Page 66 of Tied

It’s all good. Let’s just forget it.

How can I possibly forget it? And how can he?

Tyler

Snuggle in your magic blanket and go to sleep. Tomorrow will be better. Going to bed now. Talk to you in a few days.

I toss and turn all night, finally falling asleep sometime after 2:00 a.m., only to wake with a jolt after dreaming I was wandering through the woods, alone and naked. I screamed for help, but no one came. I walked in circles, seeing the same trees and rocks over and over and over again, never finding my way out. All the while, a black bird followed me overhead, his large wings whooshing above me ominously.

I wake with tears on my cheeks and a pounding headache, and it takes me several minutes to drag my mind out of the dream and convince myself I am safe.

The scent of Ty’s cologne lingers on the blanket, and I snuggle deeper under it, burrowing my face in it. I let the memory of his kiss surface. I let myself relive how it made me feel. I sift through the negative feelings, push them to the side, and focus on the good that’s left, like I was taught.

The feel of his lips on mine was exhilarating.

His hand in my hair, cradling my head, made me feel wanted.

The fiery passion I saw in his eyes made me feel beautiful.

His hard body leaning into mine, his leg over mine, made me feel protected.

The way he wiped my tears away made me feel cared for.

All of it together made me jittery, light-headed, and nervous, but I wanted more.

But, oh God. How had I made him feel while he was giving me all these wonderful new feelings? Unwanted and rejected.

How do I undo that?

I sit up, rubbing my throbbing forehead and wondering if Feather will drive me to see my grandmother today, since Grandma has a knack for cheering me up. I kick off my blankets and check my phone, hoping for a text from Ty, but there aren’t any. I hold the phone, debating whether I should send him a text, but I have no idea what to even say. I put the phone back down on my night table, and that’s when I notice it…

My heartbeat speeds up. I rush over to my window, where a beautiful dream catcher is taped to the outside of the glass with a small envelope taped next to it. When does he do this stuff?

I don’t care!

I yank the window open and gently untape them from the glass, then carry them over to the bed. The dream catcher is beautiful, made with white and silver webbing, white feathers, and pastel-colored beads. I rip open the envelope and pull out a note card:

I made this for you, I hope it helps with your bad dreams. Hang it over your bed.

PS—Poppy says he wants to see you tomorrow. He’s sending me to pick you up at noon.

Smiling, I pull a tack off the little corkboard above my desk and hang the dream catcher over my bed. I put the note in my nightstand with the one he left for me on Christmas. I hope the gift and the note mean he’s not upset or mad anymore. I can’t bear the thought of not seeing his smile.

CHAPTER 20

Tyler

The first thing I do when I get inside the hotel room is turn off all the lights. I turn the TV on so the only light is the glow of the screen. I wait in the dark, trying like hell to ignore the swirl of guilt and anxiety eating at me.

Guilt is misplaced here. No matter how much I want Holly, no matter how much I live just to see her smile… she’s not mine, and she’s never going to be, even though I want nothing more than for her to be mine and to play out all my fantasies and dreams with her. Unfortunately, that’s just not a safe place for her to be.

I’m not the prince. I’m the thing that goes bump in the night and sends shivers up her spine.

The electric lock clicks, and I don’t look over as the door swings open and she does the high-heel strut directly to the thick envelope waiting for her on the table near the door. Her thumb feathers over the hundred-dollar bills, and I can sense her smile as she shoves the envelope into her bag. Her instructions were clear in the confirmation email: payment first. My instructions were just as clear: don’t expect me to talk. No lights. No kissing. No screaming.

She falls onto the couch next to me, and her perfume permeates the space. It’s flowery and feminine, but it’s not the lavender vanilla scent that somehow calms me and drives me wild at the same time.

My breath is hot against my face behind the mask. This one is a favorite, with its bloody, oozing gashes and grotesque twisted lips.

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