Welcome to the story of Rys and Lyra!
I'm always happy to chat with my readers and I IMMENSELY appreciate votes and comments. Please, show your support by voting. It costs nothing but makes me happy:)

***

Lyra is pronounced /leer-uh/

One

According to my mother, my adulthood started today.

Not when I turned eighteen. Or even when I turned twenty-one. Today, because of my graduation from Northcaster University. She said the fun was over as if four years of hard work infused with crushing doubts regarding my professional future were the definition of a good time.

I blew out a breath and shifted in my chair. The black fabric of my toga clung to the backs of my thighs the same way long strands of my hair stuck to my nape. An hour spent with a flat iron went to waste — I didn't need a mirror to know my hair wasn't straight anymore.

"Lyra."

My gaze traveled over the rows of seats in front of the stage, looking for the owner of the voice. Brock gave me a half-amused, half-reproachful grin. Our four-year relationship took care of him knowing I zoned out.

He was the next to be called. I waved at him, smiling.

"Brock Coleman."

It felt as if the whole stadium erupted in cheers. "Bro! Bro! Bro!" his friends chanted as he jumped off the chair and strutted to the stage. He stopped midway and turned, giving a thumbs-up to those watching.

I glanced at the row where our families sat over my shoulder. Their focus was on Brock when he lifted the diploma and fist-pumped the air as if it was a Ph.D. and not a Bachelor's degree in Administration.

My dad said something to Brock's father, nodding toward the stage. A proud grin was plastered on Mr. Coleman's face. He was surely counting the days until his son started helping him with their hotel business. My father probably envied him since his only child, me, chose to be a design-loving black sheep instead of learning to manage the chain of beach resorts our family owned.

Brock descended the steps and sauntered back toward his chair. It took him a while to get there as his friends swarmed him with congratulatory pats on the back.

"Congratulations," I mouthed when he swiveled his head, and his eyes paused on me.

He winked. I tried to refocus on the ceremony, but the beads of sweat rolling down my back made it hard. Who decided black togas were appropriate for this heat? And why couldn't my last name start with D? I'd still have had to sit through the rest of the commencement ceremony, but I wouldn't be so nervous.

Having all the attention on me was the worst. Worse than burning the tip of my ear with the flat iron and hitting my pinky toe on the edge of the dresser in my rush to get ready while Mom yelled that everyone would be late because of me.

***

"Lyra Walton."

I wish I could say I waltzed to the stage, but I shuffled. My stomach hurt from not having anything in it, my toes ached from the pointed nude stilettos Mom insisted I wear, and my heart thudded painfully at the prospect of having eyes — lots of tired of the endless ceremony eyes — scrutinizing me.

On the last step, I tripped. My heart lurched as several people chuckled, Brock included. My clumsiness was notorious. It never failed to give people something to laugh at, but this time, I was too tired to laugh it off the way I always did.

I accepted the diploma and rushed back to my seat. A few people clapped without enthusiasm. If only Payton were here. She'd clap the loudest and cheer for me the way no one else did. Too bad my best friend didn't have the means to attend my small, exclusive college. She went to a community school and was graduating today as well.

Fifteen minutes later, we posed for group pictures, diplomas in hand, and it was officially over. Mila and Hazel, the two classmates of mine I could call friends, tossed questioning glances my way. I'd already told them I couldn't go to the graduation party, but they must've hoped I'd change my mind, or Brock would change his since my plans depended on what he wanted to do.

I gave the girls a one-shouldered shrug and a small smile. As they walked away, I headed to where my parents were waiting with Brock's.

"Congratulations, sweetheart." Dad kissed my cheek. "We're ready to go. Are you?"

I wiped the moisture off my forehead with the back of my hand. "Yeah."

Mom was talking to Brock's parents. Brock stood surrounded by his friends, laughing at someone's joke. I shifted my weight, itching to finally ditch the toga. But Brock drove us here, and he was evidently in no rush to go to his car, where I left my stuff.

Lucky for me, Mr. Coleman called him over. Brock said goodbye to his friends and went to his Lexus.

As soon as he sat behind the wheel, I peeled off my graduation gown and pulled a brush from my purse to fix my hair.

Brock tossed his toga and cap onto the back seat, blowing a long breath. "I'm so fucking stressed out." Making a left, he followed my parents' Mercedes out of the Northcaster University grounds. It was hard to believe I wouldn't attend classes anymore. This was it. I was a college grad. If only I knew what to do now. Too bad they didn't give us a set of instructions on how to navigate adult life with our diplomas.

"Lyra." Brock groaned. "I said I was stressed out. You could pay more attention, babe."

I quickly brushed my tangled strands and shoved the brush into my beige tote. "Sorry. Why are you stressed?"

The traffic light turned red. Brock glanced at me, arching a light brown brow. "Seriously? My father's already talking about my work schedule. I studied my ass off for four years, and I don't even get a break for once in my life. Wouldn't you be stressed out?"

I was for entirely different reasons, but this wasn't about me. It was never about me.

"You should talk to your dad," I said. "Maybe he'll let you relax before you start working. We could—"

"Yeah, good advice." His features relaxed as we resumed the drive, and I opened my compact to retouch my makeup while attempting to ignore the nasty feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I should be happy. I graduated summa cum laude, had a long-term boyfriend and parents who paid for my education despite disapproving of my chosen degree. So why was my belly in knots?

Brock parked in the lot of La Delicia, the best restaurant in Wickhampton, and got out of the vehicle.

I inhaled, pulling the hem of my dress down. Brock put his hand on the small of my back as we headed for the restaurant entrance.

The sun hid, and the heat gave way to balmy air that felt divine on my skin. Faint sounds of cello mixed with laughter grew louder the closer we got to the brick building flanked by pink and white hydrangeas.

Brock stepped inside first. I caught the heavy door and followed him to the table in the back our families usually reserved for special occasions. Everyone was already there, including our fathers' business partners with their wives. So much for a quiet celebratory dinner.

A smile curved Brock's lips as if he hadn't just complained about being under stress. Just like that, he switched into proud business heir mode. He shook hands with the guests and sat, rolling up the sleeves of his light blue button-down.

"You're late." My mom combed her fingers through my hair and hooked her index under the necklace I chose to wear with the dress she'd suggested. "I told you to wear something classier. It's a special occasion."

Classy. What I designed certainly wasn't. Bitterness filled me. I swallowed, tasting it on my tongue, and untucked my hair so it'd cover the matching heart-shaped earrings before Mom could say anything else.

Taking a seat beside Brock, I forced a smile and poured water into a glass to get rid of the ugly tang of disappointment. I barely registered the servers bringing appetizers and ate mechanically afterward, making sure to keep my eyes downcast.

A chair squeaked. Brock's father rose to his feet and tapped his wine glass with a fork, demanding attention.

All eyes turned to him.

"I'm thankful to all of you for accompanying us today," he said. "It's not every day your child graduates from the same college you attended. I'm proud of you, Brock. You'll go far."

Claps filled the room. Brock rose from the chair and walked over to his father. They exchanged a hug, and my boyfriend lifted his goblet.

"Northcaster University has become my second home, and I'm honored and humbled to carry on the family tradition. I worked hard, and Lyra can tell you that. Right, babe?"

Brock nodded at me. Nervous shivers coated my skin, and heat crawled up my neck, stopping at my cheeks.

"Um, I...Yeah, he...he worked."

Brock's hand flew to his heart. "Aw, she's so cute." He chuckled. "It's okay. I'm the speaker in our relationship. We can't all be good at everything, right?"

The guests assented with nods and bursts of laughter.

I downed my wine, shriveling under Mom's disapproving stare. Why did he have to put me on the spot? And what did he expect me to say?

Nothing about his partying and the grades he got only because of being a Coleman, that's for sure.

I cringed at my thoughts. He was my boyfriend, and everyone seemed to love him. Who was I turning into?

A smiling server put my steak in front of me. I stabbed it with a fork and crumpled a linen napkin in my free hand while Brock droned on about his achievements.

The little voice in my head whispered that I also graduated today.

I drowned it with a gulp of wine.

***

Brock panted against my neck, thrusting into me mechanically as he chased his own pleasure, oblivious to my lack of response. Two last years turned what should've been an intimate act into nothing short of a tedious chore for me. Why did I think tonight would be different? Why did I think he'd try to make it special?

Unable to stand the jackhammering motions any longer, I flattened my palms over his back. "Brock."

He stilled, eyes glazed but not a strand of his light brown hair out of place. "What?"

"Could we maybe..." I ran my fingertips down his spine. "Could we maybe try something different?"

Something that would give me pleasure because I felt none. But if he hadn't cared in all the years we'd been together, why would he give a damn now?

He pulled out and rolled onto his back. "You don't want me. It was your idea to spend the night together. I said it was okay if you were tired."

Here we go.

"Of course I want you." I covered myself with the sheet and lay on my side, facing him. "We just never try anything new."

My sexual experience was limited, but that I orgasmed on my own and never with him in the only two positions he liked meant something, right?

Brock rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Wait, is this like, your way of telling me I'm not good in bed?"

Heat engulfed the back of my neck, and I swallowed nervously. "I didn't say that."

"But you thought it. That's okay."

He jumped out of bed and went to my en-suite, surely to get rid of the condom. Two years ago, I would've rushed to reassure him, but now, the unfortunately familiar numbness sank through my naked body. He'd handled our issues by walking out on me and ignoring my requests too many times to be surprised. All my attempts at talking about sex ended in arguments, and if I didn't fix this, we'd have one tonight, and the evening would get even worse.

I sat, leaning against the headboard. "Brock."

He re-entered the room and snatched his boxer briefs from the floor. "I said it's okay, babe. It was a long day. I'm not at my best. That fucking dinner."

We left early. Our parents were still at La Delicia and would go to have drinks after. I hoped Brock and I would celebrate our graduation and make plans for the summer, but he didn't seem to be in the mood for any of that. Or me.

"Dinner was fine," I mumbled. "You seemed to enjoy the attention."

Brock landed on the mattress by my side. The white cushions bounced from the impact. "Don't you think I deserved it after all my hard work the last four years?"

"I didn't say you didn't deserve it."

He smoothed both hands over his gelled hair. "Whatever, Lyra. They can't wait to make me spend the rest of my life chained to a desk, and yet they're the ones celebrating."

I brought my bent knees up to my bare chest. "I bet they're too happy to think about work tonight. They're out, having fun."

As should we. Mila and Hazel already texted me I was missing out. Payton was partying with her classmates and sent me pictures from the club. I didn't think my night would consist of failed sex and this disastrous conversation.

"I didn't expect you to get it, babe, but it's okay," Brock said, his tone soft. "I'm actually glad we're alone because I need to talk to you."

I shivered under the sheet. Brock had set the air conditioning on full blast, but maybe what I read between the lines was to blame.

"Talk about what?"

"What if we..." he inhaled deeply. "What if we take a break? I've been under so much pressure I can't even give you the version of me you deserve. The guys are talking about taking a boys' trip while we still can."

My insides turned to ice. He couldn't mean it, could he? "A break as in seeing other people?" I said, my voice shaking.

"Lyra." Brock cupped my cheek, turning my face toward him. The downward tug of his lips mimicked concern, but I didn't believe it. "What other people? You know I wouldn't do that to you. We just want to have fun, get drunk, and play video games. Starting August, I'll have to act like a fucking adult. Do you realize how terrifying that is?"

"So, your dad will wait until you return from vacation?"

Brock dropped his hand from my face and ran his palm over his nape. "Dunno. I hope he will. I couldn't talk to him yet. It's not like I was planning to travel, you know? Max brought this up today, and Parker's tagging along too. I don't wanna be an outcast."

Something was off. Why call it a break? Why not just travel?

Sparks of doubt flickered around my brain, and disappointment at the prospect of not vacationing together shimmied through me. It was my last carefree summer too. Although my parents didn't think jewelry design was a valid career choice, I did want a career. I wanted to work and save money for a Master's degree so I could improve my skills and have credibility before applying for internships. The small Northcaster University didn't have jewelry design programs, but lots of other colleges did. The downside was, I needed to find a way to fund my "whim", as Mom called it. My parents wouldn't pay for something they deemed unworthy of their hard-earned money.

"We don't spend so much time together for you to need a break from me," I whispered.

Brock huffed. "I want a break from the routine and the city, not you. I just want to feel free again."

Didn't he feel free with me? I never nagged him. He went out with his friends while I chose to study, and I never complained.

My mother said the more you tried to tie a man to you, the more eager he'd be to escape. Now it felt as if Brock was eager to flee without me ever asking him to stay.

What could I do? He'd already made up his mind, and his trip wouldn't last forever. I slicked my hair back. "Okay."

"Thanks, babe." Brock kissed my cheek and grabbed his phone. After a glance at it, he cleared his throat. "Um, Lyra. Max is asking if I want to come over. Boys' night. His parents are away."

It looked like the break was starting now.

Welcome to adulthood, Lyra Walton.

I'm super happy you chose Tide Changer among lots of other books. Please tell me how you found it, especially if a reel or a tiktok video made you check it out.

If you've been my reader for a while, a special thank you. Your support is what keeps me on this app. I hope you'll love the new world I'm introducing in this book.

What are your thoughts on the characters so far? Lyra? Brock? Lyra's family?

Please don't be silent and thank you again for choosing my work.

Love,
Alwyn