Inspiring You (Unraveling You 4)

“Where are we going?” she asks as she jogs to keep up with me.

My gaze is everywhere, taking in every person, every door, every vehicle. “I’m getting the police.” Getting her to safety.

When I reach the police car, I startle the officer when I rap my knuckles on the window.

He rolls the window down, his brows knitting. “Ayden, is everything all right?”

Shaking my head, I hand him the note. “This was in Lyric’s locker.”

He reads the letter and mutters, “This sounds like a threat.” He curses then hops out of the car. “You two go wait in the main office while I check the area.” He calls for backup as we jog across the yard, parting ways at the entrance door.

“Do you think they’re still around?’ Lyric asks as we hurry down the now empty hallway and toward the main office.

“I don’t know.” I keep ahold of her arm, never wanting to let her go. “I honestly don’t think so.”

Her eyes are wide as she works to keep up with me. “Why?”

“Because I think this is another way of them messing with my head,” I say as I yank open the door to the main office. “This has to be part of their plan. Every one of their moves always seems so calculated. So deliberate.”

The question that’s really bothering me, though, is how did they know about Lyric? The answer is fucking terrifying. That they’ve been watching me close enough to know how much she means to me.

I don’t know what their intentions are with putting the note in her locker, but I have a feeling the move was deliberate. Maybe they’re going to try to use her to get to me. Or maybe they think they can scare me into handing over myself by threatening her. If that’s the case, then they’re right. I’d walk straight into their hands if it means she’ll be safe.

AFTER I FIND THE LETTER, I call my mom while Ayden and I wait in the main office. The police make a huge scene as they search the school. Thank God it’s our last day; otherwise, we would’ve had to spend the rest of our school days with everyone gossiping about what happened. While I can handle staring, Ayden, my Shy Boy, has trouble with extra attention.

Aunt Lila is the one who ends up picking us up, because she’s closest to the school. But my mom, my dad, and Uncle Ethan are headed home.

By the time Lila arrives, the police have searched every nook and cranny of the school and surrounding area and found no sign of who left the note.

She doesn’t say a word as she barges into the office and strides straight for Ayden. “This has got to stop.” She throws her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “They can’t keep doing this to you.”

“They didn’t do it to me.” Guilt laces Ayden’s voice. “They went after Lyric.”

Aunt Lila looks over Ayden’s shoulder at me, then she snags hold of my arm and tugs me in for a hug too.

“I’m so glad school’s over,” Lila whispers as she continues to trap us in her death-grip-three-way hug. “Now we can keep an eye on you all the time.”

“That’s not completely true,” Ayden says. “You have lives. You can’t watch me all the time.”

Aunt Lila is quiet, and I can almost see her wheels turning, trying to find a way to make it possible for her to be a near Ayden at all times. She must not arrive at a conclusion, because she says, “Let’s get you two home, okay?”

We nod and follow her out to her car, leaving Ayden’s vehicle there for Uncle Ethan and my dad to pick up.

Ayden barely utters a word the entire drive home, and I can see where this is heading. That he’s blaming himself for the letter ending up in my locker.

“I know what you’re thinking and it’s not your fault,” I hiss under my breath as Aunt Lila pulls the car into the driveway of the Gregorys’ home. “So stop going there right now.”

He turns his head away from the window, making eye contact with me for the first time in hours. “Lyric, they threatened you. I can’t just forgive myself for that.”

I scoot closer to him. “There’s nothing to forgive. Nothing happened. I got a letter. So what. They didn’t actually do anything to me. They just wanted me to pass along the message.”

“You heard what the officer said,” he whispers, self-torture rising in his eyes. “That letter was a threat.”

I point at a cop car parked at the end of the driveway. “It’s a good thing we have those then. Besides, they’re always sending you threats and notes. This was probably just another way to try to get to you.”

He crosses his arms. “I never should’ve dragged you into this mess.”

“You didn’t drag me into this mess. I willingly ran head on into it, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat just as long as I got to be with you.” I cup his chin in my hand, forcing him to look at me. “Now, you’re going to chill out, and we’re going to go inside and work on our songs so we can kickass at the recording tomorrow.”

“But I—”

“No buts,” I scold, but also smile to shine positivity to all the darkness trying to rain down on us. “We’re going to go practice, then we’re going to make out after we’re all finished.”

From the front seat, Aunt Lila clears her throat. “I’m going to go inside and give you two a moment. Please, don’t stay out here too long.” She opens the door to climb out. “And Lyric, I want you to wait with us until your parents come home. They don’t want you leaving for any reason.”

I salute her and she shakes her head like oh Lyric, you’re such silly girl. Then she ducks out and closes the door.

I fix my attention back on Ayden. “Now promise me that you’ll stop blaming yourself for what happened.”

“It doesn’t matter if I can forgive myself,” he says, looking at me with those sad puppy dog eyes of his. “Other people are going to blame me.”

“You mean my parents?” I ask and he nods. I link my arms around the back of his neck and slant toward him until our chests are flush. “I’ll tell you what. If they blame you then you can sink into your self-pity. But if they don’t, you have to stop blaming yourself. And I mean it. No self-blame. No sinking into your pain. No torture and despair.”

He considers what I said, his lips twitching as he restrains a smile. “You know, you’re starting to sound like a walking lyrical book.”

“It’s probably because I’ve been writing, like, all the time. I want to come up with some fresh stuff that maybe we can use on the tour.” I wait for him to argue about the we, and when he doesn’t, I go back to our deal. “Now promise me you’ll do it. Promise me you’ll forgive yourself if my parents don’t blame you.” I lean back and stick out my pinkie.

He sighs, but hitches his pinkie with mine and seals the deal. “Fine, I promise.”

“Good.” I give my best prize winning grin because I know I’ve won the deal already, since my parents aren’t the kind of people to ever blame Ayden for what happened. They like him more than Ayden thinks. They’ve always wanted me to be friends with him, even before we all met him.

I remember the day I was headed to meet Ayden for the first time. While I was walking over to the Gregorys’ with my parents, I tried to get out of going, mainly because I was bored and wanted to do something fun. My dad said something to me that still gets to me when I really think about it.

“You’re really lucky to have every single one of us,” he said. “And you should really get to know the new kid. He’s your age, and I’m sure he could use a friend with . . . S

ome of the stuff he’s been through. You could be that friend for him. Do something good.”

It’s amazing how much I followed his advice. But being friends with Ayden was never about doing something good. It always came so naturally, as if we were supposed to be friends long before we ever met. And if anything, he’s the one who did something good for me, by letting me into his world. It’s always made me feel so special that he’s trusted me so much.

After we get out of the car, Ayden and I go into his house and up to his room to work on our song that we’re supposed to be singing together on our album, but we spend a lot of time kissing too. About a half an hour later, the crazed parent mob shows up and we’re summoned to the kitchen. They tell Fiona, Everson, and Kale to go into the living room and work on their homework. After the room is cleared of the youngin’s, Ayden sits down at the table with Uncle Ethan while my worried mom sideswipes me with a hug.

“Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re okay.” She circles her arms around me, squeezing so tightly I feel like my lungs are being crushed.

I give her a moment before I step back. “I’m fine, Mom. Would you relax? Nothing happened.”

“I will not relax, Lyric Scott. We were so worried.” She has yellow, green, and red paint spots on her shorts and tee and even in her auburn hair, which means she probably rushed away from one of her art pieces.

I feel bad that she had to bail in the middle of a piece. As an artist myself, I know when inspiration strikes, you just roll with it until it stops; otherwise you could totally lose the vibe.

“But I’m fine.” I span my hands to the side and curtsey, trying to lighten the stressful tone taking over the Gregorys’ kitchen. “See, one hundred percent okay.”

My mom shakes her head exhaustedly. “You know, I’d ask you how on earth you could possibly joke at a time like this, but I already know my answer.” She shoots my dad a look.

He’s sporting his infamous bedhead/fauxhawk hair, a style that’s unintentional and only appears when he’s really stressed and has been raking his fingers through his hair.

He pulls a whoops face then shrugs. “Sorry, but you knew what you were getting into long before you married me.” He turns to me, his amusement vanishing as his arms fold around me. “I was so fucking worried about you,” he whispers in my ear so only I can hear.