Page 45 of Ly to Me

She gathered more water several times, her face dropping like the surrounding water—inevitably. “You hurt me.”

My eyes skirted to her knee, though the pain I’d caused clearly went deeper. “I know.”

“I…” Her eyes were glassy as they met mine, then darted away. “I think I’m done now.”

I wasn’t even sure what had happened to us to make her leave. But that mystery could go fuck itself tonight. She was here now, and I was fucking it all up. I’d spent years dreaming of her coming back, and now that she had, I’d been nothing more than an asshole to her.

Still, she stroked her fingers over my cheek. I fought the urge to lean into the touch. “Can you take me to bed?”

“Lyra, I’m not having sex with you like th—”

“No, just lay with me? Please?” Her eyes went all doe-like.

“I shoul—”

“I want you to hold me like you used to.”

Goddamn.

“You’ll hate me again in the morning.”

“Please?” Her voice broke.

You know that sensation when you get on a rollercoaster and go up and up, filling yourself up with excitement right before the inevitable fall and you’re scared shitless? You know it’s all comin’, but you still get on that damn ride.

That’s what hearing those words felt like.

“Yeah, I think I can do that.”

17

Lyra

The Tattoos

Atoilet 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’dhad, 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 andbeing the world’s biggest asshole, tothis? 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 theybreathedthe same air as me.

Hiswife.