Taming Tyler

Chapter Fifteen

Callum

T yler is out-of-his-mind drunk when we get to the precinct downtown. We hear his loud shrill voice mouthing off someone as soon as we enter the reception area, a tired-looking receptionist offering us a semi-welcoming smile.

“Get your fucking hands off me, you brute!” Ty yells from somewhere and my instincts immediately scream FIND HIM AND PROTECT HIM in my head, in my chest, everywhere. Mitch throws me a desperate look. At least we’re not in a hospital somewhere. At least, he’s not hurt. He’s drunk, yeah, but at least he’s safe. When Mitch got the call thirty minutes ago that Ty had been picked up in a bar fight, we flew out of the door, not knowing what to expect. In a second my mind went from blissed-out to full-on emergency mode, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life.

Mitch wastes no time rushing up to the reception desk.

“Tyler Carter,” he blurts loudly. “He was brought in an hour ago. I’m his… his parole officer, Mitch Cain.” His hair looks wild, bearing witness to how furiously he was grabbing at it on the drive here. “Bobby… I mean, Sergeant Lincoln called me.”

“YOU CALLED MITCH?!” Ty screams, his angry voice traveling from down a hallway, bouncing off the lime-green walls of reception. Mitch winces, his eyes spilling over with concern.

“Sergeant Lincoln’ll be with you shortly,” the receptionist drawls before she goes back to tap tap tapping at her computer. “Take a seat,” she nods indifferently at some black plastic chairs across from her without looking up. A loud crash sounds from somewhere, metal against metal, and now I’m the one who’s two seconds from freaking out.

“Look…” My gaze finds her nametag, “Gwen,” I offer her my most convincing smile. “If we could just go to him, I know he’ll settle down.” I drum my fingers agitatedly against the desk, and it’s when I drop the muffled “ Please ” that Gwen, the receptionist, finally looks away from her screen, smiling slightly.

“Sir, if you could plea—”

“Oh, thank God!” Mitch pants, blowing past me as Ty appears down the hallway, accompanied by a policeman resembling a bear. In comparison, Ty looks like a small kid, so tiny and… broken , as he struggles in the policeman’s hold.

“Sir, you can’t go in there!” Gwen calls after him, but I hold up my hand, waving her off.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. Ty looks okay. He’s okay. It’ll all be okay.

“Bobby!” Mitch greets the policeman who must be his acquaintance, Sergeant Lincoln. I jog after him, running right up to Ty, just managing to get to him before he looks ready to pass out. Slumping against me, he seems to have deflated by now, all fight gone out of him. His fingers dig into my sides, clinging to my hoodie as he buries his face against my neck. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him tightly against my chest, relief coursing through me, while fragments of a conversation blow past me. “Just a drunken brawl.” “No property damage or injuries.” “Saw your name in his files.” “So grateful you called me, Bobby.” “I owe you one.” “Don’t mention it.” “Won’t be any charges.” “Thanks, man.” “Call me for a beer sometime.” “Will do.”

“Let’s go,” Mitch murmurs, as Ty sniffs against my chest. “Let’s go home.”

Tyler slept curled up on my lap the entire way home, not even waking up when Mitch made a few stops on the way for all the things he likes: peanut butter, Mountain Dew , strawberry Pop-Tarts , and Sweet Chili Doritos. He’s gonna have the mother of all hangovers when he wakes up tomorrow—or today, actually—but we’ll be there for him when he crashes. Because I’m sure he will. Crash. Something happened between the time that we dropped him off in Pasadena and picked him up at the precinct. I’m not sure what, but it must’ve been bad since he ended up this drunk and devastated.

Mitch turns off the truck in our drive, sighing audibly, as he takes Ty in, a tender look in his eyes. I know what he’s thinking. I’m thinking the same. Ty belongs with us where we can keep him safe and make sure that he doesn’t pull this self-destructive shit.

“I’m never doing that again,” I whisper, Ty squirming in my lap.

“Hell no.” Mitch rubs his face. “Let’s get some sleep, sweetheart,” he whispers back. I nod while Mitch gets out of the car and jogs around to my side, opening the door for me. I maneuver Ty into my arms and get out carefully, making sure not to bump his head. “You good?” Mitch takes us in, concern evident in his voice.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I say, adjusting Ty in my arms as I walk toward the deck, the gravel crunching under my boots, the only sound aside from Ty’s heavy breathing in the quiet night. Mitch is two steps ahead of me, running up the stairs, throwing open the door we apparently forgot to lock. A low woof greets us as Bree wakes from her doggy bed, blinking her eyes a couple of times.

“It’s okay, Bree Girl,” Mitch coos. “Go back to sleep.” She seems content with that, burying her head in between her fluffy paws, eliciting a low rumble. Ty stirs in my arms as I move to the couch, sitting down with a grunt.

“Cal?” he mumbles, half-asleep, his voice so incredibly frail.

“Shhh,” I say into his sweaty bangs, muffled noises coming from the kitchen as Mitch puts stuff away and runs the faucet.

“Where are we?” Tyler sits up slightly, blinking his eyes open. They’re red-rimmed, the white bloodshot, the cinnamon swimming in the middle.

“We’re home,” I say, not letting go of my hold on him. He winces, then nods quietly, swallowing, as two fat tears make their way down his unusually pale cheeks.

“No, no,” I coo. “Don’t cry, baby.” The endearment slips out all on its own. “You’re good. Everything’s good,” I squeeze him.

“No, it’s not,” he whimpers. “Nothing’s… It’s all turned to shit, Cal. Everything,” he sniffs, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand.

“It’s fine,” I say. “ You’re fine. Nothing’s so messed up it can’t be fixed.”

“I don’t think I can be,” he full-on sobs now, shaking his head defiantly like a little kid who’s just proclaimed he can’t ride a bike. “I can’t.”

“Hey, look at me,” I counter, pinning his chin between my thumb and index finger, forcing him to look at me. “There ain’t nothing wrong with you, Ty,” I grit, my heart about to explode with anger because Ty feels this way about himself. “You’re perfect, you hear me? You’re the most perfect boy in the world, baby. You are .” I’m going to tell him every day until he believes me, if that’s what it takes. We are going to tell him. He remains silent, his eyelashes fluttering restlessly.

“Here you go,” Mitch’s deep voice engulfs us, as he holds out a glass of water in one hand and two pills in the palm of his other. Ty looks up, a shadow moving across his face as he takes in Mitch’s offerings like they’re poisonous. Then he shakes his head like a petulant child.

“No.”

“Ty…” Mitch sighs. “Please take the pills. You had a lot to—”

“I said no!” he spits at my man, his voice sharp, his body tensing in my arms. I feel strangely torn, wanting to hold on to Ty but also pull Mitch into my arms. “I don’t want your fucking pills, Mitch!” He struggles out of my hold and leaps to his feet, swaying from side to side. Mitch instinctively reaches for him, the pills landing on the floor, but Ty bats his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me!” he yells, pushing at Mitch’s chest. Hurt flashes across my man’s face before he catches himself.

“Ty, please, don’t be—”

“What?” Ty spits. “Be what?” Tears are trailing freely down his cheeks now and I stand up, looking between the two men that mean the most to me in this world, bewildered as to what to do. I’ve loved the one for more than six years and the other has just recently crept into my heart, claiming a place for himself there. “A kid ? That’s what you mean, isn’t it, Mitch?” Mitch takes a step forward, reaching for Ty, who dodges him, nearly stumbling in the process. “I’m not that kid anymore!” Ty cries, his bottom lip trembling, his cheeks flushed and wet.

“I know you’re not,” Mitch says quietly.

“I’ll never be that kid again. That kid died when you left me, Mitch. He fucking died,” he rasps, pushing hard against Mitch’s chest. But my man’s a fucking rock, solid like he was built from a block of granite. “I fucking hate you, Mitch! I hate you so fucking much.” Mitch nods and just takes it. All of Ty’s anger and hurt because it’s mostly just hurt that’s oozing off him right now as he’s right up in Mitch’s face, pounding his hands against his chest. “I hate you so fucking much, Mitch.” Ty full-on sobs now as he continues to dig his knuckles into Mitch’s chest.

“It’s okay,” Mitch reassures him, carding his fingers through Ty’s bangs. “You’re allowed to feel that way,” he says. Ty looks up, fire in his eyes, his lips puffy.

“Stop telling me what to do!” he throws at Mitch. “You can’t tell me what to do or how to fucking feel! You’re not my dad. You made that perfectly clear when you walked out on me eight years ago without looking back.” I can tell that Ty’s words are hurting Mitch, digging into him like tiny knives, but I know that this is between them. It’s unavoidable. It had to happen sometime, and apparently, the time is now.

“I didn’t just walk out, Ty. That’s not true.” I know that there’s more to the story, but I don’t think Ty does. How Dale took over Catarina’s life, micro-managing it, keeping Mitch away with threats of getting a restraining order. How he probably convinced her that Ty was better off without Mitch in his life. “Please, Ty, if we could ju—”

“Stop calling me that! And you did! You did, Mitch,” Ty cries, his shoulders starting to slump. Anger sweeps across Mitch’s face, as he finally seems to react to the fact that his past has come back to haunt him. Unfinished business in the shape and form of a lost kid who I know he still loves. Who he never stopped loving.

“I had no rights! I had no claim on you, Tyler!” Mitch yells.

“You had every claim!” Ty yells back, getting up on the toes of his beat-up motorcycle boots and grabbing the collar of Mitch’s shirt. “You still do!” The air crackles between them and I almost lose my balance, taking them in as they both seem to realize it, too. Mitch nods, licking his lips.

“You’re right. I did. I’m sorry, Ty,” he whispers. “I’m so, so sorry. As long as I live, I’ll never forgive myself for that. For leaving you behind. It’s my biggest regret.” Reaching out my hands, one for Mitch and one for Ty, I swallow, “Maybe we should just ta—” but that’s all I manage before Ty mumbles, barely audible, “But you did it again. You…” Ty looks between us, his eyes so sad, sorrow spilling into new tears. “You just dropped me off earlier… like we hadn’t just… and then you just went home… and I was just… I was just alone again,” he swallows.

“Oh, love,” Mitch’s voice breaks along with his face, his eyes wet from unshed tears. “Is that what you think? That this weekend didn’t mean the same to us as it did to you? That…” he looks at me briefly and I nod before he looks back at Ty again. “That Cal and I don’t want you? Love, we want you. We want you so much, Ty. It’s all we’ve been thinking and talking about since we dropped you off. How much we want you, love.”

The softly spoken love lingers between them while I hold my breath. This is it. There’s no going back from this. Mitch has put it out there and it’s exhilarating and fucking frightening at the same time.

“You want me?” Ty croaks, looking at first Mitch, then at me in disbelief. “You too, Cal? You want me, too?” I nod, the words getting stuck in my mouth. I’m afraid that I’ll break if I speak. I can only hope that the truth is written across my face. “As in you want me- want me?” His vulnerability nearly breaks my heart and before I can say something, anything, to reassure him and remove any uncertainty from his beautiful face, my husband steals the words from my mouth.

“We want you here. With us. Every day. All the time,” Mitch says, his voice steady as a beat, while he squeezes my hand. The words have barely left his lips before Ty stumbles, flies, and falls into Mitch’s arms, the glass of water dropping from Mitch’s hand and landing on the floor with a crash. Mitch just manages to catch him, before Ty presses his lips against first his lips, then his chin and his cheeks repeatedly, small whimpers accompanying every kiss. My husband’s right hand flies to the back of Ty’s head, fingers tangling into his wild curls, an outdrawn growl building in his chest, spilling from his lips. As Ty continues to shower a stunned Mitch with kisses, still crying but smiling too, my husband finds my gaze above Ty’s head, his light blue eyes overflowing with something I have no words for but that I feel more deeply than anything. Fear. Relief. Joy. Confusion. Love. So much fucking love. And no doubt. Not one trace of it. No doubt. Ty belongs with us. Like the air in my lungs and the blood flowing through my body, Ty belongs with us.