Tyler

by Jo Raven

  “You’re so hard,” she murmurs. “Is your girlfriend not taking care of you?”

  I frown, trying to process her words. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “No?” Her fingers dip under the elastic of my briefs, tugging. The fabric catches on my dick, and I moan helplessly.

  “No.”

  “Wasn’t she calling you on your cell?”

  Christ, I told her about Marlene? “Not my girlfriend,” I hiss.

  She tugs harder and my dick springs free. My breath comes out in a rush. Sparks ignite behind my balls.

  Then she wraps her hand around my cock and that’s all it takes. I can’t even spare the energy to feel embarrassed as I jerk and groan out loud, my dick pulsing in her hand, shooting ropes of white semen up my chest, all over my tats and scars. The first waves are so intense they’re painful, but then the pleasure crests, and it’s all I can do not to shout out as the orgasm goes on and on.

  God, it’s been too damn long. Too damn fake, all this time, the sensations washed out and muted. This… this is the real thing, the gut-wrenching, breath-stopping, howl-inducing kind of orgasm I can barely remember ever having before.

  It finally stops, and I can feel my knees giving out. I stumble backward until I hit the wall and slide down, my mouth still open as I gasp for breath. I thump my head back, hoping to clear the haze.

  “Are you okay?” Erin crouches down next to me, her eyes scanning over my body.

  I want to laugh, euphoria lifting me high like a drug. “More than okay.”

  “Is this what you need?” she asks. “What you’re used to now?”

  Fuck. I close my eyes for a second, trying to understand her question.

  “Is this what you came back for? Is this all you want?”

  My eyes snap open. “What?” My cum’s cooling on my chest, and the euphoria is wearing off as reality reforms around me.

  “I’m not a kid,” she says. “You don’t need to protect me from life’s truths. I can take it. And I need to know. Because if this is all you want from me, then I’m not interested.”

  The denial is on the tip of my tongue, but I force it back down. A weight crushes my lungs. I’ve let her down, again. “Why are you here, then? Why did you do this?”

  “I have my life, my studies. I want to be a teacher. I want to find someone to love and be happy. What do you want?”

  Someone’s knocking on the door. Erin opens it, and Rafe steps inside. I can barely hear his angry words directed at me, about not doing this again, about being so loud the customers heard.

  Her words buzz in my ears even as she walks out, following Rafe, and I’m left alone to clean up the mess I’ve made of myself.

  Chapter Ten

  Erin

  Rafe sends me weird looks as I walk through the shop. Of course he is. This time I was the one who led Tyler into the bathroom, took charge and left him on the floor.

  I’m in control. Right. When I think of his powerful chest and shoulders, the ripped stomach, the lean hips and strong legs… His arousal, so big and solid. The image of his release, of his face twisting with something like pain… The way he surrendered to pleasure, and to me, the knowledge I did that to him, I made him feel so much...

  God. Flames lick my cheeks. I want him like never before. What was I thinking, trying to turn the tables on him? I got nothing out of Tyler and tortured myself by wanting him, plus now I feel like a bitch for delivering that ultimatum when all I really wanted was to kiss away the sadness on his face.

  At least I saw the scars. My hands shake as I fish my car keys out of my purse and press the unlock button.

  ‘Bastard.’ Carved clearly across his chest, partly covered by a big tattoo of skulls and wings. And the vertical scar below… Nasty. Then more tats of skulls on his arms, and my name… My name on his forearm. My pendant around his neck.

  Tears prick my eyes as I settle into the car and close the door. How to deal with this? He didn’t forget about me, that much is clear. And although he’s trying to push me away, I’m still in love with him.

  This is so complicated. My anger’s fading, leaving me restless and wondering… if maybe I’m seeing this all wrong. Approaching it in the worst possible way because I feel like I’m the injured party, when in fact I’m also keeping secrets from him. Big secrets that I’m not ready to divulge, because I’m not sure how he’ll react.

  Because I’m scared he’ll run away again, and now that he’s back I don’t want him to leave. I want another chance.

  Please. Please, one more chance. I’ll try not to screw it up again. Though, without knowing why he left, how can I assume he’ll stay?

  I bury my face in my hands for a long moment, drawing a deep breath. It’s Friday. I need to go back home, see Jax, clear my head. Then perhaps I’ll know what to do.

  Tessa’s waiting for me at our favorite café, her long legs encased in tight pants and her hair up in a chignon.

  “Hey. What’s up?” She sips at her latte. “Boy giving you trouble again?”

  I shrug. She pushes toward me her notes from her latest Spanish lesson, and I glance at them, my mind a million miles away. The waitress walks up to our table, and I order coffee, then look back down at the notes. No idea what I’m reading.

  “Earth to Erin.” Tessa snickers from across the little table. “Will you tell me what happened?”

  Absolutely no way. Just the memory sends heat up my cheeks.

  “Is it Tyler? Or Jax? Hmm?” She winks over her tall latte glass, a white foam mustache on her upper lip.

  A giggling fit suddenly grips me. Jesus, I’ve been lying to my best friends about who I really am, who Jax is and why I live the way I do, and I blame Tyler for keeping his secrets?

  Secrets that may have to do with those scars. Terrible secrets, while mine aren’t that sort.

  “When are we gonna meet this mysterious Jax?” Tessa asks, right on cue. She pouts. “You talk and talk about him but don’t really tell us anything, and you spend most weekends with him, but he never visits you? I haven’t even heard his voice, ever. I’m starting to think you made him up.”

  Sobering, I pull out my cell. Yeah. Time to stop living a lie. I dial the number of my parents’ house.

  “Who are you calling?” Tessa asks.

  “Jax.” Time I did this. No matter if my palms are sweating. “You wanted to talk to him.”

  Tessa squeals, earning us curious looks from the other customers. “For real?” Her eyes are shining.

  “For real.” Will she hate me when she knows the truth?

  The phone rings several times before Mom picks up. “Digame?”

  “Mama. It’s me, Erin.”

  “Mijita.” I can hear the big smile in her voice. “How are you?”

  “Fine, Mom. I think I’ll come over this weekend, if that’s okay.”

  “How can you ask that?” She gets all affronted whenever I say it, and it makes me snicker. “We wait for you, always.”

  “Great. Is Jax there? Can I talk to him?”

  “Sure, honey. Wait.”

  I hear her shout for Jax as Tessa stares at me, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

  Then Jax says hello, and I forget about Tess for a moment, my chest expanding with happiness at his voice.

  “How are you, baby?” I ask.

  He laughs. “Baby. I’m fine, and you?”

  “Fine. How was your day?”

  Tessa sticks her tongue out at me. “My god, I told you! Gross. You totally talk to him as if he’s a three-year-old and I bet he does, too!”

  I shake my head and say, “Jax, baby, here’s a friend who wants to say hi.”

  I pass the phone to Tessa, looking one last time at his photo on my cell screen: his dark eyes, his sweet little face, his wild black hair. Tessa was right. Jax does look a lot like Tyler.

  Jax looks just like his father.

  ***

  “Need anything else?” the waitress asks, and I order another cup of co
ffee.

  Tessa’s staring somewhere past her latte, which is going cold. It’s been some good ten minutes since she passed the cell back to me, her face kind of pale and her blue eyes round as saucers.

  “Tess?” I tap two fingers on the table in front of her. “Is everything okay?”

  “Okay?” She leans forward, her eyes focusing on me. “Okay? Question-answer time. Who the hell is Jax? He’s not your boyfriend. That much is clear. He also isn’t an adult. He’s a little kid. Oh my God, he is three years old, isn’t he?”

  I nod.

  “And…” She waves a hand. “Is he your little brother? Or…?”

  Yeah, I bet she guessed already. “Jax is my son.”

  Tessa sits back and whistles softly. “Hot damn. Three years ago you were, what?”

  “Sixteen.”

  She makes a quick calculation in her head. “You got pregnant when you were fifteen? Holy crap.” She rubs her brow. “I can’t believe Jax is your son. How could you let me believe he was your boyfriend? Jesus on a pogo stick.”

  I’m getting a little worried that she won’t forgive me that easily, but then she shoots me a mischievous grin.

  “So…Spill. Who’s the daddy?”

  Yeah, that’s the question I’ve been dreading, because I need to figure out things out for myself before telling everyone. But Tessa is no fool. “Who do you think?”

  She wraps her hand around her latte glass, lifts it, then places it back down without taking a sip. A crease forms between her pale brows, and she sucks her bottom lip into her mouth again. When she finally looks up at me, a flash of understanding goes through her gaze. “Tyler,” she whispers. “Oh my God, it’s Tyler, isn’t it? Is that why he left?”

  “No, that’s not why he left. He didn’t know.” Still doesn’t. “And it doesn’t matter. My parents have been raising Jax like their own son.”

  “Erin, of course it matters. For Jax, for you. For Tyler.” She reaches across the table and grabs my hand, startling me. “It must have been hard for you.”

  “Yeah.” And God, my voice trembles. This isn’t good. I need some time to collect myself. Her kindness is breaking me. “Listen…”

  “Have you told him?”

  “Tyler? Not yet.”

  “God, I never imagined…” Tessa pulls back her hand and sighs. “This is much more complicated than it first looked.”

  Isn’t it always?

  “Girl… What are you going to do?” she asks.

  Tell Tyler. I should. I owe him that. I owe him the truth. “I’ll tell him. Just… not right now.”

  “Maybe he’ll love it. Maybe he wants to be a dad.”

  “Maybe.” I need to find out about his scars, on his body and mind. Learn why he left. Understand him. But after leaving him on the bathroom floor like that, will he even want to see me again?

  “And then?”

  “Oh God.” I sigh. “Enough interrogation and secrets unveiled for one day. Drink your coffee, and let’s have a look at your Spanish lesson. I don’t want to think about the mess that is my life any longer.”

  ***

  Next day I drive home to my parents. I leave Zane with my best wishes for his sister but without a chance to tell him I saw Tyler’s scars and ask what he thinks about them.

  I crank the music high—a CD of Rafe’s, punk rock booming through the speakers—and try not to think of Tyler. Not his gorgeous face, or his breathtaking body, his scars, his tats, the pain in his eyes, his refusal to talk and the way he kisses and touches me…

  Yeah, so not working.

  I lower the volume and focus on the road ahead. The thought of seeing Jax makes me happy. I miss my baby. I don’t see him nearly as much as I want, and I bet he misses me, too, although he’s content living with his grandparents and playing with the neighbors’ kids. Oshkosh is a quiet little town. After Tyler left, we moved there until I had Jax and stayed.

  Not that I could hide much. Our neighbors know Jax is mine, but they’ve been amazingly supportive. I think it’s because they like my parents, who are the most open-hearted people in the whole wide world.

  And their love… It has always made me look for the same. For someone to cherish me as they do each other.

  Tyler, my treacherous mind whispers.

  Yeah, that’s what I thought once upon a time. That he was the one for me. Then we fought so bad—and now I realize that was all my fault. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. All those pregnancy hormones wreaking havoc with my brain turned small things into unsurmountable obstacles, and my temper flared.

  What if he still is the one? I love him. He’s held my heart since I was twelve. I can’t just give up on him, not now that I’ve finally found him again.

  But what about Jax? What about what he deserves?

  God.

  I drive to the outskirts, through streets lined with tall trees, and park outside the house. It has a chocolate roof and big bay windows. The front lawn is trim and the fence a blinding white.

  Something inside me relaxes. I kill the engine and step out, slinging my small duffel bag on my shoulder and walking across the path to the front door.

  Then it opens, and a tiny hurricane hurls down the two steps of the porch and launches himself into my arms.

  “Jax!” I laugh as I drop my bag and lift him high into the air, then twirl him. “God, you’ve growing bigger every day. Soon I won’t be able to do this anymore.”

  Sadness stings my chest at the thought—when did my baby grow so much? His daddy would have been able to throw him up so high and then catch him so easily—and then happiness overtakes me again.

  I’m so lucky. So unbelievably lucky to have such a gorgeous, amazing little boy, such great parents… I can’t imagine a life without them.

  Tyler rises again in my mind—his violent dad, his dead mom, his scars, his estranged brother, and my breath catches. The thought of him sad, lonely and in pain is making my heart heavy as a stone.

  I let Jax drag me by the hand to the house. He’s chattering excitedly about one of his friends, a boy called Tom who lives across the street. I follow, letting his words wash over me, until he stops at the steps and turns toward me, his little face serious.

  “Mommy.”

  “Yes, Jax. What?”

  “Tom’s daddy came back. When is mine coming back?”

  Oh God. The blood drains from my face, and I shiver in my jacket. “Let’s get inside, baby,” I breathe. “It’s cold out here.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Tyler

  Fuck.

  That’s my motto this weekend, my goddamn mantra. Fuck everything. Fuck life. Fuck resolutions and decisions and bright ideas that come to nothing. I’m ready to pack it all up and leave this goddamn place where I wasn’t supposed to return anyway.

  Fuck it all.

  I knock down my shot of tequila—my tenth? Twentieth? Thirtieth? I don’t really know, and I don’t really care. All I want is to numb my mind, wash the thoughts out and crunch them under my boot.

  Is this what you want? What you came back for?

  Dammit. I need more tequila; what I’ve had obviously isn’t enough. I raise my empty shot glass and shake it at the bartender.

  The room tilts, and I slam my glass down, spreading my arms on top of the bar not to fall off my stool. Whoa.

  The bartender’s frowning at me. He grabs a towel and comes toward me, muttering under his breath. What’s his fucking problem?

  “More tequila,” I slur. Where’s my glass? I fumble for it on the bar, my eyes half-closed against the glare of the overhead lights.

  “Hey, hey.” The bartender grabs my hand and lifts it. “You’ve had enough. Here.” He wraps my hand in the towel.

  It’s only then I see the shards of the glass I smashed on the counter and smell the metallic tang of blood; can practically taste it on my tongue.

  The bar dissolves around me; I’m back in the basement, leaning against the wall, cable ties digging into my wrists, the stench o
f mold and urine overlaid with the sharp smell of spilled blood filling my senses. It’s dark and cold, and everything hurts. Open wounds on my chest burn like fire, and my ribs … Christ, my ribs are killing me with every breath I draw.

  Shit.

  I blink hard to bring the bar back into focus. Not the basement. I’m not there.

  Fuck. Pushing back, I stagger to my feet and try to locate the bathroom. The room spins. I head toward a door, and I faintly hear behind me the bartender talking. My stomach roils, and I push the door open.

  Cold air hits my face, clearing my eyes for a brief moment—I’m outside, on the street—and then I brace myself with a hand on the brick wall and throw up. Acid burns my throat as I cough and spit.

  Hands fall on my shoulders, and I twist and shove whoever decided coming close to me right now is a good idea. I draw back my fist. I’ll show the guy how stupid he is, thinking he can touch me.

  “Just making sure you’re okay,” the bartender says. “You left the towel.” He passes me the bloodied piece of cloth.

  Blood drips from my hand. I stare at the cuts in my palm. Remember more blood and pain.

  The bartender clears his throat, snapping my attention back to him. “Better get that checked. You don’t wanna leave shards of glass inside. Do you have someone to drive you home? Shall I call you a cab?”

  Clenching my jaw, I turn and go. I don’t need anything or anyone. I’m perfectly fine on my own.

  If I don’t fall on my face and crack my skull—which would suck balls, especially after remembering what broken bones feel like. So I hug the wall and put one foot in front of the other, carefully, swallowing bile as the sidewalk sways in my eyes.

  Motherfucking hell.

  Even if I wanted to call someone to come and pick me up—which I don’t, absolutely fucking not, because I’m just fine on my own—I wouldn’t have anyone.

  Brilliant move, Tyler. If you die here, nobody will even know where to find the body.

  The truth finally hits me. I slide down the wall, right there on the sidewalk, and lean my head back. I close my eyes and wonder if anyone will notice if I disappear into nothingness once more.