Tyler

by Jo Raven

  “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.

  A fucking dream, entangled with memories. My visit to the basement liberated them, so they rose like ghosts, seeking revenge.

  I stumble out of bed, my stomach roiling, and knock into the wall before I manage to find the bathroom. I bend over the toilet, but nothing comes out. I’m light-headed, and I slide down the wall as everything spins.

  I lean my head back, desperately trying to catch my breath. How did Erin do it? Breathe in, hold it, count to five, exhale.

  Can’t. My lungs feel constricted. My head drops forward. Pressure is building in my chest, pain radiating down my ribcage. My breathing rattles.

  I need to hear her voice. Through the open bathroom door, I see my phone on the table. I could call her. She said to call her if I needed her—but I can’t move.

  Dammit, Tyler. Get off your ass and call her.

  Grabbing the sink, I make it to my feet and stagger like a drunk to the table. I scroll down my few contacts and press dial before my courage deserts me—and before I black out. Cell phone clutched tightly in one hand, I stumble to the bed and sink on the creaking mattress.

  There’s a ringing in my head. Could be from the phone or from the blood rushing in my ears. I grip the cell like a lifeline even as I try again to count—to breathe in and hold the air. I fail and try again and again.

  “Hello?” a tinny voice says in my ear, and I struggle to focus on it. “Tyler?”

  Erin. I don’t have enough air to speak. My fingers clench the cell like claws and the plastic casing creaks.

  “Tyler. Are you okay? What happened?”

  Goddammit. I fight to unclench my fingers before I break the phone.

  “You’ll be okay,” she says, her voice gentling. “Breathe in, slowly now. Everything will be fine.”

  I close my eyes and picture her, her dark eyes, her soft lips. I let her voice soothe me, calm me down as I fight to suck in more air. My lungs stop seizing, and I can draw deeper breaths. Sweet oxygen fills my starved lungs, and my vision begins to clear.

  “Tyler? Still with me?”

  “Yeah.” My voice sounds like rusty nails.

  “I’m coming over.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Oh, shut up,” she mutters, and that makes me smile even as I still pant for breath. “Be there in ten, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say and finally let the phone slip from my hand onto the bed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Erin

  I get dressed in seconds and jump into my car. Driving like a madwoman, I weave through the streets, trying to think of the fastest way to Tyler’s apartment.

  Fear crushes my chest. The sound of his gasping breaths over the phone terrified me, although I googled the hell out of panic attacks and benzo withdrawal in the past few days. I know that he was damn lucky not to die when he cut the pills so suddenly, and I also know panic attacks won’t kill him.

  But I can’t stand knowing he suffers and I’m so damn glad he called me now that he needs help.

  I park outside his building and hop out, lock the car and run up the stairs. It can’t be more than ten minutes since we talked, but it feels like a year has
passed by the time I ring his bell.

  Nothing happens for a long moment, and I realize I never considered that he may not be in a condition to get up and open for me.

  Crap.

  Then I hear steps and the lock clicks. The door swings open, and he’s standing there, looking pale, distressed and gorgeous as ever. His arm is braced on the doorjamb, and I can’t help but take in his muscled upper body, clearly outlined in his soaked T-shirt.

  His breathing is still ragged and shallow. Sweat glimmers on his face, and he has dark shadows under his eyes. He’s staring at me as if adjusting the lenses, trying to focus my image.

  “Erin,” he whispers and his voice is so scratchy it hurts. I’m so mad at him. And I love him.

  I reach up and cup his unshaven cheek, rubbing my fingertips on the rough stubble. “Feeling better?”

  His dark eyes widen, making his face look even paler. His breath smells of peppermint as if he’s just brushed his teeth.

  Without a reply or a warning, he slides his hands around the small of my back, hauling me closer, until I’m pressed against the length of his muscled body and his nose is buried in my hair. He’s not aroused, and there’s nothing sexual about it, but it feels good to hear his heartbeat, steady if a little too fast.

  “Did something happen?” I murmur against his shoulder, inhaling his smell of clean male sweat. “Did you meet with your brother again?”

  He growls softly as he releases me and steps back. “I did. But he didn’t punch me this time, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  I shake my head. These boys confuse the hell out of me. “I wasn’t.” I touch his arm. “You’re drenched in sweat. And it’s freaking cold in here.” I frown when I notice the open windows. I gesture at them. “Are you nuts? It must be below zero out there.”

  He shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. “I needed air.”

  “Mind if I close them?” I shiver, even though I’m still wrapped in my jacket. “You’ll get sick.”

  Call me paranoid; call me a mother hen. After having Jax, worrying about such things has become second nature.

  I hurry to the window and close it. “You should see a doctor.”

  His mouth flattens and his shoulders tense. “Don’t need no doctor.”

  I blow a strand of hair out of my face as I move to close the second window. “What if you do? It’s a miracle you didn’t die from stopping those pills. You need to get yourself checked out. Besides, maybe a doctor can help with the panic attacks.”

  “Prescribe me something?” There’s a sneer in Tyler’s raspy voice, and his words stop me cold. I glance at him over my shoulder. I didn’t think of it that way.

  He closes and locks the apartment door, his back to me, his messy dark hair more tangled than usual. He stands for a long moment there, then he pushes off and turns toward me.

  For a fleeting second, his gaze is vulnerable, full of regrets. It’s too much.

  He crosses the room as I latch the window, his bare feet whispering on the tiles. God, isn’t he freezing?

  “You still haven’t told me what happened today,” I remind him.

  “Went by my d— Jake Devlin’s house.” He stops right behind me and puts a hand on the window frame by my head, trapping me. His chest presses against my back. “Had to revisit some memories.”

  “What memories? Wait a minute...” I turn around and look up to meet his gaze. Boy has almost a head on me. “Did you go back where...?” I can’t even say it—that basement where he was hurt so badly. Whenever I remember the story Rafe recounted, my blood runs cold.

  He nods, a vein pulsing in his jaw. “I had to face it. I thought I wouldn’t dream of it again if I went back and forced my brain to accept I’m not there anymore.”

  Oh God. He’s breaking my heart all over again. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going? I’d have come with you.”

  “I don’t want you to see that. None of that.” He frowns. “I had Ash with me. It helped.”

  No matter how happy I am his relationship with Asher seems to be on the mend, I wish I was the one there for him. I wish things weren’t that complicated between us. But he has to get this, at least:

  “No matter what it is, good or bad.” I poke a finger into the solid muscles of his chest. “No matter if I’m mad at you for whatever reason, I’ll help you in any way I can. Remember that.”

  He inhales deeply. His breathing has settled into a slower rhythm. “I will. Erin...” He brushes a strand of hair off my face. “I’ve never lied to you. What I wrote to you is true.”

  “So Marlene is not your girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  The word is sharp and clear; it rings in the silence. I study him. His dark eyes are on my face, and I see no lie in them.

  “She sent you a naked picture of her.”

  “She’s crazy.”

  He always had that effect on the female population. “But do you have a girlfriend somewhere waiting for you?”

  “No. I swear to you, I don’t.”

  Relief washes through me. “Good.”

  “Good? I like that.” A corner of his mouth tips up in a half-smile, and my throat goes dry.

  “Enough talking.” I poke him in the chest and enter mission mode again. “T-shirt off.”

  “Can’t wait to get me naked?”

  I snort. “Off. Now.”

  He grabs the neckline and drags it off without another word.

  Now the room feels unbearably hot, and I resist an urge to fan myself as those lickable abs and that ink-covered chest come into view, inch by torturous inch. His taut flesh glimmers wet in the yellow light of the bulb hanging overhead, and when he bunches up his shirt and looks at me, his eyes look black like the night.

  “What now?” he whispers and reaches down to adjust his drawstring pants, drawing my eyes to the growing bulge in the front.

  This is a bad idea. I’m still mad at him. I only came by to make sure he’s okay, not for sex.

  But my body disagrees with me and is very interested in the way a thin dark treasure trail dips under his gray pants, how those divots at his hips look so damn sexy, how his six pack stands out in full definition.

  I’m a girl, and he’s a damn hot boy. There’s not getting over that, I guess.

  “Tyler, I...” My voice is thick. “I wanted...”

  “What did you want?” He takes a step closer, and I take a step back, until my back is pressed against the closed window. “You asked me what I came back for, but what about you? What do you want from me?”

  This time when he molds his muscled frame to my curves, there’s no mistaking how excited he is. His cock is thick and long pressed against my belly. He dips his head and runs his mouth over my cheek, and I can’t remember his question.

  Helplessly, I tilt my head to the side, giving him access, and he dives in for the kill, sucking on my neck. I swear I feel teeth. I squirm and whine as pain mingles with burning pleasure, and I’m dimly aware I’m going to have a hell of a hickey there tomorrow.

  “Wait...” I try to force my brain to function. “You just had an attack. You should rest, I don’t think—”

  “Distract me,” he mutters and unzips my jacket. “Make me forget. I want to forget.”

  How can I say no to that?

  When he pushes my jacket off my shoulders, I wiggle out of it without a second thought. His hands slip under my long sweater, pushing it up.

  I grab the hem and draw it over my head, remaining in my black pants and red bra. My breath catches when his hot gaze glides down and lingers. His hands follow the same path from my neck to my breasts, covering them and making me moan with need.

  Then he reaches behind my back, expertly finds the clasp and unhooks it. In one swift motion, he pulls my bra off, freeing my breasts.

  “Holy shit,” he whispers. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

  His mouth moves lower, finding the aching tips of my breasts one by one and circling them, suckling on them, driving
me wild with need.

  “I want you.” He cups my breasts and pushes them up, rains kisses all over them. “Need you, Erin.”

  I’m dying to feel him inside me. “Please, Tyler...” I can’t take this much longer.

  He straightens. “Tell me what you want.”

  “You.”

  “You have me,” he whispers, and the words flutter in the air for a moment as my overloaded brain tries to make sense of them.

  He doesn’t give me the time. He unbuttons my black pants and pushes them down my legs. Before I even gasp, he hooks his fingers in my panties and drags them down my legs, leaving me only in my tall boots.

  This boy seems to like having me dressed only in boots. He also likes having his mouth on my breasts and his hands between my legs.

  Oh my God. I tremble as two of his rough fingers rub along my seam. His mouth is back on my neck, only marginally distracting me when he parts me and slips his fingers inside my folds, rubbing and driving me crazy with desire. My pulse is beating madly where he touches me and when he presses deeper, I’m not sure how much longer my legs will hold me.

  Just when the pressure becomes impossible and pleasure begins to crest, he withdraws his fingers, leaving me panting and whispering his name in protest.

  “Shh.” He runs his wet fingers over his mouth, then licks his lips, and the image almost sends me over the edge. “I’ll take care of you.”

  Again I try to grasp what he’s really talking about—the strong undercurrent that seems to run in everything he says tonight—but then he grabs my hips and swings me up.

  I squeal in surprise and wrap my legs around him, digging my heels into his firm ass cheeks and my arms around his neck. He hefts me up and grins widely, looking pleased with himself, no trace of the night horrors that woke him up. His eyes are laughing at me, crinkling at the corners, and I’m drawn to his beautiful mouth, hypnotized.

  Then he swings me around and walks toward the bed. I can feel his every movement against my sensitive parts, bare and rubbing against the top of his cotton-clad erection. A moan is building in my throat. God, and he’s still wearing pants and underwear!