Under Pressure (Lessons Learned Book 1)

by Smartypants Romance

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  I laugh, the sound slightly hysterical even to my own ears. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

  He frowns, opening his mouth to say something else but I cut him off. “I have to go, I have another exam.” My stomach clenches at the lie, but I need to get out of here. It’s not doing any good for my mental well-being standing here talking about Tyler if I don’t have to.

  “Okay, see you,” he says and I nearly laugh again. There’s no reason we’d see each other again, unless we happened to run across one another on campus like this. I won’t be going back to Tyler’s house or the gym. That part of my life is… over.

  I walk away quickly before the tears threatening my eyes escape, toward the direction of the lot I’m parked in, berating myself on the drive home for caring this much. We were never even dating. So why does it feel so awful?

  I spot Muffin’s mom at the mail center at our apartment complex and quickly decide to pick up my mail another day. I don’t need her asking about Tyler too.

  I walk through my front door, the decadent smell of vanilla hitting my nose as soon as I cross the threshold. I glance around, the place spotless. Carpet vacuumed, dishes washed, living room neat and tidy. What the hell happened in here? Did I clean in my sleep or something and not remember it?

  Kelsey’s bedroom door opens, a pleased grin on her face. “Do you like it?” She spreads her arms wide and twirls, showcasing the apartment. “I cleaned.”

  I set my backpack down on the dining room table. Wow, I can actually see the surface. “It looks amazing.”

  “I did everything you asked me to do. I even got a candle to make it all nice and homey.” She grabs my hand and leads me over to the coffee table, where she leans over and takes a big whiff of a French vanilla-scented candle.

  I take a seat on the couch, gazing in wonder around me. She sits down on the other side, appearing more serious now. “I’ve thought a lot about what you said. You’ve been a crutch for me and I’ve been relying on you too long.” She twists her fingers together in front of her, clearly nervous. I’ve never been so firm with her as I was the other week, though. “I was complaining to Mom and she reminded me how much you’ve always done for me. I haven’t been holding up my end of the roommate responsibilities and I’m sorry.”

  I grab one of her hands, squeezing lightly. “Apology accepted.”

  “I promise I’ll keep up with the chores. You’re my oldest friend and I know we’re not as close as we used to be, but I still care about you. I don’t want to lose you over something so stupid as not doing the dishes.”

  I nod, leaning forward to pull her into a hug, her hair tickling my nose.

  “I’m going out tonight,” she says excitedly. “Element is running a special ladies’ night. Drinks are free for us. Wanna come?” And be her designated driver? No, thanks. I swear, since she turned twenty-one, she’s become a real lush.

  “I think I’ll stay in.”

  “But it’s officially spring break now! It’s time to get crazy.”

  “Get crazy for the both of us.” I pat her hand and get up, heading into the kitchen to see what I can make for dinner.

  “Okay, well, if you change your mind, just call me.”

  “Are you going with friends?” Despite our differences, I still worry for her out there, drunk and vulnerable, easy prey for anyone wanting to take advantage.

  “Yeah, I’m covered.” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “I don’t need another mom concerned about my life choices.”

  Yep, that’s Kelsey.

  I wake out of a half-dozing sleep at the sound of my phone. God, I hope it’s not Kelsey asking me to pick her up. Please let her friends be the ones to take care of her for a change.

  I wince as I turn on my bedside lamp, fumbling for my cell, the light blinding me. I squint at the display and nearly drop it when I see who it is.

  Tyler.

  “Hello?” I ask tentatively, unsure if it’s really him. Why would he be calling me in the middle of the night? I glance at my clock and— Oh, it’s only eleven. I’m just that lame on a Friday night.

  “Mia.” His voice is soft and warm, the sound of it like a cozy blanket, lulling me.

  I sit up further in bed, grabbing an extra pillow to stuff behind me, still trying to wake. “Yes?”

  “I miss you.”

  I blink rapidly. “What?”

  “I miss your hair,” he sighs, as if that explains what exactly is happening right now. “It’s so curly. Like those Medusa snakes.”

  Um, what?

  “And it smells so good. You smell sweet all the time. Like the desserts you bake. I miss those too.”

  “Tyler, what are you—”

  “And you always seem so happy to see me. No one but Riley’s ever glad that I’m around. Mom acts like it, but I know I ruined her life.”

  My heart breaks a little at the sadness in his voice, but I don’t interrupt. I have no idea why he’s calling and saying these things, but if he’s actually opening up, there’s no way I’m stopping him. It’s all I wanted in the first place.

  “I miss the look in your eye when I challenge you. You transform into this other woman… God, I can’t get enough of her. And I think you only show her to me. That’s what makes it even hotter.”

  He slurs the last word, and that’s when I finally make the connection. “Are you drunk?”

  “I’m fine,” he insists, but yes, there’s definitely a slur. No wonder he’s saying things he’d normally never admit. Did he perhaps go out to ladies’ night too?

  “Where are you? Do I need to come get you?” I toss off the covers, searching for my jeans on the floor. For some reason, the thought of going to rescue him doesn’t annoy me as it would with Kelsey. Probably because he never shows any weakness. Never needs anyone. Especially me.

  “See, that’s what I love about you. I’m an asshole to you and you’re still so fucking nice.”

  I swallow heavily at his mention of love. I can’t take anything he’s saying seriously, though. He’s drunk off his ass.

  “That’s why I couldn’t be with you, you know? You wanted us to be equals. But we’ll never be that way. You’re too good. And I’m an evil Slytherin. A bastard. I’m only good at breaking things.”

  “None of that is true, Tyler.” I hold the phone between my ear and shoulder, attempting to put on my jeans and make sure he doesn’t hang up. “Do you need me to come get you?” I repeat.

  “No, I’m at your apartment.”

  What?

  I rush to the door and open it, but he’s not there. “Where are you?”

  “In my car. Ethan started hounding me earlier at home about you, so I left to escape him. I started driving, but all I could think about was what he said.”

  “What did he say?” I pull on my shoes as he’s talking and grab a sweater, walking out to the parking lot.

  “That I was making a mistake ending things with you. I tried explaining that we were never anything to begin with, but he didn’t believe me. I don’t think I believe me either.”

  I search the lot and finally spot his Camry, him sitting in the driver’s seat, his eyes closed and head leaning back against the headrest.

  “So then I thought I should come over and talk to you, but I needed some liquid courage first, so I stopped and got some whiskey at the liquor store. I parked here and started drinking, but I think I went overboard because I can’t seem to get out of the car now,” he rambles.

  I knock on the window and hang up the call. He looks over at me, his eyes glassy. I open his door and crouch down so I’m eye level with him. “Do you want to come in?”

  He nods and then closes his eyes as a look of pain crosses his face.

  I somehow miraculously get him out of his car through sheer willpower, his big body leaning heavily on me. Jesus, how much does muscle weigh? Once I have him upright, he seems to be a little better but still uses me as support to get through my door. “D
o you want to lie on the couch?”

  He leans against the wall leading to the kitchen, watching me, heat behind the haze in his eyes. “I want to lie in your bed. With you. Feel your soft skin against mine. The way you sigh for me. Moan for me. How you curl yourself against me, your hand on my chest. I’ve never cuddled with a girl before you.”

  I let out a weak chuckle, astounded. How much would I have loved to hear that the last time he was here? Was there more than just alcohol in whatever he drank? Maybe some kind of truth serum?

  “Tyler.” I shake my head, blocking out his wonderful words. “You can’t just show up here and say things and expect it to make everything from before magically go away. Especially not drunk.”

  He turns and shuffles into my bedroom, using the wall as a guide to support him, and sits down on the edge of the bed, holding his head in his hands. “I’m sorry.” When he looks up, there’s moisture in his eyes.

  Is it wrong of me that I wish he’d drink more often if it has him confessing things, apologizing, showing real human emotions?

  “Here, take off your shoes.” I bend down in front of him, helping him remove them. When I look back up, he reaches out a hand slowly, brushing his knuckles along my jaw. I close my eyes, containing a shiver, and stand again, stepping away. “Just go to sleep and we’ll talk in the morning.”

  He nods, looking contrite, and scoots back on the bed, getting under the covers.

  I grab my extra pillow and a spare blanket out of my closet, turning to head out of the room.

  “Where are you going?” he asks, sitting up suddenly. He winces, grabbing his forehead at the too fast movement.

  “To sleep on the couch.”

  “Sleep with me.” His voice is pleading, so unlike his normal self. “Just sleeping. I just want you next to me. No—no touching.”

  I stare at him, knowing it’s wrong, like I’d be taking advantage of him, but walk back over anyway, longing for my comfortable mattress rather than the lumpy couch. I grab my pajama pants off the floor and turn off the light, slipping off my jeans to change into them. Not that he hasn’t seen me half dressed before, but it feels different now. I cautiously lie down, pulling the covers over me, and face him.

  In the dim light coming from my window I see him watching me, his gaze tender. “I never told you how beautiful you are. I thought it a million times, but I never said it.”

  I close my eyes, a pang going through me. “Tyler…”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll be quiet.”

  He shifts under the duvet, silent while I breathe him in, the masculine scent both calming and exciting me. Will my pillow smell like him tomorrow?

  “And I never said how smart you are,” he picks up again. “And how—”

  I cover his mouth with my hand, his breath tickling my palm. “I need you to say these things in the morning. When you’re sober. They don’t mean anything otherwise.”

  He puts his hand on my wrist, bringing it down until he can interlace our fingers. “I’m afraid I won’t have the courage in the morning,” he whispers, his words hardly slurred now.

  “Good night, Tyler.” I let go of his hand and turn over, trying to block his presence out, repeating relaxation techniques over and over in my head until they finally work and I drift off.

  I wake once during the night to find his arm slung over my middle, his front pressed tightly against my back, our legs intertwined. I can’t recall ever being this comfortable, his body heat warming me through, so safe and snug in his embrace.

  It feels too good to make a big deal out of and I sleep easily now, breathing him in.

  But when I wake in the morning, he’s gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Tyler

  I make the last turn to Brandon’s house, double-checking I have the correct address before I pull in the driveway and turn the engine off. I’ve only been here once before, about two years ago when he and his wife first bought the home and had a housewarming party.

  I rub at my temples, the residual effects of my hangover still lingering.

  I’d gotten drunk on purpose last night. Not only to drown out Ethan’s badgering, as I’d told Mia, but because I knew if I let myself lose control, I’d call her. I’d wanted to call her. Hear her voice, no matter what it was saying. Anything is better than this polite silence I’ve been enduring.

  I understood perfectly well beforehand what I would end up telling her, I just needed an excuse to say it. Needed to release everything pent up inside.

  Boxing isn’t cutting it anymore. I’m there at Marty’s every night, punching the bag, working with Ethan, even training with Lawrence, solely as a reason to be there so often.

  But even after confessing all those things to her, I still couldn’t face her this morning. I left as soon as I woke, my body wrapped around hers, comfortable enough in sleep to accept from her what I can’t when I’m awake. Her warmth, her comfort. Her loving, giving nature.

  I don’t know what I would have done if she’d accepted everything I said at face value last night. Thank God she’d been an adult about it all. If she hadn’t been thinking clearly, acted responsible about it all… what would have happened?

  “Tyler,” Brandon exclaims happily as he answers the door of his house. “I actually get to see you this often? What’s going on?”

  I take the joke in stride, biting back the sarcastic comment that initially arises. He’s got a fair point. I usually avoid weekend dinners at my parents’ house if I can help it, choosing to stop by on weeknights when he and Dylan are sure not to be there.

  I just hate being reminded of how I ruined their childhoods, breaking up the family like that.

  But they both seemed pleased to see me at Mom’s birthday party. Brandon even went so far as to follow up with a text actually inviting me over to his house for dinner, like he said he would. I’d assumed it’d been an empty promise.

  And when I received it, all I could think of was Mia’s question during the car ride home from the party. Why would they go out of their way to include you? I used to assume it was out of obligation.

  But maybe not. So I’d accepted.

  “Hi, Tyler,” Brandon’s wife, Rochelle, greets me as I walk into the living room. She’s already settled on the couch, a blanket over her lap.

  “You want a beer?” he asks me. “Or wine?”

  “Oh, can you get me a glass—” Rochelle asks, then stops herself, pausing mid-sentence. “I mean, never mind.” She makes an absentminded gesture rubbing her hand over her stomach and I glance sharply at Brandon, who notices it too, his eyes shining.

  “Is she— Are you?” I stutter, unable to actually form the question.

  He nods, excitement bursting from him. “We found out earlier this week.”

  Rochelle looks between us in dismay. “Oh, shit. Did I spoil the surprise?” Her eyes widen and she abruptly covers her mouth. “Oh, no, I’m not supposed to curse. Can the baby hear cursing yet?”

  “Relax,” he says, sitting down next to her, putting an arm over her shoulders. “The baby’s like the size of a bean right now. It doesn’t understand what you’re saying. It probably doesn’t even have ears yet,” he laughs.

  She puts her hands to her cheeks, slumping down in her seat. “I’m going to mess this baby up before it’s even born.”

  Rochelle’s the most put-together person I’ve ever met. If she’s worried about messing up a child, there’s no hope for the rest of the population.

  “You’ll be great,” Brandon assures her. “We’ll have Uncle Tyler here to help out too.” He winks at me.

  I stumble toward the other side of the couch, my legs suddenly weak. Oh, God. I’m going to be an uncle? Rochelle pats my back, calmer now that someone else is freaking out.

  Brandon laughs at me as I blow out a long breath, sticking my head in between my knees. “Ty, you’ve done great with Riley. You’ll kill at the uncle gig too.”

  I glance over at him, pausing when I realize he’s right.
But I’ve barely been a brother to him. Why would he want me to be an uncle to his child?

  “Can you hand me the album off the bookcase?” she asks, which Brandon dutifully gets up to retrieve for her. “I want to show Tyler.”

  “We should do one of those weird mashups of our faces to see what the baby will look like,” he says as he hands it to her.

  She shudders. “God, no. Those things freak me out.” She flips through the pages, the pictures seeming to go in chronological order starting with Brandon as a baby, then Dylan joining in. “I asked your mom if she had a family album because I wanted to look at Brandon’s baby pictures, but all she had was an old shoebox with a bunch of loose photos in them. So I made this for her.”

  She settles on a page with us three boys at some water park, me at about ten years old, Brandon fifteen. He and Dylan have sunburned faces, their golden hair shining in the bright sun, my tan skin and dark hair in contrast next to them. All of us are squinting too much to see the identical blue of our eyes, though. “I found this one of you three. One of the very few with you in it. The only one with you smiling,” she laughs. “You’ve always been a grouch, haven’t you?”

  I rub the back of my neck, embarrassed for some reason at her assessment of me, even if it’s the truth.

  “Why are there so few pictures of you?” She looks curiously at me, the expression mirrored on Brandon’s face. Like he doesn’t know. Is he just pretending for her?

  “I was… never really part of the family.”

  “What?” Brandon laughs. When I don’t return his smile, he becomes more serious. “What are you talking about?”

  I take the book off Rochelle’s lap and flip through, pictures of Brandon and Dylan dominating the pages, and towards the end, ones of Riley replacing them. I stop on another one I’m in, taken some Christmas morning. Dan must have shot it, because he’s not in the photo, and in it everyone is gathered on the floor around the tree, opening presents, laughing. Except for me. I’m in the background on the couch, a book in my lap, scowl on my face. If not for me, it would be some Nordic holiday tourism ad with everyone’s blond hair and happy faces.