppies, full of fluff and chaos, romping around a portable playpen like they own the place. A handler sits in the middle, some college kid whose father owes me a favor, keeping the little fur missiles occupied until the main event.
It’s the kind of gesture a Hallmark hero would make. Yeah, she calls me that, but this isn’t some cheesy flick. No, this is me, pulling out every stop to remind her what it felt like to smile without walls, to laugh without looking over her shoulder.
Her truck turns onto the street. Every muscle tenses as she sweeps past us. My pulse slows, not from calm, but focus. I lean forward, one arm braced against the dash, my jaw grinding as anticipation coils low in my gut.
She pulls into her driveway and steps out of her truck, slow and cautious, like she doesn’t quite trust what she’s seeing. Her gaze locks on the playpen, brows knitting together in suspicion as the puppies launch themselves toward her with wobbly legs and sloppy tongues.
She glances down the street, checking her surroundings, probably trying to figure out who’s behind this ambush of fluff. Although she has to know by now it’s me. Dax’s car blends in with the line of others, and from her angle, we’re just another shadow.
Lyric walks over to the handler. Her shoulders are tight, and every movement is rigid. I sit up straighter, a knot forming in my gut as she shakes her head like she’s annoyed.
“What the fuck…” I mutter under my breath, watching her like a hawk.
There’s no smile. No softening. No cracking at the sight of eight tail-wagging distractions. Instead, she spins on her heel, marches into her house, and slams the door behind her without a single glance back.
The blow hits harder than I expect, and I raise my brows. My chest caves inward as disappointment claws through me. The sting of rejection prickles hotter than I want to admit. I’d banked on this soft spot of hers, on her love for animals, for Polly, for the simple things. I thought maybe this would be the one thing to thaw her defenses.
I was wrong.
Maybe I’ve already pushed too far.
