Lyric & the Heartbeats

by Kole, Lana

  Mistake.

  He lowered his hands and stared down at them. Emerson could still smell the sharp, sweet scent of honey and lavender as strong as if he were lying in a fucking field of it. Could still feel her creamy, smooth skin against his fingertips as if she were still there.

  He wanted to chase after her, demand they talk out whatever anxiety she was having, but he also didn’t want to ruin any other chance with her. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away. Not after he’d finally gotten to taste her.

  Sorry, Odd.

  He left their hidden cubby and followed in her path, but halfway through the venue, where their mixed scents veered to the right, to the buses and the loading area, he continued forward.

  It wasn’t until he pushed open the door to the green room, three stares turning in his direction, three sets of nostrils flaring, that he realized his mistake.

  “What did you do?” Nohen asked first, his sandy cheeks flaring with heat as he stood from the couch.

  Emerson held up his hands, brain still computing at half speed after the mindfuck of an orgasm Lyric had worked out of his knot.

  “She wanted it,” is what came out of his mouth, and that was exactly the wrong thing to say.

  Too bad he didn’t recognize it until Nohen’s fist had already sailed toward his cheek. The punch snapped his head to the right, and after clearing the stars from his vision, he blinked at the room.

  Odd had Nohen’s arms trapped at his side with his own—barely—as the beta’s lips poured curses. Emerson noted absently that his bow tie was crooked.

  “Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he called out, inching toward the door and curling up on himself as Desi approached, brandishing a pair of drumsticks like fucking weapons. “That came out wrong! Wait!”

  “You better have a good goddamned explanation,” Desi growled, the outrage on her face turning her into a different person than the one he thought he knew.

  He floundered for the right words. “We hooked up,” he said. “It was consensual!” he shouted as she raised a stick threateningly. “I swear. Fuck. Do you think I’d actually…”

  Desi’s brows furrowed as the moment stretched on. Finally, she shook her head. “No. I don’t think you’d actually do that. But I also know Lyric, and you know how she feels about alphas and packs.”

  Emerson relaxed slightly as she finally lowered her makeshift weapons, straightening up from his crouched position against the door. “I wouldn’t. She looked upset after the show, and I followed to make sure everything was okay, and we were both on edge after performing and so we just… happened.”

  He rubbed at the sharp ache in his cheek and glanced to Nohen, who was noticeably more calm, though his jaw was still clenched. “Nice hit. You done being jealous?”

  Nohen stiffened and gnashed his teeth, shrugging off Odd’s hold, but only because the alpha allowed it. “Oh fuck right off.” His gaze dipped to his feet before he glanced up, the smoke of his anger dispersing to leave worry in its place. “Is she okay?”

  “She was… but I think she was mad at me when she left. She’s on the bus. Desi, if you happened to need to answer a call from Amber privately… I don’t think she’d mind.”

  “Hint taken. I’ll go check on her,” she replied, stuffing the drumsticks in her back pocket and practically shoving him to the side.

  The door closed softly behind her, and he slumped down into one of the folding chairs.

  Odd pulled one up and braced his palms on his knees, drawing in a deep, slow breath before leveling Emerson with his stare. The stare was devoid of emotion, and Emerson didn’t know if he should expect an ass kicking or...

  “You treat her good?” Odd asked, his voice rumbly.

  Emerson knew they both had it bad for her, and guilt pinched at his heart as he met Odd’s dark gaze. “I did. I hope. I don’t like how things ended so abruptly.” Emerson rubbed at his eyes, stopping a second after he scented her again and huffing out a tortured groan. “I hope I didn’t ruin things.”

  That was the closest he could get to an apology. Because Emerson wasn’t sorry.

  He only hoped he hadn’t ruined anything. For Odd. For himself. Hell, even for Lyric. He didn’t want to be the alpha that turned her off of them all.

  His gaze turned to the beta staring a hole in the side of his head. If looks could kill...

  “Hey, don’t look so bummed. Who knows? Maybe I made her swear off all alphas. That means she’s all yours.”

  Nohen frowned. He straightened his bow tie and stopped by the door, not meeting his gaze. “Don’t you get it? Lyric doesn’t belong to anyone but herself. That’s why it’s such a big deal that she shared even a piece of herself with you. You better fucking cherish it.” He scoffed, muttering, “Fuckin’ alphas,” as he left.

  The door did not close quietly that time.

  Emerson rested his forearms on his knees and counted the specks of gray on the tiled white floor.

  That was what he was afraid Lyric didn’t understand. He did fucking cherish what she had shared with him.

  Not only her body—he wasn’t a fucking neanderthal—but all that stuff about her mom? He wanted to scoop her up and protect her.

  Hell, she’d pulled a purr right out of his chest there at the end. He’d barely managed to choke it back, but that was physical proof of just how she affected him.

  Yeah, he fucking cherished her, okay?

  Probably a whole lot more than he should.

  Lyric scrubbed Emerson’s scent from her body. From her hands and her hair and her lips and from between her thighs.

  But no amount of scentless soap would wash away the feel of his hand over her mouth, the scratch of the brick against her back, the fullness of his cock as he moved inside her.

  She pressed her palms to her eyes and groaned, trying to block it out, but it was no use.

  I had sex with Emerson.

  Had. Past tense. Won’t happen again.

  The realization made the ball of anxiety in her chest loosen, made her breaths come easier. She was still in charge. Just because it happened once didn’t mean it had to happen twice.

  Even if everything was off its axis, Lyric knew one damned thing for sure.

  Fucking Emerson was a one time, height of adrenaline lapse of judgment, a terribly timed moment of weakness. But most importantly, it wouldn’t happen again.

  She would not be the needy omega her mom had tried to force her to be.

  Once she talked herself down off the ledge and washed as much of their mixed scents from her skin as she could, Lyric wrapped herself in a towel and intended to lock herself away in her nest and stay there until her presence was absolutely required.

  Color her surprised when she opened the door to find Desi sitting on the couch, flipping her drumstick in the air and catching it again. And again. And again.

  Her cheeks heated the longer she stood there, knowing the beta was likely there for one reason.

  “Want to talk?” she asked softly, sliding a politely blank glance in her direction.

  Lyric’s first instinct was to say no, but she nodded her head before she even realized she’d moved. Then Desi was herding her to the back of the bus, pausing as Lyric unlocked her nest with her key fob.

  But the beta paused at the door as Lyric approached her wardrobe.

  “It’s okay if I come in, right?”

  Desi’s dull, soft scent of flowers was about as nonthreatening as it could get, and Lyric motioned her in. “Yes, please. You can sit on the bed.”

  Once the door was securely closed, and Lyric was comfy in butter soft yoga pants and a big tee, she joined Desi on the big bed… and remained silent.

  “Do you really wanna talk and just don’t know where to start, or just want company?” she inquired after a moment. “I’m good at being company.”

  Lyric chewed on her lip, weighing the answer in her mind. “Both?”

  “Both it is. Did he hurt you?” she asked first.

  The tho
ught made her skin itch. “Absolutely not,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Fair enough. Was it good?”

  Heat bloomed in her cheeks as flashbacks struck her senses like lightning.

  “Almost too good,” she admitted softly.

  Desi chuckled. “He didn’t say anything rude or senseless?”

  So fucking—good… The ghost of Emerson’s voice.

  “Nope,” she squeaked.

  “Mmkay… then why’d you freak out?”

  Lyric shrugged, parting her lips to speak and then closing them when nothing came out. She forced the words past her lips anyway. “I have issues and I know it. Alphas kind of… circulate around my issues. But it doesn’t matter, I won’t let it happen again.”

  “You won’t, huh?” Desi murmured, a hint of humor in her voice.

  Lyric narrowed her eyes, turning her head against the comforter to stare at Desi’s profile. “What’s that mean?”

  Her short hair fell over half of her face as she rolled her head to face Lyric. “You’re stressed, pent-up, and you’re on tour for the first time. I’m just saying no one would blame you if you wanted to let some of the… tension loose.”

  I’d blame me.

  It wasn’t just a matter of compromising her own principles to let loose, it was a matter of professionalism. The music industry could be lax at times, but it was difficult enough to navigate as a woman, an omega. She didn’t need to make it harder on herself because she started sleeping with the first alpha she was on tour with.

  But all of that seemed like an awful lot to voice just then, so she hummed thoughtfully at Desi’s comment.

  Desi let them marinate in comfortable silence for a moment before she sat up. “Okay, my duty is done. I can tell the others you’re okay and give Amber a call.”

  Lyric craned her neck up. “They sent you to check on me?”

  “It was Emerson’s suggestion.”

  Why that surprised her, she didn’t know, but the tightness in her chest eased a bit. “So everyone knows then?” she asked as she sat up and walked Desi to the door.

  The beta paused and leaned in, inhaling deeply before leaning back, an amused curl shaping her lips. “You still smell like him a little. And he sure as hell smelled like you when he came back to the green room.”

  Lyric rubbed at her eyes, wishing she could start the whole night over again. A frustrated grumble hummed in her throat, and at Desi’s answering chuckle, she dropped her hands to glare at her.

  “What?” she queried, raising her hands innocently. “It’s a little bit funny.”

  “No it’s not,” she argued.

  “It kinda is. Just be happy I don’t owe Nohen a hundred bucks. He wouldn’t even agree to a bet with me.”

  “Remind me to thank him,” she responded dryly.

  “Yeah, yeah. Next time, we’ll split it if you let me win.”

  Lyric arched a brow. “What are the odds?”

  “That you’ll sleep with Emerson again before the week’s out.”

  Desi escaped out the open door before Lyric could smack her.

  The next afternoon, when she finally crawled from her nest to seek out coffee from the kitchenette, it only took a few moments for her to wish she’d never left the comfort of her bed.

  Lyric did her best to ignore the deep, rumbly voice filled with irritation. Instead, she squinted at the carafe of coffee and tilted it to pour the dark liquid into a travel mug.

  “What if someone had seen you?” Henry continued, exasperation lacing his voice.

  Someone almost did, she wanted to retort. And it was really fucking hot.

  But she held her tongue and placed the carafe back onto the warmer, locking it into place before reaching for the sugar.

  “…just plain irresponsible. The rules are in place for a reason and…”

  Lyric was listening. Really, she was. But she’d only stepped foot into the common area thirty seconds ago, and Henry had been lying in wait like a parent waiting to discipline their teenager after breaking curfew. If he’d had a spinning office chair, Lyric would bet hard cash he would’ve spun around with his fingers steepled, disappointment painted on his face like fashion’s hot new look.

  The fridge snapped shut with a soft suction sound, and she carefully poured a dollop of cream into her coffee.

  “Do you understand where I’m coming from?” Henry finished.

  Lyric let his rant rest in the air between them as she sipped her first taste of caffeine.

  She turned to face him. And almost wished she hadn’t. The only thing he was teaching her this morning was that early morning Henry made her stomach flutter and her resolve was not as strong as she’d first thought. It wasn’t the short beard dusted like pepper across his cheeks. It wasn’t the early morning rasp. It wasn’t even the messy, finger combed dark locks that stood out from the crown of his head. It might have been the loose fitting flannel pajama pants and the plain shirt. But mostly it was the randomly dispersed works of art staining his skin. And the two nubblins that framed each nipple, only visible when he strained the shirt across his chest.

  Pulling her gaze from the broad expanse of his chest, she met his gaze bravely. “I understand as tour manager it is your job to manage everything tour related, and therefore artist related. I just don’t see how my sex life falls into that category.”

  “What?” he questioned, head cocked back as if she’d slapped him. She knew he meant business when he pulled the glasses off his nose. All of the careful professionalism he blanketed his words in unraveled as he growled, “Lyric, I don’t give a fuck who you… fuck. The rule you broke was the communication rule, for god’s sake. I didn’t know where you were, no one did. I mean, at least you had enough sense to have a buddy, but something tells me neither of you were paying much attention to your surroundings.” His cheeks flushed with frustration.

  Properly chastised, Lyric sipped her coffee, seeking refuge behind the lip of her mug. When she lowered it, Henry hadn’t disappeared like she’d hoped, and the words that crawled up her throat were the wrong ones.

  “Aren’t you the manager of the tour, not me?”

  His eyes darkened, and her skin prickled like she’d walked into a thunderstorm.

  “I didn’t mean that,” she blurted. “Sorry.”

  Silent, he arched one brow, and that was almost worse than if he’d chastised her again.

  “I’m under strict orders from Andi to not only make sure the tour runs smoothly, but to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. Why else would I be on this bus?”

  “Because… the label’s cheap? You wouldn’t fit anywhere else?” she guessed, ignoring the guilt sneaking up.

  “Nice try,” he retorted drolly. “Just try to make my job a little easier. Don’t make me hunt you down.”

  Lyric blinked as too many R-rated images flashed through her mind.

  “Ri-ight,” Lyric said, dragging out the word and giving herself an extra second to focus. “Is there room on your calendar to pencil me in at eleven thirty-five for a dick appointment? Or should I just text you beforehand to let you know?”

  Sadly, he didn’t rise to the bait. “A simple, ‘Hey, Henry, I’ll be back in thirty,’ would suffice.”

  “You’re just… no fun,” Lyric remarked, and sat on the couch with her coffee.

  “I’m plenty of fun,” he argued. “But I also have a job to do. Lots of them, actually, so any help would be appreciated.”

  Any argument Lyric could possibly conjure burned away in the heat that rushed to her cheeks. “Okay. Communicate better. Got it.”

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. As if she wanted to give Henry a heads-up every time she was going to have sex.

  Lyric shook herself. She wasn’t going to have sex, because the mistake with Emerson was just that—a mistake. It wasn’t going to happen again. Frowning, she stared across the table at Henry and nodded, though his attention wasn’t focused on her at all. He was tapping the screen on his ta
blet, as if typing an email. “I’ll let you know before I wander off again.”

  He seemed content with that and didn’t stop her as she retreated to her nest, sneaking past the others who were still sound asleep.

  Lyric held her coffee close as she sank into the cloud soft mattress, shoving pillows aside and digging her notebook from under her pillow.

  The notebook was stained with more than ink. It was bent crooked with years of frustration, the leather discolored with tears and sorrow, the pages folded with regret and flattened before being creased again. She turned past the pages overfilled with emotion until she landed on a blank one.

  Blank slate. That’s what she wanted.

  She couldn’t turn back time, couldn’t redo the day before no matter how much she wanted to. But she could take all that regret, all the worry and anxiety, and she could pen it into the page, tattoo her emotions onto the paper and then forget them.

  Just thinking the word tattoo brought to mind the dark ink that covered Emerson’s left arm, the one he’d covered her mouth with to muffle her cries.

  Shifting on the mattress, she willed the fuzzy feeling in her stomach to go away.

  She unclipped her pen from the spine of the book and uncapped it with a click. But as she placed the felt tip to the paper, she paused. The ink dot expanded while she stared at the blank page. Words circulated in her head, but she couldn’t organize them into the lyrical therapy she often depended on.

  Her phone rang, shattering the moment, and she lifted the pen from the paper to swipe the device off the side table.

  Andi’s name lit up the screen, and Lyric’s heart squeezed as she accepted the call.

  “Hi,” she cooed softly, dragging out the word. “How’re things?”

  “Hey, you,” Andi greeted. She sounded tired. “Things are… progressing.”

  “Oh, no. How’s she doing?”

  Andi was closer with her mother than Lyric had ever been to her own, and losing her was going to be hard.

  “About as well as can be expected. She’s just… so much older than I realized. I still think of her as the woman who’d put her cat in sweaters and send me pictures of Mittens every other day.”