Where Lightning Strikes (Bleeding Stars #3)(122)

With Lyrik, I never could.

He gasped out in relief, and he pressed a thick lock of my dark hair against his nose and laughed out this disbelieving sound. Breathed me in. Then he inched back so those unyielding eyes could take me in. The softest smirk lifted at one side of his mouth. But it lacked the threat. Warmed me through.

This intimidating, malicious man who was so utterly soft.

His words twisted with awe. “You’re so damned pretty.”

Then that mouth was on mine.

Kissing me in a way that was wholly profound.

Soft and deep.

Slow and hard.

With a promise he would never let me go.

The air crackled with energy.

Light lit up at the edges of my eyes.

Intense and alive.

With the force of a thunderbolt.

Where lightning strikes.

And I felt so small. Scared. Yet strong at the same time. Witnessing this beauty unseen. Touching on an experience I only thought I’d observe from afar.

Love.

It was blinding.

Powerful.

It turned out this boy was the perfect storm.

“Say it again,” I whispered at his mouth.

Lyrik pulled back. I watched the heavy bob of his throat. The heave of his chest. The severity in those pitch-black eyes.

“Blue, you sing my soul.”





YOU’D THINK WITH THE guitar playing and all, I’d be good at this.

Nimble fingers.

Quick hands.

Not so much.

A chuckle left me just under my breath, and I bit my bottom lip in concentration as I weaved the fat needle through the fabric. Creating a patchwork design. Every shade of pink. Ginghams and calicoes and solids.

So, yeah. Guys might call me a * considering I know the names of all those prints. But you know. My mom.

I gripped the needle between clumsy fingers, trying to keep it straight.

Brendon laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. “Dad…you’re doin’ it all wrong.”

“What do you mean, I’m doing it wrong?”

Against the table in the kitchen nook where we were working, he leaned in closer. Place looked like an entire craft fair had exploded in here. So maybe the kid and I had gotten a little carried away at the store.

Sue me.

“You’re putting the ear on backwards.”

“Crap,” I muttered under my breath, and he cracked up. I rustled a hand through his hair. “Where’s your grandma when we need her?”

Dark, dark eyes widened in my direction. Full of mischief. “Good thing not here, because she’d be rollin’ her eyes.”

My jaw dropped in feigned offense.

The kid was a little whip. Testing just how far he could take that sarcasm at every turn. Couldn’t help it. I thought it was the cutest damned thing in the world.

“I’ll have you know, I made that bear…all by myself.” I pointed at the ratty, mangled thing he still refused to give up. “It’s been lastin’ for years. How’s that for someone who has no clue what they’re doing?”

“You got lucky?” he shot back with a lift of his brow.

“Oh, dude…you’re so going down for that.”

He was grinning, getting ready to run, when my girl’s voice came floating through the heavy wooden door separating the kitchen from the rest of the house. “Knock, knock.”

Guess most wouldn’t describe it as sweet, considering it was throaty and sexy as all f*ck, just the sound of it raising chills. But that didn’t mean it didn’t land on me like honey.

“Don’t come in,” Brendon yelled, slanting me a wry grin.

“Are you still not finished?” she called back.

“Nope,” he shouted.

I could hear her exaggerated sigh, almost see her smile. “All right then. I’ll just be out here…lonely…waiting…by myself…all alone.”

“Someone’s feeling a little overdramatic,” I playfully said with a wink at my son, and Brendon snickered quietly.

“Think she just likes us,” he said a little innocently.

But f*ck.

Yeah.

Guess I got lucky enough, that after everything I’d done, that gorgeous girl did.

“Here, buddy, why don’t you weave this one through?” I suggested as I fed a piece of pink ribbon through the eye of the needle.

Tongue darted out to the side, Brendon finished weaving the last bit through the bear, then helped me sew in the eyes and mouth with black thread.

“You think she’ll like it?” he whispered.

“Think she’ll love it.”

Both of them.

“You ready to give it to her?”

He scrambled down. “Yep.”

He hid it behind his back as we made our way across the huge kitchen. It was a little country, done as a throwback to Savannah where we’d met, the cabinets white and the island sage, countertops gray. Felt homey. Lived in.

Really, the entire expansive place felt that way.

Warm.

Home.

Never really thought I’d get one.

Never thought I’d deserve one.

Thought I’d messed up too many times. Ruined too much good.

And somehow…somehow I’d gotten it all.