Tyler (2 page)

I put the photo back into my wallet and bury my face in my hands. Can’t stop thinking of my high school girlfriend. Can’t stop wishing for drugs to take away the pain. Can’t stop thinking I have no one left in the world—no friends, no family who wants to talk to me. Asher won’t even look at me. Erin doesn’t even know I’m alive.

I’m cut off from the world. Dad saw to that. Then Uncle Jerry.

And then myself.

***

It’s late afternoon by the time I leave the apartment and walk around the block, trying to orient myself and get acquainted with the neighborhood. My plan is to look for a job like the one I had in Chicago—bouncer or waiter. The tattoo shop where Zane works isn’t far. I spot it, the lights of the storefront beckoning in the encroaching darkness.

‘Damage Control’, the name of the shop flickers in neon blue over the door.

I hesitate for a few seconds. Zane seems like a good guy, but I barely know him and he’s good friends with Ash. He must have heard the worst about me—and yet he didn’t seem mad at me at the hospital where they’d taken Ash. He even pleaded my case with my brother, asking him to hear me out.

And Ash refused.

Shoving my hands into my jacket pockets, I stride into the shop and study the designs taped on the inside of the glass. Butterflies, faces, skulls, hearts and swords. I’ve always been intrigued by tats and sport a few of my own, but nothing on display draws my attention, so I turn away.

“Hey!” The door opens and a guy steps out. “Wait.”

A tall, blue-tipped Mohawk, slanted dark eyes, arms covered in complete, colorful tat sleeves. Speaking of the devil... “Zane.” I halt where I stand, waiting to see what he wants.

He runs his hands over the shaved sides of his head. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

“Yeah.”

“Does Ash know you’re here?”

I grimace. “No.”

A pause in which we stare at each other awkwardly. The air is heavy, the clouds hanging low over our heads, dark like bruises.

“I just arrived,” I say, not sure why I feel the need to explain. “Today.”

He nods, glances back inside the shop. The breeze is frigid. “How long will you be staying this time?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Finding a job.” And Ash, but I’m not discussing that with Zane.

Another pause.

“Thinking of getting a tat?” he asks.

“Maybe.”

“Come in. Have a look around.”

Not sure this is a good idea, I’m about to refuse, when fat raindrops start pelting down. They splash on my head, and chilly water trickles down my neck.
Dammit
.

It won’t hurt to have a look at his designs, will it?

He steps inside, and I follow as the clouds release an icy downpour that blurs the outlines of the street and buildings. Dripping, I enter the quiet of the tattoo shop. There’s a tall desk manned by a pretty girl, her long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her skin is like coffee and cream.

Booths line the back of the shop, which is more spacious than I thought from its small street façade. The whirring of tat guns and soft music fills the air. A table stacked with magazines sits against one wall, flanked by a couple of bright orange sixties armchairs.

“Here.” Zane tosses me a blue towel, and I grab it reflexively. He gestures at my dripping hair. “Dry up.”

A puddle is forming around my scuffed black boots. I hesitate one more second before I rub the towel over my head. There was a time I wouldn’t have touched a towel I didn’t know was washed and bleached—but I’m better now.

I just have to keep telling myself that, even though lately I seem to be slipping again. Something I can’t afford. I’m supposed to be fine now, dammit. Have to be.

“Have a look at the catalogs.” Zane waves a hand at some thick folders on the counter. “Meg can show you specific designs if you have something in mind.”

The pretty girl, who must be Megan, shoots me a smile—a cautious tilt of her lips—and her dark eyes are curious.

Towel in hand, I walk over to her and open the first folder randomly. I should be going. It’s not like I have money for a tat right now, or that I’m even sure I want one. Sure, I’ve thought about it—lots I want to hide under patterns and colors, but now is not the time.

But before I can make my escape, Zane blocks my way and leans his hip against the counter, peering into the catalog.

“Got any ink on you already?” he asks, and although his gaze is on the designs, I have a feeling he’s studying me from the corner of his eye.

“Some.” Tats and scars. A name, a word, a picture. I rub my stomach, and then my chest.

When it becomes obvious I’m not gonna say anything more, Zane shrugs. “Many guys go for comic figures lately. Of course, most people who come here have something specific in mind, something that has a special meaning to them. A person or a symbol.”

I take a step back. There’s a smell in the stuffy air of the shop that rubs on the edge of my nerves. Sweet. Metallic.

Blood
.

Of course. It’s a tattoo shop. Lately all smells feel stronger, though, and suddenly I’m dizzy. I have to get out of here.

“I have to go.”

“Sure, no problem,” Zane is saying, and his voice seems to come from a distance.

Fuck
.
Not now
. I haven’t had an attack in more than a year. But my skin is itchy, my lungs labor and white noise fills my ears.

Maybe I’m due for one. Time to get out, like, right now.

But my luck has always been shitty. Through the din in my ears, I dimly hear a woman’s voice, vaguely familiar, calling Zane’s name.

I turn as if through water.

The woman must have just come in, because she’s holding an umbrella that’s dripping water all over the floor. That’s the only thing that registers apart from the heart-shaped face and large, dark eyes with flecks of green and gold. Eyes that are widening, and a small mouth that is now hanging open.

“Oh my God,” she breathes, taking a step forward and stopping. The umbrella falls from her hand and thuds to the floor. “Tyler?”

“Erin.” A face I used to know better than my own, a body I’d mapped with my hands and lips what feels like a thousand years ago. She hasn’t changed much—though I see her curves are fuller. Of course they are. She was fifteen in my memory. Now she’s nineteen, three years younger than me. Strangely, she also looks smaller, but I realize it’s me. I’ve grown taller over the years.

All blood drains from her face, but she doesn’t ask me anything—why I vanished from her life and where I went. I’m dying to know how she’s been, but the question freezes on my tongue when she claps a hand over her mouth and pushes past me, vanishing between the booths.

Leaving me breathless with the assault of memories. Her scent is all around me, sweet, just like so long ago. Has it really been four years? Holding her, kissing her, making love to her.

And then leaving, being without her, feeling hollow and empty and barely alive. I did try to find her online over the years, just to make sure she’s all right, but couldn’t. Either she doesn’t hang out on the social networks like most, or uses an alias I don’t know. Any email I sent her bounced back, and calling her was out of the question, for many reasons. Not least because she wouldn’t want me to.

“Hey, fucker, you okay?” Zane waves a hand in front of my face, and I blink.

“Yeah. I’d better go.”

Without waiting for his reply, I toss the wet towel on the counter and head out, letting the door of the shop slam shut behind me.

It’s still raining outside, and I’m instantly drenched once more. I barely notice it as I turn and start walking down the street, not knowing where I’m heading.

It isn’t until much later, when night has fallen, and I try to remember which way is to my new apartment, that I realize the panic attack never came.

Just like her photo, her presence stopped it in its tracks, and although I have no clue what that means, I have a feeling it’s something I ought to know, something important.

Erin

Locking the bathroom door behind me, I brace my hands on the granite counter, lean over the sink and bow my head. I feel light-headed. The room spins. Tears burn my eyes—tears of shock, relief and frustration kept back for way too long.

Oh my God
. Tyler is right here.
Can’t believe it
.

He’s back. The guy I gave my heart—and body—to, only to have him disappear without a word for four years, and that at a time in my life I needed him the most.

I take deep breaths and look up into the small oval mirror. It has a frame of shimmering stones around it that looks like a dragon’s scales. Zane’s work. I only came by Damage Control to give Zane the apartment keys he forgot to take with him. We share the apartment, and he’s been distracted lately. I wasn’t prepared for such a jolt.

My eyes are red and my lashes wet, although I’ve felt no tears leaking. I turn on the water and pat my hot cheeks.

A day hasn’t passed in which I haven’t thought about Tyler. Where he is. If he’s okay. If he’s alive. Nobody knew to tell me, and my internet searches didn’t help any. Asher denied knowing anything and I often thought he must be lying to me, that Tyler made him swear not to tell. That maybe he made a new life elsewhere, that he was with another woman, that he had a family.

The thought hurt, but it wasn’t the one that hurt the most. No, it was the fear that something bad happened to him. That maybe he died, and nobody was telling me. Stupid, I know. You can’t keep someone’s death a secret. Still I’d checked online for obituaries, and every time I was so glad I didn’t find his.

I missed him. His big smile, his rough voice, his strength. The way he looked at me like I was the most precious thing in the world. And God, he’s so sexy, sexier than I remember—his dark hair messy and shaggy, his chocolate eyes bright, his mouth, and that body...

Did Zane know Tyler was back? Why didn’t he say anything? I know that a month ago something happened to Asher—that his dad died and that he himself had been in the hospital for a few days—but Jax was sick, and I went to stay with him for a few days, until he got better. When I came back, Zane said Asher was fine and left it at that.

It all becomes clear. His dad dying and his brother almost following the same fate brought him back. He came back for his brother. Not for me.

Goddammit, Erin
. I wipe my eyes, smearing them with black eyeliner until I look like a vampire. The silver hoops in my ears glint as I study my reflection. I smooth my dark hair back.

Tyler’s alive. He’s okay. He’s here.

Who else but me would still cry over their high school sweetheart? Tessa always tells me I have to move on. It’s been four frigging years. And I have a great man in my life. But it’s not the same.

Can’t stop caring for Tyler. Can’t stop being angry at him for leaving like that, for never calling or texting. For hurting me so much I thought I’d die. I
had
wanted to die for a while back then.

Can’t go through this again.

And yet I need to see him, make sure he’s real, that he’s really here. Talk to him. Shake him. Demand answers.

Apologize to him.

Because before he left, we fought, and I called him horrible things. Told him I didn’t want to see him again. I fear he left because of my behavior and the guilt has been tearing me apart for so long. I was never able to take those words back, because right after our fight, he vanished into thin air. I was so stupid. I was out of control, and although I know now why, I can’t turn back time.

I run my wet hands through my bangs and smooth my frazzled ponytail. I look like crap. That’s not how I imagined meeting Tyler again. Of course, my mind painted thousands of encounters with him, none of which involved me running to the bathroom and hiding like a child from the one person I’ve longed so long to see.

I wipe my cheeks, doing my best to remove the black streaks of eyeliner, open the bathroom door and walk out. I scan the interior of the shop for Tyler’s tall, broad-shouldered figure.

He’s not there.

Gone, like smoke. Was he really here, or did I imagine him?

“Erin,” Zane calls, starting toward me, his Mohawk towering over the booths.

“Where’s Tyler?” I feel ready to break apart again, to shatter into a million pieces.

“He left. Hey.” Zane strides between the booths and grabs my hand. “Come here.” He steers me to the orange armchairs and pushes me down to sit. “You okay? Want a glass of water?”

“I’m okay,” I say automatically, sinking into the chair, my hands clawing at the armrests. “Did you...?” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Did you know he was back? Did you see...?”

I can’t formulate any coherent questions. This is all too much. Nothing could have prepared me for this moment, no matter how often I fantasized about it.

Zane squats at my feet and places his hands on my knees. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I think I have. Was Tyler here?”

He nods.

“You knew he was in town?”

“I saw him right after Christmas. He came when Ash was in the hospital, and then again for his dad’s funeral a few weeks later. I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

“It was years ago.” More words want to spill out, but I clamp my mouth shut.

“Something I should know, something he did to you? Do I need to go and bust his face?”

Zane means it, I know. He’s like my older brother, though he’s a year younger than me. He’d do anything for his friends, his adopted family, and somehow I’ve made it into that circle, despite my regular absences and occasional dark moods.

Despite the fact he thinks I should have treated Asher better than I have. Despite the fact I know he’s right.

“Nothing to know,” I mutter and my cheeks warm.

“I know he left four years ago,” Zane says, his eyes somber. “Ash had no idea where Tyler went until Christmas, when their Dad died, and Tyler came to visit.”

Oh crap
. Ash told me the truth all along, and I didn’t believe him. My whole face is burning now. I took out so much of my anger at Tyler on Asher. I have to say something.