Lyric and Lingerie (The Fort Worth Wranglers Book 1) (33 page)

“Harm—”

“Fine, if that’s not a compelling enough reason for you … how about this? Eventually, Livinia will get over her disappointment. The chocolate will stop, and then you’ll be stuck in this house with her for God only knows how long.” Harmony shrugged. “Or I guess you could always run away to Hawaii and hide.”

Lyric had never run or hidden from anything in her life. “You don’t fight fair.”

Harmony did the palms up thing. “Hello, I was raised by Livinia Wright. Fighting fair isn’t in our DNA.”

Harmony watched Lyric climb out of bed. She handed her a robe, then headed for the bedroom door.

“Where are you going?”

“My work here is done. Now I have an actual job to get to. And you … you have an inscription to read.”

She’d put the ring in the small drawer in the vanity table her mother had insisted on buying her when she turned fifteen. She’d never used it when she was a teenager—makeup hadn’t really been her thing—but when she’d pulled the ring off, it was the only place she’d thought safe enough for it. The only place she didn’t have to worry about it getting lost.

She crossed to the table on legs that wobbled—partly from atrophy after spending the better part of a week in bed, and partly from nerves as she tried and tried and tried to believe. In Heath. In herself. And in the love she’d had for him for so many years of her life.

She held her breath as she opened the drawer. And there it was. Heath’s ring. Her ring. She picked it up with trembling fingers, turned it around until she could read the inscription written on the inside. And when she did … when she did, tears started rolling down her cheeks for the second time that morning.

We are the same stardust
.

She read it again, remembering the day back in high school when she had told Heath about her favorite quote—the one from astrophysicist Lawrence Krauss that says every atom in their bodies was from a star exploding. And that very likely, the stardust that made your left hand was different than that which made your right hand.

The fact that he remembered after all these years, and that he understood how nervous she was about not being enough for him. About not being the kind of woman he’d want to spend the rest of his life with…

She took a minute to absorb the words and the love she felt rolling off of them in waves.

She was the only one he wanted.

Not anyone else.

She dived for her phone.

Her mother answered on the second ring. “I said I would bring the chocolate when I came home.”

“I’m not calling about the chocolate.” She dashed an impatient hand across her wet cheek, but the tears wouldn’t stop falling. “I want you to call Gregor back.”

“Gregor?” Her mother’s voice rose a couple of octaves. “Why?”

“Because the wedding is back on. And trust me, we’re going to need all the help we can get. 

Heath really hated wearing a tie, and he hated wearing a suit more, but he thought both were appropriate considering that he was about to meet with the Wranglers’ team owner, general manager, and Coach Golden. He wasn’t particularly excited about the meeting, but it was something to do today. Something to keep his mind off the fact that today was the day he wasn’t marrying Lyric Wright. Today wasn’t the day he was pledging his love to the woman who had drop-kicked his heart to hell and back.

Screw her.

Despite everything, it felt mean-spirited thinking that about her. So he thought it again.

Screw her.

Screw marriage.

Screw happiness.

Screw everything.

He should go out tonight and celebrate his narrow escape. Too bad he couldn’t work up any excitement for it. Then again, how could Lyric have stomped all over his heart and then jilted him on national TV?

He picked up the four-month-old
Sports Illustrated
from the coffee table in the waiting room outside of the Wranglers main office and pretended to read the article about golf. He liked golf, occasionally played it even, but he still wasn’t sure it belonged in
Sports Illustrated
. In his mind, any activity you could drink beer while doing didn’t qualify as a real sport. Maybe if they had contact golf where the player had to putt before getting tackled—now that would be a real sport. There’d be no pansy-ass beer drinking then.

He tossed the magazine on the table and tried to look at ease. He was nervous, and if he was being honest, a little heartsick. Lyric didn’t want him. He still wanted her. And there was nothing he could do about either situation. God knew, he’d been trying to come up with something ever since he’d walked out of her house in San Angelo all those days ago.

“Hey, man, what’re you doing here?” It was Jacob Bennet, the head groundskeeper.

“I’m the new OC.” Heath thought everyone would have known that by now. The
SportsCenter
interview had super high ratings, along with the marriage-proposal crash-and-burn footage that
TMZ
had somehow gotten their hands on.

“I know, but why are you
here
?” Jacob, who was normally all smiles with everyone, glared at Heath like he was singlehandedly responsible for something terrible, like the mistreatment of puppies.

“I have a meeting with the bosses.” Heath shot Jacob a warm smile. He wasn’t used to people glaring at him like that—at least, not people who weren’t on an opposing team’s defensive line. He didn’t like it.

“Okay.” But the “okay” sounded an awful lot like “what the hell?” “See you.” He rushed off to wherever groundskeepers go to keep grounds.

“Dude, I didn’t expect to see you here today.” It was Jimmy Salenger, defensive tackle.

“I’m the new OC.” He grinned at his old friend. “The offensive line is coming for you, buddy.”

Jimmy returned the grin. “I welcome the challenge. Bring it. Catch you later.” He checked his watched, stared at Heath, then hunched his shoulders and walked to the bank of elevators.

The ever-efficient Eleanor Sanchez walked out of Dalton’s office and closed the double doors behind her. She was somewhere north of fifty, didn’t take crap from anyone, and guarded the GM’s office and schedule like a rabid pit bull guards a junkyard. No one got access to Dalton Mane without her express permission.

She studied Heath like he was dog shit on the bottom of her shoe. “What are you doing here?”

What was with everyone today? He threw his hands up. “I have a meeting with Dalton.”

Shouldn’t she already know that, since she was the one who’d scheduled it?

“I know.” She crossed her arms and leaned on the corner of her desk. “What are you doing here?”

“Look, I know I was a player, but now I’m a coach, so people,” he pointed to her, “are going to have to get used to seeing me in the office. Hell, I have an office down the hall.”

Who knew making the transition from player to coach would be so difficult?

“I’m aware of that, but I’d still like to know what you’re doing here.” She hadn’t blinked the whole time she’d been looking down her nose at him.

“I have a meeting with Dalton.” Was English coming out of his mouth?

Without taking her eyes off of him, she reached behind her, picked up a remote control, and turned on the giant flat-screen TV mounted on the wall in the waiting area. Of course S
portsCenter
was on … it always seemed to be on.

Shelby Margate, his least favorite person, was sitting on a brown sofa that looked a lot like the one he’d done his interview with her on. The shot widened and Lyric was sitting next to her. “If there was something you could tell Heath right now, what would it be?”

“I’d tell him that I love him, and if he’s still willing, the wedding is back on. I’ll marry him at 6:00 p.m. just like he’d planned.” Lyric smiled into the camera. “I trust you, I love you, and I’ll be waiting for you, Heath Montgomery. Please, please marry me.”

It took several beats for her words to sink in. But when they did … She wanted to marry him? The wedding was still on? He checked his watch. It was four thirty. His heart dropped to his knees. He’d never make it in time.

He took off for the elevators in a flat-out run.

“Heath.” Eleanor’s voice was sharp. “You need to go up instead of down.”

“What?” He really didn’t have time for her bitchiness.

Her face cracked into a smile that lit up the room. “I’ve taken the liberty of having the Wranglers’ helicopter fueled and readied. Go to the roof and Mike, the pilot, will get you there in time.”

He ran right up to her and kissed her on the lips. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I’d love to meet Dr. Wright someday. Her podcast on supermassive black holes was amazing.” There was so much reverence in her voice that he was sure she was talking about Jesus.

The elevator was taking too long, so he took the stairs three at a time. And sure enough, when he burst onto the roof, the helicopter was sitting there waiting for him. God bless Eleanor.

He climbed on board and fumbled in his pocket for his phone. He didn’t know how long the helicopter ride would take, and he wanted to make sure Lyric knew he was on his way.

Except his phone wasn’t in either of his pants pockets. And it wasn’t in his jacket pocket either. He checked his pockets again. Had he dropped it when he was dashing up the stairs?

No. He wanted to slap his forehead. He’s left it on the coffee table in the waiting room. Damn it. He didn’t have time to go back for it.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

He started to tell the pilot to wait a minute, but he was too late. The helicopter took off with a roar.

“Hold on, darlin’,” he murmured to himself. “I’m coming for you.

# # #

“Lyric, maybe I was wrong.” Harmony’s voice was soft, her look full of sadness and regret. The royal-blue bridesmaid’s dress she wore looked magnificent on her. “Maybe we should think about cancelling.”

Pink, yellow, and peach roses draped the arbor she was standing under and scented the air.

“We’re not cancelling.” Now that Lyric believed that Heath loved her, she refused to believe that it wasn’t coming. She held the giant bouquet of daisies that he’d picked out for her and stared out over the rows and rows of white chairs holding all of the wedding guests.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to be the one to do it. I can—”

“He’ll be here, Harmony.” She’d never been more sure of anything in her life.

“How do you know?”

“Because, as you reminded me not that long ago, Heath is an idiot. But he’s my idiot. And he loves me. He’ll be here.” Lyric had moved heaven and earth to get just the right Agent Provocateur to wear under her wedding dress. He’d better like it, because she could barely breath.

Her sister nodded, but she still didn’t look convinced as she glanced at her phone for the tenth time in as many minutes. In fact, she looked downright worried.

Lyric wished she could calm her down, wished she could convince her that it was all going to be okay. But the truth was, she had no proof that it actually would be okay. There was no evidence, not even one little text, that pointed to the fact that Heath was on his way.

And yet … and yet, she knew. It was as simple as that. Standing here, wearing the dress he’d picked out for her, surrounded by the beautiful, and sometimes strange, choices he’d made for their wedding, she could feel his love for her. Every single decision he’d made had been made with her in mind. And every single one was right on … well, except for the doves. Those were totally him.

She especially loved her wedding cake. It took up three tables and could easily have fed five hundred, but that was to be expected when your future husband tried to give you the entire universe.

She just hoped she’d get the chance to give him the same.

“Lyric, baby.” This time it was her father who was staring down at her, concern in his eyes that were so like her own. He’d worked so hard to be here to walk her down the aisle, and she hated seeing the doubt on his face.

“I know you have faith in Heath, and I believe he would be here if he could. But maybe …” The last of his words were drowned out by the
thwap thwap thwap
of a helicopter’s blades.

“Damn paparazzi.” He jabbed his cane in the air like he could use it to take down the helicopter. “I’ll get security on it right now.”

The helicopter landed in the open space that separated her parents’ house from the rest of the working ranch. Her father shaded his eyes from the sun. “What the hell?”

She couldn’t see Heath on board, but still her heart beat faster. Her palms started to sweat. Because she knew—she knew—that Heath was here.

Sure enough, the door popped open, and out stepped the love of her life. His hair was still too long, and he had three days’ worth of stubble on his cut-glass jaw, but he was here. And he was in a suit.

She took both as very good signs.

And then she was running—up the aisle, across the patio, past the pool, and through the gate—to get to him. He didn’t quite meet her halfway, but he did give it the old Wranglers try.

“Lyric—”

“Heath—”

“I’m sorry—”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. You don’t have anything to apologize for.” She reached up, cupped his cheeks in her hands. And just looked at him for several long seconds.

“I knew you’d come.”

“I’m sorry I was late. I’ve been avoiding ESPN—and pretty much every other channel on the planet. I didn’t see your interview until it was almost too late.” He held her too tightly against him.

“That’s okay. It was a long shot anyway.” She was messing with him.

“It was a long shot.” Suddenly, he looked furious, which was so not the look she’d anticipated from him when he finally showed up. “What were you thinking? What if I hadn’t seen it? What if you’d been standing here all night and I hadn’t shown up? I never would have forgiven myself for missing our wedding. Or for hurting you more than I already have.”

“I’m messing with you. I knew you’d come.” She leaned up to press a kiss to his mouth. It had only been a couple of weeks, but it felt like forever since she’d touched him, held him, made love to him. “Stop beating yourself up about something that happened years ago. It’s over, and I’m over it. It’s time for us to move on.