By the time I fall asleep, it’s almost 6AM. I don’t end up waking again until after noon, so when I do finally wake I’m slightly disorientated. My head feels heavy, the way it always does if I’ve cried too much, and Dean is no longer by my side. I prop myself up onto my elbows and glance around the room through half-closed eyes. My phone is laying face down on the floor and half my clothes are still spilling out of my backpack. I sigh. Yesterday was a mess.
The suite is silent. No voices. No TV. I can’t blame Dean for leaving. He’s in New York City—he can’t afford to waste time lounging around in the hotel. There are so many things to see and so little time. This doesn’t stop me from calling out his name, however, just to check.
I’m surprised when I get an answer back. Dean’s voice echoes through from the living area, and seconds later he pops his head around the door, smiling warmly at me as he says, “Finally.”
Rolling my eyes, I sit up further and hug the comforter to my chest. “Where are Rachael and Tiffani?”
“Rachael went out for lunch with the lizard guy.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You mean Snake?”
“Yeah, yeah, him,” Dean says. Pushing the door open further, he steps into the bedroom and closes it behind him. He’s still only wearing those navy sweats from last night and it seems like he’s been having a pretty laid-back morning. “Isn’t he like twenty-five?”
“Twenty-one,” I say quietly. If I wasn’t still so in disbelief over what happened last night, then perhaps I’d wonder why the hell Rachael is going out for lunch with him. Ever since Trevor broke up with her during spring break, she’s drilled the idea of being independent into herself. That mindset clearly hasn’t lasted long. “Where’s Tiffani?”
“I don’t know,” Dean says as he climbs onto the bed next to me, lying on his side and propping himself up on his elbow, “and I don’t care.” He reaches for my waist, placing a cool hand on my hip as he pulls my body closer to his. His lips immediately find their way to my neck as he trails slow, soft kisses along my skin. “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, voice low. He shifts his body across the mattress, pressing his chest to mine as he delicately runs his hand up and down the side of my ribs and moves his lips to the corner of my mouth.
He kisses me gently, just as I remember, but I can’t kiss him back with the same tenderness. I can’t bring myself to kiss him at all, because out of the corner of my eye I can see my Chucks lying on the floor. They remind me of Tyler. Of course they do. He gave them to me. He wrote on them. He told me not to give up, yet that’s exactly what he now thinks I’ve done. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to make it clear to Tyler that I haven’t given up, that this is all only temporary, just until Tiffani leaves New York. I’m not sure how I can fix any of this.
Frowning against Dean’s lips, I run my hand through his hair and gently push him away from me. “Not today.”
Dean glances up at me with wide eyes, confused. “What?”
My eyes find their way back to my sneakers. The faded white material, Tyler’s scrawled handwriting along the rubber. It’s entirely irrational, but an idea springs to my mind. It’s an idea that only Tyler will understand. “There’s something I gotta do,” I tell Dean. Without even a split second of hesitation, I shove the comforter off me and swing my legs out of the bed, reaching straight for my backpack on the floor.
“What?” Dean says again, sitting up on the bed as he stares at me, as though he can’t believe I’ve just turned him down. For starters, I just woke up. Second, I’ve been sleeping with his best friend. Third, I’m telling him the truth soon, and I think sticking around here and making him believe that everything is fine is quite literally the worst I thing I could do. “What do you need to do right at this moment that’s so important?”
Still wandering around in my underwear, I scoop all of my belongings up from the floor, my bag and my phone and my Converse, and make for the bedroom door. “I can’t tell you,” I call over my shoulder. I head into the living area, darting straight into the bathroom. I hear Dean follow behind me. I lock the bathroom door before he can catch up.
“Eden,” he says through the wood, knocking once. “What’s going on? Is this about what happened last night?”
Ignoring him, I rush to pull my clothes out of my bag again, this time not in the darkness of the middle of the night, and I scatter them all over the bathroom as I try to piece together an outfit from the random items of clothing I managed to grab when I was leaving. I don’t want to hang around, so I don’t even shower, just freshen up. I spend five minutes in total pulling myself together, and once I’ve slipped on my shoes I zip my bag back up and swing the strap over my shoulder.
When I open the bathroom door, Dean’s leaning against the frame. He instantly jumps back, his eyes full of panic as he takes in the expression on my face. Ever so quietly, he asks, “Have I done something wrong?”
“You haven’t done anything wrong, Dean, and that’s the problem!” I groan, shaking my head at him as I squeeze sideways past his body. I’m so angry at myself right now, so furious that I seem to be taking my rage out on him. I feel my heart shattering at the worry in his eyes. It’s so hard to know that I have to hurt him soon, because he’s the one person I never, ever want to hurt. He deserves way better than me.
I’m waiting for him to reply, but he doesn’t. It’s like he doesn’t know where to even begin when it comes to figuring out what I’m thinking right now, and I can’t bring myself to look back at him as I leave the suite. I just pull the door shut behind me and keep walking, and the further along the lobby and the further away from the suite I get, the more my attention shifts from Dean to something else. My current motive and mission. My irrational idea.
As I head down to the main lobby in the elevator, I double-check my backpack to ensure I threw my wallet in there last night, and breathe a sigh of relief that I did. I pull out my phone and weave my way around a group of tourists gathered around the front desk, careful not to bump into any of their luggage, and then thank the doorman again for opening the door for me.
I walk away from him as fast as I can, making my way along the street as I stare down at my phone. I draw up the subway map at the same time as I search for potential studios. With no idea yet which direction I’m going to be heading in, I pause on the corner as I figure it out. The streets are heaving, just the way they usually are, so I step back against the wall of the building nearest to me, adamant that I won’t block the flow of pedestrians.
It takes me no more than ten minutes to decide on the studio and to map out the subway route, and even though I have to head two miles across Manhattan on my own, I feel pretty confident about it.
I expertly slip between fascinated tourists as though I’ve lived in Manhattan for years. The grid layout of the city has become easier and easier to navigate, especially after walking these streets for a month now, so I’ve got my way around Upper East Side memorized. I reach the station in just over five minutes, and luckily I’ve got my MetroCard with me.
Four weeks ago, the subway terrified me. Tyler had to drag me into the station back then, yet now I’m navigating a new station without a worry in the world. That is, of course, until I reach the right platform. There’s a God-awful stench. The station is sweltering hot, made worse by the flocks of people, and I can’t even try to hide my distaste for it all. Before I came to Manhattan, I never expected the subway to be luxurious or even clean, but at least the other stations haven’t made me want to throw up. I hold my breath and come to a stop, jammed between a woman with a stroller and a group of young Asian tourists. If my mom knew I was down here alone, she’d kill me.
The train arrives after a few minutes, but there are so many people gathered on the platform that I don’t even make it on. I’m not bold enough to elbow my way through the crowd, so I hang back as it fills up and leaves, and then I edge my way closer to the platform edge, silently wondering to myself how long I’m supposed to be able to survive down here before the toxic fumes kill me. I’m scared to breathe, so I close my eyes and hold onto my backpack as tightly as possible as I wait for the next train.
It turns up around five minutes later, and this time I do fight for my space. There’s no way I’m sticking around in the black hole that is the Fifty-ninth Street station for a second longer. It’s packed, so I stand, but I don’t mind. I’m only on it for a couple minutes, just until Grand Central, so it’s not long before I’m off the train.
I’ve been to Grand Central Station numerous times over the summer so far, so I transfer straight to the Forty-second Street shuttle with ease. The entire time nerves are building up inside of me, but I tell myself I won’t back out. I might be acting upon a split-second decision and it might be crazy and it might be stupid, but it just makes sense. It just feels right, for some odd reason, and for that reason alone I keep pursuing my plans, taking the shuttle over to Times Square.
Quickly, I head out of the station when I arrive and follow the map I’m looking at on my phone, glancing between the streets of Manhattan and my screen as I check to ensure I’m still on the right route. I make a left onto the avenue and head two blocks south, just past Fortieth Street and the New York Times Building, and that’s when I find what I’ve been looking for.
It’s nestled above a store selling New York souvenirs and next to Subway, and I don’t even take the time to study the studio from the outside before I head inside. I just want to get it over with quickly, rather than allowing myself to overthink what I’m doing. I do stop on the stairs, however, to glance down at my Chucks.
Tilting my foot onto its side, I run my eyes over Tyler’s handwriting. It’s been four weeks since he told me not to give up. All I can do now is let him know that I haven’t, in the rawest possible way I can think of, and by the time I’m pushing open the door to the tattoo studio, I’m smiling.
I’m just making my way down Lexington Avenue when Emily calls. It’s almost five by now and rush hour is upon the city, with the traffic jammed and the sidewalks bustling. I didn’t intend to stay out all afternoon, but after traveling around, suffering through a two-hour wait at the studio and stopping for coffee and lunch for almost an hour, I’ve ended up returning to the apartment only now. So when my phone vibrates in the back pocket of my jeans, I answer Emily’s call as I continue to walk.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“I’m sort of locked out of the apartment,” Emily says sheepishly.
“What?” I accidentally brush shoulders with a guy as I pass him, and he fires me an indignant glare. I can only shrug in return, and then I scuttle away from him, desperate not to piss off anyone else. “How’d you do that?”
“I’ve been over at my own apartment boxing up some of my stuff and I didn’t think to take keys with me because I thought Tyler would be here. Like, he’s been in bed all day so I didn’t think he’d go anywhere, but I’ve been knocking for ten minutes straight and no one’s answering,” Emily explains, sighing across the line.
“Where’s Snake?”
“I’m pretty sure he took your friend out on a date,” she says, and she’s right. Dean’s already filled me in on that, about Rachael and Snake heading out for lunch together. It’s kinda weird. “At least I think that’s what he said,” Emily continues. “I have no idea; I was still half asleep at the time because Tyler kept us up all night.”
“How is he?” Last night was the worst night of the entire summer and Tiffani was the reason behind it all. If she’d never arrived in New York, if she’d let go of her deluded vision of being with Tyler years ago, then none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have told Tyler those lies and he wouldn’t have reverted to his old mindset, where being reckless is the best distraction anyone could ever ask for. “Tyler, I mean.”
“Hungover, but he was starting to feel a little better by the time I left,” Emily answers with a laugh, like she’s rolling her eyes. “You don’t happen to have a spare set of keys on you, do you?”
“You’re in luck,” I say. “I’ve carried the spare with me for the past two weeks. Never used it yet, though.” Tyler finally trusted me enough to give me the spare, just in case I ever did need to get into the apartment when I was alone, and I’ve had it stored in the zipped compartment of my wallet ever since.
“If it’s not too much of a hassle,” Emily says, “do you think you could bring it over?”
“Sure.” My voice is loud over the buzz of the city. Like a true New Yorker. “I’m on my way back just now, anyway. I’m only a couple blocks away.”
“Perfect,” she says. “Thanks, Eden. See you in a few.”
Ending the call, I slip my phone back into my jeans. As I head along to Tyler’s apartment I can see the building towering over on the corner of the block, just across the street, but my eyes don’t rest on it for long. They end up drifting back to my wrist and I feel the same disbelief I’ve been experiencing the entire way over here. Even on the subway I stared endlessly, twisting my left arm in every position possible as I tried to get the light to hit my wrist at just the right angle. Even as I climbed up flights of stairs and weaved my way back through the stations, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my arm, occasionally running the tips of my fingers over the Saran Wrap just to remind myself that I’m completely and entirely insane. My dad will quite literally kill me when he sees me. That’s if my mom doesn’t kill me first for traveling around New York on my own.
When I reach the apartment building, I sweep past the mailboxes and head straight for the elevator. In the ten seconds that it takes for me to reach the twelfth floor, I quickly grab a hoodie from my bag and pull it on, ensuring that my wrist is covered. I don’t want Emily to question me about it and I really don’t know how Tyler will react when he sees it. I just hope he’ll understand what I’m trying to tell him, without the need for me to even say a single word. Tiffani said I couldn’t tell Tyler what was really going on, but that doesn’t mean I can’t attempt to show him the truth.
Emily’s sitting crossed-legged by the apartment door when I reach her, looking slightly worn out. She gets to her feet immediately, pushing herself up and smiling.
“Hey,” I say, quickly adjusting the drawstrings of my hoodie as I think about our phone call five minutes ago. I didn’t really pay attention to her words then, but now that she’s in front of me it’s like I suddenly remember everything she said. “I didn’t know you had your own apartment.”
“Yeah, over in Queens,” she says with a shrug.
“So why’ve you been staying here? Tyler’s never told me the reason.”
“I was sharing an apartment with this guy, and it was great for a while, but recently it wasn’t working out. We got into a huge fight and he pretty much kicked me out,” she admits, not quite meeting my eyes. Her voice has grown softer and she sighs, frowning. “Honestly, he was just a prick, and I didn’t know where else to go, so I called Tyler.”
I swing my backpack off my shoulder and unzip it, raising my leg and balancing it on my knee as I rummage around for my wallet. I keep talking to Emily, but I’m too focused to look at her. “Why were you boxing up your stuff?”
“Because I’m about to ship everything home,” she says. “I’m heading back to London next week.”
I stop fumbling and glance up. “What?”
“I mean, it’s about time I leave. The tour ended over a month ago.” She smiles in such a way that it becomes clear she doesn’t really want to leave, like the thought of heading back to England doesn’t fill her with excitement. I can’t blame her. Part of me doesn’t particularly ever want to go back to Santa Monica. “So do you have those keys?” she asks, the tone of her voice altering as she changes the subject.
“Yeah. Here.” I reach for my wallet, unzipping the tiny compartment inside it and pulling out the single key. I pass it to Emily as I close everything back up, and then follow her into the apartment.
She stops immediately after stepping over the threshold and I promptly walk into the back of her, my body bumping hers. When I glance over her shoulder, I’m greeted by the last thing I ever expected to see. Never, ever in a million years would I have believed that such a familiar sight would unfold in front of me. In fact, it takes at least ten seconds for my eyes to fully take in the scene, and at least twelve for Tyler to pull away from Tiffani.
He has her pressed against the kitchen worktop and her hands are cupped around his jaw as he kisses her shoulder, the same way he kisses mine. He’s got one hand on the small of her back and the other on her waist, and it doesn’t take me any longer than a single second to notice the way the lacing on her blouse has already been undone. I’m having flashbacks of the very first time I ever met Tiffani, that day they were fooling around in the fitting rooms at American Apparel, and I can’t bring myself to take in the fact that it’s happening again. I can’t accept that she’s getting her way again. I can’t even begin to fathom the fact that this entire thing, this whole game of manipulation, has worked completely in her favor. Even more so, I can’t believe Tyler. I can’t believe he’s made it so easy for her to get exactly what she wanted.
When he finally notices Emily and me out of the corner of his eye, he immediately draws his lips away from Tiffani’s skin, taking a large step back. He stares at only me, his eyes widening, right before he glances down at the bulge in his jeans. “Eden.”
Tiffani dramatically gasps, stepping forward and wrapping her arms tightly around his bicep, the one with my name on it. “Oh my God! This is so awkward.”
“Eden,” Tyler says again. He doesn’t nudge Tiffani’s grip off him. He doesn’t even flinch, in fact. He just stands there, looking at me with no shame whatsoever. Admittedly, he does look awful. His hair is all over the place and his eyes are heavy, like he’s exhausted.
I’m not upset. I’m livid. Furious. Pivoting around Emily, who’s blinking in shock and doesn’t know how to react, I take a bold step across the room. “Don’t try to explain yourself, Tyler,” I hiss through gritted teeth, my hands balled into fists by my side. “I can’t even believe that you would—”
“Eden,” he cuts in, saying my name for the third time, his voice edgy yet firm. “I wasn’t gonna explain myself,” he says. “I was gonna ask if you could get the fuck out of my apartment.”
My shoulders immediately sink and I falter as I blink at him, stunned. “What?”
“You heard him,” Tiffani says. Unsurprisingly, there’s a glorious smile spreading across her face. She looks vicious. “Can both of you leave and give us some space? Don’t you guys have gyms and therapists to visit?”
My jaw falls open. Her words, thrown at us so casually, hit me so hard that I can’t even find the energy to build up anger. I exchange glances with Emily. Her lips are parted, eyes wide, completely and entirely shocked at the remark. In that exact moment, I pity Tiffani. I pity her, because she gains satisfaction from hitting people where it hurts. I pity her, because she uses others’ weaknesses to her advantage. For that, I’ll never forgive her. Not now, not ever.
When I glance at Tyler, I realize he’s no longer glaring at me. His eyes have shifted to Tiffani and he stares at her, disgusted. He reaches for her hands, pulling her grip off his arm as he takes a large step away from her, shaking his head. “You didn’t just say that,” he says slowly.
Tiffani rolls her eyes at him, but the entire time, something other than fury is building up inside of me. It’s seeing her and Tyler together that’s making me so uncomfortable. None of this was ever supposed to happen. Tyler was never meant to turn to her again for a goddamn distraction, no matter how upset and pissed off he is at me, and I realize that the feeling within me that keeps growing more intense with each passing second is nothing but desperation. I’m desperate to fix all of this, desperate to show Tyler that I’m still here, still endlessly in love with him.
Screw Tiffani. Forget her games. Right now, I can’t keep any of this going for a second longer. I can’t watch Tyler look at me with that expression of rebuke in his eyes, like he doesn’t want to be around me.
I don’t even care that Emily’s in the room. I don’t care that Tiffani will tell Dean the truth. I don’t care, because Emily and Dean finding out the truth is a lot less terrifying than having Tyler never forgive me for the things I said last night.
Before I even realize it I’m walking across the room, edging my way toward Tyler, and the words begin to spill out of my mouth before I can rethink what I’m doing. “What I told you last night was bullshit,” I splutter, my eyes focused on Tyler and only Tyler. “I don’t choose Dean. I choose you. It’s always been you.” I flash my eyes to Tiffani, now furious and brave enough to lock my glare on hers. “She made me end things with you last night, because she’s a bitch.”
Tiffani still keeps smiling, but I can see the cracks appearing as she tries to hide her anger. Trying to maintain her calm, innocent persona, she stiffly says, “Why would I do that, Eden?”
“Because you want Tyler back,” Emily cuts in sharply from behind me, and when I twist my neck around to face her, she’s walking over to join me. I’m taken aback by the fact that she’s not surprised, not gasping in disbelief in the background. I just made it clear that Tyler is a lot more than just my stepbrother, yet she hasn’t even blinked. She just looks defensive as she folds her arms across her chest, her eyes on Tiffani. “You threatened her. I heard you at the diner.” Her voice grows softer as she diverts her eyes to Tyler’s, and she glances between him and me for a moment. “Eden’s telling you the truth, Tyler.”
“Please. If you’re going to lie, at least make it sound logical,” Tiffani scoffs, but I can see the panic in her eyes as she adjusts her blouse, well aware that the moment of winning Tyler back is now slipping through her fingers. She knows she’s losing. “I’d never do such a thing.”
Tyler’s eyes are still fierce, but this time it’s not because of me. It’s because of Tiffani. He takes another step away from her, not to the side, but in front of her, joining Emily and me. It’s the three of us against her. “Get out,” he orders.
“What?”
“Get the fuck out,” he repeats, his temper snapping as he points his thumb over his shoulder toward the door. His voice is sharp and his posture is firm, and he’s definitely not backing down. “Right now.”
Furious, Tiffani scrunches up her face and barges straight through us all, purposely shoving her palm into Tyler’s chest as she pushes him to one side. She rams her shoulder into Emily’s, unable to control her growing contempt for us all, and then promptly stops and turns to me. She only shakes her head and, unbelievably, she smirks. “You’ve really done it this time,” she hisses, and I know that I have. I know she’ll tell Dean now. Of course she will.
“The door’s that way,” I say calmly, despite however much I could yell and scream at her right now, and I step to the side. I nod to the door, and she finally storms out, slamming it behind her.
Silence ensues. None of us know what to say or how to react. No one wants to be the first to speak. Emily mostly just looks at me with raised eyebrows, and Tyler mostly just stands there, his back turned to us and his head tilted down to the floor. I can hear him breathing heavily, and it’s like I can almost hear him thinking everything through, and I eventually realize that I need to be the first to say something.
Numb from what’s just occurred, I have to force myself across the room, slowly approaching Tyler from behind. I reach for his arm, gently touching him with just my fingertips. “Tyler . . .”
Softly, he shakes his head. “I gotta . . . I gotta clear my head,” he says quietly. Turning away from me, he makes his way across the living room and into his own room. A few seconds later, he returns while pulling on a pair of shoes. His car keys are looped around his index finger.
“You shouldn’t be driving yet,” Emily points out, concerned. I glance over to her, still wondering why she has yet to question what I said about Tyler. Maybe she didn’t understand. I don’t know. It’s just odd. For the past two years I’ve always expected that people would be outraged and disgusted and confused when and if they found out. Emily’s the first person I’ve indirectly told, and she hasn’t even reacted to it. I just keep waiting for it. I keep waiting to hear her ask, “What the hell is going on between you guys?” I’m just waiting for something. Anything.
“Whatever,” Tyler says. He grabs his keys for the apartment from the kitchen counter and brushes past both Emily and me, careful not to touch us, and then disappears through the door. He doesn’t slam it like Tiffani did. Just quietly pulls it shut behind him.
I want nothing more right now than to go after him, to explain everything more fully, but I know he needs his space. He needs to get his head around the basic facts first, and then I can talk to him about it. Later, when he gets back, whenever that ends up being. Right now, though, I’m still dumbfounded over Emily. Telling the truth wasn’t supposed to be so easy. It was supposed to be terrifying.
“Emily . . .” I say slowly, feeling uneasy. She might not be asking any questions, but she must surely be thinking them. I can’t let it go without clearing things up, without her knowing what’s really going on, so I build up the courage to face my biggest fear: having to explain myself. “About Tyler and me . . .”
“You don’t need to explain it,” Emily says with a shrug, making her way past me as she heads for the kitchen. I blink at her from the living room as she grabs herself a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Casually, she unscrews the cap and leans against the worktop. To my utmost surprise, she looks back at me with a warm gaze and does nothing but smile in the gentlest and most comforting of ways. “I’d already figured it out.”