Tyler (9 page)

God, stop it.
I know exactly how he feels inside of me. And,
Christ
, I thought I remembered how good it was, but this… This is much stronger than I remembered. In every way. I don’t think I can handle it.

My lungs labor and my eyes sting. “Tyler… Talk to me.”

“I said I don’t wanna talk.”

I suck a deep breath. With shaking hands, I pull my skirt down. “Well, guess what? I need an explanation.”

He shakes his head. The pain in his eyes intensifies, radiates outward, and brings out lines between his brows and around his mouth. “It’s a time I don’t want to remember.”

“Why? What happened? Was it your dad?”

“Dammit, I don’t want to fucking talk about it!” His eyes flash.

I take a step back, startled, moving up against the counter.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He scrubs a hand over his face, and it hurts to see him so distraught. He’s so devastatingly handsome. So closed off and distant.

Which tells me how stupid this is, setting up my heart to be broken all over again. I can’t stay a moment longer, not after this.

I move to the door and unlock it.

“Erin, wait.”

There’s pain in his voice, and I glance back at him over my shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah, me too,” I whisper. “If you want to talk, you know where to find me. My phone number’s in your missed calls.”

He blinks at me. “That was you? You called me?”

“Who else?” My breath this time catches for a different reason. “Oh. Another woman?”

“It’s not what you think.”

Right. Of course not.
I square my shoulders and turn away. “See you around, Tyler.”

I’m already outside the bathroom, when he pushes past me and strides across the shop, opens the door, sending the chimes ringing, and is gone into the night.

Tyler

Fuck this.

I’m so worked up, I barely feel the biting cold as I hurry across the street without my jacket, only in my long-sleeved tee. I kick at a trash can as I make my way past shops and restaurants, then bang my fist against the wall.

Not enough.
Pain flares in the back of my eyeballs. My head throbs. This was a fucking mistake—coming back to Madison, agreeing to talk with Erin. Holding her. Kissing her. Tasting her. I’d been so perfectly happy for a moment… I never thought I could feel that way again. It was as if my past had fallen off me like a crust of old mud, leaving me free and light.

Then reality crashed back down around me. The look on Erin’s face when the last tremors left her body. Her plea to be told why I left. She may think she’ll understand, but I doubt it. She won’t understand why I never told her about Dad. The dark secrets, the nightmares, the drugs… None of it. She’s clean. Perfect. The only perfect thing left in my life, and I’m not gonna fucking sully it with the past.

Besides…
Four fucking years. I bet she moved on. I should never have touched her, but dammit, her smell, her skin, her face, her voice… She’s worse than drugs. She’s the real thing. The only real thing. And my body aches to be close to her as much as my mind latches onto the memories of her.

Coming to a stop, I reach down to adjust my painful erection. Her taste is still on my lips, sweet, the image of her, spread for me, so beautiful.

My body craves her, and it pisses me off that I can’t control the urge. Can’t control myself. Pills, ticks, rituals—all the things I need to keep myself in check. Just like Uncle Jerry.

Fuck.
Why do I feel the need to crawl on my knees to beg for her forgiveness? Why open myself up only to be pushed away again? I can’t forget the way she sent me packing four years ago, and although I know I fucked up, it hurt. Because she was everything to me. She was my safe place, my secret place. And I lost her even before I lost everything else.

My hands curl into fists and I let go, pummeling the brick wall in front of me, welcoming the sting in my knuckles. Right hook, left hook—just like dear Dad taught me all those years ago, in between punishments for being a bastard; not his own son.

Holy shit.
Leaning against the wall, I rest my brow on my forearm and struggle to draw breath. I’ve always fought to be in control and now it’s all spiraling away. I came here to talk to Asher and satisfy myself that he’s okay. But instead here I am, hitting a wall at full throttle.

I need something to take the edge off. I may have some pills stashed somewhere in my bag at home. Or maybe I’ll just take my bike for a ride—

Dammit, no!
I push off and scrub both hands over my face. I have to get my shit together. Have to keep my head straight until I do what I came here to do. I’m not a quitter.

I force air into my lungs, force myself to cool off and my traitorous cock to back the fuck down. Resisting the urge to count in my head, to repeat her name until the pressure lifts off my chest, I turn my steps back toward Damage Control.

***

Erin’s gone when I return to Damage, and the customers have left, too. It’s late.

Zane gives me one of his penetrating looks but says nothing as I close the books and turn off the computer.

“I need Asher’s number,” I mutter, since I’ve been thinking about it for days. Ash hasn’t come by the shop once so far, and I have to speak to him.

He grins lazily and folds his arms over his chest. “What you need,” he says, “is some ink.” He’s wearing a thin
Rammstein
concert T-shirt—the heating is cranked up high inside Damage—leaving his arms bare and displaying the colorful full sleeve tats that run down his forearms and circle his wrists.

“I have ink. Don’t need more.”

A dark brow lifts. “Got a tat? Where? Show it off, then. Customers are suckers for that sort of thing.”

I wince.

Ocean and Seth wander out of their booths and grab their stuff to go, but Zane remains planted there, in front of me, waiting.

“It’s on my chest,” I say, hoping to end this discussion. He can’t expect me to go around shirtless, can he?

“Lemme see.”

“No way in hell.”

“I promise I won’t squeal when I see your chest,” Zane says mildly. “It ain’t anything I haven’t seen before.”

Motherfucker.
“You sure?”

His grin spreads wider. “Now I’m intrigued. Come on. Shirt off.”

Dammit.
“I said no.”

Zane chews on his lip. “What do you have to lose?”

That stops me cold. Right, what do I have to lose? This is Zane, who barely knows me, and has been nice to me anyway. He gave me a job, for chrissakes. Didn’t ask anything about my past.

And yet… “And if I say no?”

He sighs, shakes his head. Then he’s suddenly inside my space, in my face, a hand fisted in my T-shirt, his lips pulled back in a snarl.

I blink, stunned at his speed.

“To get trust, you have to give it first, fucker,” he hisses. “And if you hurt Erin, I’ll trust
her
, not you—’cause you don’t give up an inch, do you? Keeping it all inside, all to yourself. Let the others see you, dammit. Let them understand you, if you want someone,
anyone
to have your back.”

“Nobody has my back,” I sneer, but his hand’s still bunched in my shirt, and my hands curl into fists.

He tsks. “Exactly my point, man.”

Jesus fuck.
Sweat pours down my back. “Get your hands the fuck off me, right now.” At least he isn’t holding me down—that would trigger more than just sweat.

He seems to read something on my face. He lets go, lifting his hands and taking a step back. “All right, man. I wasn’t trying to corner you. It’s just that… With Ash—Asher—it was the same. You Devlins keep everything inside, and it almost got him killed.” He sucks on the barbell in his tongue and runs his hands on the shaved sides of his head, agitated. “Don’t do the same. You’re the only family he’s got left, fucker.”

I swallow, my throat dry as the Mojave. Dammit, that’s below the belt, bringing up my bro and how I failed him.

Fuck.

Okay.
So Zane wants to see my ink. The ink is there to cover what I don’t want others to see. So what if he sees it? Let him lay eyes on the façade, the mask. The cover-up.

“Fine,” I say, the word grating in my throat. “It’s just a damn tat.”

I reach behind my head, grab a fistful of fabric and pull the T-shirt off. I do it slowly because, damn, he guilted me into it, and I don’t have to like it. I just hope he won’t look too closely.

Bunching the T-shirt in my hands, I deliberately look at him. I draw a deep breath into my lungs, hold it. “Seen enough?”

His eyes are widening. “What the fuck, Tyler?”

I shake my head and turn around. Quickly, I pull the T-shirt back on. So much for wishful thinking. “I’m outta here.”

“That…” He points a shaky finger at me. “Why? Why that word?”

“Because that’s what I am.” I grab my jacket and make my way out without looking back.

Letting him see was one more of those bad ideas I’ve had lately. He caught me off-guard with his comment about Ash. I shouldn’t have shown him.

Because that one word, etched into my chest in big, shiny letters is the essence of who I am:

Bastard.

***

The apartment is cold and dark. I close the door and lock it, then lean back and heave a breath. I glance at the bed. It’s after ten, and I’m dead on my feet. Not sleeping every night does that to you.

But I don’t want to even try to sleep. Between the nightmares and the chills, the nauseating aftermath, I’m better off awake.

My decision made, I open the windows, letting in the icy breeze, and pull on another sweater. Then I take my laptop out of its case. Time I did some of the online work I neglected. Might as well get on with it. There’s my promise to Ash, and the money that needs to be sent to his account every month. Can’t fuck this up.

Not like I fucked it up with Erin today.

Shit.
I sink into the rickety chair, plop my laptop on the table and boot it up. At least I got an internet connection now and that makes my life easier.

My email account contains three emails sent by the customer, asking when I’ll deliver his order. Grinding my teeth, forcing my tired brain to function, I get to work. My fingers fly over the keyboard—the same with which I touched Erin after so long, made her moan and close her eyes in pleasure—and…

My body tightens as the memory replays in my mind—this time fresh and real, not stitched up of old memories I kept locked up in my mind. She was there, with me, today.

Dammit, Tyler, focus!

Groaning, I rub my itchy eyes and continue, organizing my customer’s website, pulling up images saved on my hard drive and prettying it up. I learned how to do this from a friend of Uncle Jerry’s who used to come over and stay for days with us. Mark was his name. I never knew if he was just a friend to Jerry or something more, and I never found out. After Uncle Jerry died, Mark vanished from my life—a constant I should be used to, by now.

Anyway, working with the images helps me relax. My mind enters a kind of trance as I move pictures around and arrange categories and information. Creating order out of chaos. Peace.

It’s late when I finish. I’m frozen stiff, and my head’s pounding. A glance at the time tells me it’s almost four in the morning. My back protests when I straighten from my slouch and turn off my computer. I lick my dry lips—and Erin’s image flashes in my mind as if it’s been waiting there all along.

Maybe it has. The thought of her is always there, under the surface of my thoughts. Without her, the world is so dark. I’d forgotten how she lights up everything until I saw her again.

Damn.

The urge to take my bike and ride out of town hits me again, but in my state of exhaustion that’s a certain death sentence. Still, I consider it. I’m too tense to sleep, and the promise of night horrors isn’t a good incentive.

Maybe I can relax another way, relieve the tension in my body.

Erin.
Ever since the moment I kissed her, my body has been thrumming with desire. She tasted like candy. I want to kiss her again, wrap myself in her. She’s so intoxicating, and yet she feels so good, like home, a feeling I’ve almost forgotten.

I want her. Need her. So much it fucking hurts. My erection strains, trapped inside my jeans, the zipper making an imprint on it.

Fuck it.

I undo my fly and reach inside my briefs, curling my fingers around my hard cock. A groan of pleasure rises in my throat.
God.
Pressure and friction. It feels so good. I tighten my fist and pump my erection, my head falling back.
Yeah.

I can picture her sliding down between my legs, her dark hair loose and silky, her eyes wide, her lips parting. She’s naked, or maybe dressed in white lace that shows off her golden skin. She gives me knowing smile, one that tells me she knows what I like and she wants to give it to me. Wants to take care of me. She reaches for my dick with her small hand.

Another groan leaves my lips as my hand speeds up.
Yeah, baby. Erin…

But then I recall the anger on her face, the way she turned away to go, and I falter.
Shit.
Her image crumples, and no matter how I tug and stroke my erection, trying to get off, I can’t.

Fuck.
I don’t even get to have this anymore—a release through my fantasy of her. Damn this misery. I jump to my feet and throw the chair against the wall. It lands with a satisfying crash, falling to the floor. I pace up and down, running my hands through my hair, wiping them over my face.

I can’t. Can’t take this. Can’t relax, can’t sleep, no matter how tired I am.

Giving in, I grab my jacket and stride out of the apartment. I trudge down the stairs and step out into the cold, gray predawn. No sleep for me this night. I walk about aimlessly until I spot an open bar. Raucous laughter spills from inside, and rowdy music. Maybe I can drink until I forget. Maybe I can pick a fight and get knocked unconscious.

Either option sounds a damn sight better than my bed right now.

Erin