by Jo Raven
“What about you?” he asks. He has Dad’s eyes, but the rest of him is all Mom. He has her mouth, her nose, her brows. “Been okay since that night?”
I raise a brow at him. “What night?”
“At Damage.”
Oh that night. Damn. “Yeah, I’m great.”
“You’re not a good liar, Ty. You never were.”
Ash sees right through me, so I lift my beer and take a long drink. “Getting better.”
“Maybe you should see a doctor.”
I put my bottle down. “Talked to Rafe. He says I just have to slog along, exercise and eat. Keep afloat until the symptoms go away. Says a doctor can’t help me at this stage.”
Ash nods. “What about a psychologist?”
“Not sure.” I can barely talk to my brother, and I’ll spill my guts to a stranger?
“It helps,” Ash mutters, and I itch to ask if he’s seeing one, when he says, “Why do you think Dad left those boxes for us?”
My breath catches. The boxes with the teddy bear, the knife and the birth certificates. “I don’t know.”
I’ve thought about it. Is it Dad’s way of pleading guilty? Of giving himself in, even belatedly? Is it just a madman’s trophies—mementos of favorite moments?
“Do you think…?” He swallows. A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Am I like Dad?”
A loaded question. I know what he’s asking. Not about the physical appearance, that’s not what he’s worried about. His eyes are flat, his face blank, but his hands betray him, tearing at the label of his beer bottle, scrunching up the strips of paper.
“You’re nothing like Dad, Ash. Unless you started killing puppies when I wasn’t looking.”
He lets out a soft snort. “I’ve been thinking, you know, about what you said back at the hospital… What about your father? Who is he?”
My back stiffens and the muscles in my legs lock. “A boxer, ex-buddy of Dad’s. He wouldn’t tell me his name. I asked Mom, but she didn’t wanna tell me, either. I wanted to meet him, just to see what sort of guy he is. Moot point, I guess.”
Ash accepts this with a nod. “And Uncle Jerry... How was it, living with him?”
“It was okay,” I say carefully.
“You said he was crazy.”
Did I? “He was hooked on all sorts of pills. He was unpredictable and high out of his mind most of the time, so yeah...”
“Who cooked for you? How did you live like that?”
“A lady came by. I think she was from China. She didn’t speak English. She cooked and cleaned a bit.” I can see the house in my memory, the old wooden floors, the big windows and the porch, the verandas with the tree foliage rustling overhead, the clear blue skies. “I rarely saw Jerry. He spent most of his time locked up in his room upstairs, had his meals there, stayed far from everyone.”
Loneliness. Isolation. Silence that goes on and on.
This memory isn’t as bad as the one of the basement, but it was a long, dark time that went on and on, alternating between the highs of the pills and the depressive lows where I would curl on the floor like an animal and wish the earth would swallow me.
My hand’s twitching on the table, and my leg is bouncing. The urge to start counting is getting hard to ignore.
“Ty.” Ash is frowning at me. “You all right?”
I curl my hand into a fist to stop the twitching. “Look, I lived through that, okay? I lived through Dad’s craziness and Jerry’s absence. I’m here now. I’m...” I force a long breath into my lungs, hold it as long as I can before exhaling. “I’m doing my best, believe me, Ash.”
Ash is staring at me as if I’ve grown horns. This is a fucking disaster. I can’t even talk about my recent past without having a breakdown. What the hell?
“Hey.” Ash puts his beer bottle down carefully. “Listen... It’s okay.”
I blink at him, still trying to regulate my erratic breathing. Trying to understand what he’s saying.
“Talking about such stuff is hard.” Ash absently rubs his side, and I recall that’s the spot where he was sliced open by the thugs who attacked him a couple months back. “At first I didn’t want to talk about Dad and the beatings to anyone. Didn’t want anyone to see the scars or know I didn’t manage to fight back to save myself. That I held out hope that Dad would come back to his senses one day. I thought people would laugh in my face, you know? Make fun of me.”
I nod, because that’s my greatest fear when it comes to Ash—and Erin.
“Look, I know I didn’t give you a chance to explain at first. I was so fucking mad at you, I wanted to bash you head in.” Ash sucks on the inside of his cheek and looks away. “I know you don’t feel comfortable with me. Hell, I punched you last time. I won’t lie. I’m still mad at you, but I understand.” He blows out air from the corner of his mouth, clasps his hands together and stares at me long and hard, as if wrestling with something. Then he looks away. “I understand enough to realize things aren’t as black and white as I thought.”
Hell. Can’t remember the last time I heard him talk so much, or so fast. He sounds nervous.
“So what I wanted to say, man, we can just hang out and meet with the guys and Audrey and do stuff and... We can talk more about this later.” He pauses and exhales. “When you feel better. We have time. I mean, if you’re staying. Or visiting us again later. Are you... ? Hell, I don’t know what you plan on doing and—”
“Ash.”
His eyes flash up, and for a second, I see something in them that raises every hair on my body.
Fear.
He’s scared shitless. It’s not that he’s afraid of me, or even for me, I realize. He’s afraid I’ll vanish into thin air again.
Can’t blame him. Dammit, Zane said it: I’m the only family Ash’s got left. Sure, he has Audrey and his friends, but what if he needs me around, after all? Flaws and all, ticks and OCD and withdrawal symptoms and screaming nightmares?
Ash is chewing on the inside of his cheek again, and I resist an urge to tell him to stop. I also have an urge to get up and leave or put my fist through the table and let out my frustration.
Instead, I take another swig of my beer. “I don’t plan on leaving.”
Silence falls. The sounds from the nearby tables and the music fade. Ash is running a hand through his spiky hair, tugging as if he wants to rip it all out.
“Okay,” he finally says, barely audible. “Good. Yeah, that’s good.” He stands up, sending his chair screeching back. “Gonna grab us some more beers.”
I nod. I have a knot the size of Wisconsin in my throat, and I can’t swallow.
And Ash is just standing there, and I can’t hide.
“Hey, Ty.” There’s a tiny hitch in Ash’s voice, but his eyes are clear again when I look up. “Welcome back.”
Chapter Eighteen
Erin
It’s been two days since I last saw Tyler, since I jumped out of his bed and rushed out of his apartment, after going through the gamut of emotions—fear, relief, sadness, affection, love, attraction—and then the hottest sex of my life.
Why I ran?
Simple. I panicked. I was this close to blurting out the whole truth—about why I’d broken up with him and called him names four years ago, making him believe I never wanted to see him again. About how I felt then and how I feel now about him, how much I need him.
And about Jax.
I panicked because I still have no way of guessing how Tyler will react. A boy whose father was a monster. How will he feel when he finds out he’s a father himself? How will he feel about me for keeping this a secret until now?
Besides, I’m not the carefree girl he used to know. I’m a mother, and I have responsibilities, debts and expenses and a little boy I need to spend time with.
I know I’m only putting off the inevitable. I can’t hide Jax forever, especially not from Tyler. Rationally, I know it’s the sooner the better. The sooner I know Tyler’s reaction to the news, the easier it will be for me
to move on. The more time passes, the more attached I become to Tyler and the harder it is to accept whatever his decision will be.
Problem is, I’m so in love with him—have been from the start—that I don’t think there’s any easy way out of this. He’ll shatter my heart.
Which is why I’m procrastinating and keeping away, struggling not to think of him every minute of the day.
Obviously, I fail. I keep seeing his beautiful face, the hard line of his jaw, the soft curve of his mouth, his strong body... My thoughts are wrapped around him like cling wrap.
I find myself doodling during classes, tripping over things, forgetting my student’s Spanish subjunctive test at home and buying full fat milk instead of skim. Tyler used to love pancakes, and I pick up a box of mixture and syrup, before I remember I’m avoiding him. He used to like Mexican food, so I eye the avocados and tortillas.
God. I pay and leave for home as quickly as I can without running full out. Oh, yeah, Erin, you’re not thinking of him at all. Great job. Keep it up.
It doesn’t help that I’m concerned. Is he okay? Did he have another attack? Did he sleep well? Is he eating?
By the time I reach home in the evening, I’m a nervous wreck. Will he call me if he doesn’t feel well? After I ran away like that, I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t.
Crap.
I’d ask Zane for advice, but he still hasn’t come back to town and doesn’t answer my phone calls. So I call the only other person I think might know how Tyler is doing.
Rafe.
He answers on the third ring. I can hear music in the background. “Hey, Erin. How is it going?”
I tug on the hem of my sweater. “Just checking on you.”
“On me? Really?” I can hear a grin in his voice. “Are you sure it’s not this dark-haired guy who mans the front desk you want?”
Heat rises to my face. “Is he okay?”
Rafe chuckles. “Well, I haven’t been at Damage today and didn’t see him, but he seemed okay yesterday.”
I pace around my kitchen, relieved. “Great, thanks, Rafe.”
“Is there a reason you’re calling me to ask and not him? I have his phone number, if you want.”
Crap. “No, thanks, I’m good.”
“All right.” A pause. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, except for the fact that you can’t seem to keep your eyes or your hands off each other. The night he had the panic attack, he couldn’t breathe until he knew you were there. You dropped everything and ran to his side, stayed the night with him. And all this despite whatever mess in the past and the fact he was away for years. That’s something special.”
“What do you know about it?” I ask and it comes out so bitter it hurts.
“Oh, come on. I’m not Zane, okay? Not gonna go all philosophical and Zen on you. I’m a cynic. But I know special when I see it, that’s all I’m saying.” He chuckles, and I frown, wondering if he’s high.
“I just... need time to think.”
“His panic attack scared you, is that it? Or the fact he was an addict? He seems to think as much.”
Cold seeps into my chest. “What are you talking about? It’s not that.” It’s me. My secrets. My indecisions.
“We’re all addicted to something or someone,” Rafe mutters and disconnects, leaving me staring at my cell screen.
Can’t really argue with that. Not when I know I’m addicted to Tyler Devlin.
***
At night, I stare at the glowing stars on my ceiling. Fake, not real. I think I can smell Tyler, feel his warmth next to me. Phantom sensations.
I miss him so much it feels as if I have a hole in my chest. Why am I hesitating? If I’m worried about him not being worth the try, then why am I even thinking it? If I believe I’ll lose him over Jax, then what good is he?
I have to tell him. It’s not as if my heart will harden if I wait a few more days. And if he believes I’m disgusted by the panic attacks and his past, then…
What are you doing, Erin? What are you waiting for?
I turn on the light and pick up my cell phone. Midnight. Chances are Tyler is asleep—or maybe not…
‘You awake?’ I type.
The reply comes seconds later. ‘Yes. Wanna go for a ride?’
‘A ride where?’ I type and wait.
Two seconds later I get a reply. ‘Anywhere you want.’
Trying not to read more into the simple words, I type back, ‘Sure. When?’
‘Be there in 5.’
My heart is beating way too fast, and my legs tremble. Joy floods my mind at the thought of seeing him again. I jump up and open my closet. I stare at the sweaters, pants, skirts and blouses, and my mind goes blank.
How will I break the news to him? Just blurt it out? Ask him if he likes children first? Isn’t that lame?
I sigh as I put on my trusty old jeans and long black sweater and pull my hair back in a ponytail. Dive headfirst, girl. With Tyler, that’s the only way.
***
The helmet is heavy, and the cold pierces my jacket, but nothing can pry my arms from around Tyler. My gloved hands are splayed on his muscled stomach, and I’m pressed to his broad back as we ride through the night.
He takes us along Waunona Way by the lake and stops right on the shore. The breeze blowing over the water is frigid, and we stand among houses and gardens. He waits until I climb off his bike and take off the helmet before he does the same. Then he grabs my hand and leads me right to the water’s edge.
It’s quite dark out here. The house lights are off. A street lamp gives some light. The sky is relatively clear, full of stars—the real deal, not the fake ones on my bedroom ceiling. I haven’t looked at the sky in years. God, it’s so beautiful.
We stand hand in hand for a while, looking out at the lake.
“Have you been okay?” I finally ask, because it’s been on my mind, despite Rafe’s reassurances.
He nods and turns toward me, pulling on my arms until they rest around his neck. I don’t resist. His presence warms me like the sun, and it feels good to be pressed to his hard body and to see his beloved face.
I wonder why he’s brought us here. I wait for him to speak.
“Ask me,” he says, and it takes me a moment to process his words.
“About what?”
“Anything you want. Enough secrets, enough hiding. Ask and I will answer.”
I stare at him. I didn’t expect this. I’m the one who was supposed to be talking tonight. “Anything?”
“Anything.”
I inhale his scent and turn my head to look at the lake. “Tell me about Marlene.”
His shoulders tense. “I had it coming, huh?” He sighs. “I’ve… been with her a couple of times.”
I try to pull my arms off his neck. “Explain.”
“I’ve been with chicks over the years.” He grabs my forearms, then lets go, so my hands drop to his chest and stay there, splayed on his pecs. “I have rules. I never see them twice. Never kiss them. Never go down on them. Never get their phone number or give them mine.”
“And this one?” I don’t even want to say her name. “She has your number. She feels entitled to send you pics of her boobs.”
His jaw clenches hard. “A mistake. After all these years, I thought I’d relax the rules a little. She seemed nice and insisted. Came around where I worked in Chicago, said she didn’t want a relationship but wanted to sleep with me again.”
“And you said yes?”
A tick starts in his jaw now. He takes a step back. “I was lonely.” Wonder rings in his voice, as if he never realized why he was doing what he was doing until now. “You were gone to me.”
As he’d been to me. “Why didn’t you ever call me, email me?”
He turns back toward the lake. His profile is dark, the light is now behind him giving him a shadow of a halo. “When I left… I was badly hurt. Broken ribs and the long cut in my abdomen. Dad came down to the basement together with another o
f his buddies and cut the cable ties from my wrists and ankles. ‘I’m a good guy, see?’ he told me. ‘I let you live. Remember that.’
“I remember everything. Can’t forget. He didn’t say another word. He didn’t repeat his threats to keep me from talking, but he didn’t have to. His friend patched me up, sewed up the cut and taped my ribs.
“Then Mom… She kissed my cheek, packed me into a cab and sent me away in the night, with a plane ticket in my pocket and some cash. That was the last time I saw her.”
Holy crap.
“When Uncle Jerry picked me up, he didn’t take me to a doctor. He hated doctors. He lived alone on a sort of farm with chickens running about. He had no internet and no phone. No electronic gadgets whatsoever. He was cut off from the world, and so was I.” Tyler runs his hands through his hair, hunching over. “Jerry was addicted to all sorts of medication, mainly sedatives. Turns out he suffered some pretty bad trauma as a child and never got over it.”
“And he got you addicted, too.” I put a hand on his arm and he lowers his hands.
“He brought a friend to treat my bones and infected wounds. When I couldn’t sleep, or woke up screaming from nightmares, he gave me Valium. When I had panic attacks and couldn’t breathe, he gave me Xanax. For a year he kept me a prisoner in his strange world. When I asked for a phone to make a call, he gave me a pill. When I asked for internet, he gave me a pill. Couldn’t I punch his lights out and run? Sure. But the pills kept me in a sort of trance. I was doped. Drowsy. Slow. I couldn’t think clearly.”
I step closer. He lifts one arm and wraps it around me. I don’t want to hear more—and yet I want to know everything.
“Then what happened? How did you leave?”
He’s still and silent for a long while. A deep crease runs between his dark brows. His story is like a horror movie. “Jerry died. An overdose, a mixture of drugs. I found him in the back yard. The crows had already gotten to him.”
I shudder and burrow closer to him, resting my cheek on his chest. “I’m so sorry.”
“He left me his bike.”
“This bike means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”
He shrugs. “It’s all I own.”