Figured it was the least I could do considering all of my expenses were being covered for the next two months.
Wheeling the suitcase behind me, I headed up the walk. The gate buzzed before I made it all the way there. No doubt, Lyrik was anticipating my arrival.
I pushed through the unlocked gate and moved the rest of the way up the walkway. The front door whipped open as I climbed the steps.
“Leif. You made it. Glad you’re here.” Lyrik stepped onto the porch.
“Glad to be here.” I glanced up at the soaring porch ceiling. “Nice place.”
He chuckled a wry sound and rubbed his chin. “Don’t judge. House hunting list of musts was we had to be within a mile of Shea and Baz’s place and Ash and Willow’s that is a mile in the other direction. Tamar’s rules.”
“And this was the only one that was for sale?”
“Only one that was within our price range.” Asshole actually winked, hand flying out to smack me on the outside of my arm.
“Hard life, man. Hard life.”
He was all grins, and he angled his head toward the door. “Come on in. Want you to make yourself at home, and I mean that. No fucking tiptoeing. You need something, you say it. You want to kick off your shoes, you do it. You want something from the fridge, you grab it. This place is family—comfort—no matter what it looks like from the outside.”
My brow lifted when I stepped through the doorway because the inside looked like a goddamn museum.
Paintings covered every wall.
What got me most was a bunch of them were just like the eerie, mystical ones that had filled his attic back in Los Angeles. Distorted, obscured faces. Twisted in some kind of beautiful agony as they stared into the nothingness. Lost and seeking a way to be found.
To be understood.
Like maybe it was only the artist who actually could.
A shock of intrigue slammed me in the chest. A punch of that insanity I’d felt this last weekend. That overpowering lust that I’d had a bitch of a time forgetting.
Girl sinking in her claws without even gifting me with her name.
It crawled over me like the innuendo of a dream.
A vague, vapor of a memory.
Problem was, I couldn’t tell if it was a nightmare I wanted to shun or an idea I wanted to wake up to and beg it to become my truth.
Materialize.
I tore my attention from one of the pictures that was hanging on the far wall, floating halfway up to the soaring ceiling. Room was decked out in massive arches and crown molding, giving it form and shape. A curved staircase ascended to the second floor, breaking off into two sections halfway up.
“This way.” Lyrik moved through the foyer and living room that I was pretty sure you weren’t actually supposed to live in.
“Ash’s wife, Willow?” he hedged.
I gave a small nod to let him know that I knew who he was referring to.
“She refurbishes old furniture,” he explained. “Pieces she picks up that are completely dilapidated and broken to shit. Half the time, she digs them out of a dumpster. Brings them back to life. Every piece in here is a piece of her.”
Ah. Made sense.
Lyrik didn’t exactly seem like the antique type.
“Beautiful stuff,” I told him, making conversation because I just didn’t relate to the whole ‘making a house a home’ bullshit.
Not when I’d burned mine to the ground.
“Yeah. She’s super talented. Tamar has even helped her with a couple pieces. Weird how things become more treasured when you have a hand in their making.”
Lyrik ducked through the next doorway at the end of the hall. It led into an enormous great room.
One-part kitchen.
One-part playground.
My eyes widened a bit at the mess.
Place was completely at odds with the area we’d just walked through. Pillows had been tossed from the overstuffed sectional couch that faced a TV the size of a football stadium, toys strewn everywhere, socks and shoes discarded on the floor.
“This is where we all pretty much chill. Warning, kids get nuts in here. You don’t like the littles, you’re going to have to hide out in your shack.”
He grinned.
Sourness climbed my throat. I swallowed it down. Pasted on a smile. “Kids don’t bother me.”
Didn’t plan on spending much of any time in here or around Lyrik’s family. Like he’d warned me, they were his main priority. What he would fight for and live for and die for. I didn’t have any business hanging around any of them.
Would make myself scarce.
Play when the band needed me and hide out when they didn’t.
He laughed. A little harder than prudent. “Yeah, well, between me and my crew, we have a whole goddamn mob of them. Have a couple extras spending the summer here at the house, too. Place promises to be a fuckin’ zoo.” He stretched out his tattooed arms. “Welcome to the Wild, Wild West. No place better to be.”