“Hell, yeah. I’d also like to mention that I won the Most Athletic award earlier tonight, so I’d like to invite everyone in Winchester to check out my classes at Spartan Fitness. I’m also available as a personal trainer.”

  The oscillating fans scattered throughout the gym weren’t helping the beads of perspiration forming on my forehead—but when I turned my head once more, I spied one of my old classmates, and then my blood turned cold.

  This woman, taller than me by several inches, with black hair, blue eyes lined with heavy makeup, and bright red lips formed into a permanent pout, had seemed to age more than most of us. She was tramping my way and, when she stopped beside me, I felt a shiver run up my spine. I’d seen her last night and managed to avoid her—but she wasn’t going to let me ignore her now. The infamous Tamara Dickens had decided to grace me with her presence.

  It all came rushing back like a roller coaster blazing down the rails. This woman had been Tyler’s girlfriend back in high school, too, and she acted like she had a score to settle with me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Hi, Megan,” Tamara said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Last name still Walker?”

  Maybe she was trying to be nice. I could play that game as well. “Yep. You still Dickens?”

  “Yeah, but I wasn’t for a while. I had a shitty marriage until I got smart and dumped the asshole.”

  Why was Tamara trying to make small talk with me? Frankly, I would be uncomfortable discussing this shit with a classmate I’d been fond of, much less despised. Talking with her felt like I was having a conversation with a rattlesnake. When would she strike? But I could be civil. “Sorry to hear that.”

  Letting out a raucous, over-the-top laugh, Tamara got a little closer to me. “His loss, you know? But I wondered…did I see you and Tyler kissing last night? Did you guys get back together?”

  And why the fuck did she think that was any of her business? I started to answer but she interrupted.

  “How long have you been back together?”

  “We’re not exactly together.” Jesus—I was nothing more than a glorified groupie. But damned if I was going to tell Tamara that. That would be a good reason for her to gloat, and I wasn’t about to help her out, even if I was legitimately pissed at Tyler. “Just ‘cause people hook up doesn’t mean they’re an item.” I wanted to remind her that we were adults now, but I knew that’d do a fat lot of good.

  “Glad to hear that.”

  Had I heard her correctly? Now she was just being downright rude. Still, her words left me speechless.

  “He’s a douche canoe—and you don’t need him, girl.” Was I hearing her right? Surely, the shock was written all over my face. “Oh, God. You don’t know, do you?”

  It was like she was speaking a foreign language. “Know what?”

  Tamara sucked a deep breath through her nostrils so that they flared, reminding me of a dragon.

  Which made sense.

  “I’ll catch you later, Megan. There’s something I should tell you—but not now.” And she stormed off.

  That had to be the weirdest encounter I’d experienced during this reunion, once more reinforcing what a shitty idea it had been to come in the first place.

  Just as my heart rate slowed, someone covered my eyes with their hands from behind. God, I hoped it was Tyler, because I was going to have to otherwise give someone a piece of my mind—and, at this point, I doubted I could afford it.

  I turned to see find it definitely was him, and I wondered if he’d seen Tamara talking to me. Tyler was my ex, but Tyler was Tamara’s ex twice—and so, I supposed, that gave her greater claim to him? But they’d never seemed close like he and I had. She’d been such a psychotic mess, I wondered why he’d dated her the second time.

  But maybe he liked crazy chicks.

  “Glad to see you made it.”

  That’s what groupies did, right? “I promised.”

  “That you did.” When he bent his head toward mine, I let him kiss me. I felt so damned confused, wanting to push him away for the hurt I felt inside while needing to pull him closer for the conflicting desire consuming me. When his tongue worked its way into my mouth, I didn’t even try to shove him away. Then, when my lady parts started throbbing and I felt the air escape my body, I knew I was much like a prisoner being escorted to the execution line. The guns were locked and loaded and there was no escape.

  I might as well just give in and let this thing run its course. After all, it would be over soon enough. Then I could regale Serenity with my stupid weekend stories.

  When Tyler let go of my lips, he slowly pulled away, but his face remained close to mine. “Tonight, Meg, you’ll be the only person in that audience, and I’ll be singing just for you.”

  What could I even say to that? And why the fuck did his words now feel like they negated his hurtful ones earlier?

  Because he was manipulating me, knowing I’d be less likely to spread my legs if I only felt used and abused—so why not turn on the charm a little? “Don’t you think the audience will resent you for that?”

  “They won’t know. But you will.” He ran a finger down the side of my face. “Gotta go.” His eyes burrowed into my soul, and I wondered why he couldn’t see the conflict inside me.

  But I knew why. Because he didn’t want to see it.

  Soon, he was walking away, and I heard Lisa’s voice beside me before I actually saw her. “Looks pretty serious.”

  “Shut up.”

  Lisa’s eyes grew wide in mock horror, and I was actually glad she thought I’d been joking. If she’d known I was hurting, she would have ruined her own good time—and, of course, we would have had to talk. And that was something I wasn’t ready for.

  My friend turned back to Randy as I let out a small sigh of relief. Then various lights bathed the platform as if preparing for the second coming while the rest of the ones in the gym grew dim. But it was only Penny onstage, the woman who’d had mike duty throughout the entire reunion. Fortunately, she seemed comfortable with the gig.

  Only this time, there was a set of drums behind her.

  I could feel the energy throughout the crowd, a mixture of excitement and anticipation, like it was a real concert with three bands in the lineup. It was like I and my classmates were actually enjoying ourselves.

  “My fellow classmates, do we have a treat for you tonight.” Screams and cheering overpowered Penny’s voice, and she had to give the crowd a few moments to die back down. Seriously—was I surrounded by folks who were attending their high school reunion or Ozzfest?

  “If someone analyzed our town, they’d probably make a fortune. We seem to be a hotbed of talent. For some reason unbeknownst to me, Winchester High creates successful people. Our graduates over the past thirty years range from successful politicians to Broadway successes. Business owners and professional football players. An independent filmmaker and even a few rock stars. I continue to marvel at the people our town—and school—creates. And not just these famous classmates. Each one of you, throughout the course of this weekend, has amazed me with what you’ve gone on to do with your life, and I’m proud to be part of our school’s legacy.” Another roar exploded from the crowd and, much as my cynical self wanted to roll her eyes before shoving her way through the throng of people, I felt myself getting caught up in the hype. “Lucky for us, one of those famous people is one of from our graduating class. For those of you who have been living under a rock, let me enlighten you.” This time, the audience laughed before allowing Penny to continue. “Our very own Tyler Green is lead vocalist, songwriter, and one of the guitarists for the band Madversary—and tonight we are honored to have them play exclusively for our reunion.

  “Now, for those of you who don’t know, two of his fellow band members are from Denver and the other is from California. I mention that because we are so fortunate that they all gave up some of their personal time to entertain us. And so, without further ado, would you please all help me give a warm Bulldog welcome to Madversary?”

  The crowd went wild this time, and I felt myself getting caught up in the frenzy, even as the crowd began doing the “WHS bark,” a noise you could hear during sports during home games. Screaming and cheering, the mob’s noise reached a crescendo when Tyler and his band took the stage via a small wooden staircase on the side. Penny disappeared shortly after, looking worried about what might happen if she lingered.

  The lights on the corners of the makeshift stage bathed the band in warm unwavering lights, but there was nothing fancy about it. We weren’t under the illusion that there would be laser lights or pyrotechnics or even smoke and fog accompanying them.

  But there would be amazing music.

  Tyler took the middle position, pulling a guitar strap over his head, and, even though I was a huge fan of his music, I felt an emptiness threaten to consume me as his earlier words reminded me that we were together for just a short time.

  But wasn’t that what I’d wanted?

  All four of the musicians took what I considered to be standard rock band formation on stage. The bassist stood to the left of Tyler, while the lead guitarist stood on the right, with the drummer back and center—not that he’d had much of a choice. Tyler cozied up to the mike. “WHS Bulldogs! I can’t tell you how cool it is to be doin’ this!” The audience roared in response. When the noise died down again, Tyler grinned. “Me and the guys considered doing a cover of the school song, but most of us never learned those words in the first place. So here’s what we will be doing. We put together a small set of some of our most popular tunes, ones we hope some of you know. And, for those of you who aren’t metal fans, we hope this is as quick and painless as possible.” The expression on his face changed from that of a happy, innocent man reuniting with old friends to playing his professional role. Suddenly, he looked serious, almost angry, and intense. When he stepped back from the mike, the drummer took that as a cue to tap his sticks together like a human metronome, preparing the band for its first song.

  As the lead guitarist began moving his fingers over the strings, I recognized the opening riff to “Wake the Dead,” the band’s most well-known song. Good move. Not everyone in the audience listened to anything close to what Madversary played—if they were going to recognize anything, it would be this song. Great way to warm everyone up.

  As the song progressed, I realized the true metal heads were up against the stage, doing what they do—throwing up the metal horns on their hands, banging their heads to the beat of the music. The only thing that would have made the night complete would have been some drunken moshing—but everyone seemed to be containing themselves. After all, the venue—and the makeshift stage—wasn’t built for that. And I was right up there with the few headbangers, only I wasn’t actively participating. I knew I should have instead spent this time walking home or, at the very least, standing near the back to avoid inflating Tyler’s ego or sending the signal that I’d gladly be his groupie slut for the remainder of the weekend. Instead, my forearms rested on the floor of the wooden stage where I could look up at Tyler like a proper fangirl.

  And fangirl I was. Tyler looked hotter than ever, and the song’s insistent beat and grinding melody with Tyler’s guttural growling at key parts of the song resonated in my core, reminding me that Tyler was probably not only the only man I’d ever loved but quite possibly the only one I’d actually enjoyed sex with.

  I would have dismissed that thought as simple nostalgia if it hadn’t been for the previous night. Connecting with Tyler on a physical level now as fully realized adults woke me up to the fact that it wasn’t just wishful reminiscence.

  Watching him onstage live and up close would be something I’d never forget. I had never attended a Madversary concert before and had, in fact, avoided them—but their live performance was a testament to why they were so popular. Tyler’s charisma onstage was like taking his personality and beefing it up with steroids and meth. Once he grabbed the audience, he never let go. His voice commanded; his eyes demanded; and I and many of the other women in the audience felt ourselves melting in his presence.

  The band shifted to another song, one called “Fly,” and I loved how Tyler’s bangs hung over his eyes, bathing those orbs in shadows, making him appear to be mysterious and unreadable. By the end of the song, his bangs were beginning to cling to his forehead, and he pulled off the t-shirt he’d been wearing, tossing it to the side of the stage. My heart dropped into my stomach, my throat constricting as Tyler pulled the guitar back over his head as if nothing had happened. “You guys are an amazing audience. You sure you don’t all listen to Madversary?” The response from the crowd drowned out the thoughts in my head. “How are you handling the heat?”

  Jesus. The way the audience replied, I would have guessed I was in a place ten times the size of our old gym.

  By the end of the third song, I belonged heart and soul to Tyler. My veins were on fire for him, my blood pumping nothing but desire, my nerves attentive and ready. All the self-talk I could throw at myself wouldn’t stop me now from doing something I might regret for a lifetime. Gazing at him onstage while he commanded his guitar, controlled his voice and body, played the Pied Piper for the folks in my graduating class made me feel like a tiger, ready to tear his flesh apart and drink him down, hoping he wanted to do the same to me.

  I just couldn’t look past tonight.

  With that mindset, I was able to fully appreciate my ex-boyfriend, from his muscular arms and torso that were canvases for some amazing, colorful art to the way he massaged the neck of his guitar, his fingers rough yet gentle.

  As if reading my mind, Tyler looked down at me, flashing me a wicked smile. I smirked back, but Tyler barely saw it as he turned his attention back to the instrument in his hands so he could lay down a melody while the lead guitarist thrashed out an amazing solo.

  I tried to ignore the needy throb emanating from between my legs.

  Orgasm would come easily tonight.

  But, of course, my fantasy had to come to an end early, thanks to Tamara Dickens’s perfect fucking timing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Seeing Tamara in my face at the foot of the stage brought back a flood of memories that I’d chosen to forget. Back in high school, she’d been the rumor monger, the gossip queen, the biggest bitch of the class.

  A backstabber and pot stirrer and possibly a liar.

  So why the hell was she here ruining my good time? I knew that, whatever she was doing here, there was no positive reason for her to grace me with her presence.

  And during a concert, no less.

  With eyes focused on the stage, I tried to ignore her, but she started tapping on my arm. Finally, I turned my head, hoping my raised eyebrow properly communicated how fucking exasperated I was. But her words, shouted over the music, told me she was clueless—or, more likely, she just didn’t give a shit. “Hey, I forgot I was going to tell you something you really need to know.”

  I sighed, recalling her saying something like that. “You do see there’s a concert going on.”

  “This is important.”

  To say she was irritating me was an understatement. Not only did I have to strain to hear her, but I was having to shout to be heard—and, all the while, I was missing the band’s performance. “Can’t it wait?”

  “Not really.”

  I glared at her but she was unfazed. “Fine—but I’m not leaving.” Bad enough that I was tearing my eyes away from watching the way Tyler’s fingers fretted the strings on his guitar, making me fantasize about the way he’d touch me later. “Whatever you have to say, say it now. Say it here.”

  “Fine,” she shouted, raising an overly plucked eyebrow. “You know how I went out with Tyler?”

  “I’m pretty sure we already covered that ground.” Not only had they dated before Tyler and I had, but after I’d broken up with him a few weeks before graduation, he’d gone back to her with hardly a pause.

  That had hurt a lot. It might have felt better if Tyler had taken a knife to my chest and sliced out my heart.

  Tamara nodded as if I were a stupid child who needed positive reinforcement. “Well, I’m guessing you probably don’t know that we never actually broke up. We were still fucking the entire time he dated you. That’s why it looked like he got right back with me after you left him.”

  Swallowing the saliva starting to pool in my mouth, my attention focused like a laser on Tamara—but my prefrontal cortex refused to engage. Instead, my emotions took over, so I had a hell of a time assessing if what Tamara was saying was true or bullshit. But her next words figuratively stopped me in my tracks. “And I had his baby about six months after graduation.”

  My soul felt like a goblet on a table where the someone pulled out the tablecloth—tumbling, disoriented, free falling…lost. “You…had his baby?”

  Her raised voice, nonchalant even while shouting over the crowd, unnerved me. “Yeah. I named him Tyson. You know, as a tribute.”

  I kept trying to form words, to spit out sentences, but my mouth and brain weren’t having it. And that didn’t deter Tamara.

  “Would you like to see a picture? He’s a beautiful child. Looks just like his daddy.” She began digging in her purse as if it contained the holy grail. “He’s nine years old now. In the third grade. Top of his class. With a father like Tyler, I’d expect no less.” Tamara finally pulled out a wallet and fished a picture out of it, shoving the stiff paper in my hand. As if I had no will of my own, I did her bidding, staring at the picture in the dim light at the foot of the stage, trying to make sense of it. The child in the photo was grinning from ear to ear with new teeth that seemed too big for his mouth, making me wonder how old the picture was. The child had blond hair and blue eyes with adorable dimples denting his cheeks. Tamara might have thought he looked just like Tyler, but I couldn’t see any resemblance—and that helped me regain my footing. “Cute kid.”

  In all fairness, though, he didn’t look like Tamara, either.

 

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