PRESENT DAY
I’m slouched across the couch in the living room, staring at a random spot in the ceiling, trying to fight the dizziness I’m feeling. My head feels heavy, my chest feels tight, but I always get this way during a comedown. Chase is sitting cross-legged on the floor as he stares up at the TV, glued to his Sunday morning kids’ shows, and the volume is low enough to serve as distant background noise. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, hold it, then release. God, I feel sick.
Last night was a mess. I remember Warren flooring me in a single punch—and my jaw still aches enough to prove it—and everything else after that is a blur. I do know I was stoned on more than just weed. That’s why I feel so shit this morning. I also remember Dave still being awake when I came home in the middle of the night, not because he was worried about me, but because he was worried about Eden. She hadn’t come home.
She still isn’t home.
I’m getting sort of concerned too, I guess. I’m to blame, because I was the fucking idiot who brought her out to that party in the first place. And then I stormed outside and left her. In hindsight, that was a bad move. Eden wouldn’t have known anyone. Did she try to walk home? Get lost en route? Is she lying in a ditch somewhere? Shit. If I had her number, I would call her, though I doubt she would answer. Dave’s already called like a million times to no avail, and he’s been pacing the house all morning. He says he’s waiting until noon before he takes action, whatever the hell that means. He’d kill me if he knew it’s my fault she’s not here.
I press my hands over my face, my eyes still squeezed tightly shut. I haven’t had enough sleep. I’m exhausted.
“Tyler,” I hear Mom say as she enters the living room, her voice quiet, soft. I drop my hands and open my eyes, glancing up at her. She seems wary as she sits down on the arm of the couch across from me. As she folds her arms across her chest, she gives me a smile, but it’s not a happy one. “Just checking in. Has it been a bad week?”
Mom always does this. At least once a week, she’ll check up on me in this serious sort of manner, like she’s my own personal therapist. She likes to check up on my mental state, and usually I understate everything in order to protect her. If I told her the complete truth, then most weeks she’d have a complete breakdown. How do I tell my mom that I wouldn’t care if I died tomorrow? How do I tell her that I hate myself, that my life is all over the place, that I’m not really sure how to make any of it better? I can’t. So I just shrug and divert my gaze back to the ceiling. “It’s been worse,” I say. I would rather lie and keep her happy than tell her the truth and break her heart.
She exhales and keeps quiet for a moment. I can feel her blue eyes studying me. “Are you sure? It’s seemed like you’ve had a pretty bad week to me, Tyler. You’ve been acting out more than usual. What’s going on?” She reaches over and angles my chin toward her, forcing me to meet her eyes again. She looks desperate. Afraid, even, like she doesn’t want to hear the answer. “Talk to me.”
“I don’t know, Mom,” I tell her. I do know, though, and she does too. I’m like this because of Dad. I wish I was strong enough to move on, to not let it affect me as much as it has, but I think I’m forever going to be this way. I’m always going to be angry, I’m always going to be insecure, I’m always going to be fucked up. I know deep down that I should try harder, I should quit all of these distractions, I should get help. But I just don’t know where to begin. The only peace of mind I have is knowing that I’m already at rock bottom and things can’t possibly get any worse. Only better, I guess. One day.
Mom glances over at Chase. He’s so invested in the TV that he doesn’t even notice us talking. Her gaze meets mine again and she frowns as the corner of her eyes being to crinkle. “Please don’t push me away, Tyler,” she begs in a mere whisper. “I’m always going to be on your side. I understand why you act the way you do, but I hate it. There’s other ways to deal with this than to rebel against everything. You were such a happy kid . . .” She stops herself and closes her eyes, pressing a hand to her mouth as she chokes up.
“Yeah, until you-know-who made me his personal punching bag,” I mutter as I sit up. Chase is in the room, so I have to watch my words. He can’t ever find out. Mom shakes her head, her eyes still closed, my reminder tearing her apart. But it’s the truth, and that’s what she wants. “Do you expect me to be happy, Mom?” I gently ask her, my tone solemn. “After everything?”
“No,” she whispers, opening her eyes to look at me. They are full of so much remorse, so much guilt. “But I just desperately wish you could be.”
My chest tightens. I hate that I can’t give her that, that I’m letting her down. I lower my head and drop my eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you dare say sorry, Tyler,” she abruptly cuts in, dropping straight down onto her knees so that she can look up at me. She places her hand on my knee and her eyes are doing that thing again where they flood with an agonizing pain that only we can understand. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“You always say sorry too,” I whisper, my voice weak. Mom does that to me. I love that she cares so much, that she’s so protective, but I feel the exact same way about her. I hate it when she says sorry for what Dad did, because it was his mistake, not hers. I hate it whenever I see the flash of guilt in her eyes, because I wish she didn’t blame herself. She thinks she’s a bad mom for not noticing the abuse I was suffering for years, but I fought hard back then to make sure she didn’t suspect anything.
“That’s because I do have something to be sorry for,” she murmurs, then hangs her head low as she blinks at the floor. “I should have been there for you, Tyler. I should have … I should have noticed. You’re my son.” Her eyes brim with tears and her lower lip quivers as she whispers, “How didn’t I see it? How didn’t I see it in your eyes that you were hurting?” But she’s not talking to me. No, she’s questioning herself, and I wish she wouldn’t.
I grasp her hand on my knee. “Stop. Please,” I say, hunching forward and looking down at her on the floor in front of me. It breaks me when she gets like this, and my heart is beating a little too fast. It’s hypocritical of me to expect her to move on when I can’t even move on myself.
“Let me do something,” Mom begs, interlocking our hands. She squeezes tightly as though she’s afraid to ever let go. “Let me get you help. I’ll find you the best therapist in Los Angeles. Please, Tyler, just give it a shot.”
“I can’t,” I say, shaking my head fast. We have this discussion a lot, but my answer always remain the same. “I’m not ready to talk about it yet.” I can almost sense Mom’s heart sinking in her chest. She has been fighting for me to seek therapy for years now, and I know it would be for the best, but I just can’t bring myself to open up to anyone yet. I squeeze Mom’s hand back. “But I will one day,” I add, and her gaze lights up through the tears. “I promise I will. Just not yet.”
“Okay, Tyler,” she breathes. “I love you, okay?” I nod, and she clasps my face in her hands and kisses the top of my head before reluctantly leaving the room.
I blow out a long breath of air and release the pressure in my chest as I sit back. My gaze rests on the window, staring out onto the street, and that’s when I notice Jake’s car parked up outside. I get to my feet and walk over to the window, peering through the blinds more carefully, and . . . No. No way.
Eden gets out of the car. She closes it, turns toward the house and pulls her hood up. She’s still wearing last night’s clothes. Has she been with Jake the entire time? What the hell? That asshole.
“Hey! Eden’s back!” Chase says, finally looking up from the TV.
“Yeah, I can see that,” I mumble, grinding my teeth together. Now she’s in trouble with not only Dave, but me too. I told her to stay away from Jake. Is she naive? She has to be. That, or she’s an idiot, which I’ve already decided she isn’t.
As she heads across the lawn, I quickly stride out of the living room, down the hall, and swing open the front door to meet her. She’s already standing on the other side of the threshold, mouth a small “o” with surprise, and I reach for her arm and pull her quickly inside.
“Um,” Eden says, her voice groggy, like she’s half asleep. As I shut the front door again, she takes a step back from me.
“You’re kidding,” I say as I turn back to face her. Her hair that was up last night is now a tangled, lopsided heap with loose strands sticking out from all over the place. There’s still the smudge of mascara under her eyes. Where did she even sleep? Has she slept? Or has she been up all night making out with Jake Maxwell in the back of his car? Fuck. I hope not. “Right? You’ve got to be kidding.”
Eden exhales and tugs on the drawstrings of her hoodie, staring at me in silence. “I could say the same to you,” she finally says, but it’s not the reply I was looking for. I was hoping for some reassurance that she isn’t under Jake’s spell. She shoves her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie and tilts her head to one side. “You took me to a party with all your pothead friends and crackhead losers. Are you insane?”
“Shhh. Keep your voice down,” I order, holding up a finger to her. I glance down the hall to the kitchen where our parents are.
“Sorry,” Eden says, though she doesn’t even bother lowering her voice. She presses her lips together, her gaze challenging. Her stance is defensive and her tone is bitter. I took her to that party and then got into a heated argument with her. Yet again, she saw a flash of my absolute worst side, the side of me that I just can’t control. “I forgot your mom has no idea about how pathetic her son is.”
I wish she’d stop saying that word. Pathetic. I know I am, but hearing her say it is a harsh reminder. It’s like she can tell it gets to me, like she knows it hurts to hear. That’s why she keeps saying it. Not because it’s a fact, but because it’s the one thing she can use against me. My own damn weakness. It’s almost cruel of her, so I don’t feel guilty when I yell out, “Dave! Eden’s home.” I even throw in a smile for good measure.
Eden parts her lips, her eyes widening. “Seriously?”
“Face the consequences,” I say, taunting her. Face the consequences for sneaking around all night with Jake fucking Maxwell.
“Your consequences,” she snaps back. She is growing more and more aggravated each second. It’s like I make her blood boil. “You forced me to go to that party.”
“Yet I remember you agreeing to it.”
“I’m surprised that you even remember anything,” she mutters. And then, to get back at me, she decides to become condescending. “Was it a sober night for you? I doubt it.” She pushes her hood fully down and takes a deep breath as we hear movement from the kitchen.
“Good luck,” I tease sarcastically and I laugh, leaning back against the wall and crossing my arms over my chest. This should be good. Entertainment at its finest.
“Where the hell have you been?” Dave explodes as soon as he steps foot in the hall. He comes marching down toward us, but for once, his glare isn’t directed at me. No, not this time. It’s Eden’s turn. “Do you even know the time? It’s almost noon. Where have you been all night?” he interrogates, all of his worry releasing itself as anger. His eyes are nearly bulging out of his damn head. “The least you could have done was answer your phone. I’ve been worried sick, Eden.”
“I’m sorry, I—” Eden begins, but then her words seem to get stuck in her throat. What is she supposed to say? What explanation can she offer him? That I dragged her to a party and then abandoned her, only for Mr. Player of the Year to swoop in and rescue her, and that she’s been with some guy who’s pretty much still a stranger the entire night? As if she’s telling her dad that. He’d kill me first, and then Jake, and then her. Fear is flashing across her face as her eyes dart all over the hall, and I realize just how vulnerable she looks. She’s usually pretty confident, saying whatever’s on her mind, but right now, she looks small and terrified. It’s not as entertaining as I’d hoped.
“She was at Meghan’s place,” I cut in quickly. I’m not throwing her under the bus. Not after what I did to her last night. My eyes meet hers and I fix her with a firm look, one that tells her to keep quiet while I fix this for her, and then switch my attention to Dave. “I already told you that,” I lie.
Dave stares at me for a few seconds, perplexed. His eyebrows draw together. “No you didn’t.”
“I’m, like, pretty sure I told you last night when I got back, because she asked me to let you know,” I say, feigning innocence. I even pull it off in my eyes, which is hard for me, because I’m never innocent. “Remember?”
“No.”
“Man, I must have forgotten.” I shrug as though I’m deeply sorry, and then look back at Eden once more. “Sorry, Eden. My bad.”
Dave is silent as he glances between Eden and me, confused. He’s not buying this, but at least I tried. Eden looks stunned that I have. I do feel guilty about last night, so saving her from getting into trouble over it is seriously the least I could do. She just stares at me, her expression twisting with disbelief.
“Next time, don’t leave in the first place without telling me,” Dave finally mumbles. Amazing. He actually let me get away with my shitty act of innocence, though he still doesn’t sound too pleased about it all. “By the way,” he says just as he’s about to turn around to leave, “we’re going out for a late lunch. All of us. That means you too, Tyler. Dress nicely.” He gives me a stern look. I take it I’m not getting a choice in the matter.
“You get off the hook so easily,” I comment once Dave heads back into the kitchen. Sure, I helped Eden out with a bullshit cover story, but she did still stay out all night without letting her dad know. When I do that, he puts me through hell and back.
“Why did you do that?” Eden asks. She’s staring at me, much calmer now than a few minutes ago, and her eyes are bright with curiosity.
“Do what?”
“Lie for me,” she clarifies with a small shrug. “I don’t get it.”
“I owed you one,” I say, and then, just to be clear, I quickly add, “For taking you to that party last night. I didn’t think it through. Sorry.” I’m not one for apologies, so although I’m being blunt and straight to the point, it’s the best I can give her. I also mean it.
“Why did you even invite me along in the first place? Did you honestly think I’d want to be around that stuff?” she questions, and her annoyance has returned. It’s always such a subtle change in her tone of voice, but I notice it every time. It’s when her voice deepens a little more, bringing out its huskiness. I like it when she’s not annoyed, or angry, or in disbelief. I like it when she just . . . talks. But we don’t often do that.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. I know it was a bad decision on my part, and I am sorry for it, so I hope she knows I’m not just apologizing for the sake of it. I’m mad enough at myself already, because maybe she wouldn’t have ended up with Jake if I hadn’t taken her out with me. Which reminds me . . . “So you were with Jake, huh?”
“What does it matter to you if I was?” she shoots back, which confirms it: She has been with Jake the entire time. He’s got a lot to answer for the next time I see him. “You have your opinion of him, and I have mine. I don’t want to talk about it again, because it’s got nothing to do with you.”
She’s right; it doesn’t have anything to do with me, but if she just took a damn second to consider why it gets to me, then she’d realize that maybe I just don’t want to see her get hurt. And not just because she’s my stepsister who I’m expected to look out for, but because I genuinely don’t like the thought of Jake messing with her head. She seems too switched on, too wise to fall for his bullshit. I’d hate to see that. She wouldn’t deserve it.
“I need to take a shower,” I say, changing the subject. There’s no way I’m admitting it out loud that I actually care. Because Tyler Bruce doesn’t. “We’ll talk about this later. After this bullshit meal that we’ve gotta sit through.”
“We’ll talk about it later?” Eden echoes. It sounds like she doesn’t want to, but if it’s the last thing I do, I’m not letting Jake play her.
“Yeah.” I head for the stairs so that I can make a start on getting ready for this first broken family outing. It’s not something I’m particularly looking forward to, but I don’t have the energy to put up a fight. As I make my way upstairs, I do glance back at Eden one last time. She’s staring after me, watching me leave. “And remember what your dad said,” I say. “Wear something nice.”
I don’t know what it is about this girl, but I’m so damn changeable around her. I’ve never slipped up as much as I have around anyone as much as I have with her. I messed up again last night too. When we were fighting . . . She wasn’t fighting with Tyler Bruce. She was fighting with me. My weaknesses. My honesty. My fear. And even now, in this split second, I’m just being myself.
And the way I can tell?
I’m smiling at her.