Page 63 of Tyler
The club they chose to go to after the gig is fuckingpacked, and I’m kinda glad we can stay in the VIP lounge in a corded-off area to the right. The music’s still blasting loud here, and lights flicker and flash over the crowd, but at least there’s room to chill if you need a break in between dancing.
I’ve been making the rounds with the crew, bouncing between our group and some of Six of Hearts’ people. If I’m not dancing with Ava that is, dodging the occasional line of coke being offered like it’s fucking Halloween candy.
But despite the noise and sweat and fuckingwildenergy, I can’t stop smiling as I sip my drink. And I’m not only feeling the fucking vibe tonight because we’rethisclose to being done,thisclose to getting back to my Ty.
It’s because, finally, people are talking about other shit again instead of… well, me and Mick.
Mick’s still Mick. Still obnoxious as fuck, still hovering or staring at me like he’s doing now from the other side of the lounge. But he can just keep on looking, because people don’t care anymore. The surrounding buzz kinda fizzled out a while ago. It’s old news, and I think they don’t buy the duet act anymore, since it’s the same damn thing every show. And I think he knows it, too.
Even with all the media attention, all the twisted fucked-up headlines, all the speculation on socials… Tyler’s been a fucking rock. Heneverwavered.Neverlashed out.Neverquestioned me. I know for a fact that if the roles had been reversed, I would’ve lost my shit at some point. But not him, nope. He held on. To us. For me.
He’s awesome like that. To be honest, there were moments I wasn’t sure we’d make it. I hoped. I dreamed. But there was always that sliver of doubt gnawing at the back of my brain, whispering that maybe it’d be too much. That maybe we’d break under the pressure.
And at times? Yeah, itwastoo much.
But we didn’t break.
We fucking pulled through.
Hepulled through.
I know that if it weren’t for Ty, we wouldn’t be as strong as we are now. And now, with the finish line in sight, the thought of finally heading home has me so freaking giddy, I’m buzzing from the inside out. I want to celebrate. I want to let loose. I want to drink, and dance, and laugh my ass off with my friends.
So, yeah, I just dropped into one of the half-circle leather booths tucked into the back of the lounge, fresh drink in hand, legs stretched out and trying to catch my breath after Ava dragged me through a couple of songs on the dance floor like we were headlining Coachella.
Which we will, someday.
“Judging by that smile,” Missy drawls, dropping onto the armrest beside me, “I’m guessing we’re officially in party mode?”
“Fuck yes,” I grin, holding up my glass before she clinks hers against mine. “Only five more days, Miss.”
“Well, who would’ve thought that’s what’s got you grinning like a dumbass.”
“I canfeelthe sarcasm there,” I deadpan.
“Fuck off. Your smile’s so damn big you look like you’re on molly. You take something? People are popping like crazy tonight. Which is stupid, because we have to get on the road in a couple of hours. It’s a long drive to San Francisco.”
I take another big gulp, welcoming the cool burn, and shake my head. “Well, they can sleep it off on the bus. And nope, you know I don’t do drugs.”
I tried that shit twice. Once back when I first started out with my old band, everyone told me it was part of the lifestyle and I was too green to stand up for myself. The second time was with Her Majesty herself, and judging by the shit-eating grinnow playing on her red-painted lips, she knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“Ugh. Still an amateur,” she says fondly, ruffling my hair before leaning in. “This stuff they got here? It’s not that potent at all. It doesn’t come close to what we had at that festival we went to for your twentieth. That was theactualshit. I swear I saw God.”
I snort into my drink. “Yeah. You saw God, I saw the inside of a porta-potty for six hours straight.”
Missy grins like it was the best night of her life.
I smile at the memory. Even though I’d already figured out by then that I’d much rather have a drink and dance my ass off than use drugs, my friends definitely went full-on Dutch with it and I tagged along. Festivals and party drugs are practically a cultural phenomenon back in my home country.
“I love you, Miss. But just becauseyoudidn’t sleep for three days straight and had the time of your life doesn’t mean it was like that for all of us,” I say, tipping my glass at her. “The molly really didn’t agree with me and I’m not that eager to try again.”
She nudges me with her fishnet-clad knee, grinning. “I know. But it was all tested stuff, and it was fun to try once.”
“Once?” I raise a brow. “So last month doesn’t count?”
“Thegoodstuff, I mean. Like I said, X really isn’t that potent here. I popped half a pill, had an amazing night with Bowie, and everything was fine.”
Yeah. Until you pop thewrongpill. But I keep my mouth shut. I know she’s careful, as careful as you can be with that kind of shit. And I’m always around to have her back. We’ve had a buddy system since forever.Sheknows how I feel about it, andIknow she’ll do whatever the fuck she wants, anyway.
