Page 28 of Ly to Me (Devils of Alliston Springs #1)
Carver
The Flip
W hen I was twelve, a lawyer came to the house.
My grandpa had just passed a month prior, and while he left us a large sum of money from all of his investments, my parents were worried.
Because as much as my grandpa loved them, he also had a soft spot for his only grandchild.
He’d taught me how to hunt, how to fish, and when he died, he left me—his only grandchild—a separate, very large sum of money.
That money was to become mine when I turned twenty.
When the head on my shoulders was supposed to be more level.
Until then, it was untouchable. My parents made a good living, but nothing quite as comparable as to what he’d left for me.
As for their portion, I’d been unsure of what had happened to it.
That was, until the day my parents died.
I wondered how much of that contract Lyra read when she said she wanted to read it. Did she know about my parents' wishes for their only child? Did she see just how much I’d be getting versus the amount I promised her?
That ominous will and contract loomed in a disheveled stack on the desk beside me as I watched Lyra through the window.
She didn’t say much after I showed her the pleasure I could bring her.
The things only I could make her feel. No other man should be in her thoughts after that, but as she sat there, clicking through her phone while she smoked another fucking cigarette, I knew there was at least one person who she’d left behind.
Maybe he was another sorry bastard like I’d been.
She whipped her head around to meet my gaze and I cocked my head to the side, arching my brow.
C’mon, little Ly. Do something.
I wanted her to break, to cave into that feeling she had when she burned my dining room chairs in a fire pit and destroyed my truck. Why I needed it like my next breath was becoming a fucking problem.
I glanced at the contract on the desk, and her eyes tracked the movement. I could hear too-large boots clomping along the wooden porch as she stormed off, and I smiled to myself as I reached for the last page in our contract.
The one sitting on top of the stack, crumpled in a way that told me she’d been evaluating it, and had done so more than just a few times.
The Agreement was only supposed to go on for another few weeks, and then, she’d be gone. Leaving with a small chunk of change and another sizable chunk of myself. A pit formed in my chest as I skimmed over the words indicating a timeframe—
Duration.
While living under.
Thirtieth day.
The paper crumpled to a ball in my fist, my knuckles turning white as I thought about where this would all end.
I’d wanted nothing more than to make her hurt, to make her want me and desire me as badly as I had her for years , then force her out so she could feel what I did the night she left me.
I wanted her to be stripped bare of her emotions, to become so angry and volatile that when she had that money, she’d never feel tempted to come back again, because if she did, I’d be here, waiting to do it all over again.
I wanted her to fear Alliston Springs and the person I’d become without her.
So, why the ever-loving-fuck did this feel like deciding I didn’t want it to end?
Her voice carried through the other window facing the barn from the other side of the room.
Lyra was already talking to someone else.
Someone who she could confide in or talk to after what we just did.
I wondered if she was talking about us—if they knew she’d gotten married in the short time she’d been here.
That she was just choking on my cock not more than thirty minutes ago.
Or, was she still lying, using whoever was on the phone to leverage whatever it was she needed other than the money, like a new place to stay.
No. She didn’t know anyone else here. Her reclusive and promiscuous status as a teen hadn’t made her any friends to lean on in this town, and Jamie wouldn’t touch her now that I made it clear who she belonged to. Not even he was that dumb.
When I heard her giggle, I couldn’t take it anymore. I tossed the paper ball to the ground and opened the window. She gasped as I hopped through and yanked her phone from her ear, then pressed it to mine.
“Who the fuck is this?”
“Well, hello there.” A distinctly feminine voice trilled in my ear. “Am I on speaker, Lyra?”
“No,” I grumbled as Lyra crossed her arms over her shredded shirt, exposing the most perfect cleavage line. “I asked who the fuck is this , and I expect an answer.”
Lyra huffed at the same time the girl on the phone did. “You sound like you’re quite possessive over my friend.”
“You have no idea.”
Rhythmic clinking sounds, like nails drumming on a table, consumed the line. “My name is Sophia. And let me just say—I kind of like that for her.”
My brow arched, and Lyra lunged for the phone. I kept her at bay with an outstretched arm. “Why is that?”
Lyra’s arms swung to no avail. I smirked at her, letting Sophia continue. “She doesn’t date. Ever.”
“Doesn’t date, huh? You sure you’re talkin’ about little Ly?” I clicked the volume up on the phone, giving Lyra the edge to listen in if she’d stay still.
“Oh my god, you even have a sexy drawl. Yeah, I’m positive. I know my best friend. She hasn’t gotten laid in—” She abruptly stopped herself. “Shit. Don’t tell her I told you this. She said it’s been years.”
“Years?”
Lyra’s face turned a deep red as she tried to lunge again. I shifted my hold from her shoulder to her throat and locked my elbow.
“Since I’ve known her, I’ve yet to hear about any sexual encounters,” Sophia admitted. “And we lived together, so I think I would’ve heard something coming from her room.”
“And how long has that been?”
“Ten years.”
“You’re lying.” I swallowed down the odd mix of feelings warring in my chest. Part of knowing when people lied was seeing their face. I couldn’t see this person, nor tell if her voice shook on the words as Lyra made my hold unsteady with continued attempts at getting her phone back.
“I mean, ask her. I could be wrong if you slept with her—wait, what’s your name? Is this Jamie?”
“Carver Roland,” I growled.
Her friend paused, then finally said, “Hmm. No. Never heard of you.”
“Figures.” I hung up and dropped the phone to the floor.
“You—” Lyra’s eyes darted to it, then settled on me. “You can’t just take people’s phones.”
I yanked her to me by her throat. “Was she lying?” Her hands flung up to claw at my wrist. I didn’t let go. “Was. She. Lying,” I repeated louder.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Who’s the last person you slept with? Noah?”
Her eyes darkened. “I never touched him.” Not a lie .
“Then who?”
Her eyes turned down, all the color stricken from her face. “I’m not telling you.”
“Ly, tell—”
“No!” she shouted and my hand fell instantly from the use of her safeword. She collected her phone from the floor and ran. A moment later, the front door slammed, then the window at my back, and last, the bathroom door.
Nightfall came, and the fire had long since died, leaving nothing but ashen chunks of wood and glass over gravel. The only time I went back inside was to roll the blunt I now held in my hand. I lit it up and stared at all the destruction my little Ly had created.
To her core, I knew who she was. The way she reacted, the words she said, the lies she was prone to telling.
I knew the things she liked, the things she didn’t, and had learned how to read her body—better than anyone else had ever had the chance to.
Because if what her friend had said was true, and with the way Ly had reacted, then I was the last person to touch her.
Not Noah, like that asshole had told me, not some guy she’d met over the last ten years.
It was me. I was the last person to make her come undone.
To be inside her. To hold her that intimately.
As satisfied as that made me, it was a problem.
I didn’t know the woman she’d become. Who Lyra Roland was.
How she got to the point of celibacy for ten fucking years when I’d done the complete opposite without her.
The hollow pit in my chest was starting to beat to a new, revitalized rhythm—one that was ready to recognize she cared, more than I’d given her credit for.
No one else had touched her, and I’d make sure no one else ever would.
She was my wife, and it was time I showed her that.