Page 52 of Ly to Me (Devils of Alliston Springs #1)

He smiled and tucked a few strands of wet hair behind my ear. “Friends are good. Besides, she likes fucking shit up, too. You two could bond over that.”

“You know, your truck has been calling my name.”

He smirked. “I bet it has. But, maybe next time I piss you off, you can go spend a few grand on clothes to call your own. Use and abuse that card I gave you.”

I lifted a navy blue linen dress from the bag and ripped the tag off. “Don’t want to fuck me in your best friend’s sister’s clothes?”

“I’d fuck you in a potato sack, I don’t give a damn about that.

I just want to make you happy.” He wrapped his arms around me, forcing the towel to fall from my breasts and over his forearms. His eyes turned near-black as he pressed his body into mine.

“Now, Mrs. Roland, I have an appointment out there in the living room that I’d love for you to be a part of.

So why don’t you get this hot little ass of yours dressed and covered before I tell Grant we’re rescheduling so I can fuck my wife all day long? ”

I swallowed thickly and nodded.

“Good girl.” Carver pressed a kiss to my forehead, and seconds later, he was gone, leaving me with a dress in my hand and my legs nothing more than limp noodles beneath me.

The last time I’d seen Grant was the night Carver and I signed the contract. I’d flirted with Grant, but only because I knew it would piss Carver off. But hearing him and Hayes were, once again, all he had left, made my stomach twist and anxiety turn into nerves that made my hands shake.

I snapped out of it and dressed as quickly as I could, then ran into the bathroom to brush my hair out, scrunching the ends though I knew the humidity wouldn’t allow many waves to stay.

A soft buzzing sound filled the hallway as I left our bedroom, and as I neared the living room, it grew louder. Carver was straddling a fold-out chair, his muscular frame hunched over the back while Grant sat behind him with a tattoo gun in hand.

Carver’s blue eyes swept over my body as I got closer. He murmured something over his shoulder to Grant, whose eyes flashed up to me instantly. The buzzing stopped, and Grant straightened in his chair.

“Well, well. Nice to see you again, Lyra. Or, should I be callin’ you Mrs. Roland?”

Carver smirked as I replied, “Either is fine.”

Grant dipped the tattoo gun into a container of black ink. “Happy to see Tallulah’s dresses getting some use.” The gun clicked on, and Grant pressed it back to Carver’s eagle tattoo spanning his upper back.

“Tell her I said thank you for me.”

“Sure will.”

I stepped in close enough for Carver to reach out and pull me to him. “Don’t move, dickwad. Unless you want me to draw a worm coming out if its beak.”

“I dare you,” my husband muttered.

I squinted my eyes, watching as black ink began to cover spots that had been more grey. “Why an eagle?” I asked absentmindedly, though a part of me already knew the answer.

Grant’s eyes flitted between us while Carver’s arm tightened around me.

It was Grant who finally piped in, “A memorial for his friend.” The twisting in my gut that had eased when Carver put his hands on me suddenly returned, searing into my throat.

I instantly felt sick as tears welled to the surface.

“Carver tells me you two knew each other, so surely you know—are you fucking kidding me? Move one more time and I’ll never tattoo you again. ”

“Shut the fuck up, Grant, and turn that thing off for a sec.”

Grant did as he was told and scrubbed his palm down his face. “I’ll get some water, then. Or a beer. You have that?”

“You’re not drinking while fixing me up. You know where the cups and shit are for water.”

Grant chuckled and left to the kitchen, keeping his eyes on the cupboard as I tried to get the words out. Carver turned in his seat and pulled me down onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me as those wells of tears flooded down my cheeks.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He pulled my head to his chest and stroked my hair.

“Jared?” I asked, hoping I’d misunderstood something. He couldn’t mean him. Not him. The one other person who saw me and didn’t think I was less than I was. The only person Carver had to lean on.

Carver’s chin moved up and down on top of my head. “He died a fighter.”

“When?”

“Not long after he enlisted. About a year in.”

I wanted to ask how. I wanted to cry more. I wanted my husband to never have to go through the level of pain I could feel from his thundering heartbeat against my cheek.

“He always told me you’d come back.” I shattered into tiny fragments as he continued to stroke my hair, wrapping his arms tighter around my waist. “He knew you’d be back,” he repeated, almost to himself.

“I wasn’t here…for any of it. For you. Him.” My mind raced as I put together that Carver probably felt the same, because he’d never enlisted. I knew their plans were to enter together, and I knew the way Carver’s head worked.

His guilt mirrored mine. I could feel it. Sense it through every movement of his chest. But I didn’t know Jared as well as Carver did. The pain of losing a friend like that…was unfathomable.

He sighed deeply. “I know, sweetheart. But stayin’ in the past, blaming ourselves for what happened—it isn’t going to do any good. Trust me, I know how destructive that is. He wouldn’t want us to think like that.”

I nodded, my damp cheek rubbing over his chest right as Grant cleared his throat from behind Carver. “Don’t mind me, not like I don’t have all day to be here,” Grant said with enough sarcasm to make Carver turn his head over his shoulder, no doubt staring him down.

“It’s okay, he’s right. I shouldn’t have asked,” I said.

“You have every right to ask whatever you want,” Carver corrected.

“The gun isn’t that loud. Y’all can talk while I work. Don’t even care if you decide to keep her in your lap the whole time, just don’t fucking move.”

Carver and I fell silent, his hands moving over me, attempting to soothe the ache in my chest—the loss of a friend. Carver didn’t just lose me when I left—he lost everyone.

“I love you,” I murmured. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—” I took a deep breath. “I didn’t want you to suffer.”

Carver rested his cheek on top of my head.

“I know,” he whispered, though it didn’t feel sincere.

I knew exactly why. I hadn’t promised to stay.

Hadn’t promised to not bring more suffering to him like I had before.

But trying to picture what I’d be doing in twenty-one days was akin to ripping my body in two.

Processing emotions was still too new to me, and it seemed every time I tried, I just broke down. I believed that was supposed to be done in private, but with Carver holding me, I didn’t feel like I was being a bother like I’d expected.

“So Lyra, do you want matching metal?” Grant cut in, adjusting his seat before getting right back to business. I had to wonder how much he heard and how much he guessed, but the change in subject was more than welcome.

“Fuck off, Grant. You’re not looking at my wife’s pussy.”

Grant snickered and pressed the tip of the gun to Carver’s back, sending small vibrations through his chest onto my skin. “Just offering my services.”

“You pierced Car?” I asked, wiping the tears from my cheeks and maneuvering slowly to look over his shoulder, watching as Grant worked to fill the faded spots.

“Sure did. He’s one of the few people I’d do it for, too. Fucker didn’t flinch, though I know it hurts like a bitch.”

“You’re pierced?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

“Lyra,” Carver growled.

I giggled as he squeezed my thigh. “Sorry, you don’t need to answer that. I didn’t know it was that common.”

“It’s not,” Grant said. “And we all are.”

“Who’s—”

“Don’t answer that,” Carver warned. “You almost done back there? Swear it was only a few spots.”

“Yes, your highness. Wrapping up, then onto the butterfly and your hand, right?”

“Right,” Carver answered.

My eyes fell to Car’s arm. “Why is the butterfly more faded than the others?”

“Were you not around when he got it, or was that after you—”

“Watch your tongue,” Carver warned and Grant laughed, shaking his head. “It was my first one,” Carver replied.

“Yep. And if I’d been the one who did it, it would’ve looked ten times better.”

Carver snorted. “Or ten times worse. Were you even a tattoo artist when you were sixteen?”

“Were you a weed farmer at nineteen? No. But clearly we both have our passions and know what we’re good at.”

The crazy ups and downs my body was going through this morning were making my head spin. I closed my eyes and pressed the heels of my palms into them. When I blinked them open again, I studied the two of them.

Gleaning from their conversation, Grant was three years younger than Carver, putting him around twenty-five.

They talked to each other as if they could be brothers, though their looks would tell you otherwise.

Where Carver’s hair was swept back and tousled, Grant’s was one of those modern-day mullets country boys were bringing back like wildfire.

Their eyes were also different, with Carver’s being my favorite shade of blue, and Grant’s being more grey and pale.

They seemed like yin and yang. Carver said Grant was the entertainment, and that was easy to picture.

He seemed like the life of any party, with his easygoing smile and smooth like whiskey voice.

Carver, on the other hand, looked like he ended most parties, more likely than not, with his fists.

I could almost picture Grant’s flirtatious attitude getting the three of them into trouble, Carver defending them all with his hands, and Hayes…

well, he seemed to be the silent but deadly type.

Maybe he was the one who dragged the two of them out from the bars when he’d had enough.

Maybe one day I’d know his friends better than judging them by their appearance.

Maybe, if I stayed…

Grant’s booted foot tapped on the floor and the gun clicked off, pulling me from my thoughts. “Alright, lovebirds. I need his front side now, so unless you plan to strap yourself to his back—”

“It’s fine. I’ll go.”

Carver loosened his hold on me a fraction, then cupped my chin and pulled my lips to his. The kiss was soft and sweet, but promised so much more as his thumb swept over my bottom lip. I leaned into his touch. “Go eat. I ordered breakfast for you, but didn’t want to wake you up.”

I adjusted my dress as I stood, then made my way toward the kitchen.

“Remember how I asked if you had a friend?” Grant asked from the fold-out chair my husband probably asked him to bring, because all of ours were…well, a pile of ash by now.

“You mean when you thought I was doing my makeup on the side of the road?”

Carver chuckled as he turned in his seat, giving Grant his arm.

Grant clicked his tongue, shooting a finger-gun at me with his free hand. “That’s the time.”

“I remember.”

“So, assuming you do…she live ’round here?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “You think I’ll set you up with my only friend? Bless your heart, Grant.”

Carver laughed and Grant scowled at him. “Excuse me for trying to find someone to love me like you love this guy.”

“And how many women do you think I have as friends to love you , exactly?” Grant paused, the smirk on his lips giving him away. “You’re probably a worse playboy than my husband was.”

“ Was is the key word, darlin’,” Grant drawled. “So, tell me—is she hot?”

I gave him a once-over, pursing my lips as I recalled the men Sophia brought home—

Tall.

Tatted.

Ego bigger than his truck.

Grant was the epitome of Sophia’s type—anyone that would make her parents more livid of her life decisions.

I took the bacon and pancakes from the takeout container and put it on a plate, then shrugged and lied as I said, “Doesn’t matter. You’re not her type.”

“Sounds like my kind of challenge.” Grant’s smirk lingered a bit too long, like he more than planned and hoped to make good on proving me wrong.

Both men started to speak in quieter tones, Carver tracing a line on his hand along the curve between his thumb and index finger as Grant nodded his head. Settling in on the barstool with my plate in my lap, I stretched to see if I could guess what was going there, then gave up.

“What are you getting done on your hand?” I asked, like he encouraged me to do.

Carver turned his head, smirking as broad as the sunlight streaming in through the windows as Grant went to work on fixing the butterfly. “Somethin’ for you.”

My brows shot up. “What could that be? My name on your knuckles?” I asked with a teasing tone as I raised a bite of pancake to my mouth.

“No, but that’s not a bad idea.” He turned to Grant and said something, and Grant bobbed his head in return, his focus trained on Carver’s forearm.

I rolled my eyes, even though the thought of him having my name tattooed on his body made my heart swell. “What is it going to be, then?”

Carver’s drawl was thick and heavy, like his heated gaze as he said, “A necklace would look sexy as hell on you, don’t you think?”