Chapter 29

When I step back into the living room, the flowers are artfully arranged in a vase, the box of pastries sits invitingly open, and a cup of tea emits a welcoming steam just for me.

"Who told you that you can eat my pastries?" I half-heartedly complain, settling into the couch with a mock frown.

Harper just rolls her eyes, while Lyric chimes in with unexpected news, "We've decided to start a company."

"Just like that?" I'm genuinely surprised, not just by the announcement but by the inclusion. "And why are you telling me this?"

Lyric corrects with a smile, "Oh, I said ‘we.' As in you, Harper, and me."

"We are?" The idea seems far-fetched, almost ridiculous.

Harper exhales a heavy sigh, "Don't get me started. I've already tried to tell her I'm broke and a little too broken to be a part of her plan."

"You'll get your money soon—and your patents," Lyric reassures with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Your lawyer isn't just hot, but also pretty good at what he does."

Harper's response is a dismissive eye roll. "Great, so even if I get my patents back, why on earth do you want us to start a company?"

Lyric's eyes light up with enthusiasm. "I love designing clothes, but imagine coupling that with a cosmetics line that carries our brand. It won't be just about the products. It'll about the statement."

I can't help but cut in before she spirals into a full-blown pitch. "While I think it's a brilliant idea, I'm puzzled why I'm part of this equation. You've got the science whiz, and you're the creative genius. I'm . . . Well, I'm just me."

"You're the face of our operation. Our CEO," Lyric declares confidently, as if it's the most natural decision in the world.

"I don't even have a degree," I protest, feeling out of my depth yet intrigued by the boldness of her vision.

"Education isn't the only measure of capability. You have the charm, a way with people, and an authenticity we need at the wheel."

I gawk at Lyric then glance at Harper as if saying, Are you listening to our sister? She has lost her shit. But of course, I don't say that. I go for something less daunting, "Can you even do this?"

Admittedly, that came out harsher than intended.

Harper's brow furrows. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You mentioned a non-compete clause last time you talked about work. You said it bars you from entering the industry for five years," I point out, recalling the injustice of it all. Her ex didn't just hurt her personally and emotionally. He destroyed her professional life too.

Lyric waves away my concern with a confidence that borders on audacity."As I said, her lawyer kicks ass and more. He's already taking care of the employment issue—including opening her own company. We have plenty of time to plan everything."

"I'm already committed to helping Jude with the Sasquatches," I counter, trying to ground this conversation in my reality. "And then there's Ty . . ."

"Your fuck buddy?" Lyric interjects, her bluntness making me wince.

"I prefer to call him a friend with benefits," I clarify, aiming for a touch of . . . I mean what? She's right. We're nothing more than fuck buddies.

"Look"—Lyric leans in, her voice softer but no less determined—"we're just laying the groundwork right now. If it eases your mind, go ahead and enroll in some business courses. By the time we're ready to launch, your hockey player will have sorted out his childcare situation."

"Can I think about it?" I ask.

Lyric nods decisively. "Alright, that settles it. Indie, your task is to scout for investors, but steer clear of the Deckers. Our family is great, but this venture should be just us sisters."

"I like that," Harper says. "Us against the world, like when we were young."

"Only this time, let's not keep secrets from each other," Lyric adds, her gaze shifting between us. "We're aware of what you've been dealing with, Harper. Now, it's time for Indie to share with the group."

"There's nothing to share," I assert, then—with a pointed look at Harper—add, "She's fabricating things."

"I told you she wouldn't be ready to open up," Harper states. "Not everyone processes things by talking about them and moving on."

Harper's words give me an opening, and I take it. "What about you, Lyric? You've been back from Paris for months. Weren't you supposed to be designing for some kick-ass brand?"

Harper chuckles.

Lyric's response is a soft chuckle, tinged with a hint of bitterness. "I left the internship the second my boss attempted to claim my personal designs as his own." She pauses, a grimace flickering across her face. "I was searching for a new designer house when Pipe and Grace convinced me to come back home."

At the mention of our cousins, Harper stiffens. It was them who found out that our sister had bruises on her arms. Lyr came back so we could be there for Harp while she left the abuser. To stand with her and go from victim to survivor.

"It's hard to admit that the person who loves you is hurting you intentionally," Harper says. "In the beginning, he would apologize. Then, he would blame me for having to do it. It was my fault he cracked a rib or broke my arm. He gaslit me claiming to be the victim."

Lyric and I stand from our seats and hug her.

"I get it, you blame yourself for whatever happened to you, Indie," she continues. "But know that it wasn't your fault, whatever happened. And we're here whenever you're ready to share. If anything, go to a therapist."

"It's on my calendar. I attend weekly sessions," I say, but my voice comes out empty.

We discuss my anxiety, what provokes it and how to cope. He doesn't know about Frederick. No one does. What will I win by saying anything out loud?

I'm sure everyone will think I was an idiot. It's not like Freddie was some stranger who forced himself. We were friends and . . . I just—I feel so ashamed about that night and everything that led to it.

Will this ever get any better?