Tyed

Chapter Fifteen



I drown myself with extra shifts at Ned's now that I'm not busy with school anymore. I'm functioning, which is great. I pour a beer with a perfect head for a middle-aged guy who always tips generously.

I lift my eyes to the flat screen TV that's mounted on the wall and catch a glimpse of a rerun of Ty's bout on ESPN. I don't want to look, but my eyes dart to the screen, betraying me completely.

There are only a handful of people sitting here, drinking beer. I wipe pint glasses with a dishcloth while watching the weigh-ins on screen. This is what Ty was starving himself for, for weeks.

The Invincible Eoghan Doherty is the first to step on the scale for the main event of the night, and after him, Tyler “The Zombie” Wilder follows. There are a bunch of ring girls in bikinis applauding behind them, and my heart tweaks in agony when I think about the close proximity of these babes to Ty.

The commentator is enthusing about Ty’s newest addition to his tattoo collection. “Looks like Wilder got some new ink ahead of the fight. He’s tattoed Bmine on his chest, above his heart. I wonder who the new girl is who he’s asking to ‘Be mine’?”

Jesus Christ, I think I'm hyperventilating again.

Ty and Eoghan launch at each other after going on the scale. Doherty has his fist balled up to Ty’s face. They’re yelling and pointing at each other, but you can’t hear shit through the heavy metal music.

Back at Ned’s, the men are watching the rerun intently, even though avid XWL fans already know how this fight ended last weekend. Everyone here is rooting for the Zombie from Concord. It's like cheering for your home team. You don't have a choice. That's your team and you stick to it.

“Such a great guy.” The man who I just poured a beer tugs his baseball cap at the TV and beams at a very pissed off Ty. “Always nice to everyone in my shop whenever he drops by. Says hi and takes pictures with my boys. They're fans," he explains.

On screen, people are cheering and shouting and chanting for Ty, my Ty, the guy who used to snuggle with me every night underneath his comforter, his crooked nose in my neck, his tongue swirling and flicking my earlobe, his flexed muscles pressing against my skin. Now he’s everyone’s, and it makes me want to crawl into a cave and wait for a slow, painful death.

The fight is about to begin. Ty is coming out of the tunnel, wearing his signature black skull bandana, the one he wore the first time I saw him. His eyes are dead, completely turned off and indifferent to the chaos that surrounds him. I see a flicker of something flash for a second when they grease his face before he enters the cage. It's not exactly pain in his eyes, but...sadness? Anxiousness? If he is worried about something, I know it has nothing to do with Doherty.

It's about me. All me.

The place is bustling with hundreds of people, swinging their plastic cups in the air, cheering excitedly and waving both American and Irish flags.

I see you Ty signs to the camera, and I know that he’s signing to me. I know that tattoo doesn’t say “Be Mine.” The B is for my name. Blaire. Barbie. I’m the girl he branded himself with, who he’s claimed. Blaire mine. Barbie mine. The girl who doesn't want to hear from him ever again is his.

Me.

The minute both men step into the cage, my heart stops beating. I’m so anxious I find myself holding my breath. Mikey notices my expression as Ty and Eoghan circle each other, fists curled, throwing combinations at each other, but mostly missing one another.

“You know this fight is from last Saturday night, right? Both guys are still alive. Well, one of them barely...” He pats my arm, chuckling to himself.

I throw the towel over my shoulder and turn my back to the TV. “I know and don't care,” I sniff.

Word got around fast at Ned’s that Ty and I were together Before the debacle in Vegas, he kept showing up every chance he got while was working. The TMZ piece didn’t help either. I'm not sure if Mikey has picked up on the fact that we are no longer an item, though.

“Blaire,” Mikey says softly, as if he's reading my mind. “Come on, what's done is done. Watch it with us.”

I turn around to watch the rest of the bout. Doherty may be good at hyping the fight, but Ty is an amazing fighter, who can spine-rip Doherty in seconds, Mortal Combat style.

He blocks Doherty’s punches skillfully and has him on the mat in a matter of seconds. Then grounds and pounds him on the floor. He manages to take down Doherty in a minute and forty-five seconds. Months and months of preparations, endless hours of workouts and enough mental stress to rival a president at war, for less than two minutes of work.

Ugh, men.

It makes me giddy with emotion that he wins. Adrenaline pumps in my veins, making me dance behind the bar. The men at Ned’s look pleased with the result, and I watch as both fighters pull their tees back on. Ty’s is black with a white skull and says ZombieNation.

They bow to each other and shake hands politely, like they didn’t just try to annihilate each other. The usual attractive woman reporter whisks Ty straight to the champion’s interview, and I sneak to the back of the bar to stock up on some more Bud Light, and also to avoid watching him more.

He inked my initial. On his heart. He won the fight, despite being all messed up. This gives me hope, because if he can bury his feelings, so can I. And that’s exactly what I intend to do.