Tyler (18 page)

‘
The brightest star.’

Tyler

Astride my bike, I wait for her reply as the seconds trickle by, turning into long minutes. I wait until dawn brightens the horizon.

She never answers. Never comments.

I look straight at her dark window. I see no movement inside.

There’s a strange pain in my chest, like a splinter being slowly shoved into my heart. Maybe it was foolish of me to tell her what I feel. What I want. She asked me, though, and this is my reply. Whatever the cost or the consequences.

I linger a bit longer, but I know I should go. The cops might arrest a creepy guy sitting on his bike on the street. I rev up my Ducati and consider my options.

Find my bed. Ride my bike out of town. Find a bar and drink myself stupid.

Option number two wins out. I ram the helmet on my head and ride aimlessly along the quiet road by the lakes. As day breaks, I see frost glimmer on the grass and fences. The cold is working its way into my bones, into my muscles, numbing the strange pain.

Looks like I found my answer and my goal too late. Maybe her question was meant only for me—to help me find my way, without any connection to her.

Four years. Four damn long years. Who would have waited for you?

Why did I think this was a good idea? Returning to my home town, trying to pick up where I left off. Thinking it was possible.

Enough. This isn’t cowardice. This is realizing when something isn’t working out, knowing when to step back and let Ash and Erin live their lives unburdened by me.

As the sky lightens, I know what I must do today.

Face my last demons. Clear my past. Make space for the future before I go.

***

I sit on my bike outside Dad’s—Jake Devlin’s—house. I don’t have a key, but I know my window has a trick with the latch. If the window hasn’t been replaced. Or the latch fixed.

Hell, I don’t want to get into that house. That basement. Maybe I don’t wanna face my demons after all.

But I know I have to. That basement has been haunting me for years. I can’t go on living like this. I don’t know if visiting it will change something, but know I have to give it a try.

I step off my bike and push the kickstand into place with my boot. It’s early afternoon. I passed by Damage, and Rafe told me the shop would be closed today to repair a leak that sprang overnight.

So here I am. Clouds move over the sky, casting the world in gray. I pull off my gloves and put them in my pockets, then wipe my hands down my jeans.

Damn.
It’s like going back in time. I’m a gangly teenager, hoping Dad won’t be disappointed in me today, won’t throw me suspicious looks and tell me for the millionth time that I can’t be his son, because I’m nothing like him.

Focus, Tyler. This is now. The past is behind.

Clenching and unclenching my hands at my sides, I stride to the window of my old bedroom. I run my fingers over the frame and reach up for the latch.

“You forgot to invite me,” a low male voice says from behind me, making me jump. “But I won’t hold it against you.”

I turn slowly. “Ash?”

His hair’s spiked up with gel, his pale eyes narrowed on me. He lifts a brow, challenging. “So what’s it gonna be? Are we going in or not?”

He’s going in with me? This doesn’t compute. “How did you know I was here?”

He shrugs. “Rafe told me.” He steps closer, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Need to pick up a few things?” Those pale eyes are on me. Asher always knew me too well. When we were little, he most often guessed my thoughts before I said anything.

“I need to… check out a couple of things,” I say, and there’s no hiding from that wolfish gaze.

He nods. “Okay. Let’s go check them out, then.”

The weight lifting off my chest is like the fucking Appalachian Mountains. Call me a coward, but going into that basement alone isn’t at the top of my favorite activities of all time.

I’d trust Ash to have my back anywhere, even in a nightmare. I can hardly believe he’s here.

I open the window and count on Ash to keep watch as I slip into the house. My boots thump on the old carpet, and I straighten, taking it all in.

The narrow bed with the yellow comforter. The shelves with science-fiction books and model motorbikes set against the far wall. Posters of old rock bands. Nothing has changed. It’s exactly as I remember it.

Then the memories slam into me. Of Mom sitting on my bed when I was little, reading me stories. Of Dad checking on me as I played. Ash, a tiny thing, following me around, grabbing my toys.

“Hey, Ty, you okay?” Ash has appeared right next to me, his brow furrowed.

“Yeah, I’m good.” My heart is like an animal trapped inside my chest, slamming against my ribs. “Let’s go.”

We step out into the corridor. Dust overlays everything. Big boxes stand in the living room.

Asher unlocks the door to the basement. “Dad always kept this door locked. I can’t remember ever being down there.”

I stop in my tracks. Cold sweat drenches my back.

“Is this a good idea?” Ash asks, his mouth flat. “You don’t look so hot.”

I don’t know. This could be the worst idea I’ve ever had, but at least I’m not alone. “Let’s go already.”

Ash says nothing but opens the door and steps through. I follow, the hairs on my arms rising like antennae.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.

What a goddamn stupid idea.

I tap my fingertips on my thighs—
three times
—take three steps, then stop. Just inside the door, on top of the stairs.

Goddamn rabbit hole.

“You coming, man?” Ash is staring up at me from the bottom of the stairs. He’s turned on the light, a bare bulb swinging behind him, and I force myself to keep going.

One step. Two. Three. One. Two. Thr—

Stop counting.

I reach the bottom, and Ash moves out of the way. Stench of musty furniture and urine, plus something sour that brings bile up my throat.

Swallowing hard, I willingly step into my nightmare.

Asher moves about, but I barely notice. Memories rise from the walls, from the floor. I can see Dad’s face, I can see the knife in his hands. His slurred words, taunting me, breaking me, echo in my ears.

‘
Bastard. Worthless. Retard. Freak. Mongrel. You pretend you’re mine, but you’ve nothing to do with me. You think I’ll let the world mock me? Let them know?’

The tape tore at my mouth as I tried to yell at him and his buddy to stop. My wrists hurt where the cable-ties held them bound to rings in the wall. My legs were taped from ankle to mid-thigh. My ribs burned with every breath. My chest…

“Ty. Hey.” Ash’s face is right in front of me. His hands are on my shoulders, shaking me. “Snap out of it.”

In memory time, he was barely fourteen, much shorter than me and less muscled. It’s a shock to see him stand as tall as me, staring me eye to eye.

“I’m okay.” I take a step back, and he lets go. I rub at the phantom pain in my wrists, stretch my fingers.

“You don’t look okay.”

I sidestep him, needing a second to gather my wits.

“What are we here to see?” Ash asks. “Let’s look at it and go, yeah?”

Sounds like a plan.

The old scars on my chest and abdomen itch, my lungs labor, and I press a hand under my ribs. You can face this.
There’s nothing here anymore that can hurt you.

Believe it.

In the corner of the room, there are stacks of beer craters and other junk, partly covered by an old green military blanket. My steps lead me that way without input from my brain. My thoughts have stilled like the waves on a windless day.

I know what is underneath. And yet it doesn’t feel real as I yank the blanket away and step closer to the hooks in the wall, the cut cable ties still hanging from them, still encrusted with my blood. The concrete underneath is brown with blood. Another blade, rusty and stained, has been left on the floor.

Blood everywhere. Dripping, sluicing, running, splashing—filling my mouth where I bite through my lip, squishing underneath me when I shift, filling the air with a sweet-sour stench that makes me gag.

“Dammit, Ty,” Asher mutters, grabbing my arm and dragging me away. “We’ve seen enough. Let’s get outta here.”

In a daze I let him pull me to the stairs and force my numb feet to climb. Then Ash is there, hauling me upward, toward the fresh air and the light. It feels like it takes an eternity before we are out and standing in the living room. I’m panting.

Ash looks murderous. He paces the length of the dusty room, stops by the sheet-covered sofa and shoves his hands through his hair. “Fucking hell, Ty. I swear I thought Dad was a bit unhinged, but this… This is totally sick, man. Did he…?”

He braces himself on the back of the couch and bows his head. He looks like he’s gonna throw up. “Did he do that often? Did he beat you? What else did he do to you?”

Still dazed, I back away until I hit a wall. “Roughed me up a bit from time to time. Not much.”

Not until he beat up my real father, got kicked out of the ring, started drinking more and began using me to vent his frustration. Not until that night from hell when he dragged me down to the basement.

“Why didn’t you say something about the beatings?” Ash stares at me sideways.

“He wanted to hurt me. Had nothing to do with you. I wasn’t gonna drag you into that and get you hurt.”

“Fuck.” Ash kicks the sofa and turns toward me. He jabs a finger at me. “You don’t get to make such a call. How old were you when he started?”

“Seventeen. He rarely lost control before then.”

“Fuck.”

I shrug. “He always had a beef with me. Always thought I wasn’t his. Turns out he was right.” I rub my chest, try to regulate my breathing. “Never thought he’d touch a hair on your head. You were perfect in his eyes.”

Ash gives a sharp bark of laughter. “That sick asshole. Well, after you were gone, you were the perfect one, and I was the worthless bastard.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Fucking psycho.”

But he looks devastated. I can read his face—he hasn’t changed so much. Until now, he believed Dad could be saved. That drinking could explain his behavior. That maybe if he was good and patient and took it without a word, Dad might stop.

I thought that once, too.

“Ash. Let’s go.” I push off the wall and in my turn haul my brother out of there. “You shouldn’t have come. This was my thing.”
My nightmare. My demons.

“Bullshit,” he mutters. “I had to see this, too. Had to know, man.” He shoots me a pained glance. “Had to understand.”

“And do you now?” I growl as I open the front door and lead us out into the fading, weak sunlight.

“I’m starting to,” he says quietly. “Goddammit, Ty, I’m starting to.”

***

Ash splits as I climb on my bike, but not before he tells me we should meet for drinks during the week. I look at him go, pretending to fiddle with my gloves.

When I judge Ash is far enough not to see me, I slump forward and draw a breath, then let it out slowly.

Christ.
I can’t fucking believe it. After all this time of doubt and remorse, I have my little bro back in my life. Granted, it’s baby steps, but steps nevertheless. Hell, I’ll go drink acid with him, if that’s what he asks of me.

Plus, I survived the visit to the past. Yeah, so my heart may still be racing and cold sweat has stuck my shirt and sweater to my back, but I walked out and I’m still alive. Haven’t gone raving mad, either.

That’s no small victory. After years of dreading this moment, it’s now over and done with.

Is it now?
a voice mutters in the back of my head.

I scratch my cheek. I need to shave. Need to put myself back together. I feel itchy all over, scattered. Victory or not, seeing the place where my dad tortured me isn’t doing any wonders for my mental state.

Shoving the cell into my pocket, I pull on my gloves and helmet and head home. I open the door to my apartment and wince. Bare, cold, impersonal. Like my life.

I open the windows anyway and sit at my laptop. Lots of work left to do, and I see a couple new emails from customers requesting I design their websites. Timing is good. I don’t have to work at Damage tonight.

Yet my brain refuses to oblige. I can’t concentrate. My thoughts circle from Ash to the basement, and from the basement to my past, and from there to Erin. Always coming back to her.

Fuck this. I can’t sit still right now. I’m full of nervous energy, and I need to spend it before I start breaking stuff.

I end up on the floor, doing push-ups, sit-ups, crunches, you name it. Pushing my body as much as I can, sweating out useless adrenaline. Dad taught me how to exercise. He had this idea I would follow in his footsteps in the ring. That was until he decided I wasn’t his son and didn’t deserve to be trained by him anymore.

Fuck him anyway. I survived. I came back.

Shit.

I stop in the middle of a push-up, my middle cramping. Maybe I’ve done enough. I’m dripping sweat, and my every muscle trembles. I shower, and then I emerge with a towel around my hips in search of clean clothes. I pull out my last clean T-shirt and underwear, and tell myself tomorrow I’ll go to the laundromat and then buy food. Fix this place. Put order to the chaos.

Weren’t you going to leave?

Hell.
Returning to my laptop, I manage to put in some hours of work. Next thing I know, I’m frozen stiff, and my vision is blurry. My body aches with the need to rest, and the throb behind my eyes tells me I can’t put it off any longer. I have to crash, come what may.

And come it does. As I twist and turn, tangled in the covers, blood drips from the walls, pooling on the floor. Shadows detach themselves from the walls, mouths open, a low howl rising in the quiet. I try to get up, but I can’t, invisible hands holding me down, nailing me to the mattress, and all my old wounds start to bleed and bleed, drenching the sheets.

I sit upright, my mouth dry, a scream dying on my lips.

Fucking hell.
My heart hammers inside my chest, with painful beats. I press my hand to my ribs, trying to keep it inside. I still see red, and I blink until the blood disappears from the walls and my sheets.