Tyler

by Jo Raven

  Turns out he’d dreamed it, made it up, thought it’d calm me down when I had panic attacks and nightmares.

  Mom was dead.

  I remember sitting there, numb, hunched over, trying to make sense of something so incredible, so unimaginable it wasn’t working. The only thing keeping me sane in insane Uncle Jerry’s house, far from the world and already hooked on pills, was that Mom and Ash would be okay. Because I kept my silence, kept away.

  I had this fantasy that Dad would leave, or do something stupid and be locked behind bars. Then I’d go back. I’d get a chance to get back what I’d lost: see Asher grow. Help Mom with her vegetable patch. Live a last sliver of happy childhood. Mend the cracks in my sleep through which nightmares slipped.

  No such luck.

  And now I need to get my head straight, to rise out of this funk. I can hear my cell phone ringing from the bedside stand, and I turn the water off, but I can’t bother to move. Not many people have my number. Has to be Marlene, three-night-stand extraordinaire who doesn’t give up on the bastard who fucked her, then left without an address. I don’t feel flattered. I feel goddamn murderous. If she doesn’t stop calling, I’m gonna have to ditch this phone and get another number just to escape the constant ringing.

  But the cold is getting to me. The windows are half-closed to keep the snow out, but they still let in a sharp breeze, and I’m wet.

  Rubbing my head with a towel, I drip my way into the studio and glance at the phone screen. Huh, unknown caller. Not Marlene, then, unless she’s calling from somebody else’s cell.

  I dry myself and get dressed in loose drawstring pants. My teeth are chattering, but no way am I closing the windows. Can’t stand the lack of air, the feeling of suffocation that reminds me too much of my time in the basement. Another thing I thought I’d gotten over and is now back with a vengeance.

  Dammit. Losing it now is not an option, not after everything—after giving up the drugs and hauling my ass back to Madison. Where Erin is, the one woman I want and can’t have. Where memories drag me down like chains.

  The little box with the gift I bought her before leaving four years back is mocking me from its place on the shelf. I grab it and put it in the drawer, then push it shut and lean on the furniture for a moment.

  Stop hoping. Stop thinking. Stop expecting good things to happen.

  I start my exercises, pushing myself to go faster, to work harder. Push-ups until my knuckles bleed, crunches until my stomach aches dully.

  Gonna work today. Gonna do just fine, be nice to the customers and pretend my head isn’t all fucked up. Then I’ll ask Zane for my brother’s phone number, work on an apology for him and get Erin out of my damn mind.

  It had better work.

  Chapter Six

  Erin

  The kitchen is filled with the heavenly scent of fried arepas—small pancakes made of maize flour—when Tessa enters. I check the oven, where a tray of fried arepas is already baking.

  “Babe, you shouldn’t have,” Tessa whispers in my ear, making me jump. She laughs. “Honey, I’m home.”

  I snicker and take the pan off the stove. Perfectly round, golden arepas are ready to be dished out into the next oven tray. “We need boyfriends.”

  “You need a boyfriend,” she counters and slides into one of the chairs at the table. “And I mean a real boyfriend, not the invisible Jax. As for myself, I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

  “Yeah, right.” I pull out the ready arepas from the oven and push the new tray in. Wiping my hands on a towel, I sink into the seat across from her. I fought my Latino heritage all my life—hated how the kids teased me about it, how Abuela insisted I speak Spanish to her, how Mom always cooked traditional food and not what the other kids had for dinner.

  But the support of my family in the past years convinced me of a couple of things: one, they are awesome people, and I don’t deserve them, and two, if they’re Latinos then I’m proud to be one. Once my resistance fell, I realized how much I love Venezuelan food, and Tessa was one of my first converts. She’d blow a night at the movies or out with her friends for a taste of my specialties.

  Then again, she also knows more about me than I care to show. Such as…

  “So spill. Arepas and,” she pokes her finger at the plate of tostones, fried plantain chips, “this, I always forget its name. You’re in deep culinary heaven. Ergo, you’re in deep thinking hell.” She huffs and leans back in her chair. “I knew there was boy trouble.”

  I roll my eyes and tug on my ponytail. Yeah, boy trouble. Tyler. I never felt pretty until he looked at me that way, and although Tessa always tells me the boys stare at me, and I get my fair share of compliments and being asked out, I only started to believe it when he held me and told me he loved me when I was fifteen.

  He’d said that. But then he’d started acting weird and distant, and then I snapped. I know now about his Dad, and I also know why I said those things, why I snapped, but I wish… I wish I hadn’t. I wish I hadn’t hurt him like that. I wish he’d stayed.

  I wish so many things.

  Too late. I always see clearly when it’s already too late.

  “Hey. Earth to Erin.” Tessa is waving a hand in front of my face, her blue eyes narrow. “Enough dancing around the topic, girl. Spill.”

  Oh, what the hell. I can’t deny it any longer. Tyler’s presence in town is screwing with my head. “I need to talk to Tyler. There are some things we need to discuss.”

  “A few things.” Tessa takes a plantain chip and chews thoughtfully. “You want him. Admit it.”

  So what if I do? It’s not happening again. “He just owes me an explanation.”

  She licks her fingers. “You mean you still haven’t talked?”

  I shake my head and get up to take the arepas out of the oven. “I called, but he didn’t pick up the phone.”

  “Then call again.” She’s looking at me earnestly when I return to the table. “Seriously, Erin.”

  “Says the one who refuses to even talk about her own crush.”

  “That’s different.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  She waves a hand dismissively. “We aren’t talking about me. We’re not even talking about you. Tyler, girl. We’re talking about him. I’m not into the dark, brooding kind, you know that, but come on, be honest.”

  “What about?”

  She winks. “You want him.”

  “Whatever.”

  “This Jax is mostly absent and sounds like a whiny brat. You need a real man in your life—and your bed. Someone to make you scream with pleasure, and I bet Tyler will.”

  My face flames. “Stop it. That’s not what this is about.”

  “Isn’t it? He looks smoking hot. Prime boyfriend material.”

  “No, he isn’t.” I’m not ready to tell her everything, not yet. Not before I talk to Tyler—perhaps not ever. I’ve lived in my private little sphere for so long, behind a wall of white lies and pretensions, that I’m not sure I want to tear it down and start anew. The wall protected me from the world, ensured my sanity. Am I strong enough now to come clean? If you asked me a month ago, I’d say no way in hell.

  And now Tyler’s here, and my walls are still up.

  “Erin?”

  “I’ve made a list for what I want in a boyfriend,” I say, hoping to distract her.

  “A list,” she says flatly, studying her nails.

  “Yes.” I’m not kidding. I made it as soon as I got my feet under me, a year or so after Tyler left. It got me through bouts of darkness I thought would never lift, gave me hope that I knew how to proceed in my life from then on. It worked, until now.

  “Do share.” Tessa grins and grabs another chip. “Although I don’t see the connection to Tyler, I think I may be in need of such a list.”

  Maybe. What she does need is to go and talk to Dylan, but who am I to give advice on such matters?

  “Okay, so the list.” I draw a deep breath. “It’s quite short, really. My boyfriend
needs to, one, tell me I’m the most beautiful girl in the whole world. Two, tell me and show me he loves me with actions, not only words. Remember what I like and give it to me. Share it with me. Three, love me for who I am—half-Latina, curvy and spicy, with my mood swings and my crazy moments. Four, he has to be honest with me, not hide anything from me.” I swallow hard, because these last used to be at the top of my list once upon a time, when Tyler left without a word. “And Five, his name can’t be Tyler Devlin.”

  “Oh, girl…” Tessa’s eyes are sad now. “You’re so gone. Jax doesn’t stand a chance.”

  I flinch and turn away. That’s not the reaction I expected. This was a mistake, telling her, letting her see how much Tyler’s absence has hurt me.

  Especially as I realize with painful clarity that every single entry of my list has to do with him—his good and bad sides. He has been with me all along.

  But Jax is more important; my love for him is different and just as strong.

  ***

  After classes in the afternoon, I redial Tyler’s number, but he still doesn’t answer. Can’t he hear his phone ring? Or did Zane give me the wrong number?

  I’m about to try again when Dad calls me. Frowning, I stare at his cell number flashing, complete with the word ‘Dad’ and his picture. He calls me precisely twice a year—on my birthday and Christmas. My Mom is the one who calls all the time to check on me.

  I connect the call. “Dad? What’s wrong?”

  “Erin, hey. Everything’s fine, don’t worry.” Dad doesn’t have a drop of Hispanic blood in his veins, but he normally likes using Spanish words when he talks to me. The fact that he doesn’t, and the stiffness in the way he speaks tells me there are unfamiliar people around him.

  “Then why are you calling? Where’s Mom?”

  A pause in which my heart pounds in my ears like a war drum. “She’s feeling a little unwell, and asked me to—”

  “Unwell? What do you mean? What’s wrong?” The room tilts sharply, and I stagger until I knock into a wall and slide down. I lean my head back and close my eyes. “Dad, you have to tell me what is going on.”

  “She just got dizzy and fell. I brought her to the ER. The doctors are checking her out now. Jax is with her. They’re saying it’s just a lack of vitamins and iron…”

  My ears buzz. I’m glad I’m sitting down because my whole body shakes. “Oh God. I’m coming there right now.”

  “Honey, it’s nothing. Your mom’s saying she doesn’t want you coming over. You can’t miss any more classes, and—”

  “Erin?” Mom’s sweet voice, and I close my eyes, fighting tears. “Mamita, I’m fine. I told your dad not to call, but the big oaf won’t listen to me. Then again, what’s new?” She huffs. “I forgot to take my pills for a while. That’s all.”

  “Mom, why?” She’s got an ulcer and when it flares, she becomes anemic and has to have blood transfusions when it gets bad. “Why aren’t you careful?”

  “Sorry, baby. Had a lot on my mind—with you and Jax. I want you to be happy.”

  “I am happy!”

  “I know, I know. Won’t happen again,” she mumbles and I hear the remorse in her voice.

  I sigh, and a rustling in the phone heralds the return of my father.

  “Honey, your mom will be fine. I just wanted to let you know. No need to do anything for now, but if we can’t handle it, I’ll call you again, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say, my voice small. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Let me know if you need help, yes?”

  “Sure thing, honey.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “This is nothing, just a bump in the road. We’ve been through much worse and come out stronger.”

  Yeah. I remember my time at the clinic. How scared I was. How worried they were for me. We made it through.

  “Love you, Dad.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Keep an eye on Mom for me.”

  “Will do.”

  He disconnects, and I suck air into my lungs. Mom will be fine. She worries too much about me. Then again, I’ve given her good reason over the years. Why won’t she believe I’m happy the way things are? She’s worse than Tessa, pushing me to find someone, always talking about love.

  I loved once and look what it cost me: I lost my faith in love and my trust in others. Even in myself.

  ***

  Evening settles over the town like a veil. The snow has melted, leaving dirty puddles on the sidewalks of the campus. I call Tyler again. His phone rings and rings. No reply.

  This is ridiculous.

  Perhaps it’s the frustration with Mom collapsing and the whole bad month I’ve had, but my patience is at an end. I call Zane, who picks up after the third ring.

  “What’s up?” he rumbles into the phone.

  “I think Tyler’s number you sent me is wrong. That, or he doesn’t want to talk to me, so maybe your infernal radar was wrong for once.”

  “Shit. Just a sec.” Then he shouts, “Hey, Tyler, got your cell with you, fucker?”

  I frown. “He’s there, at Damage Control?”

  Zane mutters something under his breath, then says, “He says he left his cell at home.”

  “Okay… What is he doing there?”

  Zane tsks. “He works here.”

  “He what?” My mouth falls open. I force myself to move, unlock my car and slip inside. “Since when?”

  “Couple days. Front desk. Why don’t you come over and talk to him in person? Wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt whom?” I ask bitterly, one hand clenching on the steering wheel. Talking to Tyler is one thing, but talking to him while looking into those dark eyes of his… Totally different story.

  “Just come over, girl,” Zane mutters. “Stop fighting it.”

  I press my lips together and disconnect the call. I throw the cell into the passenger seat and bow my head. I thought I’d stopped fighting it. I thought I was over him.

  I am over him.

  I drive over to Damage Control, and the closer I get, the clammier my palms become, slipping on the steering wheel. I’m afraid of what he might say—of the excuses he might give for leaving, for never writing. But I will do this. I won’t chicken out. I need the closure—for me, for Jax. For Mom, so she’ll stop worrying about me. For Dad, so he won’t have to keep picking up the pieces.

  I park outside the shop and sit still for a long moment, gathering my courage. This time I won’t freeze with shock or run off crying. I’ll face Tyler and talk this out, adult to adult. It’s about time we did.

  Zipping up my jacket, I step out. The wind is rising as darkness falls, whipping my ponytail across my neck, lashing my face with loose strands of hair. My short skirt flutters around my legs, and I’m glad for my knee-high boots.

  The sign over the door flickers in neon blue and light spills through the store front, seeping between the tattoo designs stuck inside the glass.

  With a fortifying breath, I step inside. Soft music is playing for the customers—soft vocals, quite unlike Zane’s taste in music, which leans more toward punk rock and metal. Two men are standing in front of the desk, hiding it from view—wide shoulders, leather biker jackets, shaved heads and silver studs on the shells of their ears. The usual type of customers at Damage Control. I wait until they’re done and then take their place in front of the desk.

  Tyler is standing there, typing something at the computer. His dark head is bowed, silky strands brushing his square jaw and falling in his face. He’s wearing a light gray, long-sleeved T-shirt that hugs his muscled arms and broad chest and faded jeans hanging low on his narrow hips.

  Whoa, Tessa’s right. Boy’s smokin’ hot. My face feels warm, the heat creeping up my neck. I tug on the collar of my jacket, suddenly breathless.

  I must have made a noise, because he looks up from the computer, a hand poised over the keyboard.

  “I’ll be right with you…” His eyes widen, dark like the night, and his jaw slackens. “Erin?”

  I wipe my palms on
my pants and struggle to formulate words. His lips look soft like satin, and when he licks them it’s all I can do not to grab and kiss him.

  Good job, Erin. Losing your mind the moment he looks at you.

  “I, um,” I say intelligently and shift my weight. Focus, Erin. On something other than his lips, that is. “Can we talk?”

  His gaze drops, and he heaves a quiet sigh. “Sure.”

  “Where can we go?” I’m suddenly aware of the buzz of the tattoo guns and voices.

  His jaw clenches, and his gaze slides sideways. I turn and see Zane watching us, his slanted eyes narrowed.

  “Come with me,” Tyler says and steps around the desk. He grabs my hand and drags me behind him. I don’t even think twice as I follow him to the back of the shop, to the customers’ bathroom, my resolutions and my list forgotten.

  ***

  As he opens the door, I tug on his hand, and he lets go. His dark eyes shift to me, uncertainty flickering in their depths.

  Good. Let him be uncertain.

  He hangs back, and I step inside the spacious bathroom. The black granite counter where the white sink rests is cool under my hands as I lean back against it. A floral air-freshener scent wafts around me.

  Then Tyler steps inside and locks the door behind him. He turns toward me, running a big hand through his longish hair, and steps closer. His presence fills the room. His shoulders seem impossibly wide, his gaze growing darker by the second. The room is growing smaller.

  I suck in a sharp breath and press back against the counter, the granite edge digging into my palms. He looms over me, and my heart thumps too fast in my chest. My demands, my questions, every word in my vocabulary flees at the sight of him. From close up, he doesn’t look so much like Asher. His mouth is wider, his cheekbones high, and that gaze… It glides over my skin like liquid fire.