Chapter 2

Lyra's POV

{•PRESENT-DAY•]

I didn't know which one was fastest,

Barry Allen, or my hyperactive two year old.

She zoomed past me and I nearly dropped the box on my feet. her platinum blonde hair gleaming in well tied pigtails.

"Eleanor, baby…you promised that you would be on your best behavior today for mommy, didn't you?"

I grabbed her by the arm, her giggles spurring endlessly as she tried to get away.

To be fair, she didn't promise that.

"Nope. I'm gonna be a baddddd girl!"

This was absolutely my mother's fault. She loved punk rock and heavy metal music. And since we moved back to our hometown, Eleanor had been wrapped up in her living room, feeding her ears with all manner of irresistible heavy goth music.

"Most girls your age would love princess themed stuff, sweetheart." I lifted the plastic toy wand from the table. "Soft, pink, maybe purple, green or white stuff."

She tilted her head sideways and collected the wand from me.

Before shoving it into her mouth and chewing on it.

"Eleanor Edavanne Murray Carter!"

She giggled.

"Little lady, you—"

I was interrupted by the illumination of my screen. Shoot, I had swiped my phone into silent mode.

I placed Eleanor on my lap and sat down on the sofa.

"Hey Mom."

"Lyra, sweetheart, how are you?" She sounded chirpy. "How is my darling granddaughter doing?"

I glanced at Eleanor, who was now attempting to stuff the plastic wand up her nose. "She's... being two. Very enthusiastically being two."

She chuckled.

"That's my girl."

Eleanor smiled back at the encouragement.

And proceeded to almost poke her eye with the wand.

"Mommy—"

I retrieved it from her and swiped on the speaker. Mom continued.

"Listen, honey, I wanted to talk to you about something."

She sounded way too serious.

"Is...something wrong? Are you alright?"

"I am. This isn't about me sweetheart, it's about you." She paused. "Lyra, sweetheart, I've been thinking."

"About?..."

"I uh..know you lost your position at the marketing firm last month, and I want to help."

My hands wrapped around a pouting Eleanor.

"Mom…"

"Please, just listen. I have some savings set aside. I can give you enough to cover rent and groceries for the next few months while you find another job. You don't have to struggle like this, not with Eleanor to think about."

I felt my cheeks burn. She had already done enough.

When I signed the divorce papers and disappeared, I came home, and the only things I had were the clothes on my back and a pregnant tummy.

She was struggling, but she still footed all the bills during my pregnancy, and refused returns from me.

I closed my eyes, feeling guilt.

"I appreciate it, Mom. I really do. But I can't take your money anymore."

"Yes you can, I'm your mother."

"I know, mom..I know. And I love you for offering. But I need to handle this myself."

"Lyra, there's no shame in accepting help from your own mother."

"I know that." Eleanor squirmed off my lap, toddling toward her toy box. "But I've already figured something out. I'm handling it."

There was a long pause on the other end.

"What do you mean you're handling it?"

I planned to tell her soon. But I didn't know how.

"I'm... don't be mad, but... I...uh...."

How could I word this without having my head bitten off.

"You are what Lyra? You know I don't like suspense."

I awkwardly twirled a strand of my hair around my pinkie.

"I'm renting out the west wing of the house."

I said it so fast I wasn't sure she understood my sentence.

But she did.

And she definitely didn't like it.

"You're what?!"

"The house is huge, Mom. Four bedrooms, and I barely use half of it. The entire west wing just sits empty." I was talking faster now, more defensively. "I can rent it out and use the money instead."

"To a stranger? Lyra, absolutely not.”

"I've already done it." The words came out more rushed than I intended. "I put the listing up two weeks ago. Someone responded and we vetted them, well, the agent did, he did a background check and it came back clean. They paid for the full four months upfront."

"Upfront? Lyra, that's—"

"Thirty-two hundred dollars, Mom."

"Then refund it." Her maternal authority kicked in. "This is not a good idea. You have a two-year-old daughter in that house."

"Trust me, I will protect Eleanor."

"I don't trust people, Lyra. Un-do it. Refund them darling, you can call them and explain that the situation has changed—"

"I can't." I rubbed my temple, feeling a headache building. "I already spent some of it on groceries, Eleanor's daycare deposit for next month, and the electric bill that was overdue. I can't just refund money I don't have anymore."

My mother made a frustrated sound.

"Then I will work extra shifts and cover the re—"

"Mom, no." I cut her off firmly. "You are not doing that. You've done enough for me already. More than enough infact."

"Lyra—"

"Please, Mom. Trust me on this. I've thought it through. The agent says that the tenant has references, a clean record, and everything checks out. It's only for four months. I can handle that."

She was quiet for a long moment. Then she finally gave in.

"You are as stubborn as your father, you know that?"

"I learned from the best." I tried to inject some lightness into my voice. "Look, if anything feels wrong, anything at all...I promise I'll call you immediately and send Eleanor over, Okay?"

"You better."

The doorbell rang just as I ended the call.

My heart kicked into high gear.

It was two o'clock. The tenant was right on time.

"Eleanor, baby, come here." I scooped her up, smoothing down her platinum pigtails. "Remember what we talked about? Best behavior, okay? Can you do that for Mommy?"

She blinked at me with those moss-green eyes, my eyes.

"Ice cweam after?"

"If you're good, yes. Ice cream after."

"'Kay!" She beamed, showing off her tiny teeth.

I grabbed the tray of welcome cupcakes I had stress-baked last night, vanilla with buttercream frosting, decorated with little flowers because I didn't know what else to do with my nervous energy.

I shifted Eleanor to my hip, balanced the cupcake tray in my other hand, and opened the door.

"Hi! You must be—"

The words died in my throat.

The tray nearly slipped from my hands.

No.

No.

Standing on my doorstep, backlit by the afternoon sun, was a man with slate-blue eyes that I had once memorized in calculus class.

Cassian.

My lungs forgot how to work. Eleanor's weight against my hip was the only thing keeping me from slacking to the ground.

What was he doing here? How did he find me?

But then he moved, and the sunlight hit his face differently.

Wait....

This wasn't Cassian.