Heidi Tretheway - Tyler & Stella

Back in the waiting room, members of Tattoo Thief gather around their manager, the man with the skinny beard who shepherded us through the media nightmare at the premiere. Jayce motions me over.

“We’ll do the conference in an hour,” the manager says.

I gape. “That’s fast.”

“It’s timed to hit the next prime-time news cycle.” He thrusts a hand out for me to shake and I take it slowly. “I’m Chief.”

Chief explains that we’ll hold the press conference downstairs in the hospital’s media liaison room.

“Don’t answer a question unless I call on the reporter,” Chief says. “If they think they can get away with it, they’ll start shouting questions and all hell breaks loose. Don’t contradict me or Gavin. Don’t speak for Tyler. Don’t speculate. And don’t talk about medical stuff you don’t know. Only the facts. Only what’s true.”

“No matter what,” Gavin adds, “never, ever lie. You know how they say sharks can smell fear? Gossip reporters can smell a lie a mile away and they will absolutely crucify you for it. Got it?”

I nod, overwhelmed by the litany of instructions. Gavin’s right, I haven’t been on the receiving end of questions. I am not nearly prepared for this.

“Now for the image problem,” Chief continues.

“Kristina’s got that sorted out,” Dave answers. “She’ll get Stella ready.”

“What about pictures of Tyler?” Chief asks. “We could tap one of the photographers from a friendly publication and get them back to Tyler’s bed.”

“Whoa. No way.” Gavin holds up his hands. “There is no such thing as a friendly publication.”

“He’s sleeping,” I add. “We can’t wake him up for this.”

Dave shakes his head. “Chief’s right. We have to have pictures with Tyler, just to show he’s OK and not on some kind of junkie trip and that we’re hiding him.”

“What about that redhead? The tall girl who came to our practice?” Jayce asks me.

“Violet?” I ask. “She’s a freelancer.”

“Perfect,” Chief says. “We’ll pay for the photos, choose the ones we like and release them at the end of the conference. If you can get her in time.”

“Can we trust her?” Gavin asks.

“I do.” I retrieve my phone from its hiding place, plugged into its charger under a waiting room table. Violet picks up on the third ring and her voice is cloudy with sleep.

“Hi, Violet. I’m sorry to call you so late, but I need another favor.”

“Stella.” She says my name like a sigh.

“For the record, I’m not drunk, I don’t need pancakes, but I would gladly do anything for you if you could come to Roosevelt Hospital and take some pictures. Like, right now.”

Violet clears her throat. “What’s going on?”

I relate the shortest possible version of Tyler’s seizure, the media feeding frenzy, and the press conference that’s less than an hour away.

“They’ll pay you,” I promise her. “I trust you and that’s what we need right now more than anything—someone we can trust.”

I hear rustling through the phone. “Tell me the name of the hospital again?”

“You’ll do it?” I nearly squeal. I guess I didn’t believe she would, especially after the colossal favor she did for me this morning.

“Stella, I’m already halfway down my apartment stairs. I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

I repeat the directions and hang up. My smile tells the band everything they need to know—Violet’s coming.

Kristina and Beryl steer me toward the bathroom at the side of the waiting room.

“We’ve got to get you ready.” Kristina hangs two garment bags from the door of a toilet stall. She unzips them, revealing four dresses.

Kristina picks through them, frowning at the first two. “Not red,” she mutters. “Black’s for a funeral. Blue is better on camera, but this dark green would look good with your hair.”

She points me to the oversized stall and tells me to try on the blue one. It still has tags on it and I ask her where she got the dresses so quickly.

“Called in a favor.” Kristina shrugs. “Personal shoppers can get after-hours access. I guessed on the size.”

I emerge from the stall and Kristina frowns again. The blue shift is definitely meant for a curvier girl, with the hips hanging too wide and the darts in the bust making my chest look even flatter than usual.

“Try the other one.”

I switch to the forest green dress, a wide boat neck that crosses over my shoulders and has a bit of stretch in the material for a closer fit.

Kristina nods her approval and Beryl takes a flatiron to my hair to smooth its air-dried lumpy frizz. As Beryl works, Kristina coats my eyelids with several shades of pale brown powder, then hands me a mascara wand.

“The cat-eye you normally do will look too extreme on TV,” she explains. “Just go for the natural look, mostly top lashes. We don’t want it to look fake.”

I snort. This is all about fake. Tyler’s in the emergency room and I’m playing beauty parlor dress-up.

When we emerge from the bathroom, Gavin has also changed into a fresh blue T-shirt, darker jeans, and shoes instead of flip-flops. Violet’s here too, with Jayce at her side.

“You ready for this?” Gavin asks me, and his arm reaches out to Beryl to pull her into his shoulder. Their closeness reminds me that this is what I’m fighting for—a chance to be with Tyler on our own terms without reporters pecking at us every moment.

Jayce leads Violet back to Tyler’s bed, his hand resting lightly on her back to steer her. I follow them and Tyler’s still asleep when we pull back the curtain.

Violet gestures me to one side of the bed, her camera out and ready. I pick up Tyler’s cool hand and caress it, thankful this is not the one strung with wires and an IV drip.

I pull up his covers to mid-chest. I arrange his hospital gown so it doesn’t pinch under his armpits and brush his dark hair off his forehead. His long lashes twitch and I still, afraid I’ll wake him. He shifts slightly and sighs, settling into a deeper sleep.

I kiss Tyler’s forehead and forget the room, Jayce, and Violet. I forget the minutes ticking down to the press conference and the dozens of instructions Chief issued.

There is nowhere else I’d rather be. No one else I want more.

I don’t see Jayce and Violet leave. Lost in my bubble with Tyler, I’m startled by a voice behind me.

“Stella. It’s time.”

Gavin. I squeeze Tyler’s hand one final time and brush my lips against his knuckles, then rest his hand on his chest. I follow Gavin down two flights of stairs to where Dave is waiting for us in a hallway.

“Chief’s getting the press settled in there,” Dave explains, pointing to a door. “Jayce said your pictures are good and he’s with Violet uploading them to a portal right now.”

“Any final words of wisdom?” I ask.

I’m trying to find a lighter note, but Dave looks grim. “Just the facts, Stella.”

Tyler says facts are real, but stories are not necessarily the truth. More than ever, it’s time to prove this by telling the true story of facts that drove such ugly speculation.

The door opens slightly and Chief ushers us in. I’m blinded by flashes and grateful that Gavin takes my arm to lead me to the side of the lectern where a half-dozen microphones are arranged.

Chief sets the ground rules: we’ll give short statements, then take questions by invitation only. He tells the media that exclusive photos of Tyler in the hospital will be available immediately after the conference. I hear a buzz from the press and start counting. There must be thirty or forty photographers and writers here.

Gavin speaks next, reminding the media that Tyler was the person who brought Tattoo Thief together in the first place, who developed the network that got the band their big break in New York, and who anchors the music on bass.

“I owe Tyler so much, not the least of which is a real sense of family. He and his mom, Cheryl, took me in when I was on my own, and I will always call them family.”

Gavin nods at a tall brunette in a neat suit sitting at the far side of the small auditorium. She’s not taking notes.

“We are thankful that after Tyler’s health scare, which we’ll tell you more about in a moment, that he’s stable, resting right now, and likely to be released from the hospital tomorrow. He’s healthy and this incident doesn’t affect Tattoo Thief’s next album or our tour plans.”

Gavin adds a few more details and promises to take questions at the end.

“Now I have the opportunity to introduce you to a new member of Tattoo Thief’s family, a friend we’ve become very close to recently. She’s also been my girlfriend Beryl’s best friend for many years.” Gavin gestures me to come closer to the microphones.

“I’m Stella Ramsey,” I start, and my voice wavers. Nerves threaten to strangle me but I gulp air and push the fear aside. Now is not the time to panic. If I can handle Tyler choking on his own blood, I can handle this.

“When I arrived at Tyler’s apartment this afternoon, Tyler didn’t seem like himself. He was sluggish, like he’d gone without sleep for too long.” I word this carefully as Chief instructed me, avoiding any suggestion that I thought he was drunk.

“I heard him coughing and found him choking on blood. The doctor told me later that he’d bitten partway through his tongue.”

I hear a gasp from the crowd and a stronger buzz of whispers. “You can imagine my fear for him. I rolled him on his side to prevent choking. I called 911 and let in the ambulance crew.”