Page 36 of Rio (Redcars #3)
Epilogue
RIO
My man.
Lyric was typing, eyes narrowed at the screen balanced on his knees, his fingers flying. His hair was even longer now, pulled back into a low ponytail, and curling in the heat of a summer day. He kept tucking it back, distracted, and I caught him frowning .
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Killian,” he murmured.
“Is he still harassing you to join the Cave full-time?” I asked, half joking, half not.
Lyric huffed but didn’t look up. “Asshole says it’s a choice, and I back away, but then he sends me another string to pull and he drags me right back in.”
I grinned, wiped my hands on the rag hanging from my back pocket. “You gonna eventually say yes?”
He glanced at me then, and wrinkled his nose, which was so fucking cute. “I already kind of did. On a trial basis. With flexible hours. And the right to say no if the job’s too boring.” He paused. “Is that okay?”
“You don’t need to ask me.”
“It’s just…” he shrugged. “I’d miss being here with you.”
“That’s an easy fix—we’ll build an office upstairs here.
Or upgrade or whatever with one at home.
” Home was the apartment I’d shared with Jamie, now mine and Lyric’s, the second bedroom—Jamie’s old room—was an office, games room, whatever.
I never went in there, choosing to wait at the door and stare until Lyric gave in and came out to kiss me, or fuck me, whichever we had time for.
The media had devoured the story of Marcus Kessler.
Brilliant, unstable genius—dying in a tragic accident after “self-sabotaging” his flagship software.
LyricNight, once hailed as a leap into the future, was exposed for its deep, dangerous flaws, not least targeting upright citizens like Lyric Thornwood who, they revealed, was the original creator of the system before Kessler had stolen it and bastardized it into a weapon.
Every detail fell out about his connection to trafficking, his contracted hits to kill, his obsession with money, and his deranged aim to take over federal agencies and run the White House himself.
Headlines flashed for weeks and the world was relieved that crisis had been averted.
The Cave fed information to every outlet with a conscience, and clickbait to every media point that wasn’t.
They’d built Lyric a backstory—Killian, Jamie, and Caleb.
A fabricated-but-credible life explaining his absence from the world these last few years.
Reclusive genius, former MIT student, recovering from a family tragedy, now re-entering the tech scene as a consultant.
Any suggestion that he’d been involved in the chaos surrounding Kessler and LyricNight had been erased; the shared name between the AI and Lyric himself was officially dismissed as nothing more than Kessler’s twisted revenge after stealing Lyric’s code.
Universities were falling over themselves to have him lecture, and major companies wanted to throw money at him to use his name. But Lyric? He loved smaller targets.
Bit by bit, contract by contract, he was dismantling what was left of KessTech.
He called it revenge in moderation.
The AI was dead. Kessler was gone. And Lyric was out of hiding and living his best life.
With me.
For some reason, he’d stayed with me . He loved me .
Go figure.
This beautiful, sexy, bossy, stubborn as fuck man wanted me.
And I wanted him right back.
He closed the laptop with a soft click and let out a breath. Not tired. Just… settled.
“You done?” I asked, watching the way he stretched, spine curving like a cat in the sun.
“For now. Caleb wants a sandbox test on a…” He smirked. “You don’t need to know…” He did that when he realized I had no fucking idea what he was talking about, and no desire to learn. “Anyway, I shut down the conversation because I have more important things to do.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And that would be? ”
He slid off the tires, crossed the few feet between us, and looped his arms around my waist as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “Hugging my boyfriend,” he said, pressing his cheek to my chest.
My heart kicked, stupid and loud. Didn’t matter how many times he did that—just walked into my space as if he belonged there. It still got me every time.
“I love that plan,” I murmured into his hair. “Might be my favorite so far.”
We stood there a while. No countdowns. No shadows. Him breathing steady against me. God, I loved him so much. He was my everything.
“You ever think about what’s next for us?” he asked softly.
“All the time.”
“And?”
I tilted his face up with a finger under his chin, leaned in so close I could see my reflection in his eyes. “You. Me. This place. Maybe getting a new place that doesn’t fall apart. Marry you, maybe.”
He smiled up at me. “You proposing?”
“Someday,” I said, and kissed him as a promise.
The kiss deepened fast, his fingers curling in the front of my shirt, mine slipping around his waist to hold him tighter. He tasted of heat and sun and something all his own, and I couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to.
He made a soft sound against my mouth and that was it—I lifted him, his legs wrapping around me, and set him on the edge of the workbench, tools clattering to the side. He pulled me closer until there was nothing between us but breath and need.
The kiss turned hotter, messier, and I let him steer it. He always did. That was the thing about us—we were the perfect balance of strength and submission. I knew when to lead and when to let him take the reins. And Lyric? Lyric knew how to unravel me.
His hands slid under my shirt, his nails skimming the skin of my lower back, and I groaned, pressing harder into him, braced against the bench. My brilliant, stubborn, sexy-as-fuck man. I couldn’t get enough of him. Not now. Not ever.
Which was exactly when the door to the garage flew open and a familiar clatter of boots and voices hit the quiet.
“Yo, Rio, you in here—Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Jamie.
I turned my head, forehead resting against Lyric’s, and tried not to laugh as footsteps shuffled in behind him.
Jamie sighed, loud and dramatic. “Do you two ever not dry-hump on a flat surface? This is why no one trusts the workbench anymore.”
Lyric didn’t even flinch. “Says the man whom we caught climbing Killian like a tree in the kitchen,” he deadpanned.
“I walked in here for brake pads, not foreplay,” Jamie added, stepping past us with his hand shielding his eyes. “Do your thirst trap shit on your own time.”
“I was on my own time,” I said, grinning.
“And now you’re on my nerves.”
Lyric was still smirking when he slid off the bench and tugged his shirt back into place. “Next time we’ll lock the damn door.”
“Next time?” Jamie muttered.
“Next time,” I confirmed.
The teasing faded into work. Me, Jamie, and Enzo set to finishing up the engine while Lyric retreated to his laptop and Robbie perched next to him with two bottles of water and a bag of chips, talking a mile a minute.
Every now and then, Lyric would nod or laugh under his breath, and I swear I caught him resting his cheek against Robbie’s shoulder for a moment. As if we were all settling. Healing.
Then the garage door creaked open again, and in came Killian with pizza boxes stacked high and a six-pack dangling from his fingers. “Dinner’s on me, losers. Hope someone has ice—Jamie still can’t handle spice.”
“Fuck you,” Jamie said automatically, snatching one of the boxes.
Within minutes, the six of us were crowded around the metal workbench, greasy and loud and laughing as though none of us had ever been hunted or broken.
Robbie ended up in Enzo’s lap, Killian and Jamie were bickering over the last pepperoni slice as if it were sacred, and Lyric had reclaimed his tire perch like a sexy, smug little elf, cross-legged with a slice of veggie in one hand and a can of soda in the other.
I watched him for a beat. Couldn’t help it. Then I grabbed a rag, pretended to clear up some of the mess, and caught his eye.
“Hey. Come help me for a sec.”
He rolled his eyes but slid off the tires, abandoning his half-eaten crust, and I leaned in close.
“I love you.”
He blinked, soft smile blooming. “Yeah?”
“I love you,” I said again, this time brushing my nose against his. “More than cars, more than Sunday mornings, more than anything.”
His breath hitched. “I love you too.”
And then he kissed me, soft and sweet and slow .
“And I love this,” Lyric said, and indicated all of us.
Jamie groaned theatrically from behind us. “God, if this turns into a group hug, I’m setting fire to something.” Killian smacked him upside the head, Jamie grouched, Enzo snorted a laugh, and Robbie grinned.
This was ours. Messy, loud, imperfect.
Family.
THE END