Tyler & Stella (Tattoo Thief) (27 page)

I wish I could un-hear what they’re saying about Tyler. He’s the top story.

“How about we play a drinking game?” Jayce suggests in jest. His phone pings but he ignores the text. “We drink every time we hear the words ‘allegedly’ or ‘accused’ or ‘baby daddy.’”

Or overdose.
That’s the word that blares in my brain, as in, “Hospital officials will neither confirm nor deny Tyler Walsh’s alleged drug overdose.”

“If we drank every time we heard Kim Archer’s name, we’d be in the ER ourselves for alcohol poisoning,” Kristina adds sourly. “That bitch. I
knew
she was after him for money.”

My stomach turns at the thought of more booze. Then again, it could simply be hunger pangs—it’s well past dinnertime.

I buy a Sprite from the vending machine and it settles my stomach a bit. I haven’t drunk Sprite since I was a kid, but it’s Tyler’s staple, so now it’s the only thing I want. It makes me feel closer to him.

Dave’s phone chirps and he takes another call from the band’s manager. They’re debating how to handle the press since the damaging video—Tyler, bloody and strapped to a gurney, and me, covered in Tyler’s blood—went live.

The speculation is ugly.

When Gavin and Beryl return from visiting Tyler, Dave and Kristina take a turn. Beryl perches on the chair next to me. “Stella, you look wrecked.”

“Thanks a lot, sister.”

“You know what I mean. It’s been a rough day.” Beryl touches my shoulder with concern and I nod. She doesn’t know yet
how
rough today’s really been. “You want to come home with us for a while? You could take a nap in Gavin’s guest room and you won’t have to deal with the reporters outside Tyler’s place.”

I shake my head. I’m not leaving the hospital unless it’s with Tyler.

“You are so stubborn. No wonder Tyler’s nuts about you,” Gavin says, teasing me gently.

What the hell? Apparently, Tyler’s proclaimed his love to everyone
but
me. I feel left out, but at the same time, it makes me feel warmer inside.

When Dave and Kristina come back from visiting Tyler, the three members of Tattoo Thief put their heads together in a whispered discussion. Kristina flops in the seat next to me while Beryl fidgets on my other side.

We’re waiting for their decision.

But I don’t want to wait, especially if how they’re going to handle the media concerns me. I stand up but Beryl tugs me back. “Stella. Let them figure it out.”

“They’re a unit,” Kristina adds. “Let them decide.”

But I have to get involved. I lay my hand on Jayce’s broad shoulder and he moves aside to allow my face into the group.

“We’ve got to freeze them out,” Dave insists. “Let the news run its course until some drunk starlet crashes her car or flashes her crotch to the paparazzi. Eventually, they’ll lose interest.”

“Not going to happen,” Gavin argues. “We’ve got to feed them enough that they’re satisfied and stop reporting lies. We’ve got to take the story and spin it
our
way.”

“Have any of you asked Tyler about this?” Jayce snaps. “Because he’s a person, not a story. He’s always been private about his diabetes, so you can’t just release that information and expect him to be OK with it. It’s not your story to tell.”

“It’s my story, too,” I whisper, and Dave fumes. “I don’t think you have to put Tyler out there, especially since he’s not up to talking. But I can talk to the press. I can explain what happened, if Tyler wants me to, and kill the overdose rumors right now.”

Dave shakes his head. “No frickin’ way.”

“It’s a risk,” Gavin says. “If you go public, they’re going to throw everything at you, everything ugly they can dig up. You become a public figure and there’s a target on your back.”

“Aren’t I already a public figure?” I counter. “I just lost my job because of Tyler. There’s not much left of me to tear apart. And if it means cutting off the rumor mill at the knees, I’d gladly do it for him.”

“They’ll slaughter you,” Jayce warns me. Another ping from Jayce’s phone tries to interrupt us but he ignores it.

“There’s no good way to do it,” Dave adds. “If you release a statement, they’ll go after your credibility, try to figure out if you’re a druggie or an alcoholic too, if you’re lying to protect Tyler.”

I swallow hard. All evidence points to the fact that I
am
sliding down a slippery slope toward alcoholism. I can’t even say I’ve reformed—this morning proves just the opposite.

“If you do a press conference, they’ll throw every loaded question at you that you never expected,” Gavin adds.

“The whole ‘when did you stop beating your wife?’ line? Gavin, I went to journalism school. I know how this works.”

“You haven’t experienced it from the other side,” he says. “I have. They came at me from all sides when Lulu died. And that
was
an overdose.”

I have no words to counter this, but setting the record straight is the one thing I feel like I
must
do for Tyler. He rescued me in countless ways, and now I want to be there for him. Even if it kills me or my reputation. This is the gift I can give him.

“I want to go ask Tyler,” I say to Gavin, and then turn to Dave. “If he agrees, will you set it up?”

“Majority rules, bro,” Jayce reminds Dave. “If he says yes, we have to let Stella do it.”

Dave frowns but nods. It’s clear this is the way the band makes decisions, and it’s one reason they’ve managed to stay together for seven years.

Jayce and I duck into Tyler’s curtained room and his eyelids are droopy. I clasp his hand and kiss his knuckles while Jayce explains what’s happening in the news cycle and that I could set the record straight, but it would mean going public with his diabetes.

“There’s just no other explanation that isn’t a lie,” Jayce concludes, spreading his hands. “But the decision’s yours, bro.”

“I can do this. I want to do this for you,” I add.

“Ine jus so tiyudd,” Tyler pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers.
I’m just so tired.
I can relate. When everything’s a struggle—every story or every meal, every dollar or every gig, sometimes you just want to let that tightly held control come undone.

And that’s at the heart of my relationship with Tyler. Releasing control to let the other person steer your ship for a while. It’s terrifying and intimate and powerful. It’s love.

Tyler’s eyes search my face and I can feel him make a decision. “Ooo wha oo ink iss wite.”
Do what you think is right.

Jayce nods. “Get some sleep, buddy. We’ll be back when it’s done, and if you play your cards right, Stella might even dress up as a naughty nurse for you later.”

I swat Jayce away, giving him a mighty eye-roll. I lean in to kiss Tyler on the cheek and the corner of his mouth, whispering a promise that I’ll be back before he wakes. I hope I can keep my promise.

***

Dave’s on the phone when we emerge from the ER, and Jayce gives him a thumbs-up to set up the press conference. Dave scowls and keeps talking.

Jayce’s phone erupts with a shrill ring and he clicks the top button to silence it without answering.

“It’s late. Who keeps calling you?” I ask.

Jayce shrugs. “Shelly. And Ruby. I had a date tonight.”

“With which one?”

Jayce frowns. “I can’t remember.”

“Nice.” Sarcasm laces my words. “Good thing that you’re upholding the bad-boy reputation of Tattoo Thief while the rest of the band is so unfortunately monogamous.”

Jayce rolls his eyes. “What can I say? I like women. The more the merrier.”

“Man-whore.”

“So? At least I choose the girls who are the first kind of easy. The rock-stars-are-hot-and-fuckable kind.”

He doesn’t say
unlike Kim Archer,
but he doesn’t need to. We both know Tyler chose wrong.

“And what if they get attached?”

“Oh, no. I don’t do that. I tell them up front that I’m strictly in it for fun. No games, no relationships, no strings.”

Huh. Jayce would have been exactly the kind of bad boy I craved just a few weeks ago. But now I
want
strings with Tyler. I want a real relationship.

I turn on my heel and rush back to Tyler’s bed in the ER. I want to ask him, in this moment. Forget waiting for him to give me the whole truth. I’m in so deep already there’s no out, no escape hatch or ejector seat.

I’m all in.

I brush the curtain aside and see Tyler, but my words die in my throat. His eyes are closed and he’s sleeping, his mouth hanging open and his face free of all the pain he experienced today.

I back away and let the curtain fall back into place between us.

Let him sleep. This can wait.

THIRTY-ONE

Back in the waiting room, members of Tattoo Thief gather around their manager, the man with the skinny beard who shepherded us through the media nightmare at the premiere. Jayce motions me over.

“We’ll do the conference in an hour,” the manager says.

I gape. “That’s fast.”

“It’s timed to hit the next prime-time news cycle.” He thrusts a hand out for me to shake and I take it slowly. “I’m Chief.”

Chief explains that we’ll hold the press conference downstairs in the hospital’s media liaison room.

“Don’t answer a question unless I call on the reporter,” Chief says. “If they think they can get away with it, they’ll start shouting questions and all hell breaks loose. Don’t contradict me or Gavin. Don’t speak for Tyler. Don’t speculate. And don’t talk about medical stuff you don’t know. Only the facts. Only what’s true.”

“No matter what,” Gavin adds, “never, ever lie. You know how they say sharks can smell fear? Gossip reporters can smell a lie a mile away and they will absolutely crucify you for it. Got it?”

I nod, overwhelmed by the litany of instructions. Gavin’s right, I haven’t been on the receiving end of questions. I am not nearly prepared for this.

“Now for the image problem,” Chief continues.

“Kristina’s got that sorted out,” Dave answers. “She’ll get Stella ready.”

“What about pictures of Tyler?” Chief asks. “We could tap one of the photographers from a friendly publication and get them back to Tyler’s bed.”

“Whoa. No way.” Gavin holds up his hands. “There is no such
thing
as a friendly publication.”

“He’s sleeping,” I add. “We can’t wake him up for this.”

Dave shakes his head. “Chief’s right. We have to have pictures with Tyler, just to show he’s OK and not on some kind of junkie trip and that we’re hiding him.”

“What about that redhead? The tall girl who came to our practice?” Jayce asks me.

“Violet?” I ask. “She’s a freelancer.”

“Perfect,” Chief says. “We’ll pay for the photos, choose the ones we like and release them at the end of the conference. If you can get her in time.”

“Can we trust her?” Gavin asks.

“I do.” I retrieve my phone from its hiding place, plugged into its charger under a waiting room table. Violet picks up on the third ring and her voice is cloudy with sleep.

“Hi, Violet. I’m sorry to call you so late, but I need another favor.”

“Stella.” She says my name like a sigh.

“For the record, I’m not drunk, I don’t need pancakes, but I would gladly do anything for you if you could come to Roosevelt Hospital and take some pictures. Like, right now.”

Violet clears her throat. “What’s going on?”

I relate the shortest possible version of Tyler’s seizure, the media feeding frenzy, and the press conference that’s less than an hour away.

“They’ll pay you,” I promise her. “I trust you and that’s what we need right now more than anything—someone we can trust.”

I hear rustling through the phone. “Tell me the name of the hospital again?”

“You’ll do it?” I nearly squeal. I guess I didn’t believe she would, especially after the colossal favor she did for me this morning.

“Stella, I’m already halfway down my apartment stairs. I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

I repeat the directions and hang up. My smile tells the band everything they need to know—Violet’s coming.

Kristina and Beryl steer me toward the bathroom at the side of the waiting room.

“We’ve got to get you ready.” Kristina hangs two garment bags from the door of a toilet stall. She unzips them, revealing four dresses.

Kristina picks through them, frowning at the first two. “Not red,” she mutters. “Black’s for a funeral. Blue is better on camera, but this dark green would look good with your hair.”

She points me to the oversized stall and tells me to try on the blue one. It still has tags on it and I ask her where she got the dresses so quickly.

“Called in a favor.” Kristina shrugs. “Personal shoppers can get after-hours access. I guessed on the size.”

I emerge from the stall and Kristina frowns again. The blue shift is definitely meant for a curvier girl, with the hips hanging too wide and the darts in the bust making my chest look even flatter than usual.

“Try the other one.”

I switch to the forest green dress, a wide boat neck that crosses over my shoulders and has a bit of stretch in the material for a closer fit.

Kristina nods her approval and Beryl takes a flatiron to my hair to smooth its air-dried lumpy frizz. As Beryl works, Kristina coats my eyelids with several shades of pale brown powder, then hands me a mascara wand.

“The cat-eye you normally do will look too extreme on TV,” she explains. “Just go for the natural look, mostly top lashes. We don’t want it to look fake.”

I snort. This is
all about
fake. Tyler’s in the emergency room and I’m playing beauty parlor dress-up.

When we emerge from the bathroom, Gavin has also changed into a fresh blue T-shirt, darker jeans, and shoes instead of flip-flops. Violet’s here too, with Jayce at her side.

“You ready for this?” Gavin asks me, and his arm reaches out to Beryl to pull her into his shoulder. Their closeness reminds me that this is what I’m fighting for—a chance to be with Tyler on our own terms without reporters pecking at us every moment.

Jayce leads Violet back to Tyler’s bed, his hand resting lightly on her back to steer her. I follow them and Tyler’s still asleep when we pull back the curtain.