Tyed

Ty's eyes flare, his jaw clenching, and he takes a step closer to Shane. I know I shouldn't be standing here like an idiot, but things haven't gotten physical yet, thank God, and maybe there’s a chance Ty will shed some light on his reasons for what he’s done.

"You. Know. Nothing." Ty utters every word like a separate sentence. "You told Blaire I use steroids. I never touched them. You took half-truths from your junkie roommate and pieced them into a web of lies." Ty's low voice sounds like a constant threat.

Shane’s not intimidated. He thrusts out his chin. "You put my roommate in the hospital because he somehow ended up on your and Jesse's shit list. And that's the truth. The whole, messy, inconvenient truth."

"Your roommate is the one who screwed up. Josh is not a stable guy. He needs rehab."

"And you need a new set of morals." Shane kicks his suitcase in frustration. "You can make excuses for nearly killing the guy, but what's your excuse for tapping hundreds of women to get fights and money? Let's hear that one." Shane folds his arms and narrows his eyes. "I bet it's good."

Ty's own eyes are furious now, and I know he's been pushed too far. I rush between them, resting one hand on each of their chests. Ty's heartbeat says it all. He's already in his own imaginary ring. I just hope it's not too late to drag him out, kicking and screaming, before he hurts my best friend.

"Okay, party's over. Ty, you have no business talking smack about Shane. He just wanted to warn me, as a friend. I could have heard the same stuff from anybody."

"Yeah, it just happened to be the guy who’s probably wanted in your pants from the moment he met you.

I roll my eyes. “We met in third grade.”

Ty looks momentarily stumped, but Shane isn’t helping.

"Get the hell out of my room, Wilder."

"Not before you admit to Blaire you don't know shit about what I did or do, past or present."

Shane’s fists clench. "Get. The hell. Out. Of my room."

"Or...?" Ty taunts.

Shane zones in on Ty's face, his blue eyes narrowing. He is not a violent guy, never has been. But he also never takes shit from anyone. He usually walks away when things get messy, but it's hard to walk away when a guy like Ty is blocking your way.

They stare each other down. Then Shane throws a sudden punch straight at Ty's face. Blood drips from his nose.

Ty smiles grimly, turning to me and offering me a wink. "Just for the record, baby, your right hook is so much meaner."

Shane throws a few wild punches, which Ty dodges easily. Shane is obviously pissed off, and maybe a little drunk. I spot some empty beer bottles next to the TV.

I can't move. I can't speak. I can barely breath.

When Shane launches himself at Ty, I know that Ty can't let this go. His fight reflex is stronger than him. Ty strikes back hard. The nauseating sound of his fists connecting with Shane’s face and body jabs my ears.

“Stop it! Let go of him!” I sandwich myself between them, pushing Ty out of the room. “Get away from him.” My voice cracks.

For a moment there, it looks like Ty gets his shit together. He looks down at me, his eyes tired.

Shane takes the opportunity to jet out the door, but Ty thrusts me aside and launches at Shane again. Panic rushes through me as he chases Shane down the hotel corridor. I race to catch them. Ty grabs the back of Shane’s shirt and jerks him to a halt. I'm about to step between them and throw myself in the line of fire for Shane when I see Mom, Dad and Izzy spill from an elevator. A second later, Jesse and Dawson rush out of a second elevator. They're all sweaty and flushed, and other than Jesse, they all pant like they've just completed a triathlon. I suspect they’ve been running around hunting for me and Ty.

The men are tearing Ty apart from Shane before things get even messier for the XWL star. There are a lot of sins you can commit in Vegas, but sending a guy to the hospital is probably not one of them, especially if you're a professional athlete competing in a big televised fight. A quick look at Shane reveals a busted lip, bruised cheeks and what will soon be a black eye. I'm too pissed off to examine Ty's face. Whatever injury Shane's given him, he'll survive.

Ty points his finger at Shane. “He twisted things to turn her against me.”

Shane takes a seat on the floor and holds his head in his hands, trying to regulate his breathing. Ty is still blocked by Jesse and Dawson.

“Whatever he did,” Jesse says, “you have to drop it now, bro. Get your shit together. You’ve got a fight tomorrow night. You can’t afford to get arrested or hurt." He studies Ty’s bloody nose and his arm, which sports a long, ugly scratch. His lips curl in disbelief. “Jesus, the guy scratched you?”