Chapter Twelve - Tyler & Maddie
TYLER
She looks surprised to see me. No, not surprised—um, what’s the word for when someone looks like they’re trying to decide whether to turn and walk away, scream at the top of their lungs, or murder something? Whatever that’s called, that’s the expression she has on.
It’s OK. To be expected. Give the gift. Not about you. Breathe. Stay present. Like your Rinpoche in Nepal taught you. Or just don’t be a fucking asshole. Like your Rinpoche in the strip club taught you.
“Why. Is. Tyler. Here?” Maddie says.
Her mother Georgina—who looks terrific, I must say—answers, “He insisted that we not tell you.”
Her dad Simon chimes in, “Well, he also insisted that we come in the first place, so in fairness, the least we could do was to honor the surprise, since Tyler did strongarm us into letting him pay for all this.” He gestures around the presidential suite of the Four Seasons to emphasize that this is the “this” he’s referring to, and grabs me by the shoulders, giving me a shake in a ‘you old so-and-so’ kind of a way. Simon’s always been a hail-fellow-well-met sort of a guy. I like it. It’s festive.
“He. What?” Maddie asks, a little loudly.
There’s an awkward beat during which Georgina and Simon look at each other and then at me. I smile and shrug.
“Uh,” Simon begins. “Well, Tyler called us a few days ago—”
“Which was such a lovely surprise,” Georgina adds.
“Yeah!” says Simon. “It really was. So he calls us up to see how we were doing and we got to chatting and then he asked when we might get to see each other—”
“—and then he suggested that, with Thanksgiving coming up, we should try to see each other now,” says Georgina. I don’t say anything. They’re telling the story exactly right. Also, Maddie just keeps staring at me, so I’m holding back on chatting it up too much.
Evan told me that when Maddie came to see him, she said it had been a couple of years since she saw her folks. So I anticipated the possibility that it might take her a moment to adjust when she found out what an awesome thing I’d done for her. Because it is an awesome thing I’ve done. It is. I know it is. I’ve given her a gift. She just has to see it.
Fuckin’ Tyler Morgan. Good Samaritan and all-around excellent guy. Pretty much only Evan says so.
But I’m working on changing that.
“Honey…” Georgina begins, as she takes Maddie by the hands, whispering just loudly enough to be sure that everyone can hear. “Tyler told us everything.”
Maddie’s focused stare on me intensifies a bit.
“Did he?” she says. “What’d he tell you?” she manages to ask through what appears to be a completely clenched jaw.
Again, all totally expected. No need to stress. All’s OK. She’ll relax in a minute. Or not. Not your call. No attachment to the outcome. If she kills you, she kills you. Nobody said altruism was an easy ride.
“He told us that you’ve been working yourself into the ground with your new business, and that you keep saying how much you wish you could get away, but since you can’t, we all agreed that we should come see you,” Georgina says sweetly. True. That is what I told them. “And besides—” Georgina now lowers her voice to a more appropriate whisper, but I can still hear her. (I’ve got amazing hearing, which is wild considering how many times shit has exploded next to me.) “We feel… Your father and I feel like... We’ve... We’ve missed you. We feel like we should all make an effort to see each other more often. We love you. We want to be more involved in your life. We just… We love you, sweetheart.”
And then Georgina pulls her into a tight hug, and Maddie takes her eyes off me for the first time. She closes her eyelids. I’m no expert on human emotions, but my instinct tells me she’s trying to keep from crying. I do know what that looks like.
“Maddie!” Simon bellows as he slaps me on the back, breaking the mood, as is his wont. “You should’ve told us you’ve been seeing Tyler! We had no idea he was back!”
Maddie pulls away from her mom now, opens her eyes, which are a bit moist but have no proper tears, and says, “Yeah, well…” I grimace without intending to, unsure what’s gonna come next. I made a calculated risk putting this whole thing together, but even though it’s calculated, it’s still a risk. And then she says, “...Like he said, I’ve been busy. So… I guess I just forgot to mention it. But yeah. He’s back, all right.”
And then she kind of smiles at me. Like she means it.
Well, would you look at that.
Namaste, motherfuckers.
MADDIE
My emotions have been getting whipped around by a cyclone for the last few weeks and I’m tired. Beyond tired. Exhausted in a way that doesn’t have a word to describe it. So in this moment, even though there are about twenty different feelings coursing through me, I decide to just pick one and let it rule the day. And to my surprise, the one that wins out is… gratitude.
Because right now, instead of sitting alone in the house I share with two hookers, now that the third hooker has driven off into the sunset to be with her high-school soulmate (how is this my life?), I’m here in the presidential suite of the Four Seasons with my parents.
And, of course, Tyler Morgan. Who somehow knew what I needed even though I didn’t. And then he made it happen.
Son of a bitch.
“So,” I say to him, in an attempt to make this all seem completely normal and not walk my parents into a conversation about anything having to do with me and Tyler, “you convinced Mom and Dad to let you pay for all this? Hell, that’s a Thanksgiving miracle in itself.”
Mom walks over to Tyler so that she’s on one side of him and Dad’s on the other. She takes up his hand. “Well,” she says, “he’s very persuasive.” She squeezes his palm and nudges him. He grins in his unforgivably charming way and winks.
Is—is Tyler Morgan flirting with my mom? Shit, is my mom flirting with Tyler Morgan?
Dad then makes fists and sort of shadow boxes with him, saying. “Yep! Sure is!”
Forget Mom, is Dad flirting with him? Jesus Christ.
“Shall we have a drink before we head down for Thanksgiving dinner?” asks Mom.
“We?” I ask. “Is… Tyler? Are you… having Thanksgiving dinner with us?”
“Well, sure he is!” bellows Dad. “That was part of the deal! We said, ‘OK, we’ll let you pay for the suite and all, but dinner is on us, and you have to come!’”
I swear to fuck, I feel like I’m in the middle of some bizarre, alternate-universe holiday commercial for… like, long-distance service, or some damn thing.
“Come on,” Mom says. “Let’s all head into the living room for a cocktail.”
“I got it,” Tyler exclaims, stepping over to the bar in the corner. “Georgina, still gin and tonic? Simon, you want a Manhattan?”
“You remember!” Mom says, delighted.
“Maddie? Whatcha drinking?” Tyler asks.
All three of them look at me expectantly, broad smiles plastered across their faces.
“Um… Just mix up everything that’s there into a glass, and make it a double.”
“And then after a few years of seeing what the world had to offer a guy like me, I just kind of wound up back here.”
Tyler’s wrapping up the story of where he’s been for the last seven years. I’m alternately surprised by the little details I didn’t know and pissed off that I’m only just discovering it all now. Because it reminds me again of how far gone from us—from me—he’s been.
“Wow. That’s some kind of a story,” says my dad. “And what happened with Nadir’s—that was his name, yeah? Nadir?” Tyler nods, affirming the name of the translator he worked with to develop the technology he sold that made him a multi-millionaire. The translator who died before he got to benefit from what he and Tyler made. “What happened with Nadir’s family?” Dad finishes asking.
Tyler gets solemn. “Um, yeah. Yeah. I don’t really know, actually. I…” Tyler trails off. Huh, it’s not solemnity I see. It’s shame. “Yeah. I dunno.”
There’s an awkward pause. Then Dad says, “Well, that’s war, huh? Hell, as they say.”
“Yeah,” Tyler huffs out. “It can be.”
“Well”—my mom takes Tyler by the arm—“we’re just glad you’re OK. And that you’re back home!” I forgot how much Mom and Dad always loved Tyler. They kind of saw him as a second son. Especially after his mother died. He was at our place all the time. His dad was such a bastard. Probably still is. And for just a moment, I get sad for someone other than myself. But then I stuff it down. Because I can’t afford to share my sorrow.
Mom touches Tyler’s beard. “And what’s all this about? Is this a trendy thing that you’re doing, or…?”
“No, Georgina, just too damn lazy to shave.” Tyler smirks and everyone laughs. I dunno how he fucking does it, but he does.
“So, Maddie!” says Dad. “Tell us more about this real estate thing you’re doing! You’ve been so hush-hush about it, but Tyler says it’s going well.”
“Oh…” Shit. I really don’t want to have to lie straight to my parents’ faces. “Yeah, well, um…”
“Tell ’em about Robert, Maddie,” Tyler chimes in, encouraging with a knowing look. Evan must have told him that I came by the station. Fuck.
“Oh, well, yeah, just, um, Robert Vanderbilt and I are maybe talking about—”
“Robert is Evan’s husband,” Tyler volunteers.
“Evan’s married?” Mom asks.
“Oh, yeah,” Tyler says. “His husband is the biggest real estate developer in town. And he’s working exclusively with Maddie.” He smiles a wide smile.
“Honey!” Dad barks out. “That’s great! This might be the one then, huh?”
The looks on Mom’s and Dad’s faces are so hopeful that I want to punch Tyler in the stomach for offering it all up. Because the greater the expectation, the greater the disappointment when they discover the truth. But to hell with it. Right now, here, today, we can all pretend that everything’s OK. So I do.
“Fingers crossed!” I say with a tight smile.
“Fantastic!” beams Mom. “And is Evan well? Still fighting fires?”
For the tiniest of moments there is a thick cloud in the air. Because I know every one of us thinks of Scotty. But then the cloud quickly rolls off.
“Yep,” Tyler answers. “He’s great. Never seen him happier. He’s really in love. They’re funny to watch in the morning. They have a chef who comes in, but Robert insists on making Evan’s smoothies personally, because he knows how he likes them. It’s sweet.”
“Oh,” Dad starts, “is that where you’re living?” Which is a good question. Why the hell is Tyler at Evan’s in the morning?
“Oh, yeah,” Tyler says. “Just for a while. I had an apartment in The Mandarin, but it… Um. I’m... Moving on from there. Time to make a change. So I’m staying with Evan and Robert for a while. That’s all. That’s why we’re here and not there!” He puts on something like a forced smile and I’m not sure what the hell’s going on. We fucked in his apartment in the Mandarin like a month ago. I even joked that it looked like he had just moved in because there was virtually no furniture. Something’s weird here.
Then he claps his hands and says, “So! Shall we?” He stands quickly, and as he does, he bumps into my mom’s hand, the one holding her gin and tonic, and the drink splashes out of her tumbler and all over me. All over my ruffled blouse and my pretty tan trousers. Perfect. Just fucking perfect.
I stand, and Tyler yelps, “Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” as he fumbles to try to help wipe me off, knocking over the glass of whiskey I have sitting on the arm of my chair and onto the ass of my pants in the attempt. “Jesus!” he shouts. “Fuck! I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry, Georgina. Didn’t mean to say fuck. Fuck.”
Tyler Morgan, ladies and gentlemen.
“It’s fine,” Mom says. “Just… Oh, honey. Your pants.”
“Yeah, no, I know,” I pretty much growl.
“You need to get some soda water onto those before it sets,” offers Dad.
And suddenly everyone has their hands all over me, trying to be helpful.
“Guys!” I shout, and they all back off. “It’s fine. Just… Just, why don’t you all go downstairs and just like, give me a minute. K? I’ll clean off and, Mom, do you have anything I can put on?”
“Of course, dear. Take anything from the closet you want. Oh, I’m so sorry.”
The look on Mom’s face is way more upset than it needs to be. Except that it’s not. Because the fact that some shit got accidentally spilled on me is not what she’s apologizing for. She’s apologizing for so much more.
“It’s OK, Mom. It’s OK.” I give her a hug, keeping enough distance so that I don’t get booze all over her. “I am too,” I whisper into her cheek.
She pulls back, tears in her eyes, and smiles. I smile too.
“OK!” Dad merrily intones. “Well, then we’ll head down to the restaurant and get a table, and you just come on down whenever you’re ready.”
“OK, Dad.” He gives me a kiss on the cheek and heads off. Mom gives me one last, brief hug, and heads toward the door as well, leaving Tyler standing there.
“Shit,” he says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t—Fuck. I was just trying to—”
I cut him off before he can say more. “It’s OK. I know what you were trying to do. So…”
I pause because I’m still not ready to just fucking forgive Tyler Hudson Morgan for everything he’s done. Or hasn’t done, more accurately. But I think about what Pete said to me. “You don’t always get a second chance to make things right.”
Tyler’s trying. Like, he’s really fucking trying. And even though I’m still not sure that it’s all gonna work out, and we’re gonna live happily ever after or whatever weird fantasy it is that Tyler and Annie and whoever else are all thinking is going to happen… Right here, right now, on Thanksgiving, I can at the least offer him this act of generosity. Because he’s offered me one.
“So… Thanks,” I say and nod to him. “I’ll be down in a minute,”
He smiles and nods back, then heads to the door. I watch it close behind the three of them as they make their way out, then I head up the stairs to the bedroom.
Making my way through the master bedroom into the en suite (again, this is a fucking hotel room), I strip off my blouse and pants, leaving them on the bathroom floor. I want to make sure the whiskey that got on my ass didn’t stain my underwear. It’s a new lacy white bra and panty set that I bought because it looked pretty and because I realized I more or less only own really slutty stuff that I can also use at work. Sexy, but not very practical. I thought this set was sexy and practical, and I really don’t want it stained by Johnny Walker.
I contort myself in front of the mirror to make sure I’m clean—as clean as someone like me can be, anyway—and it looks like it’s all OK, thank God. And as I stand in front of the full-length mirror in this gorgeous marble bathroom that looks like it got pulled out of a French castle, looking at myself in my pretty white underwear, red hair styled and coifed and laying over my shoulder, wearing sapphire and diamond earrings that were a present from my parents, and elegant heels that one wears because they make one’s calves look good and not because they make men in a dark room want to jerk off to visions of you later, I feel almost like an angel. Again.
In the way that Tyler thought of me as an angel, and for a few seconds when we were together, made me feel like I was one too. Before the truth came out and the clouds got pulled from underneath me, and I came tumbling back down to earth.
But right now, I can pretend. For a little while. I can pretend I am working on a successful business that I started myself, and don’t owe a bunch of money to Carlos, and don’t work in a strip club, and don’t live with hookers, and haven’t fallen in love with the one guy in the world who really and truly has the ability to destroy my heart, and—
Wait.
What?
Did I say…?
Hold on.
That’s not right.
I’m not in love with Tyler. Not anymore. I was. Kind of. When I was a kid. But that wasn’t real love. And I’m not now. No way. That was just… I was just letting my mind wander. Kind of getting lost in the fact that I feel safe right now. But I’m not in love. I’m just… appreciative. At present. I’m sure that once the heady romance of this day wears off, I’ll go back to being as justifiably pissed at him as I have been. Once I’m back in the day-to-day of my struggle, I’ll—
My thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door frame of the bathroom.
“Um, sorry… I took off my watch earlier when I was washing my hands and I think I…” Tyler stammers as he half looks at me and half looks away.
“Tyler—” I sigh.
“Maddie, look, I’m not trying to fuckin’—I just… I just want you to understand.”
“Understand what?”
“Fuckin’… everything. Jesus. Why I dunno. Like, just why shit went the way it went. Why I am the way I fuckin’ am. Just…goddamn… Everything.”
“Look, you don’t have to—I get it. OK? It’s fine. I get it.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want you to fuckin’ ‘get it.’ I want you to understand.”
“Ty—”
I start to tell him that I do, and to just go back down and I’ll be there soon after I’ve cleaned up and changed into some new clothes.
But before I can get anything other than his name out of my mouth, he’s next to me, pulling me close to him, his lips on mine.
“Tyler, Tyler,” I work out between kisses.
“What?” he says, panting.
And I jerk my head away, look into his blue eyes, and say…
“Fuck it. I’ll clean it up later.”
As I kiss him urgently back.
TYLER
“I’ll clean it up later” could mean a lot of things, but I make the choice not to analyze.
I did not expect to find her standing here in her underwear. I really didn’t. But as long as we’re being thankful for shit, this one jumps straight to the top of the list.
Her lips barely touching mine, licking at them as she speaks, she says, “My parents are going to be wondering what we’re doing.”
My hand finds its way behind the white lace at her hips and my fingers land on the soft, already wet flesh between her legs and I say, “No, they won’t. They’re adults.”
I drop my mouth to her neck and nibble at the skin along her throat and up to behind her ear. She’s wearing beautiful earrings and I take them in my mouth along with her earlobe, sucking and tugging at the skin and allowing my hot breath to pulse in her ear, the whole time working my fingers inside the folds of her pussy.
Her head drops back, like it’s done every time I reach into her, and with my other hand I force her to undo my pants and take hold of my cock.
She moans as I get two fingers worked high into her and then she pushes me backwards against the wall, kissing and pulling on my shaft. She grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it over my head, pausing as she sees the fresh splotches of red that have yet to become scars themselves dotting my body along with the long-forgotten scars that have settled into their final resting places.
“Is that what I did?” she asks.
“It’s what we did,” I tell her. “Did it feel good? To do it? To punish me?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.”
“OK.”
I finger her deeper and she coos. It makes me harder.
Then she pulls my fingers from inside her and places my arms at my sides. She begins kissing the healing wounds. She rests her palms on my stomach and kisses her way down. Starting at my collarbone, working down my sternum, kissing, licking, nuzzling every rugged edge of me.
She goes down on her knees and pulls off my boots, one at a time, then draws my jeans down to my ankles and pulls them free as I step out. She looks up at me and I run my fingers through her hair.
“You’re so beautiful,” I say.
She says nothing, puts her hands on my hips, and flicks at the tip of my dick with her tongue.
“Fuck,” I gasp.
She slides the very edge of her tongue inside the slit in my tip, wrapping her lips around the head, building pressure as she lets her tongue swirl around. I fist her hair and force her head all the way down my length, and she bobs back and forth, making me dizzy.
I glance ahead and see us in the full-length mirror she was looking at herself in when I interrupted her. Me, battered and bloodied but still here. Her, without visible scars, but no less punctured and bruised. And also still here.
I watch the ocean of red hair push in and out. In and out as she sucks and licks and teases my cock. Her gorgeous ass is propped on her heels and her back arches and bends with every movement she makes to consume me.
I push her head gently back, withdrawing myself from her mouth, and a strand of saliva pulls back with her, like it’s a lifeline connecting us and is afraid to let go. We won’t be apart for long.
I take her by the shoulders, stand her up, and turn her around so that we’re both facing the mirror. I drape one arm around her chest and the other around her waist. I kiss her shoulder, put my cheek next to hers, and say, “I want you to see everything.”
“Why?” she asks, a hint of sorrow in the question.
“Because,” I say, “I want you to understand.”
We stare at our reflection, her looking into my eyes and me into hers. I’m waiting for her to ask, “Understand what?” But she doesn’t. She says, “I want that too.”
And then she takes my hands and pulls me with her over to the mirror. She places her palms on either side of the frame, sticks her ass out to me, spreads her legs, and, looking up at my reflection in the glass in front of us, says, “Make me understand.”
MADDIE
He stands there for a moment, not breaking eye contact with our reflection, then he bows his head down to kiss me on the shoulder again. He presses his cock up against my ass and I take a breath at how hard and perfect his dick is. Each time I feel it it takes me by surprise. Like it’s the first time.
He takes my breasts in his hands, pulling the material of my bra down just enough to pinch my nipples as he kisses down my spine. He keeps kissing down, and down, sliding his hands along my stomach as he pulls back. I have a moment of what I can only call separation anxiety when his dick loses contact with my ass, like it’s somehow going away for good and I’ll never feel it again. I try to shake that notion from my head. Not because it might be true, but because I don’t want to care if it is.
And then I’m not thinking anything because I feel something warm. I look into the mirror and all I can see is myself bent over and, down below my spread legs, him on his knees, his massive cock pointed directly north. His face is obscured by my backside and I feel him pulling my panties to the side and then spreading my ass with his thumbs.
His warm breath is on my rear and then suddenly his tongue is inside it. He’s reaching around, rubbing my clit, and tonguing my asshole. My eyes squeeze shut tightly and I can feel water gathering at the corners of them.
Now that his mouth is on me, he’s burying himself inside me. Lapping and prodding. His one hand is still rubbing my clit in tight, fast circles, and two fingers of his other hand are inside my pussy, spreading me open, massaging my walls.
I let out a sound that’s not quite a moan, not quite a cry. A combination of both. A sound I don’t recall ever having made before in my life. And I can feel his smile spread across my skin.
He works into me harder. Rubbing, stroking, tonguing. I slap my hand against the wall next to the mirror as I shout, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck me! Fuck me! Now!”
I no longer feel his smile. I see it. As he leaps to his feet, takes me by the hips, and pushes himself into my dripping wet pussy.
“Oh, Jesus,” he says, sliding all the way inside.
And now our eyes are locked onto each other’s in reflection as he works his way in and out. Back and forth.
“Make me,” I cough out as he thrusts. “Make. Me. Un. Der. Stand,” I grunt with each push, never breaking eye contact with him. I’m tempted to glance away, to look at the rest of him, or to look down at the floor, or just to close my eyes, but I don’t let myself look away from him. And he doesn’t look away either. And with each slap of his hips against my ass, he drives in harder, pushes deeper.
I can feel myself on the verge of coming, but I’m forcing myself to wait, to hold out. I want to come with him. I want to see what it feels like for us to come at the same time.
I want to understand.
TYLER
Fuck me, I’m going to come. But she hasn’t come yet, and I won’t do it until she has. I’m trying hard to maintain eye contact with her, but it’s so goddamn intense that I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to hold out. I can’t look anywhere else though, because when I catch even a glimpse of her body, grinding back and forth along my dick, or her hair bouncing as she pumps, it’s even more unlikely that I can keep it inside me.
So I take things down a notch. I draw out slowly, pulling myself completely out of her. As I do, I see a hint of confusion and disappointment in her gaze. I smile, then slide back inside her again, just as slowly, and she lets out a long moan. So I do it again.
I draw back. Back, back, back, pulling out until just the tip is resting on her entrance. I reach down, take hold of the shaft, and rub the thick end of my cock up and down against her soaking wetness. Teasing. And then once again, I slide deep into her, giving an extra push at the end that drives her forward a step and makes her squeal and giggle.
It’s the giggle that does it.
Fuck it. I’m done.
I continue pulling out of her all the way and driving in, but not slow and methodical. Hard. And animal. My grip tightening around her hips, making her creamy, white skin redden under my touch.
And now I stop pulling out and stay in her. Back and forth. Stiff. And fast. Almost lifting her off the ground with the tension in my grasp and the strength in my pull as we crash into each other.
“Oh, fuck, fuck, baby… I’m gonna come,” I call out.
“Yes,” she says, “Yes, do it. Come. Come now.”
And I remember what she said when she was driving away last week. “Next time, just come inside me.”
And so I do. I come.
Inside her.
And I never want it to stop.
MADDIE
I can feel the contraction of his dick as his come throbs into me. And it drives me insane. I let go and a flush of wetness pours from me.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, shit,” I cry.
“Yeah, yes, baby, come, come on me,” he says. And do I fucking ever.
I tense and release around him, never breaking eye contact, moaning and wheezing, knees buckling, legs shaking, but refusing to fall. I refuse to fall.
I push my ass back into him so that I can take even more, if that’s possible. He apparently assumes that’s a sign that I want him to shove his thumb into my ass, which is fine by me, and then what I thought was an orgasm pales in comparison to whatever the hell is happening to me now, the way a dwarf star looks weak when compared to a supernova.
“FUCK. YOU!” I scream, no longer able to keep eye contact. My eyes close and my head falls forward as he just keeps shooting his come inside me and I keep spilling myself around his dick.
My forearms tense against the wall to keep me upright, and behind me, I can feel his knees buckling against mine, like he’s about to collapse too.
“Jesus!” he calls out as, with one last push, he finally empties what he’s got left inside him into me.
I swallow, and then gulp in air. I lift my head to look in the mirror and see him, his head down now, his eyes shut tight and his body twitching with small spasms.
When he finally lifts his head again and opens his eyes, they immediately find mine. We stare at each other. Neither one of us says anything. Neither one of us wants to. Both of us are aware that we have crossed over somewhere. Both of us seem to know that even though there is still much to figure out, we are perhaps one step closer. On this day of giving thanks, we are unexpectedly and incomprehensibly edging toward something with each other that we have both lacked for a long time and that we both very much need.
Understanding.