“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.