Page 38 of Tyler (Bummerset Shore University #2)

SEVENTEEN

“ H ey, Ty?” Lamar whispers, leaning over the half-wall divider between the showers like a nosy neighbor. “Turn the fuck around.”

“Wait, what? Why?” I ask over my shoulder while soaping up my chest.

“Your ass is… shining.”

I freeze. “What?”

“Dude,” he hisses, “ turn around .”

I comply in an instant and press myself against the cold tiles, my face burning in mortification beneath the spray.

Shit. I didn’t shower this morning, gross , I know.

But, I was up most of the night checking in on Jace, worried about him, then overslept and barely made it to class. And now I’m paying the price.

Fuck that stupid purple-glittered Jace-dildo.

Thank fuck we’ve got these shower cubicles. Yeah, they’re open at the front, but at least no one can see my ass now.

Lam snorts. “No worries. I’ll start a distraction while you clean your butt.”

“How the hell are you going to do that?” I hiss through clenched teeth as I take a step forward out of the spray, my voice tightening with panic.

“If the guys see this, I’m done . They’re cool with me being gay, but I think a bedazzled butthole might push the limits of our friendship.

” I squint over at him. “And what are you doing over there, anyway? Why the fuck were you checking out my ass?”

He shrugs, totally unbothered, arms folded over the tile ledge between us. “I came over to ask you something, but, I mean—it’s sparkling , Ty. What do you want me to do, ignore it?”

I groan and grab my soap. “Would you fuck off now? This is weird. Let me clean up in peace.”

“What? I thought you two were into this now. You know, giving the world a tutorial on how to finger your ass.”

Oh, fuck off.

Yeah, that was the hot topic in the group chat today. We were all freaking out at first, obviously, but once it was clear everything was fine with Jace, the jokes started flying.

Pretty sure I’ve seen every existing gif of a train going into a tunnel at this point.

I grumble. “What did you even want?”

“Don’t remember,” he says with a toothy grin, glancing behind him. “But take your time. The last guys just left. Perks of being captains and the last ones to shower. I’ll leave you to it.”

He disappears and I can’t fucking clean up fast enough. My face still burns when I finally emerge into the locker room, towel wrapped firmly around my thoroughly washed, glitter-free ass.

Lam’s already dressed, sitting on the bench, frowning at his phone.

“What?” I ask, rubbing the towel through my hair. My phone’s still dead in my duffel since forgot to charge it last night and it gave up right before practice. “Shit, how late is it? Doesn’t Coach know we need sleep? Two scrimmages back-to-back is brutal.”

“Midnight. They’re just nervous,” Lam mutters, not looking up. “We haven’t lost a game all season. You know how they get, superstitious as hell.”

I sigh, finish lacing my sneakers, and shove my hat on. At least we drove tonight. Thank God for small mercies.

Lam stays weirdly quiet the whole ride home, glued to his phone, barely answering when I try to talk.

When we’re almost home, I glance over. “Okay, what’s going on? You’re acting weird. Like, more weird than usual.”

“Nothing,” he says way too fast, locking his screen and jamming the phone in his pocket.

As we pull into the driveway, I spot a car I don’t recognize parked in my usual spot. I frown. “Is that a rental?”

“Yeah… I think so.”

I narrow my eyes. “What are you not telling me?”

He won’t look at me. “Just… it’s not mine to tell. Please. Just go inside.”

I shoot him a sharp look, but grab my duffel, swing it over my shoulder, and close the passenger door. Slamming it a little harder than necessary. I head around to the back porch, climbing the steps with a tight chest and a growing sense of unease.

I don’t like this.

The second I open the door, I freeze.

Ev is in our kitchen.

Ev .

In our fucking kitchen.

And he’s not moving. He’s just… sitting there at the breakfast bar like a fucking statue, arms crossed, eyes locked on me when I enter.

My stomach drops. My heart slams sideways in my chest. My throat tightens.

“What—” My voice cracks. “Is Jace okay?”

Ev nods once, slow. “He’s upstairs. In your room.”

That should make me ecstatic. That should send me running up the stairs. He’s here . He’s in my fucking house.

But I don’t. Something’s wrong. I can feel it.

It’s in the kitchen’s stillness, the set of Ev’s shoulders, the way Lamar was acting, and how my roomies stay silent through all this, hovering in the doorway. It’s never fucking silent in this house.

Something happened.

Something bad .

And the look Ev’s giving me—full of quiet, heavy fucking sympathy —doesn’t bode well either.

I drop my duffel right there on the floor and turn to bolt for the stairs when I hear—

“So, do you guys think I can crash here tonight?”

And Rafa, way too excited: “Oh, I think I’ve got a spot available for you .”

I barely register it. I’m already taking the stairs two at a time. My heart’s hammering. My palms are sweating. The adrenaline courses through me worse than it did at the game I just played.

When I push open the door to my room, I nearly stop breathing.

He’s there. He’s here . In my fucking room.

Jace.

My heart.

I take a deep breath. He’s whole , he’s not injured or anything but… he’s standing by my window, still in his jacket. Hair a mess. Eyes red and swollen like he cried or something. He looks fucking wrecked.

And I just know; I fucking know this isn’t some leftover side effect from yesterday’s drugs. This is something else. Something heavier, if possible. Something I’m not gonna like.

I take a step forward, desperate to pull him into the hug we both need. I want to touch him. Hold him. It’s been months…

But he flinches. Flinches. His shoulders tense. His whole body recoils like I might hurt him.

From me . He’s flinching from me .

And it breaks something in me.

“Jacie?” My voice comes out hoarse. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Starts pacing, breathing like every inhale is a struggle. I take another step toward him, slower this time, and when I reach out again, just gently, barely, he stumbles backward like I burned him, crashing against my desk.

My heart fucking sinks.

“Jesus, Jace. What can I do? What happened?” He’s freaking me out, and when I make another move to go to him, he fucking breaks.

He shakes his head, hands in his hair, eyes spilling over, and my heart just about cracks .

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I’m so, so sorry.”

I freeze, something cold creeping down my spine, and whisper the words I don’t want to utter: “Are you trying to break up with me again?”

That seems to trigger him even more, because he gasps for air, shaking like a leaf, eyes wild with panic. “No, no… No, I’m not. I’m not!”

“Then what?” I ask again, almost desperately. “Babe, I’m worried. What happened? Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy that you’re here, but you’re supposed to be in San Francisco. We still have a couple of days to go.”

“Oh God, don’t call me babe, I don’t deserve it.” He shakes his head again, fast and frantic, before pacing back and forth across the room. “Remember when you said—that awful day I left—that if I ever had a mental breakdown again, I should talk about it?”

He rushes forward suddenly, grabbing my wrists.

And even though his skin on mine is so right and the best thing I’ve felt in what seems like forever, his grip is trembling.

From this close, I notice he still has his stage makeup on.

Bits of smudged eyeliner beneath red, puffy eyes.

He must’ve flown straight here after the show. No stops. No hesitation. Just ran .

I nod. Of course I fucking nod. “You can tell me anything. Always. I’m here.”

“Good. Because this is me having a mental breakdown.” He meets my gaze now, finally.

His eyes lock on mine and don’t let go. “This is me talking. This is me not pulling back . And this also is me, scared to death, that if I say what happened, it doesn’t matter if I’m not the one pulling away, because you will. ”

“Bullshit.” I frame his face with both hands, grounding him, grounding myself. “Nothing could tear me away from you.”

He closes his eyes, a shuddering sigh escaping him. His whole body trembles like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Please remember that,” he almost whispers, voice cracking so badly it sounds like it physically hurts.

“Remember it for what?” I ask, heart already stuttering.

“For when I tell you I cheated on you.”

My heart stops.

My hands fall away from his face.

I can’t breathe. The air leaves the room, my lungs, my chest. All of it hollowed out in an instant.

I just told him nothing could tear me away from him. But now my feet are itching to step back, that betrayal burning through every cell of my body, lighting up that promise like paper on fire.

I’m not taking that step, though, even if I’m crumbling on the inside. Because even though the words hurt like a motherfucker, the despair in his eyes is worse.

“Mick?” I grunt out the name I despise with everything that I am, blood roaring in my ears. “Did you have sex with him?”

He nods, then shakes his head frantically, before hunching over, hands on his face.

“Oh, shit . Yes, it was Mick; no, I didn’t sleep with him.

I would never… He kissed me, Ty. I didn’t want to.

I swear I didn’t want to. We did the duet, like always, and I didn’t see it coming… I didn’t know what to do! ”

I blink at him— at my fucking everything —gears grinding behind my eyes. “What do you mean, you did the duet? He kissed you on stage ?” The words come out in a low, angry grumble. My throat is dry, my fists clenching at my sides.

He nods again, his beautiful face twisted in anguish, and finally drops on my bed like his legs can’t hold him up anymore. “I swear I didn’t want to. I tried to push him away. The audience… Fuck, I’m so fucking sorry.”