Tyler
New York
Late August
My cab eased up to a little basement restaurant in Greenwich Village just a little before eight p.m. It was the type with no sign, just worn brick, a narrow staircase, and the flicker of low lighting inside.
It was small and tucked away, the kind of spot you had to know to find, and after two weeks of airports, interviews, and missing Orla like a constant bruise, it was exactly the kind of quiet I needed.
I’d landed in New York the night before and told my brother I’d catch up with him and his wife while I was in town.
Travis and I didn’t see each other much anymore.
The chaos of life, work, all the usual excuses but I owed him dinner.
He’d married Eve last year, a former model with a smile the camera loved and a personality that scared half the family shitless.
I liked her, though; she made him lighter.
I handed the driver a few crumpled twenties, more than enough to cover the fare and my miserable scowl, and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
The late-summer heat of New York hit me but this little corner of the Village was mercifully quiet.
I did a quick scan—checking for the glint of a lens or anyone lingering too long with a phone out—before I ducked toward the stairs.
I pushed through the heavy wooden door, the distant noise of the city cutting out instantly.
Travis was already there, his broader frame looking slightly too large for the delicate bistro chair Eve sat next to him, her posture as perfect as the day she’d retired from the runway.
“Little brother,” Travis said as he stood, clasping my hand before pulling me into a quick hug.
“Long time no see, Trav.” I turned to Eve, kissing her cheek. “Eve. Looking beautiful as always.”
“Thank you, Tyler. Hey, you were on fire this week,” she said, giving me that polished smile that could sell perfume in a single glance.
“Yeah, feeling pretty good about my game.”
Travis flagged the waiter for drinks. “Well, good to hear, because Mom’s back in rehab.”
My stomach dipped. “What? Since when?”
“Three weeks ago. She called me last week, swore she’s sticking it out this time.” His voice was casual, but the serrated edge was definitely there. “Anyway. Canada. You had a good run, huh?”
“Yeah,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “It’s been…a good couple of weeks.” I didn’t like the way we brushed over the subject of my mother but honestly, I didn’t have the time or the energy to go into it now.
Travis smirked over the rim of his glass. “Yeah, in more ways than one, what was it this week? Brunette, I think?”
Eve shot him a look. “Trav, don’t be an ass.”
I didn't bite. I just shook my head at his flippant mention of the photo—the one of Orla and me that had been haunting the tabloids for days. “It’s not like that. I’ve been seeing her for a while.”
Eve’s brow lifted. “She’s not your usual type.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Maybe not, but I really like her.”
Eve stilled, her smile softening into something almost tender.
“Tyler…” she said quietly, almost like she didn’t want to spook me. “I’ve waited years to hear you say something like that.”
That pulled Travis up short. “Wow. Sounds serious. Who is she?”
“Her name’s Orla. She’s Irish. She’s actually one of the physical therapists on the tour, been rehabbing my leg for the last few months.”
My brother grinned, that teasing glint back in his eye. “Sounds like she’s rehabbing more than just your leg.”
Eve swatted his arm. “Tyler, she sounds lovely. Clever, too. I’m pleased for you.”
Travis’s grin faded into something warmer. The big-brother version of him he saved for rare occasions. “Honestly, I’m glad, Ty. You deserve someone solid.”
I found myself smiling, couldn’t help it. “Yeah. I owe a lot to her. She’s…different. I feel different.”
Eve leaned her chin into her palm, studying me like I’d grown a second head. “God, you’re actually glowing. This is disgusting. I love it.”
Trav nodded slowly, his gaze leveling with mine. “In all seriousness, bro, you seem in a good place. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you like this.”
He wasn’t wrong, I was in a good place—or I had been. I’d never felt sharper or more locked in, but landing in New York without her had kind of hollowed me out. I was missing her like crazy and I couldn’t wait until she came back and I could function again.
We moved on to talking about the city, Travis’s latest deal, Eve’s charity event next week, the usual gossip about old friends from back home.
Halfway through the main course, I found myself telling them about Orla flying back to Ireland for her dad, how I’d driven her to the airport at two a.m. and had to watch her walk away.Travis’s expression shifted, the teasing completely gone, replaced by a look that said he finally saw how far I’d fallen.
Eve smiled like she’d known it long before I did.
After dinner we made our way up to the street. It was dark now, but the late August heat still clung to the air, sticky on the back of my neck.
Travis hailed a yellow cab. “Was good to see you, bro. Maybe bring Orla to meet us soon?” he said as he climbed in.
“Yeah, she’d love to meet you,” I replied, nodding.
Just before Eve slid in after him, she cupped my face with perfectly manicured hands, like she wanted to knock some sense into me. “Try not to fuck it up, Tyler. I’d actually like to meet this one.”
I laughed, despite something pulling deep in my heart. “I promise, Eve. You’ll get to meet her real soon.”
“Don’t talk yourself out of it because you think you’re your father’s son.” Her voice dropped an octave. “You’re not. You’ve been proving that for years.” Eve had a way of threatening you with kind words. I knew if I fucked this up she’d be the first one to ride my ass about it.
“And for the record,” she added, tapping my cheek. “If you let this one slip, I’m personally staging an intervention.”
She smiled and turned ready to duck into the cab. I caught a flicker movement at the edge of my vision, a flash of light in the shadows across the street. Probably some pap taking a photo.
Eve paused just long enough to glance over her shoulder, her brow creasing. “They’re watching you again,” she murmured. “Be careful.”
I was too tired to care.
I lifted a hand in goodbye and then turned back to the curb to flag down my own cab. I checked my phone. Too late over in Ireland to call Orla. A good night text would have to do.
One more day.