PRESENT DAY
When Dean and I get out of the gym the next morning, I drive him back to his place, and we end up in his garage because he wants to show me the new exhaust system his dad added to his car last night. Dean sits half in the car, the door open, and he is revving up the engine with a beaming grin on his face as we listen to the new throaty rumble of his engine.
But I can’t focus. I’m leaning against shelves full of alcohol, my arms folded across my chest, my eyes roaming the walls of the garage. Dean and his dad have always been huge 49ers fans, but I never realized they had such . . . such a display. The garage is covered in memorabilia, from framed jerseys to miniature helmets to flags, and dotted around the walls are photographs. Mostly, they are all just photos of Dean and his dad at every football game they went to, but there is one photo in particular that I am being drawn to. I squint across the roof of Dean’s car, tuning out his engine as I focus, but I can’t see the photo clearly enough. I push myself off the shelves and walk around Dean’s car to get a closer look, and immediately my stomach knots.
I knew it.
It’s a picture from years ago when Dean and I were younger. It was taken after a 49ers game up in San Francisco, with the stadium behind us, and we are not alone. Our dads are with us. Dean’s dad, Hugh, and mine, the asshole. I can remember that night so well. I went to that game feeling excited. Happy. It was a time when everything was back on track for a while, but that night . . . That night, everything went wrong all over again. The memory of Dad grabbing me in the restrooms and yelling at me is so vivid in my mind, I can almost feel his hand on me and hear his voice ringing in my ears.
And he’s there now, in that photograph, in front of me. Dean and Hugh are smiling at the camera. Dad has his back turned, showing off the personalized Grayson jerseys we were wearing that night, and then there’s me. I’m staring at the ground, and I definitely couldn’t fake a smile that night. The picture was taken only a month before Dad was arrested.
“Why the hell do you have this picture up?” I yell at Dean over the noise in the garage. I crane my neck to look at him and my jaw aches from how hard I am grinding my teeth together. I didn’t know Dean had this picture on display alongside all his happy fucking memories with his father.
Dean stops revving his engine and furrows his eyebrows at me. He glances around the garage. “Uh, because look around you. Dad put up pictures from every game,” he says, then steps on the gas again. “What do you think of the new exhaust?”
“Yeah, it’s sweet,” I say quickly, then point at the photograph in front of me again. “Can you take this down?” Sometimes, I wish I was brave enough to tell my friends the truth. They would understand me so much better if they know why I get so angry so easily, and they would understand why memories such as the one facing me are too much to handle. But it’s just easier to let them think I’m okay.
Dean heaves a sigh at my lack of interest in his car, and so he kills the engine and gets out. “It’s just a picture, man.”
And I am about to lose my shit, about to hurl my fist into the photo frame and smash the damn thing to pieces, when the door that connects Dean’s garage with his house swings open and Hugh steps out. He folds his arms across his chest and leans back against the door.
“I can hear all that revving from the kitchen,” he says with a laugh. He glances over at me and goes quiet for a second, his eyes meeting mine. The smile that he gives me is tight and uncomfortable. “Hey, Tyler, how are you doing?”
I hate the way he looks at me. Every time, every damn time, I see the hint of pity that flashes in his eyes for a fleeting moment. Like he’s wondering: What happened to this kid? How did he get so far off the rails?
And the truth is, the truth that Hugh will never know, is that a lot happened. To this day, I am still suffering from it all. And now I’m just some fucking loser, some pathetic kid that drinks too much and drives too fast and gets high too often. It’s weird, but I almost feel as though I have let Hugh down. I used to look up to him as a father figure when I was a kid. I was so jealous of Dean.
I shove my balled-up fists into my pockets and turn my eyes down to the ground. “Hey,” I mumble. How am I doing? I don’t even have an answer for that.
“Dad, you can get out of here now,” Dean says, and I can just picture him rolling his eyes. Ever since we were young, he has always gotten embarrassed whenever any of us are around his parents.
“Okay, okay,” Hugh says, and I catch him holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll leave you guys alone.” He chuckles as he heads back inside the house, and after he’s gone, I exchange a look with Dean.
“Do you wanna grab coffee at the Refinery?” he asks as he slams his car door shut. He rests his elbow up on the roof of the car and stares across at me.
“No, I’m good. I need to head to Malibu,” I say, and instantly, I know I shouldn’t have said it. I’m going to Malibu because I have to drop something off at some house on Declan’s behalf, and that something isn’t legal. The past two weeks, none of my afternoon activities have been legal. I’m growing more confident at it, more comfortable, but it’s still risky. Tiffani already knows what I’m up to, but I can’t afford to have anyone else find out.
Confusion crosses Dean’s face. “Why?”
“To get my car waxed,” I lie on the spot. I don’t want him to doubt me or question me further, so I muster up a smile and pull out my car keys. “See you later,” I say, and I leave the garage perhaps a little too fast.
My car is parked up outside by the sidewalk, so I slide inside and check my phone. It’s as I expect: messages from Declan, messages from strangers, messages from Tiffani, and even worse, missed calls from Tiffani. I have been ignoring her since last night, and I know I am playing with fire, but I just can’t bring myself to talk to her. I have muted my phone entirely. It’s not even on vibrate anymore, so I throw it onto my passenger seat and head off to Malibu with peace of mind that Tiffani will not be bothering me.
* * *
It’s noon by the time I get back to the house, and all of the color drains from my face when I spot Tiffani’s car parked up on our drive. I should have known that if I ignored her calls for long enough she would end up hunting me down. Last night, I told her I was with Dean and Jake. Today, I haven’t even spoken to her, let alone had the chance to lie about my whereabouts. She’ll be furious. She hates it when she feels as though she’s losing her grip on my life.
Groaning, I park up and head into the house. The first thing I see when I push open the front door is Tiffani herself. She is standing in the hall, hovering by the living room door, a hand on her hip. I stride straight over to her, murmuring, “What are you doing here?”
Immediately, Tiffani turns to look at me with such speed that her hair whips around her face. Her cool blue eyes are like stone as she sets them on me. “Where were you last night?”
“I told you. I was with the guys,” I say quickly. I have learned not to hesitate. Trepidation is the biggest giveaway, and I have a lot of experience when it comes to lying straight to her face.
“Tyler,” Mom’s voice snaps suddenly out of nowhere, and I nearly yell “Fuck!” out loud. Over Tiffani’s shoulder, Mom walks over, and behind her, Eden is watching us all from the couch. “You told me you were with her,” Mom says, folding her arms over her chest. “Where did you go last night?”
Mom hates it when I lie. I can already tell that she’s thinking I was off on another damn bender last night or something, and I really hate that I’m being ambushed by both her and Tiffani right now. “Oh my God,” I say, exhaling. “What does it matter?”
Mom turns her back on us. “Eden, where did he go?”
Instantly, I lock my eyes on Eden. She is sitting rigid on the edge of the couch, staring back at the three of us. The expression in my eyes is full of desperation. I am mentally begging her to think of something, to not crack under the pressure, to lie for me.
“Um, he dropped me off at Meghan’s and then he changed his plans,” she finally says, racing through her words. She can’t look at me as she lies. “He hung out with the guys instead.”
My shoulders sink with relief, and I think it’ll be enough to calm Tiffani’s anger, so I reach out to touch her arm as I step closer to her. I’ll need to kiss her ass for a while. “See?”
“Don’t talk to me,” Tiffani growls, pulling her arm free and shoving me away from her. My eyes widen in surprise. Why is she still mad? “Eden, come with me,” she orders. “We need to talk to Rachael and Meghan. Right now.”
I watch in disbelief as Eden jumps up from the couch and Tiffani grabs her wrist, pulling her out into the hall and toward the front door. Tiffani rams her shoulder into my chest as she passes and she refuses to so much as glance at me as they leave the house. What the hell is her problem? I have an alibi—a fake one, sure—so she has no reason to still be angry at me. Is it because I’ve been ignoring her calls? And what the fuck does she need Eden for? Now I’m furious too.
They disappear out the front door and it slams shut behind them, leaving me breathing heavily with rage in the hall. Silence fills the house until Mom places her hand on my shoulder and says, “Oh, Tyler.”
I snap my eyes over to hers. “What?”
“I hope you don’t drive that girl insane,” she says with a frown. She glances at the front door, then back up at me. Is she seriously taking Tiffani’s side right now? “It seems she’s always getting upset with you. I hope you’re not the type to play with a girl’s head, Tyler.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up, Mom,” I spit at her, aggressively shaking her hand off my shoulder. She has no idea what sort of hell Tiffani has put me through for years. Tiffani is far, far from innocent.
Mom’s face falls. “Wow,” she says. Her expression is blank and she blinks at me, stunned that I’ve cursed at her like that. I couldn’t help it. My temper is way too short.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize quickly. “I didn’t mean—”
“I’m going grocery shopping, then picking up Chase,” she interrupts, walking away from me. She won’t meet my eyes now, either. She only grabs her purse and her car keys from the hall table and heads for the front door. She maintains a hardened expression, despite how much I know I’ve just hurt her. “If you need me, then too bad,” she calls over her shoulder, then slams the front door behind her.
“Fuck!” I finally yell out loud. Why can’t I control myself? Mom doesn’t deserve the way I just spoke to her. I shove my hand back through my hair and sink down onto the foot of the staircase, grinding my teeth as I grab my phone from my pocket. I’m so pissed off that my hands are trembling with rage as I pull up Declan’s number, and I send him a message that I have sent so many times before: Today is getting messy. Keep the good stuff on standby for me.