"Are you sure that’s wise?" my mom asks. “He’s clearly dangerous.”
It's like being punched in the face. I feel the tears and the pressure in my nose, like I'm going under water. I hate Tyler for what he did, but I also love him enough to know I'll never get over the fact that my parents will under no circumstances ever accept him after this.
"I can handle Wilder,” Shane says. “I just want him out of my face."
"Fine by us. Let's move it." Dawson is only too happy to step out of the situation. I still haven't figured him out. Is he a sinner for putting up with Ty and Jesse's antics, or a saint for tolerating both of these boys?
"Blaire?" Ty asks. I shake my head, unable to look at him. I just can't. Not right now. Not after all he's done, and everything I found out.
"Please just go," I whisper, fat tears chasing each other down my cheeks. I can hear him taking a deep breath.
“She’s right,” Dawson says. “We need to get you cleaned up for the press conference.” He pulls Ty toward the elevator, but Jesse lingers.
The other fighter leans close to my ear “Ty loves you. What do you need to prove it, a naked singing telegram? Don’t crush him a day before a big fight.”
My chest squeezes tight, but I don't waver. “I hope he's crushed. Serves him right for how he bagged this fight in the first place.”
I watch the XWL media day on TV from my room. I give myself a mental slap on the wrist for still being interested in Ty's fight—no, scratch that, in Ty in general— and a mental punch in the face for actually watching the press conference. It appears I have zero self-control, despite the fact that this dude totally kicked my best friend's butt. I don't care if Shane was the one to throw the first punch.
On TV, Ty is onstage sitting on a pair of barstools with his opponent, Eoghan Doherty. Behind them there’s a wall of endorsements, and each fighter is circled by their own entourage. Ty holds the mic to his lips. He chews gum, wearing a black designer shirt, fitted cigar pants, high top sneakers and a black baseball cap.
He's so incredibly sexy I want to lick him head to toe, but then I remember a lot of other girls actually did do just that, and paid good money for it too. The thought makes me want to hurl.
It's killing me to see Ty still oozing charisma, while I’m falling apart, struggling to remember how to breathe.
Doherty looks extra douchey in a pair of sunglasses and a three-piece suit. There should be a special section in hell for people who wear sunglasses indoors. He smack talks Ty to oblivion and back. He pushes every single button, starting off by referring to Ty as an “inbred redneck.” I get that they need to sell this fight, and that trash talk is a part of the game, but Doherty seems to have sold his soul, willing to do anything nasty as long as it’s good for his career.
Oh, right. Ty did that too.
Ty gives his indifferent smirk, popping gum and blinking slowly in Doherty’s direction. Dawson is sitting next to his star, his arms folded. Occasionally he whispers something in Ty’s ear.
One of the reporters stands up with an anxious smile and directs a question at Ty, “I have a source that just texted me that you were in an altercation in a Vegas hotel earlier today. Something to do with your girlfriend. Care to elaborate?”
Ty bounces his leg and pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. I notice that Shane didn't even leave a mark on his face.
“No comment.”
Doherty gives a mean laugh. “Don’t worry, Wilder, step into the ring with me tomorrow and your love life will be the least of your worries. I promise to smash your pretty-boy face.”
The audience taunts with “Ohhhhhhhs!”
The crowd is eating this up, and the truth is, Doherty brought his A game to this press conference. He is shredding quiet Ty to pieces publicly. Doherty’s a one-man show, and it’s evident his opponent isn’t up to it.
“Jesus, Blaire, can you change the channel?” Izzy bursts into the room. She's been helping Mom and Nana Marty with some last-minute shopping for the wedding. I was excused, obviously, seeing as my life is a circus of fatal mistakes and misunderstandings. Everyone just got a front-row glimpse at the show earlier today.
“I think I’ve had enough of Tyler Wilder,” Izzy clarifies, as if there’s any doubt what her complaint is about the TV.
I turn off the set and arch one brow. "You do realize that Shane threw the first punch, right?" And the second, and third, and fourth...
"You do realize that Tyler is a professional XWL fighter, right?" she mocks. She plops down on our king-size bed with a sigh. Her shopping bags frame her supermodel body. "Isn't there, like, a special oath they need to take, like doctors, so that they can't hit random, non-XWL people?"