PRESENT DAY
“Shit,” I breathe. My chest is rising and falling fast from the erratic thumping of my heart. There is no way that this just happened. There is no way I just kissed Eden, and there is no way she just kissed me first.
I stare at her, absolutely stunned, trying to make sense of the past few minutes. Eden’s wide eyes are locked on me and she looks paralyzed, almost terrified, but also just as confused as I am. Does she understand what just happened? Does she realize what we’ve just done? Not only is she my stepsister, I also have a girlfriend. Who is waiting for me right now across the street. I am such an idiot. I am furious at myself for being so stupid.
“I’m going to Rachael’s,” I blurt out quickly. I zip up my jacket and turn for the door.
I need to get away from here, from Eden. I need some space to really process this and to figure out whether or not the realization I just had is, in fact, true or not. Because right now, I am seriously praying that it isn’t.
I am so desperate to get out of this house. I find myself sprinting downstairs, two steps at a time, and I burst out through the front door, inhaling several gulps of fresh air. I stand on the front lawn for a minute with my hands in the pockets of my jacket and my head tilted back to the darkening sky. Just when I thought my life couldn’t get anymore messed up, I have to go ahead and commit a moral fucking sin. Way to go, you moron. Eden isn’t my actual sister, but it’s still so weird. It’s making me feel nauseous, and I know that the only way I am getting through this is if I do what I do best: distract myself with a whole load of alcohol. Forget Declan. I don’t have time to head across town. I need something now, and if alcohol is all I can get my hands on, then I’ll take it.
I tilt my head back down from the sky and look directly across the street instead. All of the lights in Rachael’s house are on and I can hear the very faint pulsing of music, but from the outside, it doesn’t look like there’s a party going on. Tiffani did tell me they were keeping it small, probably so that Rachael’s parents don’t kill her.
I walk straight across the street, my pace quick, and when I reach Rachael’s porch, I stop to compose myself. Be Tyler Bruce. Be cool. Be happy. Tyler Bruce didn’t just kiss his stepsister. I did. I almost gag right there and then, so I throw open the front door and step into the house, plastering a crappy smile onto my face. I need beer. Lots of it.
It’s not busy yet. It’s still early, but people are beginning to arrive, so Rachael is lingering around by the front door to greet everyone. She struts over to me, already wasted with a gaze that can’t stay focused, and she glowers at me as though I’ve insulted her just by turning up.
“Where is Eden?” she immediately asks. Not even a hey. “She’s supposed to be here by now!”
“I don’t know,” I lie, then briskly push straight past her. I am not talking about Eden. I am not discussing her, nor saying her name, nor even so much as thinking about her. I stride into the kitchen and scan the mountain of drinks that cover the table. I’m an asshole who hasn’t brought my own booze, but whatever. There’s enough to go around. There’s a box of beer already opened in front of me, so I start by plucking out a can.
Suddenly, someone presses up against me from behind. She rests her chin on my shoulder and runs her hand down my chest, sliding it under my jacket. “Mmm,” Tiffani murmurs, and I can hear the seduction in her voice. “You’re here.”
“Oh,” I say, turning around to face her. She is the last person I want to see. “Hey.”
Tiffani looks up at me as she slings her arms around the back of my neck, pressing her body close against mine. I can see straight through her teasing smirk, though. She’s really just mad at me because I haven’t seen her much over the past week. I’ve got too much stuff going on right now.
“Have you missed me?” she asks, and I can’t help but place one hand on her hip out of habit. She would instantly figure out that something is up if I didn’t go along with the script. I brush my fingers over the white, silky material of her dress. She does look amazing, but my head is spinning so much that I can’t appreciate it right now.
“You know I have,” I tell her. I haven’t. She smiles wide and pulls my lips down to meet hers, and I kiss her only for a second. It makes me stomach twist. Ten minutes ago, my lips were against Eden’s. I retreat from Tiffani, holding up the can of beer in my hand, using it to separate us. “Can I at least get a drink in? I can’t do this party sober.”
Tiffani’s glistening blue eyes and playful smile immediately transform as she presses her glossy lips together. She unhooks her arms from around my neck and steps back. “When do you ever?” she mutters.
“You,” I say, pointing my beer at Kyle Harrison as he walks into the kitchen. He freezes, almost as though he’s afraid I’m about to pummel him or something. We don’t talk, but he was in my history class last year. He’ll do. “Get outside. Time to shotgun some beers. A lot of beers, actually.”
Tiffani’s cool hand reaches for my elbow. She tugs me back a step, narrowing her eyes at me in disapproval. “Tyler . . . C’mon.”
“Not now, Tiff.” I shake her grip off me and scoop up the box of beer into my arms. I walk over to Kyle, and although he doesn’t look too comfortable about the idea of chugging all these beers with me, he also doesn’t have the courage to say no. Tyler Bruce doesn’t let people say no anyway. I nudge his shoulder and he follows me out into the backyard.
“Here,” I say, setting the box of beer down on the grass and tossing him the can in my hand. I grab myself another, then pull out my car keys from my pocket. “We’re finishing this box. Alright? No breaks in between.”
“Man . . . Are you sure?” Kyle says as he stares doubtfully down at the can in his hand. Anxiously, he rotates it around and around, furrowing his thick eyebrows. “I don’t wanna throw up.”
I roll my eyes. “Shut up. Now go.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I stab my keys into the can and press the new opening to my mouth, tilting my head straight back and chugging the entirety of the can in seconds. I shotgun beers a lot. I’ve found it’s the quickest way to get me drunk, numb, and, therefore, distracted.
“Número dos,” I say, crushing the empty can in my hand and tossing it onto the grass. Kyle finishes a few seconds later, gasping for a breath of air, and I immediately toss him another can. I can feel Tiffani’s intense stare piercing straight through me from the kitchen, so I turn my back to the window and try my best to tune her out as Kyle and I chug our way through two, three, four, five beers.
The speed at which we are consuming them is too fast, and I can feel the beer in my stomach, and Kyle has staggered over to the corner of the backyard and is shoving his fingers down his throat. I lean back against the wall for a few minutes, breathing deeply, letting the alcohol soak into my bloodstream. When I glance inside the kitchen through the window, Tiffani isn’t there anymore, so I leave Kyle throwing up in the backyard and make my way back inside.
More people have arrived. People from school. People I would only occasionally talk to if I felt like it. Usually, I stick to my own circle. Is Eden here yet?
Stop thinking about her.
I ignore everyone, weaving my way around the girls that are doing shots of tequila by the sink, and I grab a bottle of vodka, fill more than half a cup with it, then top it up with some Coke. And I slam the damn thing. The strength of the drink burns my throat, but I don’t care. I have every intention of obliterating myself tonight. That’s why as soon as I finish the first, I pour myself a second.
“Living up to your reckless reputation?” I hear someone remark, and when I glance over, Jake is approaching. He has a bottle of beer in his hand, and he presses his hip against the countertop and takes a sip, eyeing me with his shitty, devious smirk.
“Don’t fucking talk to me,” I spit, turning my back to him. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he took Eden home last weekend, and although I do need to talk to him about that, I can’t do it tonight. I can’t talk about her.
Jake steps around me, smiling wider. He’s such an asshole. “Is it because your sister slept at my place?” he says, his voice innocent, his eyes full of sadistic pleasure. He just loves to get under my skin.
I press my hand to his chest and shove him back a step. “She’s not my sister, you moron.” If he comes any closer, I won’t hesitate to floor him. “Get out of my face, Jake. I swear.”
“Whatever. Drink yourself to death and see if I care,” he mutters, turning away and strolling out of the kitchen, probably off to pounce on whatever female he sees first. I can’t believe we used to be best friends when we were kids. He’s such a fucking freak.
I chug the drink in my hand again and I remain in the kitchen for the next hour, because the kitchen is where the alcohol is. I join the girls by the sink and take a shot of tequila with them. I do shots of vodka with everyone who is unfortunate enough to so much as walk into the kitchen. No one is getting a choice. Even Rachael takes one with me, but I figure it’s only because she’s already drunk. Tiffani, on the other hand, isn’t impressed when she walks into the kitchen and lays eyes on me.
“C’mon, Tiff,” I call out to her over the music, holding out the near-empty bottle of vodka to her. I am wasted at this point. I can barely even remain upright and I almost topple straight off the countertop. I’ve been engaging in conversation with everyone in the kitchen and we have all been laughing hysterically, with everyone being at least tipsy.
Except for Tiffani. Her expression is thunderous as she glares sharply across the kitchen at me, her blue eyes like cool, cool ice. She struts over and snatches the bottle of vodka straight out of my hand, holding it as far away from me as possible. She presses her other hand to my chest and holds me upright. “You’re embarrassing us,” she whispers as she leans in close to me, glowering from beneath her fake eyelashes. “Stop it.”
“Ohhhh. Who cares?” I laugh and stretch forward, grabbing back the bottle from her, and I am just about to tilt it against my lips to take another swig when she steals it back again. We fight over it for a few seconds before I reluctantly let go, and she is quick to pass it off to whoever is closest to us.
“Tyler,” she hisses, pressing her body against my legs, her hands on my thighs. “You look like an idiot. Please. Stop drinking. Or at least slow down.” Has she even had a drink? Why is she being so lame? Everyone in this kitchen right now is having a good time. She’s ruining it.
“Baaaaby,” I murmur, pursing my lips innocently at her. I can’t hide my smile though. I am so drunk, and luckily, I am the good kind of drunk tonight. Sometimes I swing the other way. I cup Tiffani’s face with both hands and I lean down to kiss her, pressing my mouth to hers, but she immediately pulls away and shoves me back. The indignant look she gives me is almost laughable. Do I taste like one too many beers?
“Rejectioooon!” someone from the other side of the kitchen calls out, and everyone cracks into more laughter, even me.
Tiffani shakes her head and spins around, storming straight out of the kitchen with her arms folded across her chest. Whatever. Now that she’s gone, I can continue to drink even more, and that is exactly what I do. More beers, more vodka, more tequila, more rum. I drink until I can no longer open my eyes, until I am no longer in control of my senses. And in danger of losing control of my bladder.
Awkwardly, I slide down from the countertop, landing on the floor, and when I get up, I have to fumble my way across the kitchen. My eyes are half closed, my feet are moving on their own. I am grabbing people and furniture to guide me. I’ve been in Rachael’s house many times before, but I don’t know where the bathroom is. I am stumbling my way across the house, until suddenly I collapse down onto my hands and knees, disorientated. I don’t know where I am. The music is pounding in my ears and voices are muffled, yet somehow, I am still able to hear it.
My name. Quiet and gentle. Husky.
My head feels too heavy to lift, but I fight hard to look up. The room is fuzzy. She is fuzzy. I try to peel open my eyes wider, but Eden is blurring in front of me. I try to bring her into focus, to see her glistening hazel eyes and plump lips, but I just can’t do it. She is staring down at me, and I so wish I could read her expression right now.
“Baby,” Tiffani’s voice echoes around me. Everything sounds distorted, like I’m under water. My eyes close again, and I can feel Tiffani’s hands around my body as she uses all her might to haul me up from the floor. I try to stand, but my legs are like jelly, and I simply fall straight back over, smacking my face into the wall. I’m too drunk to feel it. “Tyler,” Tiffani says, but it doesn’t sound as nice as when Eden says my name. I am being pulled somewhere, guided, and suddenly I am sitting at the foot of the staircase. “Sober up,” Tiffani orders as she slaps her palm straight across my face. I don’t feel the sting of it. “You’re a nightmare.”
My head falls forward. It’s too heavy to hold up now, but Tiffani is grabbing my jaw, supporting me, and I hear her fuzzy, distant voice say, “Ella will kill him if he goes back over there like this.” Is Eden still here? Is that who she’s talking to? I try to ask, but my tongue won’t form words. “I’ll take him home with me for the night.”
Ohhh. I am passing out. I can feel this wave crashing over me, like a black shadow arriving, and my entire body is going numb. I slump off the stairs, my eyes closed, my face pressed against into the floor. I could sleep here, but Tiffani isn’t letting me. She is by my side again, forcing me upright against the wall, and we are sitting on the floor together. I am drunk and, therefore, I am feeling frisky. I pull at her dress, at her hands, at her face. She is pushing me away. My head is in her lap. She is talking, but I can’t hear what she is saying.
Is Eden still here?
* * *
The hangover I endure the following day is one of the worst I have ever suffered through. It’s why I spend the entire day of Sunday in Tiffani’s bed, sweating buckets, gulping down water, popping painkillers and cursing at myself for being such a fucking moron.
It’s early evening and I am still wrapped up in Tiffani’s sheets, massaging my head and staring at the ceiling. I’ve showered now, so I do feel slightly better. More refreshed, at least. My head, however, is still pounding. I don’t even feel sorry for myself. I’m angry. I passed out at the party, which, honestly, is just embarrassing. Tyler Bruce is supposed to be able to handle his alcohol, not pass out and get dragged home by his girlfriend.
“Are you hungry?” Tiffani asks as she walks into her room, a smile on her face. She’s been checking in on me every half an hour, waltzing into her room in a pair of silk shorts and a tank top. At 8AM, she woke me up to yell at me for embarrassing her last night, for getting too drunk, for acting like a loser. At noon, she was being passive aggressive. By 4PM, she was acting relatively normal. And now, she is being nice. Too nice.
“No,” I say. I think I’ll throw up if I eat.
“How are you feeling?” she asks with a sympathetic frown as she joins me on her bed. She sits down next to me on her knees and reaches forward, placing her cool palm to my forehead. Her frown deepens. “Are you feeling better?”
“Not really,” I admit. Her cool skin feels nice against my face, so I press my forehead harder into her hand. I’m burning up.
“I bet I could make you feel better,” she murmurs, and she drops her hand to my chest as she leans in closer to me, pressing her lips to the corner of my jaw. She kisses the corner of my mouth too. Then my neck. Her lips trail along my skin, planting a row of soft, light kisses. She even climbs on top of me, sitting on my stomach with her legs cradling my hips and her hands pressed to my bare chest. She is kissing my collarbone now, and shit, it feels nice.
“Your . . . your mom, Tiffani,” I mumble, my eyes closed, my hands on her waist. I throw my head back into the pillows, enjoying the sensation of her mouth exploring my body. There are not many things I love about Tiffani, but this is an exception. She always knows exactly where to kiss me.
“She just left,” Tiffani says, and she moves her lips to mine.
I wrap one of my hands into her hair, holding her closer to me, and I kiss her deeply and fast, biting her lower lip. Tiffani and I never do slow or gentle. We are always fast, always rough, probably because we don’t actually care about one another. It’s exhilarating, though. We are fighting for dominance, and as I am kissing her, she is grinding against my hips. She tears away from me for only a brief second to pull off her tank top, then her mouth is immediately back on mine. She is kissing me faster now, her fingers intertwining through my hair. My hands are roaming down her body, her breasts, her waist, her hips, her ass. She kisses a path down my chest, all the way down to the waistband of my boxers. She glances up at me and runs her tongue along her lower lip.
But then I remember something.
Yesterday was a blackout. I can’t remember anything from the party, apart from making Kyle Harrison sick, but I remember everything that came before it.
I remember Eden. I remember arguing with her in the house. I remember admitting that I rely on distractions. I remember her lips against mine.
“Tiffani,” I say abruptly, snapping back into the current moment. I grab her wrists, firmly holding them away from my body. I am breathing heavily, and my eyes are wide with panic. “I can’t do this right now.”
“Are you kidding me?” Tiffani says in disbelief, parting her lips. She aggressively yanks her hands free from mine and climbs off me. She is glowering at me with sharp, narrow eyes. “We finally get a free house and you’re telling me not right now? Fuck you, Tyler. Go home.” She grits her teeth and slides off the bed, turning her back on me as she pulls her tank top back on. She heads for the door, muttering something under her breath, probably calling me an asshole.
“Tiffani,” I say quietly, sitting up. I pull the sheets up to my waist and stare at her in silence as she turns around. I am looking at my girlfriend, but I am not looking at a girl I even remotely like, let alone love. When I kiss her, I don’t feel that same adrenaline rush that I felt last night when I kissed Eden. “What is this? Us,” I clarify. “What is it?”
“What the hell, Tyler?” Tiffani says as her expression twists, full of confusion. She looks taken aback that I’ve even asked.
“Just tell me,” I plead desperately. It’s always been at the back of my mind, I guess. “What are we doing? Because I have no idea. We don’t even . . .” I inhale, shaking my head. We don’t even like each other. I can’t say it out loud, though, because it sounds almost cruel. “Why are we together?”
I know why. We are together because it benefits us both, because I get the hot, popular girlfriend to make Tyler Bruce’s life look pretty nice, and she gets the guy who she knows will do anything she asks of him. A guy whose every move she can control. She must know that deep down I’m weak. That’s why it’s so easy for her. I’m just a prop in her life, the same way she is in mine. But we are bad for each other. We shouldn’t be together.
“We’re not talking about this,” Tiffani states. She is clenching her jaw, and I know I’m taking a huge risk here. Tiffani doesn’t like it when I step out of line and do something that goes against her wishes. She always retaliates. “Don’t bring it up again.”
“Maybe we should . . . I don’t know.” I shrug. “You know as well as I do that this is stupid. Maybe we should just take a break or something.”
“How’s selling weed going?” she cuts in quickly, her voice seething. She folds her arms across her chest and raises an eyebrow at me, her eyes piercing straight into mine.
My heart stops for a second. “What?” I say, feigning surprise as though I have no idea what she’s talking about. How does she know?
“You thought I wouldn’t find out? You think I’m that stupid?” she says, rolling her eyes, but her tone is venomous, and she is becoming the Tiffani I really, really don’t like. The one that is devious and controlling. “Last night, while you were too drunk to function, Greg asked me if I knew where you were, because he was just dying for a smoke.” Slowly, she walks back over to the bed, a twisted smile on her face. She knows she’s caught me. “Rumor has it, you can hook people up these days.”
“Tiffani . . .”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re a liar.” She sits down on the bed, crosses her legs, and then grins at me. She is loving the power she has over me right now. It’s almost sadistic. “So, new plan,” she says, her voice sickeningly sweet. “We’re not discussing us again until graduation. Or, you know, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to keep your secret.” She gives me a small shrug and a frown, then she leans in close and presses her lips to mine again. “I love you, Ty. And you love me too. Remember that.”
I am paralyzed as I watch her leave the room, swinging her hips and humming. I feel sick, but it’s not because of the amount of alcohol I consumed last night. No, it’s a reason much worse than that.
Tiffani is blackmailing me.