Tyler
I’d barely seen Orla all day. She’d been tied up rehabbing Emma, who’d wrecked her shoulder so badly during the last rounds of the Open that she’d needed surgery.
Orla had thrown herself into helping her recover and I couldn’t blame her; she was damn good at what she did, one of the best on tour, and everyone knew it.
I was holding together fine, my body a little sore but cooperating after the American stretch. I didn’t need as much from her hands these days, which meant she could go all in with Emma until I was back on the road.
Since we got married, I’d floated the idea of taking her straight back to Cali with me, but we’d agreed London made more sense with her working and I had some downtime before I needed to head off to the Shanghai Masters.
The press hadn’t caught wind yet, but it was only a matter of time.
Orla knew it too, which was why she wanted to start telling people herself before the headlines got there first. Gwen and Kate were the warm-up act this evening.
Danny was next before finally calling her dad and older brother.
She was nervous as hell about Danny, and I didn’t blame her.
She’d told me her brother was protective, territorial and if he had reactions like her, we were in for a bumpy ride.
He seemed like the kind of guy who’d cross a street just to stand between her and trouble, which was why there was no way I was letting her face him alone.
She might be his sister, but she was my wife; no one talked her down while I was in the room.
I’d booked us a nice suite in London, a stopgap until I found something better. Somewhere that felt like more than a crash pad between tournaments. Somewhere that was ours. Her flat was too small, and with Danny still living there, it wasn’t ideal.
The click of the keycard at the door broke through my thoughts. My pulse jumped before I even saw her, riding the now familiar feeling of my wife coming home to me at the end of the day. She walked in looking like she’d had a time of it, shoulders slumping as the door shut behind her.
I stretched out on the couch, grinning. “So…did they kick you out of the group chat?”
“They reacted exactly like I thought they would,” she said, tossing her bag onto a chair but this time her mouth was twitching, like she was holding back a laugh.
“Gwen nearly had a stroke. First words out of her mouth were ‘Oh my God, you’re pregnant’ and Kate looked like she was calculating which one of us needed therapy first. But once they got over the shock…
” She shook her head, smiling now. “They were happy for us. Like, genuinely happy. No judgement. Just…really supportive.”
“That’s basically a standing ovation from those two.” I said, relieved.
She kicked off her shoes, rubbed at her temples, but there was a tension in her face that hadn’t been there when she walked in. I pushed up and slid my arms around her waist, pulling her down until her forehead rested against my chest.
“You feel any better about telling Danny?” I asked against her hair.
She snorted. “Fuck no. Even Gwen said he’ll kill us.”
“Babe.” I tipped her chin up until her eyes met mine. “He’ll kill us more if he finds out in the tabloids.”
“I know.” She sighed sharply, her eyes darting away. “It’s just…he’s hot-headed in a broody, stupid way. He’ll stew on this for weeks.”
I brushed my thumb along her jaw. “Then let him stew. We’re telling him. Your dad, too. No hiding. You’re my wife. End of story.”
Her lips twisted like she wanted to argue but deep down she knew she had to do this sooner rather than later. “Fine. Then we do it now. Before I back out again.”
She pulled out her phone, thumbs flying across the screen, sending Danny a quick message that she was on her way home.
She didn’t mention me—I clocked it instantly, that little omission.
She wanted to soften the blow. But it didn’t change a thing.
He was about to find out, and I’d be standing right there beside her when he did.
She glanced up at me from her phone and gave a loud huff.
I gave her a reassuring smile, grabbed her hand and my keys and led her out of the door before she could back out.
By the time we rolled up outside her flat in Balham, it was past ten p.m., and way too late to be dropping a bomb like this. But I could see her chewing her lip raw, and I knew if we waited, she’d stall again. I rounded the car, laced my fingers through hers, and squeezed tightly.
Her key turned in the lock and she pushed her way in. I trailed tentatively behind her.
“Danny?” she called.
“In the living room,” came the deeply voiced reply in the same Irish lilt as hers.
The place was small, barely enough room for the three of us and the tension was already tightening like a wire. He did a double take when he saw me step in behind her, then pushed off the couch fast.
“Oh. I wasn’t…uh…wasn’t expecting both of you,” he said, caught off guard, standing there shirtless in track pants. Jesus, I knew he played pro rugby but this guy was fucking huge. Orla was a tall girl but he must have been six three at least and a pure slab of bulging muscle.
“Danny, you haven’t met properly, but this is Tyler. Tyler, Danny, my brother,” she introduced, her voice too bright for what she’d come here to say.
“Good to meet you, bro,” I said, throwing out a hand, trying to play it friendly.
He didn’t take it. Just gave me a sharp nod, eyes flicking back to Orla.
“You both staying?” he asked tentatively.
Orla took a breath, the kind she took when she was psyching herself up for something. “Actually, I need to talk to you about that.”
His gaze cut to me again, narrowing. I stepped in closer behind her, steady and unwavering even though the guy was built like a damn mountain.
“Danny, you know Tyler and I have been seeing each other for a while, obviously,” she started. “I’ve…been staying with him since coming back from America.”
He frowned, confused, like he couldn’t figure out why this was suddenly a confession. She hesitated, and I could feel the words clogging up in her throat.
So I jumped in.
“Look, Danny, I know you see all the shit the media writes about me, but it’s bullshit. I love your sister more than anything. I really do.”
Her head whipped toward me like she wanted to set me on fire. Too late. The words were already out.
“What Orla’s trying to say is…” I swallowed, trying to make it sound smoother than it was. “We got married. In Vegas. She’s been trying to find the right way to tell you.”
Yeah. Definitely sounded better in my head.
He wasn’t saying anything. Just blinked hard, like his brain was buffering, trying to catch up to what I’d just dropped on him. Which, given the number of tackles and head knocks this guy had probably taken, wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.
Then he snapped to life, voice slicing through the silence. “You married him? In Vegas?” Like I wasn’t even standing there.
“Yes,” Orla said quietly, looking for all the world like a teenager caught sneaking back in past curfew.
“Is there something fucking wrong with you?” he hissed at her.
“Hey, man…” I cut in, heat rising in my chest. “Don’t talk to her like that.”
His eyes finally locked on me, hard as stone. “You can shut up. Orla, what the fuck? You’ve seen what he’s like. Mum would’ve been mortified.”
That did it. Straight below the belt, in every way possible. I stepped round her, fists tight, my whole body buzzing. “Alright, that’s enough…”
I didn’t even get the rest out before his fist connected with my eye socket. Clean, square, stars bursting across my vision.
I staggered back, my vision swimming. Every instinct in me screamed to swing back, to level him out. My fists curled, body burning for it, my teeth clenching so tight my jaw popped. I wanted it. Fuck, I wanted it.
But he was her brother. Hitting him wouldn’t prove I loved her; it would prove he was right about me.
Then I caught Orla’s face, that flicker in her eyes that said she half expected me to lose it. That's what stopped me harder than the punch itself.
I backed up a step, placed my finger to my brow where I felt warm blood. My eyebrow was split. Great. Headlines would love that.
“Danny!” Orla’s voice cracked like glass. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He was pacing awkwardly, chest heaving, fists flexing like he needed something else to hit. “You expect me to just be fine with this? My little sister marrying him, a walking scandal, in some fucked-up Vegas whorehouse wedding, no less?”
My vision went white-hot. Who the fuck did he think he was talking to? I surged forward, ready to get in his face, but Orla spun, throwing herself between us, palms flat against both our chests.
“Enough!” she screamed, sharp enough to slice the room in two. “Unless both you idiots want to be on tomorrow’s front pages courtesy of the neighbors.”
Danny’s jaw locked tight, eyes still blazing. “You’re the idiot, Orla. Dad’s gonna be heartbroken.”
That was it. I couldn’t take another second of him tearing her down. “You wanna hate me, fine,” I snapped, my voice edging on dangerous. “But don’t you dare make her feel shitty for loving me. You don’t get to do that.”
He blinked at me, completely thrown. He had no comeback, just a bitter huff of laughter as he yanked his T-shirt over his head and grabbed his keys.
He stormed past us, his shoulder slamming mine harder than necessary, and the door went with a crack loud enough to rattle the frame.
Heavy, uneven footsteps thundered down the stairs until the building fell quiet again.
When I turned back, Orla was already dropping onto the sofa like the fight had wrung the last breath out of her. She pressed her palms to her face, shoulders shaking.
Seeing her like that hit harder than Danny’s fist. A clean shot, right in the gut. Guilt churned in my stomach. Blurting it out the way I had? Fuck, what the hell was I thinking? Ripping off the band-aid made sense in theory, but now it felt like we’d need more than a band-aid to fix this mess.
I sat beside her, pulling her against my chest whether she wanted it or not.
“I’ll take every hit he throws at me if that’s what it takes, O. But I won’t let him talk to you like that.”
Her voice cracked as she whispered, “He reacted exactly like I knew he would. Swing first, think later.”
“Yeah, well, you Sheehans seem to have a way with reactions,” I laughed, trying to bring lightness though the feeling in the room was anything but.
Her head snapped up like she was about to scold me and then froze. The colour drained from her face.
“Tyler. Your head. Shit, we need to get that stitched.”
She reached for me, fingertips brushing the skin just above my eye. I winced at the sting, and she gasped when her fingers came away red.
“It’s fine,” I muttered, brushing it off.
“It is not fine. It’s gaping open, Tyler.”
I knew it was, I could feel it. “I’ll clean it up at the hotel.”
“You will not, come on, we’re getting you sorted.”
Sitting in A&E was hell. The place stank of antiseptic and stale coffee, the waiting room packed with drunks mouthing off at security and old folks who looked like they’d been there under the fluorescent lights since last Tuesday.
Every chair was sticky with something I didn’t want to contemplate.
A few heads turned when we walked in, and Orla tugged me into a corner like she could hide me.
Hard to do when my face looked like I’d lost a bar fight with a brick wall so I just pulled my hoodie up high around my head.
My eyebrow was still leaking, my head thudding, and the bruise blooming purple across my cheek made me look like a cautionary tale.
She never let go of me though. Not once. She sat there glued to my side, knee bouncing a mile a minute, her hand tight around mine like she could keep me from bleeding out just by holding on.
Thankfully, a nurse must have recognized me and clocked the curious looks and whispers of the other patients because she ushered us through quickly.
By the time they called me through, Orla had gone full physio mode all professional and clipped like the first day I met her.
She began rattling off what happened like I was her patient, not her husband who’d just been done in by her brother.
She hovered close, guiding me into the chair, tilting my head like she was setting up for treatment herself.
While the nurse prodded at my brow, I watched Orla.
Worry carved across her face, guilt sitting heavy in her eyes and still, she was the most gorgeous thing in the room.
With luck, no stitches were needed. Just a deep clean and medical glue.
“It might leave a small scar,” the nurse said, squinting as she worked. “But I’ll get it back together as best I can.”
“Hear that, O?” I drawled, lips twitching. “A husband with tattoos and a scar on his face? You’ll never keep your hands off me again.”
She tried to hold her serious face and failed miserably. An exasperated little smile broke its way on to her face. Even the nurse giggled.
As the nurse worked, I felt Orla’s hand clamp even tighter over mine, knuckles whitening. She didn’t realise she was crushing me until I hissed.
“Ow.”
“Shit, is it hurting?” she gasped, eyes wide.
“No.” I smirked. “But your death grip is.”
She broke into a nervous laugh, and she quickly let go. “Oh shit, sorry.”
I flexed my fingers, catching her gaze. “Never apologize for holding onto me that hard, baby. That’s exactly where I want you.”
When we finally made it back to the hotel suite it was almost two a.m. Orla had barely said a word, slipping into autopilot instead, pulling out her kit bag, rummaging until she found an instant ice pack, pressing it gently to my eye.
Her lips were pursed tightly, her movements sharp with focus, but I could see it wasn’t just part of the job. The guilt was imprinted on her face.
She was still fussing when I caught her wrists, holding them still against my chest.
“O. I’m fine, baby. You don’t have to do all this.”
Her shoulders sagged. “I feel like it’s my fault, Tyler. For putting you in that position. In Danny’s firing line.”
“Look, O, we both knew it was coming either way. He got it out of his system. Now we just…figure out how to get him on side.”
She lowered her eyes, her voice came out small. “I don’t know if he ever will be.”
“You kidding?” I tipped her chin up until she met my eyes. “My charm worked on you, didn’t it?”
That earned me a swat on the arm, but then she let herself collapse against my chest, her breath shaky against my neck. I held her tight, one hand stroking slowly through her hair like I always did to recalibrate.
“It’s gonna be fine,” I murmured into her hair. “Everyone just needs time. We speak to your dad next, then we plan our next move.”
Her fingers curled into my shirt, holding herself together, and I realized I was doing the same with her. Bruises, headlines, disapproving brothers, none of it scared me half as much as the thought of losing this.