Tyler & Stella (Tattoo Thief) (22 page)

“Stella.” His voice is raw but his face is smooth of the worry that pinched it earlier tonight. He kisses a trail from my temple to my lips, his mouth telling me with touch what his words can’t right now.

“I’ve never—I’ve never felt like that before,” I confess, struggling to explain how our lovemaking took me to an entirely different place than just sex.

“I haven’t either,” he says, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me closer to his chest. “You took my breath away. It was—”

I hold my breath as he struggles to choose a word.

“It was more special than you could possibly know,” Tyler says finally. “You’re special, Stella. I knew it the moment I met you, but I didn’t realize—I had no idea how much you’d mean to me.”

“I’ve heard you’re crazy about me.”

“Who told you that?” Tyler’s voice is playful.

“A crazy person.” I grin at Tyler. “I think you’re pretty special too.”

“Stella, you can do better.”

I pull back from him, confusion crinkling my face. “Do better?”

“Don’t play it safe. Tell me. Say what’s real.”

“This. Between us. It’s real.”

“Name it, Stella. What are you feeling? Because I’m not caught up in some gee-whiz-you’re-cool moment right now. You just blew my mind. Don’t wreck it by saying I’m special.”

“What do you want me to say?” My voice hardens. All I did was tell him the same thing he said to me.

“Lay it all on the line. I told you I want
everything,
not just the easy parts.”

I hiss, that word
easy
rearing its ugly head again. “I don’t mean easy like
that
,” Tyler backtracks. “I mean I want you to trust me with the hard stuff, the stuff you don’t want anyone else to see.”

“What, like you trusted me with the stuff about Kim?” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice.

“You’re right. And you’re amazing, you know that? You stuck by me on one of the worst nights of my life. You stuck up for me even when I had no right to expect it.”

Tyler pulls back to look at me, his face pinched with worry and bathed in moonlight. “Look. I have to know if you want a relationship, or just a fling.”

I nuzzle my face against his shoulder to mask my disappointment. He said he’s crazy about me. He said he wants everything, even the broken pieces. But he never said he loves me.

Is this a fling or a real relationship? That’s all he wants to know. It’s like asking whether I want to skydive solo or tandem, rather than the real question:
Do I want a fucking parachute?

Because without that, I’m not jumping.

I force myself to breathe, to pull my face out of his shoulder and really see him, nervous and earnest, like a teen who’s just asked out the prom queen. Even though it’s not enough, I want to give him this small thing.

“I don’t want this to be a fling,” I say, and the memory of my come-on from the first night we met haunts me. I told him then that we didn’t need a relationship to do all kinds of naughty things to each other. It’s no wonder he’s questioning my motives now.

“Me neither,” Tyler whispers, and I’m at war with myself.

After everything we’ve been through, “not a fling” is a piss-poor container for what I want my connection with Tyler to be.

I want to yell, “I love you, dammit!” even though I’m not ready to share my past with him.

I want to ask, “Do you love me back?” But I can’t force this question past my lips because if he doesn’t answer
yes,
I can’t bear it.

Tyler’s breathing evens and slows, and his shoulders sink deeper into the mattress. He’s asleep. My chance to ask is gone.

TWENTY-FIVE

My throat aches for alcohol to deliver me into hazy detachment, but I keep my promise to Tyler and resist. I pull up the covers and plump the pillows while my mind wanders down to the kitchen and pours an icy shot.

I wish.

Heat rolls off Tyler’s shoulders in waves and his breathing labors under the intensity of a dream. I watch his eyelashes flutter and squint, wishing I could crawl inside his dream and fix what’s wrong.

I would slay dragons for this man.

But Kim Archer isn’t a dragon—she’s a serpent, sly and cunning and just far enough out of my reach that I can’t touch her. I can’t hurt her for the way she’s hurt Tyler. I’m afraid my performance in front of the press wasn’t enough.

My phone lights up on my dresser, silenced but alive, and I reach for it. I hope it’s a comforting message from Beryl, but instead a text chills me to the bone.

Unknown
[2:12 a.m.]: It’s a tough town, Stella. Watch your back.

Stella
: What is this, a threat? How did you get this number?

Unknown
: Just some advice. From an old friend.

Stella
: If you’re a friend, I’m fucking Katy Perry.

Unknown
: No need to be crude. And you’re fucking Tyler Walsh, unless I misjudged tonight.

Stella
: I am not answering that. Who the hell is this?

Unknown
: Does he play your body the way he plays the bass? Can he make you come with a flick of his finger? Or do you need someone a bit more commanding?

Stella
: Stop it! Stop texting me! This is harassment!

Unknown
: No, it’s torture. It was torture to look at you tonight, to see how my little star has blossomed. I have to say I was a bit disappointed in the hair, though. A bob? I like a bit more to grab onto. Remember, Stella?

Anger boils in my veins, molten lava that blisters the peace I’d found with Tyler. He sleeps while I rage, desperately alone.

This was the face I saw out of the corner of my eye at the premiere, the face that turned my blood to ice water even when my conscious brain failed to recognize him.

Stella
: Dixon.

Unknown
: Miss me, pet?

Stella
: Not for a moment.

Unknown
: I know that’s a lie. You like being a starfucker. You want the spotlight so bad you’ll let Tyler drag you through hell.

I want to scream, to throw my phone across the room, to dodge the hot barbs Dixon launches at me.

The worst part? Four and a half years ago, this was true. I wanted the spotlight so badly that I
let
Dixon drag me through hell—controlling me, using me and ultimately discarding me.

Will Tyler do the same thing?

Stella
: He won’t.

Unknown
: He already has—you just don’t know it yet.

I curse myself for letting Dixon seed my mind with doubt, but it grows like a cancer. Tyler never told me about Kim—I had to find out in the worst possible way. Tyler manipulated the first story I did on the band, and how much more?

Is he playing me again?

Stella
: I’d rather go through hell for Tyler than see you again.

Unknown
: Careful what you wish for. If I were a betting man, I’d say the odds of both are good.

I want to get in the parting shot. I do. But my mind is seared by the pain of reopening old wounds and the fear of the future.

I hold my phone and stare at it, fumbling for something scathing to type back to the man who left me without a backward glance.

Stella
: What do you want, Dixon? You never texted me unless you wanted something. Unless tonight you just want to make me feel like shit.

Unknown
: I’m pretty sure Tyler already did the job. You were blindsided by Kim Archer, weren’t you?

Stella
: I’m not answering that.

Unknown
: Come on, Stella, you’re not that good of an actress.

Stella
: FUCK YOU.

Unknown
: Look, we’re getting sidetracked. I did have a reason to text. I know you still hate me for just dropping you cold. And I still hate your parents for the ridiculous legal bullshit they put me through.

Stella
: They wanted someone to blame. At first I begged them not to do it, but then when you never returned my texts and emails, I was kind of happy they hurt you. I wanted you to hurt the way I was hurting.

Unknown
: They got their pound of flesh, Stella. But I’m not a bad guy. I cut you off because I thought it was the easiest way to help you move on.

Stella
: Easiest?!?! That’s a fucking joke.

Unknown
: You were young. I do casual, but to you, I was freaking forever. It was never going to work.

I seethe. There’s the word
easy
, taunting me again. And since Dixon Ross, casual is all I’ve ever done. Until Tyler.

Stella
: So what’s your point? Rubbing it in?

Unknown
: Believe it or not, making amends. You’ve been on your own for four years now, haven’t you?

Stella
: Four and a half. Why? Have you been watching me?

Unknown
: I saw you switched schools and majors. I see your byline sometimes now. The point is, you’ve been flying solo.

A bit of pride lifts my chin. I have.
She flies with her own wings
. That’s the English version of my home state’s motto and maybe it should be my personal motto, too.

Even though it’s been a turbulent ride, I’ve flown solo while most people my age are still taking handouts from Daddy and Mommy while their diplomas gather dust.

Stella
: I’m fine.

Unknown
: I hope you will be. But if the shit hits the fan, you can’t count on Tyler to take care of you. That’s why I wanted to remind you to reread the settlement your parents made me sign.

Stella
: What good will that do me?

Unknown
: Just read it, Stella. And I meant what I said. It’s a tough town, so watch your back.

I blink into the light from the phone screen but no other messages appear. I count to a hundred, trying to quiet my pounding heartbeat.

Finally, I slither from between the sheets where Tyler’s still sleeping and pad downstairs to my room.

I have to know. Although I showed Beryl the first page of the settlement document, which detailed the lump sum Dixon Ross had to pay into a trust, I dig through a small box of papers to find the rest of it.

I earn two paper cuts for my haste but finally unearth the creased sheaf, double-spaced and maybe twenty pages long. I shift the lamp on my shelf closer. Why have I never read this document thoroughly?

Because I was a minor. I didn’t initiate the suit or settlement.

Because I didn’t want this. I wanted Dixon.

Because I was heartbroken.

Because it’s not supposed to matter for another two-plus years.

The clauses and stipulations run for interminable paragraphs and my eyelids sag until I hit page sixteen. Disbursements. In other words, how do I get the money?

I thought I knew the answer to that.

Beneficiary may demand full payment or make a partial withdrawal from the trust at any time after Beneficiary’s twenty-fifth birthday, and must complete withdrawals or forfeit the remainder on Beneficiary’s twenty-ninth birthday.

Yeah. Like I’d freaking wait. But that’s just option A. Option B arrests me:

After Beneficiary ceases to be the legal dependent of Claimants in this contract, Beneficiary may petition Fiduciary for full or partial withdrawal of funds at any time four years after legal dependency is terminated.

Holy. Shit.

TWENTY-SIX

“Stella. A word.” Heath leans out of his office and jerks his head to summon me.

It’s not a request. It’s a command. I haven’t even turned on my computer yet and dread pools in my stomach as I feel what’s coming.

Good instincts, Stella, but not good enough.
I should run, but instead I walk on heavy legs to his office.

Heath’s puffy eyes stare me down, waiting for me to break the silence. I clamp my lips shut against this interview tactic, my brain in overdrive to still every nervous tic or poker tell.

Heath holds all the cards and he knows it.

“You had an interesting night last night,” he begins, his voice low but threatening. I just nod. “Looks like you were pretty cozy with Tattoo Thief.”

He pushes a copy of the
New York Post
across his desk, open to a page with a photo of Tyler and me. Tyler’s head is bent, his lips graze my ear, and my smile is wide and convincing. I remember he was whispering
courage
to me, but from this picture and its suggestive caption, it looks like we’re on the verge of getting a room.

Heath waits for me to say something, so I start with a pale shade of the truth. “I, ah, have gotten to know the band better.”

“Bullshit!” Heath pounds his fist on the desk and I jump in fear and surprise. “You know what this picture tells me? It says you’ve had the kind of access any normal reporter would
kill
for, and you threw it away on a fling with the bassist.”

“I
used
that access,” I counter. “I gave you three stories on the band.”

“Two. One was crap. And what are you, their PR gal? If you’re spreading your legs for someone in the band and missing a story this big, you can’t be trusted. Especially not now that we’ve been scooped on the Kim Archer angle.”

I open my mouth to respond, reeling from “the Kim Archer angle.” I have no idea what came out in the media last night while Tyler and I were cocooned in his loft.