Chapter 30
Present Day
I’m relieved when Saturday rolls around.
I’ve been a complete nervous wreck the entire week, and I’m refusing to help Declan out today.
I need a break from it, to just take some time to clear my head and wonder what the fuck I’m actually doing.
It’s even better that Tiffani doesn’t want to hang out today.
Apparently, she’s waiting for Rachael to call her over to her house at any moment to help set up for the party tonight.
I’m not exactly in the mood for a party, but at least it’s a small one. Or at least Rachael is hoping it is.
It’s just after one and I’m sitting at the kitchen table on my own in a pair of sweatpants, slowly eating my way through the avocado, lettuce, and tomato sandwich I’ve thrown together myself.
I’m not that hungry, so I’ve been trying to get through it for the past twenty minutes.
I haven’t even bothered to turn on the TV.
I’m just staring blankly through the glass of the patio doors, my eyes fixed on nothing in particular outside in the backyard.
I already know it’s going to be one of those days. I’m already feeling pretty low, but for no reason in particular. It’ll pass though. Eventually. I’ll mope around for a few hours, question my existence, and then I’ll be laughing at that party tonight as though I’m the happiest guy in the room.
I release the sigh I’ve been holding and drop my eyes down to my plate, pushing it away from me. I don’t really like being alone all that much, not when I feel like this.
“Not hungry?” Mom asks as she walks into the kitchen. She gives me a small, warm smile just like she always does, and I’m so glad she does, because I really need it right now.
“Not really,” I mumble with a hopeless shrug. I prop my elbow up on the table and rest my chin on my palm, my gaze following Mom as she grabs my plate and carries it away.
“We’re taking your brothers to the Dodgers game tonight,” she casually muses over her shoulder.
She tips the remainder of my food into the trash, then slides the plate into the dishwasher.
As she turns around to face me again, she leans back against the countertop.
Her smile has become a knowing one. “So wherever you end up sneaking out to tonight, look after yourself. Nothing stupid, Tyler.” The way she arches her eyebrow at me is stern, and I know what she means.
No drinking, no smoking, no staying out all night.
I frown back at her and shift my attention back to the yard. The sun is shining, its rays bouncing off the pool water, but I find it easy to focus on. I don’t want to disappoint her tonight, though I know I will.
“Tyler,” Mom says quietly, her tone different all of a sudden.
Warily, she sits down next to me, her eyebrows pinching with worry.
I don’t like it when she looks at me like that.
My heartbeat races that tiny bit faster as my eyes meet hers.
“I found something last night,” she murmurs, her voice breaking.
She pulls something from her pocket and softly sets it down in front of me.
Her blue eyes dilate with the heartache she is feeling, and she presses one hand to her chest, the other on my back. “We must have missed it.”
I inhale deeply, exhale slowly. She gives me an encouraging nod, and then I glance down at the object she’s placed in front of me.
It’s a photograph. A photo from forever ago.
A photo of Dad and me. My chest tightens and I stare down at the memory in front of me as Mom soothingly rubs my back.
She stays silent, giving me time to process it.
In the photograph, we’re at the pier on the boardwalk.
It’s just getting dark, the sky a mixture of blue and pink streaks as the sun dips below the ocean behind us.
I’m young, maybe six or seven, and I’m grabbing onto Dad’s arm, huddled in close to him.
Dad’s young too, and as I look at him now, his smile beaming back at me and his green eyes full of warmth, I realize that we are similar.
The older I get, the more I see it. Our eyes are identical.
We have the same tanned skin. The same dark hair and thick eyebrows.
The same damn jawline. We were both happy back then.
The bad days hadn’t started yet. I can still remember the first time Dad hit me.
I was eight, and I was confused, and he told me it would never happen again, and I believed him.
I don’t realize my fists are clenched under the table until Mom places her hand over mine.
She massages my skin with her thumb until slowly, I relax my hands.
She doesn’t like it when I get mad, but she knows that sometimes I can’t control it.
That’s another similarity that Dad and I share: our short temper.
“Do what makes you feel better,” Mom whispers, and she slides something into my hand and closes my fingers around it.
When I look at her, feeling more somber than angry, she gives me a small, sad smile.
She stands up and places her hand on my shoulder, kisses my temple, and then walks away, giving me the space I need.
I glance down and open my hand. In my palm, there’s a lighter.
When I was fifteen, my rage had been manifesting for three years and it had become so unbearable that I needed to find a release that was more satisfying than just getting high.
I wanted to wipe away all of the memories I had of Dad, even the good ones.
I wanted him completely out of my life. Mom would have done anything to make me feel better.
She still would. That’s why we went up into the attic together and pulled out all of the old photo albums from my childhood.
As much as it hurt her, she let me set up a fire in our backyard and burn all of the photos of Dad and me.
It felt good at the time, but even that wasn’t enough to let me move on. I still think about him every day.
I get to my feet and grab the photograph in front of me.
I take the lighter with me too as I walk over to the patio doors, sliding them open and stepping outside into the warm, fresh air.
The slight breeze feels nice and refreshing.
I sit down on the lawn by the edge of the pool and I pull my knees up to my chest, holding up the photograph again and dangling it from my fingertips.
I look at my smile again. Then at Dad’s, and I think, Fuck him . Fuck Dad for ruining my life.
I hold up the lighter to the bottom corner of the photograph, and I don’t even hesitate to light it, watching numbly as the flame latches onto the photo.
It spreads fast, turning a younger version of me to a blackened crisp first, and then Dad.
His face is disappearing into ash, and I let the photo fall into the pool, feeling relief as it begins to disintegrate in the water.
I wish the pain could disappear too.
···
My mood is even lower than it was this morning.
None of Declan’s crew are allowed to swing by Rachael’s party tonight, and if Rachael knew I was involved too, I wouldn’t be allowed either.
It’s frustrating, because tonight of all nights, I’m craving a high that’s stronger than weed.
And if I can’t find that at the party, then I’ll get it on my own.
That’s why I’m meeting Declan in a couple hours before I head over to Rachael’s.
It’s just after seven and I have the house to myself, but it’s still too early to get ready so I leave my room, about to head downstairs to watch TV for a while, when I catch Eden climbing the stairs with a dress over her arm.
“Looks like it’s just you and me,” I inform her with a teasing smirk.
Tyler Bruce is never in a bad mood. Tyler Bruce doesn’t have anything to feel down about.
“They’re at the Dodgers game. The Angels are totally gonna lose,” I add, just in case she’s wondering where our parents are.
They’ve abandoned us again, but whatever.
I wouldn’t have gone to the game with them even if they’d asked.
“I know,” Eden says, staring evenly back at me. She doesn’t smile, so I figure she’s still not all that happy to see me, despite the fact that we haven’t crossed paths in what feels like forever. We seem to come and go at different times. “Can you move, please?”
“Sure,” I say, moving over to allow her to pass.
I don’t have the energy to be a complete asshole to her yet, probably because the real me feels like crap.
I’m too fed up to pull off a good performance right now.
Eden brushes past me, but before she disappears into her room, she pauses and looks at me. “What?”
“You’re coming to Rachael’s tonight, right?” she asks, her expression curious, her tone gentle.
“Yeah.” Why does she ask? Does she want me there or something? Probably not. I bet she had her fingers crossed that I was going to say no. Still, that doesn’t mean I’m not curious too. I wonder if she’s going. “You’re gonna be there too, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool,” I say as nonchalantly as I can. I’m sort of happy she’s going too, despite what happened at the last party.
She questioned me, I got furious and smashed my damn beer, but at least she cared.
I think. And if she does care, then it’s more than anyone else ever has. “What time are we heading over there?”
“What do you mean we ?” Eden asks, rolling her eyes. She turns around and pushes open her bedroom door. “I’m walking across the street on my own. Not with you. You can head on over there, Tyler, any time you want,” she murmurs.
“Chill,” I say under my breath, narrowing my eyes at her.
Why is she like this? I’m not even being a jerk to her right now, yet it seems like she still hates me. Which is so damn confusing because sometimes, when she’s pushing so hard to figure me out, I think she may just be interested in what I have to say.