Page 89 of Heartstring

28

TYLER

NOW

“This islike playing three truths and a lie,” Milo says.

“Except we already know the truth,” Fletcher says. “Tyler is banging a rock star.”

I groan. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

When I called Ellis to meet up at Bittersweet, he agreed it was a good idea to give the press something to talk about. Inviting the rest of the guys was all Milo, and considering the number of questions I’ve been filtering from them since they arrived, I’m wondering if talking to the media directly would give me less of a headache.

“Is the story about the honeymoon to Paris true? I always wanted to go to Paris,” Milo says.

“No, it’s not true.” I sigh.

“How about the one to Sydney?”

“Nope.”

“London?”

I shake my head.

“Oh. Where did you go then?”

“We’re not married.”

“But that photo.”

“It was staged.”

“Okay, okay,” Levi says. “But you are a rock star.”

Once again, I shake my head. “No. I am a songwriter. I write songs for other people.”

“I think it’s safe to say don’t believe anything you read in the press or social media,” Ellis adds, and I give him a smile. He knows firsthand what it’s like when people lie about you. Before he moved back to Stillwater, he was in a relationship with a man who lied about the nature of his relationship with their surrogate.

It all worked out well because Ellis was always meant to be with Milo. I’m glad to have been part of them getting together, especially when Ellis, who’s closer to my age than Milo’s, was afraid that would get between them.

Looking at them now, you can tell nothing will ever get between them. Their age or anyone else’s lies.

I can’t help but feel a little jealous. It took me a long time to admit to myself that’s what it was. My feeling protective of Milo, who’s been volunteering at the kitchen since I started, and wanting to ensure Ellis had his heart in the right place was more about me than them. All I want is a little of what they have.

Mik approaches us, looking every bit the rock star. Jeans, leather jacket, sunglasses. He had his hair cut and his beard is down to a short scruff.

My stomach clenches at the sight. I still can’t believe he’s here. That this is real. Even with the media circus, no one has intruded on the four walls we’ve shared the last two days.

It’s so easy to believe it could be real, but the realistic part of me, the one who’s experienced loss at the worst of times, that part is trying to distinguish between what is real life and what is a dream.

The hardest part is remembering it when Mik takes off his shades to look at me with those impossibly blue eyes that look like they want to wrap me in soft cotton wool and take me flying on a cloud.

“Hey.” He lowers himself onto the bench I’m sitting on and kisses me like I belong to him. The kiss doesn’t last long, but I’ll feel it long after he moves on from whatever is happening here.

Protect your heart.

That’s what Seymour said when I spoke to him. My too-good-for-me brother-in-law. All he said was to look after my heart and to remember to put myself first.