HIS LOST LYRICS

CHAPTER 4

RYLAN'S POV:

Kyle knocks on the door, his usual easy smile slightly hesitant. "Hey, Rylan, do you have a minute?"

I glance up from my laptop. "Yeah, what's going on?"

He steps inside, shifting a bit nervously. "I wanted to ask if I could take a few days off. It's my dad's 70th birthday, and my family's planning something special for him."

Seventy. The word settles in the room, heavy, bringing memories with it that I'd rather leave buried. I can't let him see the tension in my face, so I nod, keeping my tone even. "Of course, Kyle. Take the time. Family's... important."

Kyle's face lights up with relief. "Thanks, Rylan. I'll make sure everything's organized before I go. I'll arrange a temporary replacement until I'm back, too."

I give him a tight nod, focusing on the task. "Yes, do that. We'll need someone who can keep things running smoothly. But make sure they're reliable."

"Absolutely. I've got someone in mind who's perfect for it." Kyle smiles again, the kind of easy warmth that says he can't wait to be with his family. "Thanks again, Rylan. I really appreciate it."

He leaves, closing the door behind him, and I'm left in silence. I stare at the spot where he stood, his words still echoing. "It's my dad's 60th birthday..." It's a moment of celebration for him. But for me, those words only stir up a familiar bitterness, memories clawing their way to the surface.

I close my eyes, and suddenly, I'm back in my childhood bedroom, lying stiff and silent under the covers, the darkness pressing in around me. My father's low, dangerous voice cuts through the walls, rising and falling, a tone that always made my stomach twist. My mother's voice, pleading, barely louder than a whisper, trying to reason with him. But it never worked. The yelling would start, and I'd brace myself, small fists clenched under the blanket, powerless to stop any of it. I hated myself for being too young, too weak.

And he knew it. He took everything from her, wore her down to nothing, trapping us both in his twisted version of a "family." I'll never forget the look in her eyes, the quiet resignation that replaced what little joy she'd once had.

Seventy years of that man's life. He's still out there somewhere, walking around like he hasn't left scars on everything he touched. The idea of celebrating him, of honoring him, makes me sick.

But I'm not that powerless kid anymore. I've built my own life, my own name, and it's nothing like the one he tried to force on me. This company, this success-it's all proof that I'm free of him, that I'm not his son in any way that matters. And I'll keep fighting every day to make sure I never become anything like him.

And, my thoughts shifted to Abby

I can't shake the feeling that there's more to Abby than what she shows on the surface. There's an intensity in her eyes, a depth that hints at a painful past she keeps buried deep inside. She has this way of smiling, of laughing, that feels almost rehearsed, as if she's putting on a show for everyone around her. But every so often, I catch a glimpse of something darker-something that tells me she's not as carefree as she pretends to be.

The other day, I watched her as she applied makeup to one of the backup dancers. The way her hands moved was effortless, but there was a moment when her gaze flickered, a shadow crossing her features. It was just a brief second, but I noticed. I wanted to reach out, to ask if she was okay, but the moment slipped away before I could say anything.

It's frustrating. Here I am, a guy who's been through hell and back, and I can sense the same weight in her that I carry. It's like we're both trapped in our own worlds, each nursing wounds we can't fully share. I find myself wanting to break through the walls she's built, to peel back the layers and discover what she's hiding. But I don't want to push her if she's not ready.