Tyed

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.

“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.