Tyler (Inked Brotherhood 2)

The lines of his face tense; his jaw tightens. “Sorry. I can’t remember…”

“Calling for me?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad you did. You can talk to me.” I stroke his cheek. “You know that, right?”

He presses his lips together.

“If this happens again…” My heart stutters. “Call me. Any time you want, day or night.”

He reaches up and catches my hand. He watches me intently, his dark eyes full of emotions I can’t name. “You mean it?”

“God, yes! Yes. Please call me if you need my help.”

His hand falls to his chest. He sighs, his lashes fluttering on his cheekbones as his eyes close. “I don’t need your help,” he mutters.

God, he’s so stubborn. “No?”

“I need you,” he whispers, his voice trailing off as he falls asleep once more.

***

Tyler’s building is old and dirty, the paint peeling in places and cracks going down the side. He isn’t any more lucid when Rafe comes around the side and pulls him out of the car. I scramble out as Asher reaches us and wraps a strong arm around his brother as if he’s been doing this all this life.

Surreal.

Audrey and Tessa are standing next to my car, hands shoved in the pockets of their jackets.

Tessa waves at me. “We’ll wait down here. Don’t want to crowd him.”

That makes sense, I guess. I follow Rafe and Asher as they drag Tyler into a stinky, dark lobby and stop at the foot of the stairs.

“Is this normal?” I ask Rafe. “That he’s so out of it?”

“Happens,” he grunts as he and Asher secure their hold around Tyler and start up the steep steps. “Confusion and disorientation is common. But I think he hasn’t been sleeping much, and he’s lost weight, so his body’s shutting down. He’s been running on fumes. Attacks suck all your energy.”

“How do you know all t

his?”

Rafe doesn’t answer, and I hurry after them. We reach the third landing and stop in front of a door with a dark stain in its center and the number 3A.

Rafe pats Tyler’s pockets and huffs. “Got his jacket? Check for his keys.”

I fish into the pockets of the heavy leather jacket. “Got them.” I unlock the door and enter Tyler’s apartment.

Christ. I turn in a circle, checking out the bare, stained walls, the narrow bed, the few books on a shelf, the empty kitchen shelves. No curtains hang on the windows. Tyler’s apartment gives new meaning to cold and lifeless. Not a home at all, just a transit place.

My stomach clenches at the thought of him leaving again. I turn as Rafe helps Tyler to the bed. Asher stands at the apartment door, arms folded over his chest, his pale eyes distant as if lost in thought.

Rafe lifts Tyler’s booted feet up and drops them on the mattress. Tyler rolls over, groaning, and throws an arm over his face, muscles bulging under the soft fabric of his shirt. His black hair drapes over the white pillowcase like spun silk.

“I’m staying,” I say, a bit shocked when the words leave my mouth.

Rafe lifts a tawny brow and shrugs. “I think he’s gonna be fine.”

“I’m staying,” I say again, firmly this time.