Tyed

“I'll need to check with my current employer, but I think a month's notice would be sufficient for them.” My heart pounds in my ears.

  “And what do you think about us hiring you?” He turns around to face me before we enter his office. His eyes sparkle behind his hipster glasses.

  “I think you're doing the right thing. I'm kind of pleasantly surprised with my journalistic abilities.” I feel the smile spreading across my face. I discovered that I'm good at something these past few months, and I can't wait to show it off to the world.

  Cameron grins and motions for me to take a seat in front of him. We're back to square one. He is staring at me. I'm staring back. Baby, I got my staring lessons from a fighter. I will stare back at you right until my eyes bleed.

  “You and I are going to get along just fine. And you’ll meet a lot of awesome people here. My friend, Emilia, is the editor of the culture section, and I’m sure this one’s right up your alley. You can contribute to the cultural section too. Your portfolio will pile up quickly.” He seems to be at ease with our constant eye contact.

  “Wow, I’d really like that.” I don't know how much fun it's going to be working on sports items, but if I ever get anywhere near culture and music, I just know I'll thrive.

  “Well, then, Blaire, tell your employer you’re done serving drinks. Welcome to the Diablo Hill family.” Cameron winks. And for the first time since Vegas, I’m actually smiling not just out of politeness but for real.

  Cam wastes no time throwing me in the deep end. He ignores the fact that I still need to hand in a month's notice and fills me in on a piece he wants to publish this month—an editorial article about a new performance enhancing drug named Exo. He tells me Exo stimulates the production of red blood cells and is very popular among athletes, even though it's been proven that the medication, originally invented to treat cancer patients after chemo, increases the risk of death. In fact, Exo stimulates the growth of certain tumors, so by using Exo, a lot of athletes are risking their lives every day, just to get better, stronger and faster at what they do.

  "The article is not about Exo itself. Exo is just the entry point. The article is about the psychological difference between competitive athletes and the rest of the population. We're interviewing a bunch of anthropologists and sport psychologists about this phenomenon. It's interesting how athletes will completely disregard their health for their sport. Sell their souls to the devil, so to speak."

  You can say that again. I suppress a grunt. I'm guessing Cam would be head over heels to discover that Jesse Clement of XWL used steroids, and that Ty Wilder of the same MMA league pimped his body to get fights. But I'm afraid my loyalty lies firmly with the two fighters. I'm not even sure why, but the need to protect their secrets is way stronger than my need to impress my new boss.

  "And I'm guessing there are plenty of examples," I say.

  Cam nods excitedly. His blue eyes gleam. "Performance enhancing drugs are just the tip of the iceberg. People will go to great lengths to get to the top, and I mean bribery, blackmail, a ton of things that haven't been addressed yet. Athletes are a different breed. They don't think like us, they don't act like us. They make bigger sacrifices. It's just the way it is."

  "Yup, the list could go on forever." I press my lips to the rim of my cup. Cam is pressing way too many sensitive buttons right now.

  "So what's the argument of the piece?"

  "That maybe it's time to cut athletes some slack, because, well, let's admit it, they seem to be wired entirely differently. Look, this is your brain." He opens the lid to his coffee cup. "And this is an athlete's brain." He takes my cup and opens it too. Both cups are nearly empty. Then he starts throwing candy bar wraps and an old piece of tissue he had tucked in his pocket.

  "See the athlete's brain? It's cluttered with so much extra pressure. Elite athletes always score high on traits such as obsession, asceticism, the ability to focus on long-term goals. They’re not as easily swayed by immediate gratification as most of us. Instead, they’re able to push through pain, hunger and even social condemnation to get to their goal."

  “I'm not sure I buy that athletes should get away with shit just because they can't help themselves."

  Cam hurries to correct my conclusion. "I'm not saying they can do whatever they want. I'm just saying it's harder for them to resist cheating. No matter how great they are and how big the risk is, they feel compelled to win. Just look at Lance Armstrong."

  "So if someone did something wrong, very wrong, let's say, to push their career forward..." I nibble my lip thoughtfully. "But then stopped because they felt it's morally wrong..."

  "Then I'd say that they're displaying mental strength to take such a step. They deserve a second chance"

  I blink my surprise.

  "At their sport, of course," he clarifies.

  Right. Of course.

  We carry this conversation for a few more minutes, and even though I'm trying hard to concentrate on the actual conversation, I get a really weird feeling that Cam is...well, I wouldn't call it flirting, nothing feels too inappropriate, but let's just say that he seems overly interested in knowing more about me.

  And what I like.

  And what I do.

  And how I spend my free time.

  By the time we walk back to the reception area and Cam drops me off at Violet's desk so she can show me to the HR department, I am sure of two things. One, if Cameron could (which I guess he couldn't, seeing as he'll be my boss), he would have totally asked me out. He checked me out thoroughly when we said our goodbyes. Two, if Cameron asked me out, I would have said no, because frankly, he may be perfect for me. Hell, Shane may be perfect for me. But the guy I want is perfectly imperfect, and I'm completely fine with it.

  I'm not fine with what Ty did. I'm not fine with how he handled everything—us, his secret and his past mistakes. But yes, I'm fine with knowing that his actions are going to have some consequences, and I'm ready to shoulder some of the weight, some of the burden and even some of the pain that comes with it.

  Too bad that after our last conversation, I'm starting to think that he might not be on board with that arrangement.

  I've always been a late bloomer, and I have a nagging feeling that I may be late again.

  Shit.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I officially have no social life. Nana Marty got whisked away to a month-long Hawaiian honeymoon. Mom and Dad are redecorating parts of their house, including the rooms that used to belong to me and Izzy. And Izzy is busy seeking out her next prestigious campaign and takes time off from Elizabeth's Passion to work her ass off at the gym five times a week. At least she’s not working out at The Grind.

  I spend my time trying to rebuild my relationship with Shane. A relationship that both literally and figuratively took a pretty serious blow.

  Shane has started an internship at a new funky culture magazine based in San Francisco. It's called Dazed and it's supposed to be the American version of Vice magazine. A week into his internship, I take the train into San Fran and meet him for lunch in a hipster sushi place in Russian Hill. When I confess to the server, who has two sleeves of tattoos and a lip ring, that I'm a vegetarian, he doesn't even blink. In fact, he hands me the restaurant's raw vegan menu and points at the most recommended dishes.

  God bless San Francisco.

  Shane sits across from me, wearing his "TV Is Gooder Than Books" tee and a frown. His face has long ago healed and he is back to looking his normal self, but he doesn't look particularly happy. After the server takes our orders, he lets out a heavy sigh.

  "Being an intern sucks ass," he says, and I take a sip from my Diet Coke and shake my head.

  "You need to start somewhere," I point out. Shane and I have been incredibly lucky to bag paid internships. He shouldn't be sulking, especially considering the kick-ass magazine he is working for now.

  But Shane leans forward and lowers his voice. "Wanna hear what I do all day? I go for coffee runs, transcribe boring inter
views and serve as the official wingman for the PA's and secretaries of the fucking place."

  "What did you expect? It's a trendy magazine. Everybody wants to work there. You need to work your way to the top. I, on the other hand…" I point my forefinger to my temple. "Am going to work for a local magazine that no one reads. I may get lucky and actually write articles, but the downside is that absolutely no one will read them. Pow. " I pretend to shoot myself.

  Shane winces.

  "It'll get better." He pats the back of my hand.

  "Or worse." I manage a smile. "So what's up with you and Izzy? I know she paid you a visit in Vegas, but she wouldn't tell me what you guys were up to, and knowing you, it couldn't have been good."

  Shane throws his body back into his chair and laughs whole-heartedly. "Why not? I broke up with Gemma before I saw her because I knew she'd kill me if she found out I was seeing a chick. No brownie points for that?"

  "Not if she lost her virginity with you and you abandoned her...again. Wait, you can't lose you virginity twice, but you can still get hurt again."

  Shane rubs his face. "That's not the whole story, and it's inaccurate as hell, Miss Soon-To-Be Journalist."

  I shrug. "Answer my question. Are you guys involved in any way? Her sudden secrecy is freaking me out."

  "No," he reassures. "Honest to God, the reason why she's not telling you anything is that there is nothing to tell. She was just checking up on me and got me some room service in Vegas. And when we came back home, she stopped answering my calls. Again."

  "That's good," I say, and quickly backpedal. "I mean, not good, but at least I know that she's okay."

  I wish I hadn’t told Shane I know he took Izzy's V-card. I'm not sure he's supposed to know that I know. But here we are, staring at each other awkwardly, desperate to bury the thought of my best friend tapping my twin sister.

  Good freaking thing we're not identical.

  Shane clears his throat. "So any news from that nutjob?"

  I stare at my hands. "Shane, I'm really sorry about what happened with him, but you have to at least try and see it from Ty’s point of view." I can't believe this sentence just left my mouth, but it's too late to take it back, I guess. "First, he got some vibes about you wanting me. Then, he misinterpreted a text you sent me and thought you threatened me. Then, he found out you tried to hit on me. After which, you accused him of some serious stuff—twice."

  “It’s not an accusation if it’s true,” Shane huffs.

  “One thing was true, but the other was a misunderstanding. And anyway…" I take a deep breath. "He wanted to clear things up between the three of us. You’re the one who punched first. There's no excuse for his violence afterward, there really isn't, but him beating you up is not the whole story. There's more to it."

  Shane is obviously annoyed with my case. "But you aren't taking him back," he says with conviction, and when I don't answer, he smacks a flattened palm on the table. "Jesus, tell me you're not taking him back. The guy was a fucking man-whore. No pun intended."

  I squirm in my seat. "Please don't make a scene. Sit down."

  Every muscle in his body is still tense. His eyes never leave mine. "You can't take him back," he says, more to himself than to me.

  I nod, then shake my head, then nod again. Ouch. That was not a wise thing to do.

  "I'm not saying I will. I mean, I may take him back. If he'll still have me. But I'm not sure he's my biggest fan right now. I pissed him off."

  Shane pretends to look shocked, slapping a hand over his mouth while his eyes bug out in disbelief. "No way. Are we still talking about the same Tyler Wilder? Because I clearly remember him being so stoic and composed."

  Our food arrives and Shane still stares at me, while I tuck into my vegan tacos, pretending not to notice the way his pupils are boring holes in my face.

  "You really love him," he says finally, and oh so very quietly. I nod without looking up, fighting back the tears.

  "Dude." He runs his hand through his hair, rolling his eyes. "You really do love this loser."

  Ty's a lot of things, but I'm pretty sure he isn't a loser. All the same, I confirm Shane's diagnosis with a hitched shoulder.

  Then I hear him gritting his teeth. "Fine, but the next time I see him, I’ll punch him again for what he did to me, just for good measure."

  Chapter Nineteen

  My routine is a source of security for me. I hang on to it and remind myself that I’m still alive. I work, go to sleep and repeat. Ty doesn’t contact me, and even though that doesn't surprise me in the slightest—he's always been a man of his word—it’s slicing my soul to tiny pieces. Has he touched another girl yet? Has he moved on? I want to know. I don’t want to know.

  Everything reminds me of him. Every smell, every face, every noise, everything that stimulates my senses. I’m living, but I'm not alive. And it’s not like I’m losing grasp on reality—I’m losing interest. I can live like this for years. Thirty, forty, fifty, maybe sixty and more. Apparently, after the excruciating pain, comes the numb. I’m at my numb phase.

  I'm heart-crushingly numb.

  Izzy tries to convince me to talk to Ty several times, but I refuse. I know he needs the time. Hell, I need the time too.

  Nana Marty calls me a few times from Hawaii to ask how I’m doing and I always put on a brave face, letting her know that I’m okay. Mom and Dad have been asking me what’s up with my so-called boyfriend, but I think they’re relieved to find out I cut my ties with him and that he made it clear he’s done with me too.

  Three weeks after Ty beat Eoghan Doherty, the XWL announces that he will face Brazilian Jesus Vasquez four months from now for the championship belt. They talk about the match-up in the local news, on the radio, and on the XWL and other MMA websites.

  However, Ty is MIA in the media and my life, and I just have to deal with it.

  A week after the news breaks, I lie in bed and binge-watch True Detective. Izzy is in LA, and I have the feeling she is going to move there by the end of the summer. I don't like it one bit. My internship is going to pay pretty much the same amount of nothing I earn at Ned's, and I have no idea where I’m going to live once she leaves.

  When my doorbell chimes, I have no idea who could be at our door either. I drag myself out of bed and ask who it is. The answer makes my heart race.

  “It’s Jesse.”

  I open the door in my pj’s, my hair in a messy bun, face sans makeup.

  He checks me out head to toe and shakes his head. “You look like shit.”

  He is probably right. On a bad day like this (and I’ve recently had few of those), I’m very much the girl next door. Not the one you have a crush on—the one who spends her days playing with her dog in the backyard because she has zero friends.

  “Can I come in?” His hands are on his waist. He’s wearing his gym gear, and I wonder if Ty sent him to talk to me. I motion him inside while he scans my apartment looking for…what, exactly? A voodoo doll?

  “What’s up?” I choke on my heart. I’d started to fear that Ty had forgotten about me and moved on.

  Maybe he hasn’t. Maybe he’s still stuck on me like I am on him.

  “What’s up?” Jesse challenges. “Nothing is up. Everything seems to be going to hell, baby girl.”

  “I hear accusation in your voice.”

  “What you hear in my voice is pure concern.”

  I offer him an annoyed pout and some coffee. I know he doesn’t take his with sugar. Goddamned athletes and their clean-eating ways.

  “Sit your ass down,” he orders, and I perch on the barstool, sulking. Jesse is not as charismatic as Ty, but they both fall under the category of people who can tell you to do just about anything, including rimming a dead donkey, and you’d do it.

  “Ty is a big boy,” I say. “He can come up here himself if he has something to tell me.”

  “Tyler didn’t ask me to come here, Blaire.”

  My stomach knots. Maybe he’s moved on after all.
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  “Right. So are you here just to rattle my cage? Or is this a social call?” I take a sip of my coffee without even tasting it. All my senses are focused on figuring out what’s new with Ty and why Jesse paid me a visit.

  “I’m here because I need your help.” Jesse leans forward and locks eyes with me. “Tyler is in bad shape. Really bad shape. He’s drinking himself to death. Not showing up to the gym. Not eating—at all. He’s losing muscle mass when he should be putting it on.”

  “The horror,” I gasp sarcastically.

  “At this rate, he’ll have to cancel his match with Vasquez.” His tone vibrates with worry. “If he doesn’t get his shit together soon, he might as well tap out now.”

  Considering Ty is the most undramatic person I’ve ever met, this is news. He was all about issues with anger, not partying. I never pegged binge drinking to be his style.

  But I was wrong.

  “What the hell do you want me to do? Get back with him so he can win the championship?”

  A part of me is hoping he'll say yes. That would be a great excuse to contact him. I know I should be devastated to hear Ty is falling apart, but the truth—the raw, rotten, disgraceful truth—is that it makes me happy to learn he’s struggling like I am. I’m not drinking, but I’m dead inside. I don’t go out. I don’t smile. In some ways, it’s even worse, because at least Ty is already dealing with our breakup.

  “He has no one, Blaire.”

  “He has you.” I rub my forehead.

  “I have a fight coming up next month. I’m training and have a lot of hype to sell. Don’t have time.”

  “He has Dawson.”

  “Dawson’s wife is pregnant, and he’s got three kids, his plate is full.”

  “He has his mom.”

  Jesse lets out a hostile laugh. “That's who I wanted to talk to you about. There's no way in hell Mary will ever talk to me. Last time I saw her, I helped Tyler box up shit from her house and she almost called the cops on me just for helping him take some of his old stuff. She won’t listen to me, but maybe she’ll listen to you. Try to get her to drag her ass down to Concord and take care of her son. Ty needs her." He leans forward to watch my reaction.