27. Tyler
27
TYLER
24 HOURS AGO
I haven’t even made it five feet past the lobby when I hear him call my name.
“Tyler.”
Not sharp. Not clipped and dismissive, like usual. Urgent. Unsteady.
Then he jogs to catch up.
Talon Valdin. Jogging. In public.
When I turn, his face is red, hair slightly out of place, like even gravity’s taken a swing at his composure.
“Wait,” he says, slightly breathless. “Tyler. Please.”
I stop. I shouldn’t. I know better. But I stop.
He takes a breath like it pains him. “You love this man?”
“More than anything.”
He nods slowly, carefully. “How much do you love him?”
I narrow my eyes. I know how my father operates. Every question is a chess move. Every pause is a trap.
Still, I answer. “Everything. I have nothing to lose if I don’t have him.”
He considers my words carefully for long enough that I think the conversation is over. Just as I’m starting to walk away again, he speaks.
“What if I could keep him out of prison?”
I stiffen. “You can’t.”
“I can,” he says. “If you come work with me. Go to law school. Become my partner. Take over the firm one day. You do that, and I’ll make sure Isaac Casey walks free.”
My heart stutters. “That’s not how the system works.”
He smirks, loving the reminder of his own prowess. His power. “No. But it’s how I work.”
I don’t believe him. I can’t.
I think of Isaac. Of the way he looked the first morning I woke up in his room, the way his voice sounded in the dark, low and steady as he promised I was safe. I think of his hand on the small of my back when we walk together, the way he laughs when he’s surprised, full-bodied and beautiful. I think of the way he kissed me after our first fight, like forgiveness was sacred.
So I don’t say no.
Instead, I ask, “What’s the catch?”
"I gave Guy that job because I needed Senator Montague's support," he says, voice too even. "I didn’t think you’d actually…take an interest. You’re so quiet all the time, I assumed you understood the assignment. String him along. Be nice—cordial. Keep the Montagues comfortable. I didn’t realize he’d take liberties."
I blink at him. “You’re telling me you expected me to pretend to be interested in him?”
He doesn’t answer. Which is answer enough.
“And you just ignored all the red flags,” I press. “Because it was convenient. Because it was politically expedient.”
His jaw ticks. "It was a calculated risk. But I never thought he'd actually– He was lazy,” my father admits. “Entitled. Treated the interns like his assistants. But I didn’t think… I didn’t think he’d treat you like that.”
“He thought I was some sort of trade,” I say, my voice cold. “Like I owed him something for your political gain. Because you treat me like a pawn. Just another chip on your board.”
Talon’s expression darkens. “That was never my intention. I never expected you to be anything but cordial. I didn’t know he–”
“Being polite doesn’t mean I was interested. Being kind doesn’t mean I consented.”
He concedes with a nod. “You’re right. And I’m sorry. I should’ve stepped in sooner.”
I face away, not able to look him. This man who is supposed to be my father—who has never done anything but let me down, while pointing out all the ways I disappoint him.
“You should have. But you wouldn’t have. But even if I’d called you that night, I have a feeling you would have been angry at me for inconveniencing you. Even if you’d seen me, battered and bruised, you would have asked me what I did to provoke him.” I scoff. “You know there’s footage, and you’re probably wondering if it’s incriminating enough. If it actually proves anything, because you’d still like to pretend that I’m some silly, weak little boy who will never measure up to a man like you. I’m done being your pawn, father. With or without Isaac, I’m not coming back to you. So don’t bother making false promises and trying to manipulate me. There is no part of me that is interested in making deals with you.”
"I’d like access to the footage," he says, voice lower now. "From the restaurant. I don’t need it to believe you. I’d like access to the proof so I can make sure he’ll never dare to put his hands on you again." He stiffens, and for a moment, I see something unfamiliar flicker across his face. Something raw, like rage. "He’ll be punished for what he did," he says through clenched teeth. "No matter what happens with Isaac. That I promise you. He laid his hands on my son. A Valdin . That won’t stand. No one disrespects my son and gets away with it."
His expression is sharper than I’ve ever seen it. His lips are pressed thin, eyes burning with the cold fury of a man who’s used to dealing with enemies behind closed doors, not in alleys with fists. It’s the first time he’s ever looked like he might actually hurt someone himself.
I laugh, short and bitter. “You mean no one disrespects you. This isn’t about justice. It’s about your image.” I shoot back. “As if you know anything about respect. As if you’ve shown anyone respect in your life. You demand it, but you never once showed Isaac the respect he actually deserved.”
“You aren’t wrong.” His mouth tightens. “He’s certainly earned it. He helped you, and what’s more, you’ve grown since you met him. You have the confidence of a Valdin now.”
I want to roll my eyes, but I hold back. The truth is, Isaac gave me that strength. Not my name.
“What’s the catch?” I ask again.
“You get your degree at Stanford. To give you space from everything here, to heal from the aftermath of your traumatic event.”
“Stanford? Why so far away?”
“I think you need some space to heal and gain perspective. I respect what Mr. Casey has done for you, but I don’t believe a relationship based on codependence is healthy. If anything, a few years long distance could strengthen your bond, but if not, then you’ve avoided making a mistake that could ruin your future.”
“Three years,” I say, mind reeling, heart aching.
“It’s better than maintaining a long-distance relationship with a felon for several decades.”
There it is. The vague threat. His way or no way. My fists clench.
“I’ll also sweeten the pot. If you leave within the week, I’ll call off the zoning commission and ensure Isaac has the funding to open his business.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why? What do you get?”
“I can’t have my son dating a vagrant,” he says without hesitation. “It’s enough that he looks like a delinquent. At least if he’s a business owner, he’ll be somewhat respectable.”
“But I can’t tell him?”
“No. If my involvement is discovered, we both lose. You’ll risk the deal, and he’ll be back on track to spend the next fifteen to fifty years in prison. Give it a week for the dust to settle. Not before.”
It still seems too easy. Too clean. But that’s how he operates. Smooth and sharp, like a scalpel.
I want to tell him no. But I can’t. Not if there’s even a chance he can pull this off. Not if it saves Isaac.
He’s not just the man I love. He’s the man who held me when I was broken. Who never asked me to be anything but exactly who I am.
If I have to buy his freedom with my silence, I will.
Even if it breaks me.
* * *
PRESENT
This morning, we didn’t talk.
We made love like the world was ending—slow and deep and wordless. I don’t know if I started crying first or if he did. We both did, quietly, like it would be less real that way. Afterward, we stayed tangled together until the sun was too high to ignore.
Then we showered. And we did it again. This time, he took me, with my foot propped up on the lip of the tub. Then with my back to the wall and my legs hooked over his forearms. I’m still sore from the number of times we’ve made love and outright fucked each other’s brains out. But I relish the pain. I’ll cry when I can’t feel him anymore.
After the shower, I knew I had to leave. If I didn’t make myself go, I would never get the strength.
He didn’t ask where I was going. Maybe he already knew.
And I didn’t say goodbye. I couldn’t. If I had, I wouldn’t have made it here.
The terminal is cold, despite the warmth of Isaac’s hoodie wrapped around me. I keep my head down, tucked into the fabric, trying not to think. Trying not to feel. The gate number blinks overhead in that pale airport font that makes everything feel sterile and temporary. I’ve never felt more out of place in my life.
People walk by with coffee cups, earbuds, suitcases wheeling behind them. Everything looks normal. Like the world hasn’t tilted off its axis.
I think about turning around. About walking out the doors, catching a cab, and going home. But where is home now, if he’s not in it? No matter how much it hurts, I can’t risk his future knowing I could have saved him. I can be strong for him.
I pull out my phone. Type out the message I’ve had in my head since I left.
Me: I’m sorry. I just need space. Give me time to figure things out, please. I love you.
And this time I hit send.
My fingers are cramped around the photo I pulled from my carry-on. It’s a printout from one of the underground fight nights—a candid of Isaac mid-motion, sweat shining across his chest, a look in his eyes like he’s daring the world to hit harder. I trace the words inked across his ribs with the pad of my thumb.
Nothing to lose, everything to gain.
That might’ve been true once. But now…
What if I’ve risked everything, and it means nothing?
The truth is, it doesn’t matter. Because everything means nothing if I can’t save him.