Page 22 of Ly to Me (Devils of Alliston Springs #1)

Lyra

The Tattoos

A toilet seat, a trash bin, and soft groans weren’t the only things replaying in my mind from last night. My head throbbed, and as I rubbed my forehead and tried to roll, I was met with a warm, sturdy wall at my back.

No, not a wall— a person .

I winced at the sunlight beaming in through the windows, pairing terribly with the damn rooster. The sensory overload caused me to shuffle back against the familiar scent of leather and oak, oddly soothing my breaths into a steady rhythm.

Carver murmured something inaudible in his sleep and memories of the night I’d—no, we’d had, came flooding in through the fog.

My hand snaked up to find a coarse ribbon, or rope, or something tied in my hair, keeping it back loosely.

Aspirin tablets and a glass of water sat on the nightstand within arm’s reach, and as I peeked just over the bed, the rim of what was probably a wastebasket came into view.

I swallowed down the bile threatening to rise back up again, though how I had more was a fucking mystery.

I’d gone between puking over the toilet to whimpering in his arms, and if I had to guess a duration that all that occurred within—based on the clock in his room and the way pieces of sunlight were also flashing in my memories—I’d wager we slept maybe a few hours at best.

And now it was almost noon.

“Ly, go back to sleep,” Carver muttered groggily, shifting his arm around my waist and pulling me closer before his soft snores filled my ear once more.

His warm breath cascaded over me as he nuzzled into my neck, his lips pressing softly against my skin with a whisper of a kiss.

The lump forming in my throat that I’d thought was more puke… wasn’t.

More memories flooded in, unwarranted and unwanted. Our first kiss, our first night together, and the several times after as we became inseparable. Then prom, and graduation day, and then…graduation night.

My chest hurt as I reached down to where his arm draped over my waist, and as I slowly lifted his hand, a tear rolled down my temple.

How could he go from hurting me, bullying me and being the world’s biggest asshole, to this ?

Maybe he’d been just as drunk as me. Maybe he’d gone back out to the kitchen, where—

Oh. Fuck.

My head throbbed harder as I remembered a collection of words I’d said to him. That I’d poked and prodded the bear so hard, he’d threatened to kill two people if they breathed the same air as me.

His wife.

“Damnit,” I whispered through another wave of pain in my chest, fighting back more tears. No, not pain. This time, it was—

I shot up and reached over, puking my brains and memories into the empty bin.

A gentle tug on my waist, holding me to the bed so I wouldn’t fall off, told me I’d woken that bear. “It’s okay. I got you.” The concern dripping from his gritty voice was enough to force the rest out.

I heaved whatever was left and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Then twisted from his hold and sat up. The room spun briefly, but my focus fought to stay on him.

My eyes narrowed. “Why?”

He rubbed an eye, his brows inching closer together. “Why, what?”

“All…” My arm flung to the basket, then to the bathroom door. “This.” I dropped my hands to my lap. “Why are you bein’ nice to me when…when I—”

“Hate me?” He propped himself up on his forearm, and my eyes glued to a spot of faded blue right near the crease of his elbow. He was slow to follow, but when he did, he shifted.

Didn’t matter. It was too late.

I pointed at the blue butterfly as my lips struggled to form shapes, much less allow coherent words through. “W-Why the…hell do you have that? ”

“It’s nothing.” His jaw flexed, his eyes landing on the desk, looking right past me.

“You have a butterfly— no , an atala butterfly, tattooed on your skin,” I said through my parted fingers, trying to steady ragged breaths.

“Yeah.” He sighed and dipped his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. His eyes leveled with mine, showing no shame or remorse as he said, “I do.”

My eyes darted around the room, taking in everything from the small pile of soiled laundry—his shirts I’d rotated through the night before—to the Aspirin, and the water.

The wastebin that had been spotless beside me before I’d thrown up nothing more than clear liquid.

How many times had he refilled that glass of water?

Cleaned that wastebasket? I ran my fingers through the ends of my damp hair that smelled like him .

“Did you…did you put me in the shower?” I pressed my palm to my forehead, trying to still the room.

“Had to.” His own hand lifted and ran through his—

“You showered with me?!” I shrieked, then grabbed for the blankets.

He fucking chuckled. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before, sweetheart. Many times.”

“You.” I raised a finger toward him, clutching the blanket to my chest as I scooted from the bed. “You don’t have any right to…to—”

“To care for you when you need it?” he finished. “You didn’t mind it last night. In fact, you begged for it, Ly.”

“Did not.”

“If that’s what you remember.”

I halted at the edge of the bed and glared back at him. “Tell me why, Carver.” I eyed the tattoo he uncovered when he sat up. “And that—I don’t even know what to say about that. ”

Silence thickened the air between us, creating a divide that shifted something inside me. Uncontrolled, another tear escaped, rolling down my cheek. His attention fixed to the spot, the movement of breath in his chest barely there.

I scoffed. “Figures. You couldn’t say anything back then, either.” I pulled my eyes from him and bolted for the bathroom. No more than a minute later, I heard him cursing and rummaging through his closet, then slamming the bedroom door.

The tightening in my chest had exploded into a fleet of migratory butterflies, seeking refuge in my throat, my legs, my arms—everywhere.

More tears cascaded down, and I couldn’t get them to stop.

Ever since that night—it hadn’t stopped.

For ten years, I’d felt this raw anger that morphed into pain and, eventually, tears.

Lots of them. I’d probably cried an entire lake’s worth by now.

All over a man who was possibly more twisted than I thought.

Who the fuck tattooed the memory of someone to themselves when they abhorred that person? Despised them enough to lure them in and flip a switch, turning into a beast of a man fixated on forcing regret to the surface?

Like I’d never meant a damn thing to him.

But if I meant nothing, why was he so affected by my words? Why take care of me?

More bile rose, and I rushed to the toilet, clutching the rim as I hurled into the basin.

At some point in our past, Carver Roland had lied to me. I’d always believed the lie was that he wanted to be with me. That he felt something for me—but now…

Now, I wasn’t so sure.

TEN YEARS AGO

I must’ve skimmed my palms down my dress a thousand times by now, stretching the bottom hem to make it reach lower than an inch above mid thigh. If I bent over too far at the party, there would be no hiding my underwear.

“This is why people get the wrong idea about you, Lyra,” I murmured to myself, then rolled my eyes up to the stars.

“Alright, and the fact that you pick up jobs you shouldn’t.

” I recoiled, pressing my back into a tree as I thought about that list of odd jobs.

I’d once had a man hire me to wash his dishes—his already clean dishes.

While he watched. I started off as a babysitter, but as I got older, and my mama showed me how much men would do almost anything for a pretty woman… well, I used it to my advantage.

Word got around about the jobs I did, but just like that game of telephone, facts started getting wonky. I’d heard about a wild threesome from a group of girls in passing one day, then later that same day, realized it was my threesome they were talking about.

The one I didn’t have.

I hadn’t even—

A car horn honked, and lights flashed as an older Ford pickup pulled into the dirt. Carver hopped out, wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, looking as effortlessly handsome as he always did with that cheesy grin of his that made one of my own bubble to the surface.

Never had I thought about a guy in the way I thought about Carver. Chet made me terrified of them, my mama had encouraged me to take from them, and the boys at school made me want to hurt them.

But Car was different.

He made me happy.

“Wow,” Carver said as his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me to him and kissing me softly on the lips.

Happy wasn’t exactly the extent of what he made me feel.

It was more like a bunch of butterflies had all emerged from their chrysalises and had taken flight in opposite directions before their wings had dried enough, causing them to rise and fall in a flurry.

The rabble in my stomach lurched up to my heart as he broke the kiss and moved his lips to my ear.

“I can’t wait to show everyone you’re mine. ”

I struggled to form thoughts as he reached for my hand and tugged me to the truck.

“After you.” Carver opened the passenger door and gestured for me to get in, and after I did, he ran around the front and hopped into the driver’s seat.

I looked him over as I buckled my seat, then at the leather surrounding the interior. “Your dad let you borrow this? Just because you asked?”

“Yeah.” He nodded and steered the truck back onto the road. “Why wouldn’t he?”

I shrugged. “I dunno.”

He reached over and grabbed my hand from my thigh, lacing our fingers together. “He’s really nice. I still want you to meet him. Both of them.” He raised my hand to his lips and kissed the back. “Whenever you’re ready.”

My fingers tapped along the divots between his knuckles. “You really think they will like me?”

“Anyone who makes their son this happy will make them ecstatic.”

“I make you happy?”