by L.J. Shen
“Eight messages, four missed calls.” She glances at her phone, sitting in front of the vanity table and straightening her perfect hair. “Do you want me to answer it next time and tell him to piss off?”
“No. Let him squirm.”
I hear a firm rap on the door and cover my face with my forearms. Izzy shoves her chair as she gets up to answer.
“Who is it?” Izzy sing-songs.
“It’s Tyler. Get Blaire.”
I put the pillow over my head and hear Izzy’s heels clicking in my direction. He found out. How did he find out where I stay?
“No,” I say flatly underneath the pillow.
“He sounds crazy worried,” Izzy says carefully.
“Well, I'd be even crazier if I decide to listen to his excuses. No, Izz.”
The banging on the door becomes louder and firmer, and it’s distracting me from wallowing in self-pity.
“Blaire, open the fuck up. Let me in.” The urgency in his voice makes the hair on my skin stand up. I’ve never heard him so…panicked?
“He sounds desperate. I should open the door.” Izzy chews on the corner of her lip, going back and forth. She is wearing a canary yellow Vera Wang.
“Don’t open the door. He won’t strangle you. I will,” I warn.
“Fuck, Blaire, fuck!” He punches the door hard.
I hear a door open down the hallway. I hope it's not my parents. Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s someone else. Just because someone is yelling their daughter’s name, doesn’t mean it’s them. Have faith, Blaire.
“Excuse me?” I hear my mother asking Ty, and by the low, throaty coughs, my father is by her side.
Screw you life, we’re done.
Izzy yanks me by the elbow and we both shoot to the door, she is placing her ear against the cool wood to hear how this one plays out. I wince, hoping he isn't going to make more of a jackass of himself.
“Mr. and Mrs. Stern, right?” Ty's tone goes down a notch. “Not the kind of introduction I wanted to have with Blaire’s parents. I’m her boyfriend, Ty.” He presents himself assertively. “What I’m about to do here is going to get you worked up, so let me start by promising I’ll try and change your mind about me after this crisis is over. Obviously, I’ll pay for the damage too.”
I can feel his presence on the other side of the door. The heat. The passion. But also the man who fucked me over and kept me in the dark about him humping HUNDREDS OF WOMEN FOR CASH AND CAREER OPPORTUNITIES.
“Blaire, Izzy, open up in five seconds or I’m breaking this shit down. Five.”
Izzy’s eyes bug out at me, and I shake my head no.
“Four.”
Izzy takes a step back, and I roll my eyes at her. As if…right?
“Three.”
Izzy grips me by the midriff and tugs me away from the door.
“Two.”
Her eyes are pleading for me to give him a chance to explain himself. That I should at least open the door. I can’t. The guy did enough damage already. Why are we even having this eye conversation?
“One.”
Silence. I huff and shoot her an “I told you he won’t do anything” sneer, when the sound of shattering wood fills the air. I gape as I see Ty’s foot in the air. His kick has sent the door flying open and cracked its frame.
Holy Moly Guacamole.
Ty storms into the room and picks me up like a caveman, draping me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He pivots back to the door and marches out wordlessly. I notice my parents standing in the hallway, downright stunned. Shouldn’t Dad be fighting him off? Well, he doesn’t.
Izzy follows us while Mom follows Izzy. Then Dad snaps out of his stupor, rushing furiously after all of us. We’re a chain of crazy people running down the hallway of a Vegas hotel, and we stumble upon half-eaten room service trays and the bewildered stares of other guests.
“Is he really her boyfriend?” I hear Mom panting to Izzy as they try to catch up with Ty’s long stride.
“Yes. But she’s not talking to him!”
I can barely see any of them from my angle, as most of the view I get is of Ty’s tight ass and shoulder tattoos. He is not wearing much. Black sports shorts and a sleeveless top. Is it wrong that I love the scent of his sweat, especially now, after everything that happened? I know it is, no need to answer that.
“Should I call the police?” Mom asks.
“No, he’s not going to do anything to her. If anything, she’s the one who is in bitch-slap mode,” Izzy says. “Where are you taking her, Ty? She’s wearing a vintage Valentino. Can’t you kidnap her in one of her signature Target sweatpants or something?”
“Thanks, Izzy.” I send her two thumbs up, because lifting my head after all the alcohol is a bad idea.
“Sorry, sissy.”
Ty stops at the end of the hallway, puts me down in front of the elevator and presses the button.
He palms my cheeks, storm in his black eyes.
“Take me to Shane’s room before I kick open every door in this place,” he demands. I’ve never seen Ty so agitated.
Is that what this douchebag cares about? Retaliation?
I put on an indifferent mask. "How did you figure out I was in Vegas?"
He reaches for his pocket, taking out my iPhone cover—a hipster cat with a trendy hat and Harry Potter glasses. Pointing the cover at me, he arches one brow. Yeah, I kind of gave myself away the minute I threw my phone in the parking lot of The Heat.
"Shane didn't tell me anything about you," I say. It's a lie, but I'm done playing fair. He fed me enough lies to last for a decade. “I heard you talking with that Ray guy.”
Ty throws his head back, looking both pained and frustrated. "Stop covering for him, Barbie,"
I squint my eyes in annoyance, turning back toward the hallway and marching my way back to my room. He grabs my wrist, pulling me into his chest.
“Please get mad at me, Blaire. Kick me, punch me, curse at me, break shit. Throw me in the fucking doghouse and let me pay for what I’ve done. But please don’t walk out on me. I can't change my past, but we can change my future.” He closes his eyes, sighing in despair.
My family is still watching us like it’s a Broadway show.
My ego is wounded. My heart is smashed. This has got to be the worst thing I’ll ever have to do. I shrug and purse me lips. “Sorry, Ty. Shane was right. You and I are just too different to be together.”
Ty’s facial expression shifts back to frustration as the elevator arrives and two seniors smile in our direction from inside.
“Going down?” the woman asks.
“Yep.” Ty pulls me inside with him.
The silver-haired couple exchanges knowing glares. They know who Ty is.
“Wilder! We bought tickets for your fi-—” the man starts.
Ty cuts him off, completely focused on me. “I'm done hearing about this guy filling your head with bullshit about me. He has an agenda, and I’m going to make him admit it. You're going to see it now.”
“Don't shoot the messenger, lover boy. We both know that what Ray said was true." I refuse to spell it out with a pair of avid fans listening. The old couple are staring from him to me, wide-eyed. "Anyway, good luck with your plan. I don’t even know what room Shane is staying in.”
Ty’s phone beeps with a text message. He frowns at it briefly. The elevator door pings open.
“Oh, but I do.”
Ty is racing down the hallway and I follow him, wishing I wasn’t in a vintage cocktail dress so I could run faster and that I didn’t kill my phone earlier today so I could warn Shane. Ty will crush him if he gets the chance.
I’m frantic and when I see a maid pushing her cart in our direction, I stop her and beg her to call security.
Tyler kicks another door open and walks straight into one of the rooms. I don’t know who told him Shane’s room number, but whoever it was had good intel. I see Shane sitting on the edge of the bed, fiddling with his phone.
; “What the—” He stares at Ty in bewilderment, but regains composure fast. "You have a lot of nerve coming here, Wilder. You slashed my tires. You beat up my roommate. You hurt Blaire bad. No offense, but you're kind of a mess, dude. People don't pull shit like that."
Ty grabs Shane by the neck of his I Can Give a Headache to an Aspirin tee shirt, but he doesn’t hit him. I know he wants to prove a point to me, but he is struggling, still fighting his demons, his anger fits. And that's what I'm afraid of. That he is still the kid who can be lured into a fight the minute things go south.
"You…" Ty shoves a finger into Shane's chest. "Always wanted her for yourself. Just take the damn hint. She doesn't want you. You lost. I won. She's mine."
Shane jerks loose of his hold. "Dude, you only won momentarily. And as usual, that’s only because you cheated. She didn't know what kind of guy you are, what kind of stuff you do. Blaire's not yours. She’d never willingly get it on with a male prostitute."
Ty's eyes flare, his jaw clenching, and he takes a step closer to Shane. I know I shouldn't be standing here like an idiot, but things haven't gotten physical yet, thank God, and maybe there’s a chance Ty will shed some light on his reasons for what he’s done.
"You. Know. Nothing." Ty utters every word like a separate sentence. "You told Blaire I use steroids. I never touched them. You took half-truths from your junkie roommate and pieced them into a web of lies." Ty's low voice sounds like a constant threat.
Shane’s not intimidated. He thrusts out his chin. "You put my roommate in the hospital because he somehow ended up on your and Jesse's shit list. And that's the truth. The whole, messy, inconvenient truth."
"Your roommate is the one who screwed up. Josh is not a stable guy. He needs rehab."
"And you need a new set of morals." Shane kicks his suitcase in frustration. "You can make excuses for nearly killing the guy, but what's your excuse for tapping hundreds of women to get fights and money? Let's hear that one." Shane folds his arms and narrows his eyes. "I bet it's good."
Ty's own eyes are furious now, and I know he's been pushed too far. I rush between them, resting one hand on each of their chests. Ty's heartbeat says it all. He's already in his own imaginary ring. I just hope it's not too late to drag him out, kicking and screaming, before he hurts my best friend.
"Okay, party's over. Ty, you have no business talking smack about Shane. He just wanted to warn me, as a friend. I could have heard the same stuff from anybody."
"Yeah, it just happened to be the guy who’s probably wanted in your pants from the moment he met you.
I roll my eyes. “We met in third grade.”
Ty looks momentarily stumped, but Shane isn’t helping.
"Get the hell out of my room, Wilder."
"Not before you admit to Blaire you don't know shit about what I did or do, past or present."
Shane’s fists clench. "Get. The hell. Out. Of my room."
"Or...?" Ty taunts.
Shane zones in on Ty's face, his blue eyes narrowing. He is not a violent guy, never has been. But he also never takes shit from anyone. He usually walks away when things get messy, but it's hard to walk away when a guy like Ty is blocking your way.
They stare each other down. Then Shane throws a sudden punch straight at Ty's face. Blood drips from his nose.
Ty smiles grimly, turning to me and offering me a wink. "Just for the record, baby, your right hook is so much meaner."
Shane throws a few wild punches, which Ty dodges easily. Shane is obviously pissed off, and maybe a little drunk. I spot some empty beer bottles next to the TV.
I can't move. I can't speak. I can barely breath.
When Shane launches himself at Ty, I know that Ty can't let this go. His fight reflex is stronger than him. Ty strikes back hard. The nauseating sound of his fists connecting with Shane’s face and body jabs my ears.
“Stop it! Let go of him!” I sandwich myself between them, pushing Ty out of the room. “Get away from him.” My voice cracks.
For a moment there, it looks like Ty gets his shit together. He looks down at me, his eyes tired.
Shane takes the opportunity to jet out the door, but Ty thrusts me aside and launches at Shane again. Panic rushes through me as he chases Shane down the hotel corridor. I race to catch them. Ty grabs the back of Shane’s shirt and jerks him to a halt. I'm about to step between them and throw myself in the line of fire for Shane when I see Mom, Dad and Izzy spill from an elevator. A second later, Jesse and Dawson rush out of a second elevator. They're all sweaty and flushed, and other than Jesse, they all pant like they've just completed a triathlon. I suspect they’ve been running around hunting for me and Ty.
The men are tearing Ty apart from Shane before things get even messier for the XWL star. There are a lot of sins you can commit in Vegas, but sending a guy to the hospital is probably not one of them, especially if you're a professional athlete competing in a big televised fight. A quick look at Shane reveals a busted lip, bruised cheeks and what will soon be a black eye. I'm too pissed off to examine Ty's face. Whatever injury Shane's given him, he'll survive.
Ty points his finger at Shane. “He twisted things to turn her against me.”
Shane takes a seat on the floor and holds his head in his hands, trying to regulate his breathing. Ty is still blocked by Jesse and Dawson.
“Whatever he did,” Jesse says, “you have to drop it now, bro. Get your shit together. You’ve got a fight tomorrow night. You can’t afford to get arrested or hurt." He studies Ty’s bloody nose and his arm, which sports a long, ugly scratch. His lips curl in disbelief. “Jesus, the guy scratched you?”
“No, that was my girlfriend.”
"Does Shane need an ambulance?" someone interrupts. Maybe my mom. I'm not really present in this situation, everything feels like a bad dream, and like most dreams it's complete chaos. I wish someone would wake me up from this nightmare.
"I'm fine. No hospital," Shane says, but he groans into his hands.
Izzy hurries to his side. Her eyes are welling up, and she sits next to him, lifting his chin between her fingers. She examines the cuts and marks on his skin with furrowed brows, and my heart breaks in two to see just how much it kills her to see him hurt.
"You’ll be okay. You’re strong." Her voice is almost a whisper. "But we need some ice..."
"And a fucking whiskey to go with it," Shane snaps, and there are a few chuckles from my side of the family.
"Do I need to call my lawyer?" Dawson rubs Ty's back in circles, like a dad. “Will this douche press charges?” He is not even remotely annoyed with his fighter.
That confirms my worst fears about Ty. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened. Ty is what he is. A violent, volatile guy who'll do anything to get what he wants, even if other people get screwed in the process.
"I’m not pressing charges," Shane blurts from the floor. Izzy is now running her fingers through his tousled blond hair.
"Are you sure that’s wise?" my mom asks. “He’s clearly dangerous.”
It's like being punched in the face. I feel the tears and the pressure in my nose, like I'm going under water. I hate Tyler for what he did, but I also love him enough to know I'll never get over the fact that my parents will under no circumstances ever accept him after this.
"I can handle Wilder,” Shane says. “I just want him out of my face."
"Fine by us. Let's move it." Dawson is only too happy to step out of the situation. I still haven't figured him out. Is he a sinner for putting up with Ty and Jesse's antics, or a saint for tolerating both of these boys?
"Blaire?" Ty asks. I shake my head, unable to look at him. I just can't. Not right now. Not after all he's done, and everything I found out.
"Please just go," I whisper, fat tears chasing each other down my cheeks. I can hear him taking a deep breath.
“She’s right,” Dawson says. “We need to get you cleaned up for the press conference.” He pulls Ty toward the elevator, but Jesse ling
ers.
The other fighter leans close to my ear “Ty loves you. What do you need to prove it, a naked singing telegram? Don’t crush him a day before a big fight.”
My chest squeezes tight, but I don't waver. “I hope he's crushed. Serves him right for how he bagged this fight in the first place.”
***
I watch the XWL media day on TV from my room. I give myself a mental slap on the wrist for still being interested in Ty's fight—no, scratch that, in Ty in general— and a mental punch in the face for actually watching the press conference. It appears I have zero self-control, despite the fact that this dude totally kicked my best friend's butt. I don't care if Shane was the one to throw the first punch.
On TV, Ty is onstage sitting on a pair of barstools with his opponent, Eoghan Doherty. Behind them there’s a wall of endorsements, and each fighter is circled by their own entourage. Ty holds the mic to his lips. He chews gum, wearing a black designer shirt, fitted cigar pants, high top sneakers and a black baseball cap.
He's so incredibly sexy I want to lick him head to toe, but then I remember a lot of other girls actually did do just that, and paid good money for it too. The thought makes me want to hurl.
It's killing me to see Ty still oozing charisma, while I’m falling apart, struggling to remember how to breathe.
Doherty looks extra douchey in a pair of sunglasses and a three-piece suit. There should be a special section in hell for people who wear sunglasses indoors. He smack talks Ty to oblivion and back. He pushes every single button, starting off by referring to Ty as an “inbred redneck.” I get that they need to sell this fight, and that trash talk is a part of the game, but Doherty seems to have sold his soul, willing to do anything nasty as long as it’s good for his career.
Oh, right. Ty did that too.
Ty gives his indifferent smirk, popping gum and blinking slowly in Doherty’s direction. Dawson is sitting next to his star, his arms folded. Occasionally he whispers something in Ty’s ear.
