Chapter 47
FORTY-SEVEN
Eric
? Falling - Harry Styles ?
My head is fucking pounding. I open my eyes and immediately close them again, groaning and burying my head into the pillows because the light filling the room is entirely too bright.
Shit, do I have a migraine? Whatever the fuck this is, it’s not your average headache. It almost feels like…
No. No, there’s no way.
I drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom, rifling through the bottles of medicine until I find the Advil. I dump four into my hand and turn to head to the kitchen for some water, pausing as realization hits me.
Why am I in the bedroom? Where’s Tyler?
I open the door, and the smell of bacon assaults my nose, the sound of it sizzling in the pan follows soon after. I ease down the hallway and see Ty at the stove in her pajamas, hair pulled into a messy bun on the top of her head.
She turns her attention to me as I step into the space and smiles so wide it takes me by surprise. But what really throws me for a loop is when she wraps her arms around my shoulders and leans in for a kiss.
I grip her by the elbows and lean away from her.
“Woah, what are you doing?” I ask, confused as fuck.
“What do you mean what am—” she goes from looking confused to pissed to hurt so fast I can barely keep up. She tears her arms from my hold and backs away.
Shit. Did we…no. No. We couldn’t have. Could we? I swear to God, if we finally slept together again and I can’t remember it—
“What the fuck happened last night?”
She lets out a deep sigh and closes her eyes, and the pain on her face is enough to knock the air from my lungs.
“You drank half a bottle of tequila,” she says, returning her attention to the pan of bacon on the stove.
Fuuuuuck. Five years of sobriety down the drain. Why? I’d been through some shit since I quit drinking and, even though I’d been tempted, I hadn’t used alcohol as a fix. Not since the day Amy died.
What could possibly have sent me down that path? I run a hand down my face and sit myself down at the table as Ty puts a plate of bacon, sausage, eggs, and toast in front of me. The sight of it simultaneously making me want to throw up and my mouth water.
I rest my elbows on the table and put my face in my hands. How did this happen? Think, damn it. What do you remember? I remember playing the show. I remember not being able to find Tyler backstage. I remember coming back here to look for her and then…and then…
Nothing.
The last thing I remember is coming here, terrified I was going to find a note on the table and her bedroom empty.
“I’m sorry,” I say, finally breaking the silence. “For whatever I said or did last night. Before I got sober, I said and did a lot of shit I shouldn’t have when I was under the influence, so it’s probably best that you ignore everything that happened.”
“You truly don’t remember anything?” she asks. I look over at her, leaning against the counter, arms folded across her chest, staring right into my eyes. I look away and shake my head.
“No, I…I’m sorry,” I say. With the look she’s giving me, I know something happened, and I can’t decide if I’m glad or pissed that I don’t remember what it was.
Without a word, she pushes off the counter and walks back to the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind her.
Fuck.
I slide my phone out of my pocket and look through my texts, calls, and photos, hoping to find something, anything, that will clue me in on what the actual fuck happened. Other than texts and calls to Tyler, there isn’t much to go on.
I eat as much of the breakfast as I can force down without throwing up, before stepping outside for some fresh air.
I pull my Ray Bans down over my eyes to block out the sun, but they’re almost useless against the pounding in my head.
I walk around the city surrounding the arena, wracking my brain, all but begging it to remember something.
Turning the corner to head back, Josh exits a Starbucks a few feet ahead of me, and it all comes rushing back.
Seeing Tyler with Josh, his arm around her as he led her through the dark parking lot and onto his RV.
Breaking into Dani and Kate’s RV and stealing their bottle of tequila.
Tyler coming back to our RV and finding me shitfaced and brokenhearted.
Telling her I’m in love with her.
Tyler telling me she’s in love with me. Telling me to touch her.
Finally touching her after six long, torturous months of keeping my hands to myself.
Kissing her.
Claiming her.
Promising her I would never hurt her.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck. This is bad. This is so, so bad. We slept together. Which means we’re in breach of the contract. Which means, if she’s pissed enough, she can come after me. It was consensual, but she could lie and say it wasn’t. She could—
No. She wouldn’t. Fuck, I feel like a piece of shit even considering it. I’m panicking, but this industry is full of people who have found themselves in that exact situation, and the unfortunate reality is that you just never know.
I need to find her. I need to find her and fix this.
She loves me. I love her and she loves me. That thought alone is enough to give me a second wind.
I duck into the Starbucks, ignoring Josh’s confused voice asking what the hell is going on as I rush past him and inside, ordering one of everything from their fall menu.
I know her drink order by heart now, but I’m hoping she’ll remember the night we met, and how a carboard holder full of these stupid, overpriced drinks got her to open up to me.
Hoping it’ll be enough to get her to do it again.
Exiting with two carriers full of drinks, I haul my hungover ass back to the arena parking lot as fast as my aching body can carry me.
I climb into the RV and notice the bedroom door is still shut, so I set the drinks on the table in the kitchen and head straight for it.
I knock, but she doesn’t answer, so I knock again.
“Ty?”
Silence.
I turn the handle, but it’s locked.
“Tyler, please,” I say, pressing my forehead against the door. “Can we talk?”
“I’d really rather not listen to you say anything else,” she says. Her voice barely audible from the other side of the door, but I can hear the pain in it. “You made it perfectly clear that what happened last night didn’t mean anything, so what else is there to say?”
Fuck me. Fuck me and my big fucking mouth.
“Please,” I beg. “What I said this morning…I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry. I—”
“Just stop, Eric,” she says.
“Will you just let me explain?” I say, my voice sounding harsher than I mean it to. The door flies open, and before I have a chance to process it, she’s in my face.
“Explain what, exactly? That what you said last night isn’t true? Or that what you said this morning isn’t true?” I’m too stunned by her rage to speak. I open my mouth, and she cuts me off. “You know what? No,” she says. “I can’t do this again. I won’t.”
“Do what again?”
“Get my hopes up. Listen to you wax poetic and fill me with all of this…this hope…just to listen to you take it all back less than twelve hours later. And you know the worst part? I knew this would happen. I knew I would be the one who got hurt. It’s why I did what I did by insisting on the contract.
I knew I had to protect myself. So, that’s what I’m doing.
” She tries to close the door in my face, but I catch it in time, pressing my hand into it and pushing so hard against it that I’m surprised my hand doesn’t go right through the thin wood.
“So, you’re just going to act like last night never happened? Like we both didn’t admit to some serious shit?” I ask.
“You did.” She throws the words at me, and I flinch, even though I deserve it.
I reach for her, but she backs away. “No,” she says, her beautiful blue eyes finally finding mine.
“I did what I came here to do—I got your story, so we’re done.
This ends now. I’m going home. Do not call me.
Do not text me. Do not come looking for me. ”
“Tyler, no,” I say, my voice breaking, tears flooding my eyes.
She tries to push past me, but I grab her by the arm.
“Please don’t…don’t do this. I know I fucked up but please don’t shut me out.
” Desperate, my heart breaking in my chest, I take her face in my hands and kiss her.
She doesn’t pull away, so I keep going, and I pour absolutely everything I have into this kiss.
“Stay,” I whisper against her lips, tears falling from my eyes and down my face. “Please, I am begging you. Stay and let me—”
She shakes herself free from my grasp, pushes past me, and disappears down the stairs.
“Let me love you,” I say into the empty space between us, watching out the windshield as she walks away.
And like the goddamn idiot I am, I let her.