25. Tyler
25
TYLER
It’s been sixty-three hours and eighteen minutes since Isaac was arrested.
He used his one phone call to call me. Just to tell me he loves me.
I think I might be dying.
I haven’t slept. Not really. Not since I watched them pull Isaac off an unconscious Guy, cuff him, and drag him out of the building into a waiting police vehicle. Not since I saw the blood on his knuckles and the fire in his eyes and knew he’d done it for me. He'd figured out the truth that I've been hiding from him for weeks.
In a way, this is my fault. Because I lied to him. I lied to everyone and continued to let Guy victimize me.
I called his mom and sister. Chelsey drove them straight here after working a double shift. I can't imagine where she found the strength, but they made it here in time for the arraignment. Genie was so strong, standing tall even though I could see the pain in her every movement. A long car ride is rough for her, but she wouldn't allow any breaks.
Chelsey held my hand. I don’t think she even realized it. It was the first time I'd laid eyes on him since the police vehicle drove away. He held eye contact with me every chance he could, the pleading evident in his eyes. Doesn't he know I'll never give up on him?
Bail was denied. The public defender was useless. Didn’t even argue. Just nodded along like a goddamn bobble head while the judge let Senator Montague’s legal team spin whatever narrative they wanted. A legal team that includes my father.
They said Guy is in the hospital in a medically induced coma because of brain swelling. It’s not looking good.
They’re moving Isaac to the city jail until his preliminary hearing. It could be weeks. Or months. I don’t know. I don’t know anything except that I miss him so badly I feel hollow. Too hollow to get out of bed. Even though some idiot has been banging on the door for what feels like an hour. I think they've finally given up, but then there's a scraping sound, and rattling, then the door crashes open.
Fucking Chelsey and Brenna. Isaac was right about those two. We should not have let them meet, much less live together for any amount of time. Chelsey and Genie are staying in Mac and Anders' guest room.
"Get your fine ass out of this bed and take a shower. You can even wear your nerd pajamas, as long as they're clean ones."
"I'm not going to fucking Sunday brunch. I'm not in the mood and I don't see how any of you can be either. He's rotting away in a jail cell and not here with me where he's supposed to be."
I'm hyperventilating. Chelsey and Brenna give each other a look, then they each take an arm and hoist me up. We get as far as the bathroom, and I proceed to lose the contents of my stomach, which is nothing but bile. Brenna supports me over the toilet while Chelsey starts the shower. They strip me down to my underwear and hoist me over the edge of the tub.
Once I'm standing under the spray of lukewarm water, my mind starts to clear. I let the tears fall and the water washes them away.
"Do you need me to wash you? I am a nurse. It's basically what I do for a living," Chelsey says, holding up a washcloth with soap already on it. I absolutely do not want her to do that, so I take the cloth from her and pull the shower curtain closed while the terror twins gossip. I swear I hear one of them whisper, "Did you see what I saw?" but I ignore them and try not to think about the last time someone had to take care of me.
Once I'm out and dry, I eye the bed. One of those bitches stripped the sheets. And yeah, I realize I've been laying in them, unwashed, for almost two full days. But it still smelled like him.
I think I'm going to be sick again.
Brenna hands me a hoodie she pulled out of the closet. One of his. I start crying again.
"Why does it feel like he's died? Like he'll never come back?"
Brenna rubs my back while Chelsey goes to the kitchen and fills a glass of water. I drink it in three large gulps, not realizing how thirsty I was. It's too much for my stomach, though, so I don't drink more.
Someone's phone chimes.
"That's my dad," Brenna says. "Everyone's there."
"Come on, Clint. Let's get moving."
"Clint?" Brenna asks.
"Don't ask," I grumble, hating the happy memory. "I'm still not going to fucking brunch."
“This isn’t about brunch. It’s about everyone who gives a damn about Isaac coming together to figure out how to help him. So put on some pants. Can't have you scaring people with that thing.”
Chelsey snorts.
* * *
When we walk into The Nook , it’s like stepping into another world.
Genie’s there. So is Mac. Anders. Reggie from the hardware store. A guy named Steve, who I’m told is a local plumber. Jimmy, who I’ve seen at fight nights, nods at me solemnly. A dozen more people I don’t recognize are clustered around tables, drinking coffee and murmuring quietly.
They all know Isaac.
They all care.
Someone claps a hand on my shoulder. “Tyler, right?”
I turn to find a man maybe in his mid-fifties. Short, stocky, with a kind face but sharp eyes. “Hi, Tyler, I’m Leslie Preston. I’m a friend of Mac and Anders. Well, technically, I’m a friend of a friend, but that doesn’t matter.”
He offers his hand. I shake it numbly.
“I’d like to represent Isaac,” he continues. “It would be pro bono, of course. I need to be honest that I don’t normally take criminal cases. I mostly work with LGBTQ+ clients facing discrimination, but when Anders told me what happened, I couldn’t not get involved.”
It takes me a second to process. “You’re…wait, really?”
“If it’s alright with you and Isaac.”
He’s asking me?
“His court-appointed lawyer was awful, but they have an airtight case. I’m not sure what can be done.”
He nods. “Look, I’m not going to sugarcoat anything. The outlook isn’t great. Isaac pled guilty at the arraignment. There were too many witnesses. The best we can do is try to minimize the damage. Reduce the charges. Push for a lower-security facility, if it comes to that. I’ll exploit every loophole I can find.”
“Prison time is guaranteed?” I ask, my voice thin.
He hesitates, then nods. “I’m afraid so. Even with mitigating circumstances. Right now, based on the severity and the charges being pushed by Montague’s legal team, he’s looking at anywhere between ten and fifty years.”
My stomach drops.
“But,” Leslie adds quickly, “if we can get the charges reduced to a class B felony, parole eligibility could come around the ten-year mark. That’s if everything goes well.”
A heavy silence stretches between us. I have to work to clear my throat, bile rising.
“I don’t know how much Anders told you, or how much he truly knows, but are you aware of why Isaac went after Guy?”
Leslie’s gaze softens. “All I know is that he was defending you.”
I force the words out. “Guy Montague assaulted me. Isaac found me unconscious and chased Guy off before he could do worse. He didn’t see him well, but Anders found some footage that proved it was him.”
“I’m so sorry that happened to you. That any of this is happening to you.”
“Would it help if I came forward? With the footage? My statement?”
He studies me. “Yes. It could change the narrative. Context matters. It might help with sentencing and possibly get us a reduced charge. We could make a case that it was a crime of passion, rather than premeditated, but it won’t make the assault disappear.”
“I’ll do it,” I say. “Whatever you need.”
He gives me an appreciative nod then turns to introduce himself to Genie and Chelsey. I sink into a seat, numb, my heart pounding and aching all at once.
Mac and Anders sit on either side of me throughout the meeting. Leslie speaks a lot about what is likely to happen next and what we can do to support him.
But I don’t hear any of it. I’m too numb.
* * *
A week later, Isaac is granted bail and is released on house arrest. It’s a miracle.
Even though we’re all happy he’s not behind bars for the time being, it’s bittersweet. He’s confined to the apartment above the gym. Can’t even step into the main building. Genie and Chelsey are heading home today. Chelsey can’t afford to take more time off work, and Genie needs rest.
I visit Mac and Anders to update them on how he’s doing. The truth is, he’s not doing well at all. He barely speaks. He doesn’t eat unless I bring him something. Stares out the window like he’s already behind bars.
When I get home with two takeout bags from The Nook , I find him at the kitchen table, surrounded by notebooks. He’s hunched over, a pencil clutched in his hand, his brows furrowed like he’s trying to math his way out of a nightmare.
“What’s all this?” I ask gently, setting the food down.
He doesn’t look up. “Inventory.”
I move closer. Each notebook is filled with neat, careful lists—tools, weights, mats, supplies. Some with resale values, others with contact information for secondhand stores and liquidation services.
“I’m selling everything,” he says quietly. “So I can pay everyone back for posting bail, and clear up any debts. I don’t want Mom or Chelsey or you to have to deal with any of this stuff when I’m gone.”
“You don’t have to–”
“Yes, I do.”
He finally meets my gaze, and the pain in his eyes guts me. “I can’t let them carry this for me. I can’t leave this mess behind. I need to take care of them one last time.”
“Isaac…”
“I’m thankful,” he says, voice cracking. “That I get to spend this time with you. Whatever time I’ve got left. But we have to be honest about what’s coming. I’m going away. For a long time. And when it happens, I don’t want to owe anyone anything. I want to leave knowing I did right by the people I care about.”
I sit beside him and reach for his hand. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
“But I will be alone,” he whispers. “In there. For years. Maybe decades. The only thing that scares me more than that is leaving you out here without me.”
Tears blur my vision. I climb into his lap and wrap my arms around his shoulders. “You are not allowed to give up. Do you hear me?”
He buries his face in my shoulder. “I’m so tired, kitten.”
“I know,” I say, pressing my lips to his temple. “But I’m not letting you go without a fight. And I’m not letting you push me away just to make it easier.”
His arms tighten around me. And for the first time in days, I feel him breathe. Really breathe.
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you, too.”
He kisses me then. It’s slow and desperate and full of everything we can’t say. And I let him. I drown in it, letting myself get lost in the way only he can make me feel.
He’s the first to strip me out of my shirt, then I remove his, relishing how it feels to be skin on skin. It’s like there’s an aura around us. A glowing sort of energy that rises from our skin and reacts with every touch.
With strong arms, he lifts me so I’m propped on the edge of the table. I slip my pants and briefs off, while he stands and pushes his down. With his hand around his cock, he sits back down and looks at me like I’m something to be devoured.
My fingers white knuckle the edge of the table as he takes me into his mouth, hard and deep. My cries echo off the walls as my body trembles, too overcome to hold back. I spill into his mouth excruciatingly fast. But I can’t let that be it. I want more, I want to be as close to him as possible.
“Fuck me, please,” I whimper before he’s sucked the final pulses of my orgasm. “Now. I need you,” I cry, desperate.
In a move that drives the air from my chest and makes my brain stem vibrate, Isaac spits a mouthful of my cum into his hand and spreads it over the head of his cock. He spits more directly on my hole, laying me back across the table, knocking all of his careful notes to the ground. He stretches me to two fingers, but I’m too impatient and cry for him to please just do it now.
He adds more spit, watching it drip down between us, and then he’s there, pushing inside me in a slow, deep thrust that hurts in so many ways. It hurts physically. It hurts my heart. It hurts so good.
Isaac tries to roll into me softly in short, easy thrusts, but I can’t stand it. I don’t know what this need is that’s taken over me. It’s not even about sex. It’s about holding him inside me, about being closer than any two people can get.
I rock off the table, squeezing his hips with my thighs to hold on, and he falls back down to the chair with me on his lap. There’s no lift and drop or bouncing. I’m not riding him as much as I’m rocking back and forth, grinding with him inside me. He wraps his arms around my waist, and I wrap mine around his neck, and we hold each other tightly, just rocking together like that until we’re sweating and it’s almost painful not to fuck.
Only then, with our mouths fused together, do we start to really move. The entire room heats. Humidity builds. We pant and moan and cry and writhe. Isaac moves my body up and down his shaft, thrusting up into me, rocking me down on every thrust.
By the time he comes, shaking and crying out that he loves me, I’m fully hard again. Isaac stands, holding me in his arms with his cock still inside me, and carries me to the bedroom.
There’s lube, but not enough prep, Isaac is as needy and demanding as I was. He lays over the end of the bed, ass out, and I take him from behind with one knee up and the other on the floor. I try to take him slow at first, but he’s not having it. He pushes back, rolling his body like some kind of exotic dancer, slamming his ass down on my cock. It’s a good thing he doesn’t seem to need me to do anything, because I’m too transfixed watching him fuck himself on my cock. When he gets tired, I brace a hand on his shoulder and give him a few slow, hard thrusts before jack-hammering into him until he’s moaning out a long, extended garbled yell.
It’s still not enough. He pushes me back on the bed and climbs on top of me, tears in his eyes as he takes his pleasure from me.
I let him love me like it’s the last time. I let him hold me like I’m the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
Because maybe I am.
And maybe, for now, that’s enough.
* * *
My father doesn’t look surprised to see me.
His office is warm. Comfortable. Polished oak and ivory walls. A man’s space. No room for emotion.
“Tyler,” he says. “I didn’t expect to see you here today.”
I don’t bother with pleasantries. “Drop the charges.”
He lifts a brow, then shakes his head with a sigh. “It’s not my name on them.”
“Don’t insult my intelligence. You could make it happen if you wanted to.”
“I’ve looked into your little threat from last time. The FCC?” He smiles faintly. “There’s nothing to find. I scrubbed everything. You’ll only embarrass yourself if you try.”
I clench my jaw, but I’m not here to bluff.
“There’s footage,” I say. “From the alley. From the hallway inside The Nook . Security footage. It shows Guy hitting me. Twice. Chasing me down. Threatening me.”
For the first time, his expression flickers.
“You have what?”
“You heard me. Video proof of Guy Montague assaulting me. It might not keep Isaac out of prison, but it’ll change the severity of the sentence. And it’ll fucking ruin Guy and his father. Because I will absolutely go to the press with the footage, photos, medical records of what he did to me—whatever it takes to make sure they lose everything.”
He’s quiet for long enough that I think he has nothing left to say to me. Then, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“That he…assaulted you.”
I laugh. A dry, bitter sound. “I tried to tell you. You brushed me off. What was the point in pushing when you clearly don’t take me seriously?”
His face is still. Unreadable.
“You treated me like a pawn,” I snap. “Like a whore you were trying to sell off to the highest bidder.”
His voice is sharp now, defensive. “That’s not fair. I never–Sex was never part of it. I only wanted you to give him a chance. If it worked out, it would’ve been beneficial. Good for our connections. But I would never have risked your safety.”
“And yet, that’s exactly what you did.” I don’t bother listing all the ways he let both me and Guy Montague think that what happened was okay, that he was allowed, or even encouraged, to disrespect and abuse me. All the ways he let me down, and made me believe it was my fault.
He looks at me, mouth pressed into a thin line.
“You are my son, and I only wanted what was best for you. It was never my intention to, to— I love you, Tyler. I would never allow someone to hurt you.”
“Did you even think to ask why Isaac did what he did?” I ask. “It was because he saw the footage. Because he saw the man who hurt me. Who berated me. Who threatened to rape me. Who left me unconscious behind a dumpster in the freezing cold.”
His eyes widen.
“Isaac saved me. He made me feel safe. He made me feel loved. And now you’re defending the man who tried to break me. So don’t talk to me about love. Don’t pretend you’ve ever been a father.”
I turn and walk out before he can say another word.