Chapter 11 #2
I’m surprised when Roman doesn’t respond, but I prefer it this way.
I haven’t seen Tyler in years, and I haven’t checked on him, either.
For all I know, he lives overseas or on the moon.
It seems like he’s changed a lot, too, judging by the way he defaulted and didn’t tell me about it himself.
I guess there was always a bit of the easy way out to him—he was a hard worker when he had to be, but it wasn’t his preference.
The only explanation I can picture for this situation is that he got backed into a corner, some sort of desperation. Gambling, maybe, because he liked to dabble in online poker, which I hated. And my guess is that he would have gotten around to telling me—eventually.
But it wasn’t soon enough.
It only takes a few minutes for us to reach Tyler’s house—or where he used to live, anyway. There are several cars in the driveway, including one I recognize as his, and a wave of relief sweeps through me even as confusion does the same.
Who are the other people here? And why does this place look so rundown when it used to be so neat? The siding is torn in places, the mailbox leans dangerously to one side, and the hedge growth is out of control. It’s not something I would judge someone on, but it is unlike Tyler.
And for the first time, although I’ll never admit it, I’m a little bit glad I have Roman with me. Everything should be fine, but I’m walking into an unknown, and I’m not naive enough to ignore the potential dangers.
Roman isn’t either, apparently, because when we park in front of the house, he peers up at it with an uncharacteristically serious expression, his eyes narrowed slightly. As he looks back to me, though, his features ease. “Ready?” he says. “Power suit on? Big girl britches pulled all the way up?”
“Don’t patronize me,” I say, “and don’t ever mention my britches again.”
His lips tug into a boyish grin that removes all traces of seriousness. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
I snort at this and then unbuckle, climbing out of the car.
Although Roman was joking, I actually am wearing my power suit.
It’s slim and black, a fitted blazer and a pencil skirt, and my favorite black heels lift me four inches off the cracked pavement.
My hair is sleeked into a ponytail, but now I pull the hair tie out, letting it tumble over my shoulders and down my back.
A low whistle sounds from behind me, and I look over my shoulder to find Roman’s appreciative gaze taking me in.
“Diabolical,” he says, his eyes sparkling down at me. “Make sure he remembers you’re gorgeous, hmm?”
“You’re shameless,” I say. It’s true, and I don’t know what to do with that—such easy, blatant flirtation.
Of course I doubt he’s serious, because people usually aren’t with me, on the rare occasion they attempt sweet talk at all.
My cheeks heat all the same, and I straighten up to avoid any more talk.
My walk is steady as I head up the driveway, Roman close behind me, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. His steps are quiet, but I can feel his presence, on the sidewalk through the lawn and to the front door. I knock with no hesitation, and next to me, Roman steps into view.
I glance over at him and frown. “Why are you standing like that?”
“Like what?” he says.
“Like that.” I gesture at his posture, looming and straight as he folds his arms. “You look like a bouncer.” I pause and then go on, “Are you sure you didn’t get put in that holding cell for beating someone up?”
When he looks over at me, it’s with an expression of pleasant surprise. “Do I look like I could beat someone up?”
I roll my eyes and nod at the front door, which remains resolutely unanswered. “This is not a physically intimidating man.”
“One never knows.”
“I know, and he’s not,” I say. “So cool it.”
Roman shrugs, relaxing a bit, and then he grins. “Your wish is my command.”
“I highly doubt that.”
But our back and forth helps me regain some of my confidence, banishing my concern at imagining Tyler so different from how he was when we dated.
Yes, I’m facing an unknown here, but Roman’s presence really does ease my worries—
My thoughts startle to an abrupt halt when the front door lurches in front of us, opening just a sliver. Inside I can see a strip of Tyler’s face, recognizable even though he’s sporting a scraggly beard now. But when his eyes fall on me, they widen, and then he closes the door again.
Well—I guess I should say he tries to close it again.
Faster than I can register, Roman’s hand shoots out and holds the front door in place, even as Tyler struggles on the other side. With a cheerful smile, Roman pushes the door even wider and then slides one fancy shoe into the opening.
“Guilty conscience?” he says, still smiling pleasantly as though we’re all old friends.
Tyler doesn’t answer, and anger bubbles in my chest. It’s one thing not to tell me—it’s another to try to run when I show up to talk.
“Tyler,” I say in a low, even voice. “I swear I will get in my car and drive it straight into your living room.”
It’s this, finally, that gets him to speak.
“Right out of the gate,” he mutters in a strained voice. “Just—get—out—”
Roman looks over at me. “Would you like me to open the door?” he says. His gaze is mildly amused, his voice polite, and he looks perfectly at ease as he renews pushing the door wider open while Tyler curses on the other side.
But my shoulders slump as a frustrated sigh escapes. “It’s in my best interest not to break the law.”
His eyes sparkle, and he leans sideways, bending down a bit until our faces are level. “But you’d look so good in prison orange,” he drawls.
I scowl at him and force myself to take another deep breath. Then, keeping my voice calm, I look back at the partly open door. “Tyler,” I say, “just listen, okay? I’m paying. I’ve already set up a payment plan. I do need to know what happened, though. Can we just talk?”
From behind the door comes a disbelieving scoff. “You brought a bouncer, Aurora.”
My head whips toward Roman as I shoot him a look that says See?
But he just seems pleasantly surprised once more.
“He’s not a bouncer. He’s just—big.” I swat Roman’s arm. “Stop pushing.” Then, swallowing, I give my last plea: “Let me in. Please. We need to talk.”
And finally, from the other side of the door, I hear a reluctant sigh. Relief jumps behind my sternum as the door swings slowly open.
My first, highly judgmental thought is that Tyler hasn’t aged well. His hair is thinning, his face haggard and contorted into a grimace that even the scruffy beard can’t hide. His once-lively eyes are duller now, and his old spark of energy has gone.
But I chasten myself immediately. It’s his prerogative to age however he wants, I think firmly. And it’s none of your business.
“Come in, I guess,” he says, the words irritable. He spins on his heel and leaves us to step inside. We follow him wordlessly into the living room, where he gestures to the sole loveseat in the small space. We both glance around as the sound of music plays somewhere overhead.
“My roommate,” Tyler mutters, his cheeks turning a ruddy color. “I can’t—” He breaks off, purses his lips, and then goes on. “Rent is steep these days, even in Lucky.”
I have to stifle my surprise at this, because compared to the surrounding areas, Lucky is actually unusually cheap.
I glance around the room, looking more carefully this time.
It’s sparse, not gross but not as clean as he’s kept his space in the past, either.
I smooth my black skirt beneath me as I sit on the loveseat, Roman settling next to me.
“What’s going on, Tyler?” I say with a sigh. “I know it’s been a long time, but you could have given me a heads up or something.”
Tyler sits in a straight-backed chair off to one side, rubbing the back of his neck. It’s an old habit, one that means he’s distinctly uncomfortable. He doesn’t joke or try to make light of the situation, either, which in the past has been his first line of defense.
It’s serious, then, if he knows this isn’t the time.
“I fell into some debt,” he says with a jerky shrug. “Things piled up. I meant to reach out. I just—”
I wait for him to go on, but he doesn’t. And judging by the way he won’t meet my eye, by his carefully blank expression, I think I know exactly which debts have piled up.
“Have you been gambling?” I say briskly.
Next to me, Roman lets out a long, low whistle, which is not at all helpful. “Where does one go to find a bookie in Lucky, Colorado?”
“Online,” I say. “Be quiet.”
He holds up his hands in surrender, but his eyes are full of laughter.
“Don’t start,” Tyler says, looking tired. “How I spend my money isn’t your business anymore.”
“I think you’ll find you’re wrong there.” The words come not from me but from Roman, and my brows jump. When he speaks again, his voice is light, his face pleasant, but his eyes are no longer amused. They’re steely, glittering with warning. “Aurora’s signature is on that loan too, correct?”
Tyler stares defiantly at Roman, but it only lasts a second before his eyes drop under Roman’s hard gaze. “Yes,” he mutters, his body slumping further into his wooden chair.
I frown at Roman, because although I’m grateful, I don’t need him fighting my battles for me. But he just shrugs unrepentantly and then leans back against the cushions, looking around the room with bland interest and faint boredom.
Directing my attention back at Tyler, I ask, “Do you have a job?”
“Not yet.” He still won’t meet my eyes. “I’m looking.”
I have to swallow my anger, force it down so it doesn’t explode out of me. “Look hard, please. I expect you to pay me back half of the remaining balance.” It’s all I can do, and even this request can’t be legally enforced. I cosigned. This situation was always a possibility.
It just felt so unlikely at the time.
How could I have been so stupid, trusting someone like that?