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He ignored the shout from the photographer he’d just shouldered aside.
Someone flipped up his ball cap and he slapped it down. Too late.
“It’s the Coney Island mystery dude, hot damn.”
Flashbulbs started going off around him, but the sea of photographers had stepped back to take their shots. He charged up the steps to the huge, oak door which stood before him like the entrance to a fairy tale castle. The townhouse’s gothic red brick frontage as intimidating as the thought of what lay behind it. Rose vines grew around the columns on either side of the doorway reminding him of the ring of thorns tattooed on Zelda’s arm.
It all seemed mighty symbolic all of a sudden.
But symbolic of what, he had no clue. Was he the guy who was going to be able to hack through those thorns and rescue her, or were they there to tear peasants like him to pieces?
He’d done his research, spent the better part of an hour on the phone to a very nice lady from Al-Anon, who had explained to him a few of the challenges facing people in relationships with those in recovery. All of which had convinced him that Finn had been right, and he’d probably scared the shit out of Zelda by coming on so strong, so quickly.
But hell, he knew what that felt like, because he was scared, too. He hadn’t exactly planned for this to happen either. But his research had also given him hope. If he could just convince Zelda this was a one-day-at-a-time proposition, not necessarily a forever-after deal, yet, then maybe, just maybe, they could have a chance.
But those thorny roses weren’t filling him with a whole lot of confidence at the moment.
Ignoring the shouts for a statement, and the whirring clicks of cameras, he rang the large, brass bell on the side of the door. And spotted the small eyehole in the center go dark.
The oak slab edged open and a middle-aged woman peered out.
“I’m sorry, sir, but Ms. Zelda and Mr. Sebastian are not receiving visitors at the present time unless you have an appointment.” He could just about make out her crisp British accent above the noise.
These bastards were scenting a story, but he didn’t plan to make things worse for Zelda by giving them one. So identifying himself would not be smart.
“I think my sister’s here, visiting. I need to see her, it’s urgent.” It was a low blow; Faith would assume it was something to do with Pop’s health. But hopefully he’d be in the door before she found out about the lie.
Unfortunately, this woman was up to those sorts of tricks. “Your sister, sir? Do you think you could give me a name?”
“Yeah, buddy, why don’t you give us a name? Not every day Her Highness screws a regular guy. She must have been totally wasted this time.”
The sneering words had Ty swinging round, even though he knew the comment had been made to arouse his anger and get a reaction. The part of him that believed in truth and justice and the rights of the disadvantaged rose up anyway, to defend the honor of the woman he loved.
“What the hell do you know about it, buddy?” He snarled as the flashbulbs fired at him and camera phones were lifted to his face. “Zelda Madison’s been sober for five years. She’s been fighting to stay sober, fighting a heroic battle against her addictions, and yet every time she turns around she has you guys on her ass waiting to kick her back down.”
Somebody whistled, more shouted comments went off in his ear, but he only heard one. “That’s some speech, coming from a guy who’s too ashamed of his association with her to even give us a name.”
“My name’s Tyrone Sullivan. I’m an attorney for the Legal Aid Society. And I’m not ashamed to say I love her.”
It was the worst possible thing he could have said. He knew it the second the words were out of his mouth. The chuckles of derision and the pitying looks as the jackals photographed him scoured at his pride. But worse was the thought he’d let Zelda down again. By declaring himself to the press before he’d got things straight with her. But fuck it, he’d wanted to take the attention off her and now it was squarely on him.
The door opened behind him. And the noise level increased tenfold, the photographers and reporters pressing forward in a phalanx of flashes and shouts.
?
??Ty, get the hell in here.”
He dived through the door as Zelda stepped aside to let him in.
The door closed behind him and he found himself on his butt being stared down by five sets of female eyes.
“Is there something wrong with Pop?” Faith sounded anxious. With the housekeeper standing next to her, it was obvious what she’d assumed.
“Pop is fine, sis.” He got up off the floor, dusted off his jeans, to give himself a moment. “I came here to talk to Zelda.”
Zelda stood behind the others, her hands wrapped round her waist, her face downcast. “I can’t believe you said that to the press.” She didn’t sound pleased about his declaration. “What the hell are you trying to do? They’ll stalk you now, like they’ve stalked me.”
He walked past his gaping sister, her two gaping friends, and the gaping housekeeper, to grasp Zelda’s elbows, and force her to look at him. “Do you think I care about that? All I care about is you. Is us.”
