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She keeps playing back the same scene from earlier over and over in her head; Tim showing up in the doorway of the kitchen during the Applebee’s dinner rush, trying to pull her away with that crestfallen look he’s always got in his back pocket.
She should’ve known it was something serious. When Tim’s looking for a hook up he just makes himself comfortable at one of her tables, feeds her some cheesy pick up line that has her rolling her eyes and scolding him for wasting her time during business hours before telling him she’s got a break coming up in five, if she’s feeling generous. Sometimes she makes him wait ‘til the end of her shift.
Maybe if things had been slower that night she would’ve connected the dots. She already knew Tim was on a downward spiral. She just figured there was more time before the crash.
Even when she got the call from Theresa she still didn’t get it. Figured it was just another one of Tim’s stunts, a pool hustle gone wrong.
Her first instinct was to get Billy, because she’s not dumb enough to think she’s equipped to break up a bar fight on her own. Even though she’s pissed at him all over again. If he had just listened to her earlier when she was at his doorstep warning him something was going on with his brother…
She tries to shake the guilt that she should’ve tried harder, too. It’s not her fucking job to look after Tim Riggins.
And yet here she is, driving a bruised and bloodied Tim home.
Nothing could’ve prepared her for the scene she walked into. She’s no stranger to Tim flying off the handle, getting himself into situations he has no business being in. But never in their lives has she seen him lose a fight so badly.
Tim’s usually the one with the upperhand. Has the size and the strength to get a job done. Seeing him on the ground, bloody teeth and not even able to stand on his own two feet… a gross feeling twists in her gut that he didn’t just lose a fight. He surrendered to it.
Tim’s got a habit of doing that, too, taking punches when he thinks he deserves it. She knows all about the aftermath of the affair with Garrity and how not a single guy on the team faced retaliation. Hell, Tyra got her own licks in with zero argument.
She doesn’t know what triggered this particular incident, but if she were a betting woman she’d place the blame on Walt Riggins and the fact that he’s suddenly nowhere to be found.
She knew that man was trouble from the beginning, but it wasn’t her place to say. Besides, she can’t say she doesn’t get it. If her own father came back into the picture she’s not sure if she’d be quick to accept him, but she thinks maybe she would want to.
Tim’s more of a bleeding heart than he lets on. Tyra’s always been the cynic.
She could almost kill Billy for not listening to her earlier. Has to bite her tongue to keep from yelling a him ”Is this what you wanted? Are you happy now?”
He’s making a pointed effort not to look at her from the passenger seat of her truck, Tim’s limp body acting as a buffer between them.
A tense quiet fills the cab, and all Tyra’s really focused on beside the road in front of her is Tim’s breathing beside her. It doesn’t sound like he’s broken anything, but she can tell every inhale is a struggle.
Serves him right, picking stupid fights.
She helps Billy bring him inside when they get to the house. Tim’s barely conscious between the beating and the alcohol she can smell on his every exhale.
Billy gets him to bed. Tyra goes to fill up a glass with water and find some painkillers. Searches for a washcloth last minute and damps it as an afterthought.
“Thanks,” Billy tells her when she sets the glass and pills down on Tim’s bedside table. Only spares her a half glance over his shoulder where he’s looming over Tim’s bed.
She wonders sometimes if Billy gets it. If he’s got any insight into his brother at all. If he’s paying attention.
Billy’s always been the type who needs to be hit over the head with something to understand. Tonight was a sledgehammer.
“You can go to bed,” Tyra says after a beat. “I’ll stay with him.”
It’s almost embarrassing to say out loud, like she’s admitting to some hidden vulnerability. Maybe she is.
But Billy doesn’t mock her. Not like he used to when they were little and he caught her staring after Tim like some lovestruck schoolgirl.
Tim and Tyra sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G
She’d always kick him in the shin.
He just gives his brother one last look over before turning around. Gives Tyra a look like he trusts her to handle this, a silent gratitude, and leaves them alone.
Tyra sighs into the dark. Slips out of her jacket and takes off her shoes before climbing into bed.
She can’t help but think this is the most clothed she’s ever been on Tim’s bed, in a good while, at least.
“What’re you doin’?” Tim mumbles the million dollar question.
“Taking care of your dumb ass,” she responds without missing a beat. Omits the partial truth that she’d rather hide out here than go back home and face whatever bullshit is going on between her mom and… Buddy Garrity, gross.
She dabs away at the blood crusting on Tim’s face and tries not to think about how if she left now all she’d be doing is worrying all night, laying in her bed staring up at the ceiling replaying over and over again the feeling of her heart dropping when she got out her truck and saw Tim in the dirt surrounded by men looking for a show.
The thing about Tim is that no one’s ever really willing to help, which is probably why he never bothered to help himself.
And Tyra shouldn’t be making it her problem. If she knew any better she would walk away and let Tim crash and burn on his own.
(She does know better. She just can’t help herself.)
Tim rolls onto his back. Keeps his eyes closed as Tyra finishes cleaning him up. She figures he’s fallen asleep and thinks about waking him, heard something once about concussions and sleep being bad for them and Tim dying right now would be a real bummer, so-
“I still owe you that date.” His eyes blink open, freezing her in place.
She stares back at him, searching his eyes for any hint of insincerity.
”I’d say this is one of our better dates, don’t ya think?” Tim drawls, Texan twang thickened by the amount of beer in his system. He’s got a pool stick in one hand, Tyra’s hip in the other as he crowds her in, and his face is radiating a pure joy she hasn’t seen on him since he got his first Panthers jersey.
“This is a date to you?” she scoffs, but it’s lacking her usual bite. She has to admit there is something nice about being around this version of Tim again. His happiness is infectious. “Watching you and your dad play pool sharks is not a date, Tim.”
At the mention of his father, Tim looks over his shoulder at Walt Riggins in the middle of hustling some guy too drunk to notice.
Tyra recognizes the pure adoration only a son is capable of having for his dad. And she’s happy for him, she is. Which is why she keeps any concerns she has about Walt to herself. She knows the Riggins family history all too well.
“Try taking me out on a real date.” Tyra pokes at Tim’s shoulder, getting his attention back. Hopes her face doesn’t betray the swooping feeling in her chest as he turns that smile back on her.
“What, like dinner and a movie?”
She shrugs like that’s a start.
“Alright. I can do that.”
He leans in, pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth.
Walt’s shouting at him to return to the table, so Tim goes.
Tyra tries to keep the smile on her face from getting too big.
“Dinner and a movie, right?” Tim continues, snapping Tyra back to the present. “Might look a little rough, though.”
“Yeah, well, you weren’t much of a looker to begin with.”
That gets a laugh out of him, and a wince through the ensuing pain.
She wants to ask him what happened. Wants to know why Walt is suddenly nowhere to be seen, gone just as suddenly as he’d reappeared. Thinks, ultimately, that it doesn’t really matter.
Tim’s always gonna find a reason to spiral. Maybe it’s genetic. Maybe he just doesn’t know any better. It’s what makes him so dangerous.
Tyra’s got that same beast in her, the one that makes her anger get out of control and push people away when they’re getting too close. Oddly enough, it’s what’s kept her and Tim together this long. The constant push and pull, the knowledge they could do whatever they wanted to each other, say whatever mean things crossed their minds, and they’d still find their way back because somehow that makes it easier. It’s just how they operate. They can’t hurt each other’s feelings because they understand if it actually meant anything they wouldn’t keep up this song and dance.
And it’s comforting, in a way. Having someone see the darkest parts of you and accepting them anyway, wanting to stick around. But she’s starting to think maybe she wants something more. Can’t keep doing this the rest of her life, trying to take care of emotionally unavailable men.
She’s turning into her mother.
The difference with Tim, at least, is he’s got heart. Somewhere, deep, deep down. Not like the trash her mama brings home. But Tim gets in his own way. And she can’t keep hoping and praying for him to find the right path and stick to it.
Even if she loves him. And, God, she fucking loves him. And it’s the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to her.
“You stayin’?” he asks, turning his head to cast heavy-lidded eyes upon her.
“You want me to?”
A beat. And then he’s nodding gently against his pillow, eyes already closing.
She tosses the washcloth aside and settles onto the bed, laying on her side and watching the steady rise and fall of Tim’s chest. She lets the sound of his breathing lull her to sleep.
She awakes the next morning just before the sun, snuggled up closer to Tim than they were when she fell asleep.
He’s got his arm draped across her, and she gives herself approximately five seconds to take in the sight of his sleeping form; soft lips parted against his pillow, locks of hair curtaining his face.
She resists the urge to lean in and kiss his cheek. Doesn’t want to risk waking him. It’s already enough of a task to slip out from under his hold and get out of bed without stirring him. For once, his excessive drinking comes in handy. Will hopefully have him knocked out long enough for her to make her escape unnoticed.
She slips on her shoes and grabs her jacket, listens for any sign of Billy being awake.
There’s none.
With the coast clear, she heads for the bedroom door, stopping once she’s in the frame to get a last look at Tim.
She realizes now with full certainty that whatever was once between them is done. Has to be. Maybe there’s a future there, somewhere, but she’s done trying for it. She’s got bigger things to focus on than whether or not Tim Riggins will ever be the man she wishes he would be.
She’s not gonna make that date.