Heidi Tretheway - Tyler & Stella

I nod. “He sang it to me.”

“See? You were his hard-to-get girl,” Jayce says. I shake my head, thinking of the times I threw myself at Tyler and he turned me down. “You don’t believe me? You don’t know how much he complained about wanting to see you again after that first night. He thought you hated him.”

“I did, sort of,” I confess. “I thought he manipulated me.”

Jayce chuckles. “He was just freaked out about getting too close to you with Kim’s lawyers sniffing around. But then he managed to piss you off again and he thought he’d blown his last chance. If you hadn’t come to our Rockwood concert, I was going to track you down and force you two to apologize to each other.”

“You were?” Hope creeps into my voice, the push-pull of my first few meetings with Tyler finally starting to make sense.

“Well, it was a thought. Until we found out you were homeless and you had to crash with him. I figured getting you two under one roof would force things to work out. And they did.” Jayce grins, as if I’ve already got my happily ever after instead of a stark waiting room that seems more crowded by the moment.

Dave and Kristina are a few yards away, talking with Gavin and Beryl. A well-dressed woman approaches them but Dave barks something short and sharp at her and she retreats.

Another reporter tries to question them and is rebuffed. Dave signals to hospital security and they round up the reporters who slunk into the waiting room.

“Friends and family only,” I hear the guard repeat. “Media inquiries to our public affairs office.”

A white-coated doctor enters the waiting room from a side door. “Who’s here for Tyler?”

When the six of us respond in unison I can tell it overwhelms her. She tucks her ash-blonde hair behind her ears and clears her throat.

“He’s awake,” she starts, and I feel my knees crumple. Jayce’s arm snaps around my waist to steady me and relief floods my veins. Awake might be the most beautiful word spoken today.

The doctor explains that Tyler’s diabetic seizure caused him to bite most of the way through his tongue. I cringe with this revelation; that explains the blood.

Jayce asks several questions about Tyler’s glucose levels and I can tell he knows more about diabetes than anyone else in the band.

The doctor tells us Tyler’s tongue will heal, but right now he shouldn’t be talking much. She adds he can take visitors two at a time.

Jayce grabs my hand and steps forward, looking to Gavin and Dave for permission to go first. Dave nods.

Tyler’s face is mostly cleaned of blood and he wears a faded green hospital gown, the kind that makes everyone look sicker than they are. When he sees us, his sad eyes light up.

“Ace! Ella!” He drops the first consonants in our names and I giggle, moving to the side of the bed where I can lace my fingers in his again. His hand is cool and I’m grateful for his reassuring squeeze.

“I’d bitch you out for letting your blood sugar get so low, but you’ve already heard my speech,” Jayce says to Tyler. To me, he adds, “One time in Pittsburgh he got low and decided to drive to the store to get honey. Like that was a good idea—he was so messed up he would have made a drunk driver look sharp behind the wheel.”

Tyler grimaces and I hate that Jayce is rubbing it in. But Jayce puts a hand on Tyler’s arm, a brotherly gesture of solidarity. “She’s got to hear this, buddy. She was there for you when you needed her and she deserves to know what we’re up against.”

Jayce continues, “I yelled at him and jumped on the hood of his truck as he was pulling out of the driveway. Pounded on it until he stopped.”

“Lef a den,” Tyler adds.

“More than one dent. I hauled him out of the truck and made him drink juice until he could see straight.” Jayce gives Tyler a soft punch in the arm. “So Stella’s in the club now. The I-rescued-Tyler club. Don’t piss her off too much because I think she’s a keeper.”

I blush and Jayce adds, “I’ll leave you guys alone for a minute before I send in the others.”

Jayce pushes open the curtain and turns back to me. “Go easy on him, Stella. Wounded tongue. Don’t let him over-exert himself.” I hear his cackling laugh as the curtain drops back into place.

Tyler pulls me closer. Tubes from an intravenous drip snake from the back of one of his hands and I cringe.

Tyler drops my hands and caresses my face, tucking my hair behind my ears, tracing my jawbone, stroking my neck and throat. His eyes are creased with emotion that I can’t quite decipher, but his touch speaks of yearning and tenderness.

Tears leak from the corner of my eyes and Tyler’s fingers smooth them across my cheeks. We plunge into a without-words moment and I’m lost and found again, the intensity of his eyes on mine so many times greater than our connection across a concert stage or a bed.

He isn’t saying it, but I know. I know he loves me, as fiercely and wildly as I love him back. As much as I would do anything for him—protect him, comfort him—he would do the same for me. He already has.

When my heart feels so full of him it could explode, I press my lips to his forehead and inhale the smell of his hair. I kiss down his temple to his cheek, across his feathery lashes, and leave one silly kiss on the tip of his nose. His tongue is swollen in his slightly open mouth, but he grins back at me, his hand finding mine again to squeeze.

I bend and whisper in his ear. “I’m fighting for you, Tyler. I’m going to fight to stay.”

Gavin and Beryl visit Tyler next and I sit with Jayce, Dave and Kristina in the waiting room. The tabloid cable news is on and Dave listens intently, alert and preparing for damage control.

I wish I could un-hear what they’re saying about Tyler. He’s the top story.

“How about we play a drinking game?” Jayce suggests in jest. His phone pings but he ignores the text. “We drink every time we hear the words ‘allegedly’ or ‘accused’ or ‘baby daddy.’”

Or overdose. That’s the word that blares in my brain, as in, “Hospital officials will neither confirm nor deny Tyler Walsh’s alleged drug overdose.”

“If we drank every time we heard Kim Archer’s name, we’d be in the ER ourselves for alcohol poisoning,” Kristina adds sourly. “That bitch. I knew she was after him for money.”

My stomach turns at the thought of more booze. Then again, it could simply be hunger pangs—it’s well past dinnertime.

I buy a Sprite from the vending machine and it settles my stomach a bit. I haven’t drunk Sprite since I was a kid, but it’s Tyler’s staple, so now it’s the only thing I want. It makes me feel closer to him.

Dave’s phone chirps and he takes another call from the band’s manager. They’re debating how to handle the press since the damaging video—Tyler, bloody and strapped to a gurney, and me, covered in Tyler’s blood—went live.

The speculation is ugly.

When Gavin and Beryl return from visiting Tyler, Dave and Kristina take a turn. Beryl perches on the chair next to me. “Stella, you look wrecked.”

“Thanks a lot, sister.”

“You know what I mean. It’s been a rough day.” Beryl touches my shoulder with concern and I nod. She doesn’t know yet how rough today’s really been. “You want to come home with us for a while? You could take a nap in Gavin’s guest room and you won’t have to deal with the reporters outside Tyler’s place.”

I shake my head. I’m not leaving the hospital unless it’s with Tyler.

“You are so stubborn. No wonder Tyler’s nuts about you,” Gavin says, teasing me gently.

What the hell? Apparently, Tyler’s proclaimed his love to everyone but me. I feel left out, but at the same time, it makes me feel warmer inside.

When Dave and Kristina come back from visiting Tyler, the three members of Tattoo Thief put their heads together in a whispered discussion. Kristina flops in the seat next to me while Beryl fidgets on my other side.

We’re waiting for their decision.

But I don’t want to wait, especially if how they’re going to handle the media concerns me. I stand up but Beryl tugs me back. “Stella. Let them figure it out.”

“They’re a unit,” Kristina adds. “Let them decide.”

But I have to get involved. I lay my hand on Jayce’s broad shoulder and he moves aside to allow my face into the group.

“We’ve got to freeze them out,” Dave insists. “Let the news run its course until some drunk starlet crashes her car or flashes her crotch to the paparazzi. Eventually, they’ll lose interest.”

“Not going to happen,” Gavin argues. “We’ve got to feed them enough that they’re satisfied and stop reporting lies. We’ve got to take the story and spin it our way.”

“Have any of you asked Tyler about this?” Jayce snaps. “Because he’s a person, not a story. He’s always been private about his diabetes, so you can’t just release that information and expect him to be OK with it. It’s not your story to tell.”

“It’s my story, too,” I whisper, and Dave fumes. “I don’t think you have to put Tyler out there, especially since he’s not up to talking. But I can talk to the press. I can explain what happened, if Tyler wants me to, and kill the overdose rumors right now.”

Dave shakes his head. “No frickin’ way.”

“It’s a risk,” Gavin says. “If you go public, they’re going to throw everything at you, everything ugly they can dig up. You become a public figure and there’s a target on your back.”

“Aren’t I already a public figure?” I counter. “I just lost my job because of Tyler. There’s not much left of me to tear apart. And if it means cutting off the rumor mill at the knees, I’d gladly do it for him.”

“They’ll slaughter you,” Jayce warns me. Another ping from Jayce’s phone tries to interrupt us but he ignores it.

“There’s no good way to do it,” Dave adds. “If you release a statement, they’ll go after your credibility, try to figure out if you’re a druggie or an alcoholic too, if you’re lying to protect Tyler.”

I swallow hard. All evidence points to the fact that I am sliding down a slippery slope toward alcoholism. I can’t even say I’ve reformed—this morning proves just the opposite.

“If you do a press conference, they’ll throw every loaded question at you that you never expected,” Gavin adds.

“The whole ‘when did you stop beating your wife?’ line? Gavin, I went to journalism school. I know how this works.”

“You haven’t experienced it from the other side,” he says. “I have. They came at me from all sides when Lulu died. And that was an overdose.”

I have no words to counter this, but setting the record straight is the one thing I feel like I must do for Tyler. He rescued me in countless ways, and now I want to be there for him. Even if it kills me or my reputation. This is the gift I can give him.

“I want to go ask Tyler,” I say to Gavin, and then turn to Dave. “If he agrees, will you set it up?”

“Majority rules, bro,” Jayce reminds Dave. “If he says yes, we have to let Stella do it.”

Dave frowns but nods. It’s clear this is the way the band makes decisions, and it’s one reason they’ve managed to stay together for seven years.

Jayce and I duck into Tyler’s curtained room and his eyelids are droopy. I clasp his hand and kiss his knuckles while Jayce explains what’s happening in the news cycle and that I could set the record straight, but it would mean going public with his diabetes.

“There’s just no other explanation that isn’t a lie,” Jayce concludes, spreading his hands. “But the decision’s yours, bro.”

“I can do this. I want to do this for you,” I add.

“Ine jus so tiyudd,” Tyler pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. I’m just so tired. I can relate. When everything’s a struggle—every story or every meal, every dollar or every gig, sometimes you just want to let that tightly held control come undone.

And that’s at the heart of my relationship with Tyler. Releasing control to let the other person steer your ship for a while. It’s terrifying and intimate and powerful. It’s love.

Tyler’s eyes search my face and I can feel him make a decision. “Ooo wha oo ink iss wite.” Do what you think is right.

Jayce nods. “Get some sleep, buddy. We’ll be back when it’s done, and if you play your cards right, Stella might even dress up as a naughty nurse for you later.”

I swat Jayce away, giving him a mighty eye-roll. I lean in to kiss Tyler on the cheek and the corner of his mouth, whispering a promise that I’ll be back before he wakes. I hope I can keep my promise.