My dad raised me until he died too, when I was seventeen. I stayed with a foster family until six months later when I turned eighteen, and because everyone was dead, I got a special grant to attend college for free. A little while later, I met Darcy and she’s been my only family since.
“You’re welcome, Lyric,” he says. “You need to know that the guys and I are there for you just like we’re there for Darcy. You’re her family, so we’re always going to look out for you.”
Of course, he knows my whole story too. Like I said, we talked abouteverythingthat night.
I leave Waylon’s house—and what will soon be my house—less nervous about being his roommate than I was on the way over. Although, I’m confused about that. In theory, after bailing on me before, I shouldn’t trust him. And in that type of situation, I don’t think I would. I can’t go falling for him or kissing him again. But when he tells me he and the guys are there for me, I believe him. Maybe it stems from Darcy vouching for them. Or maybe that outweighs whatever mistrust I have of him in a romantic sense. So I guess you could say I’m leaving here with more and less worry. Oh. And a key to my new place.
CHAPTER 6
WAYLON
Sweat dripsfrom my brow and onto the box of books I’m carrying. Who made books so heavy? Has no one tried to figure out how to make them lighter? It does not help that Lyric has what I can only assume is approximately one million books. I’m not sure how I didn’t notice all of them when I was at her house before, but she owns all of them. All of the books.
“Fuck me, dude. The pizza and beer better be unlimited,” Banks muffles beneath his breath as he passes me in the hallway.
I roll my eyes but agree, actually. She has a lot of things for just being one person. And all those books? Romances. Some of the boxes were open, and I peeped the titles and covers. Now, I’m not one to judge, but I’m pretty sure she’s just reading softcore porn. And in broad daylight, no less. All I have to say is I might have a few questions.
When the last box off the truck makes it inside, Killian shuts the front door and slips his boots off by the door. Banks follows suit, and ten minutes later, we’re all sock-footed and standing around the island in the kitchen waiting for the pizza to arrive.
Lyric produced two cases of beer from her trunk, already cold and ready to drink.
“Lyric, show me what you’re doing in here,” Darcy says, motioning to the sunroom.
The two disappear through the door, and murmurs of furniture can be heard.
“I’m thinking we’re going to end up spending more time here,” Ridge says, pointing the tip of his beer bottle toward them.
The two are disgustingly in love and go everywhere together. If I weren’t so happy for him, I would hate it. But the three of them, Lou included, are the cutest little family.
“Speaking of, when the hell are you proposing?” I ask in a hushed tone.
“Yeah, dude. Shit or get off the pot,” Banks says.
“Gross.” Killian’s one-word comment makes me chuckle under my breath.
“Guys, chill. I’m working on it,” Ridge says. “Actually, now that Lyric lives here, I’m going to recruit both of you to help me.”
Right at the end of his sentence, the girls walk back in.
“I’ll text you,” he quickly says.
The thought of working in cahoots with Lyric to bring Ridge’s proposal plans to life fills me with an odd sense of anxiety. It’s a very romantic thing, proposing. It could get a little uncomfortable.
Pizza, wings, and breadsticks all arrive five minutes later, and everyone digs in like none of us has eaten in days. All this moving has us starved, and no one talks for a full twenty minutes as we all shovel food into our mouths.
Everyone hangs out for a few more hours. Darcy helps Lyric put away her clothes, and Banks helps me assemble her bed and move it where she wants. Killian took to arranging her plants in the sunroom, saying he knew what should go where and something about their sunlight needs. That kid is seriously weird.
We say goodbye to them at the door, and amidst the hugs and handshakes, I realize that she won’t be leaving. It’s not like other times, where we’ve all disbanded. I’m distinctly aware of the shift.
The door shuts and I lock the deadbolt behind them.
“This is probably a good time to show you the alarm system,” I say, waving her over. “Before I go to bed, I set it, and I always disarm it when I wake up to take Tater out. You can go into the sunroom, but if you want to open either of the doors, make sure you turn this off first. The code is one, seven, nine, three, and then you push pound.”
“Got it,” she says. “That feels a lot safer than the baseball bat I usually keep under my bed.”
“Well, I don’t know. Both have their merits.”
Lyric laughs and it makes me feel good to have been the cause. She never really scowled at me or anything. It was always more of a blank stare that came off cold and distant. Somehow being completely unbothered by me feels worse than if she were bitter or hateful toward me. Because at least then it would be an emotion.
