Just Don't Mention It

  “I’m sorry, Tyler,” he says, but despite the softness to his voice and the guilt in his green eyes, I don’t believe him. He always feels guilty, and I believe that, but I don’t believe his apologies. He looks up at me from beneath his thick eyelashes. “Look, I wasn’t going to tell you this yet, because I’ve been keeping it a surprise, but I’ve got us tickets for the game against the Chargers next month,” he tells me quietly with the very small trace of a smile. It’s apologetic. “We’re heading up to San Francisco, just you and me, buddy. You know Hugh takes Dean up there to games all the time, right? We’re joining them. How’s that sound?” His smile widens a little, and the corners of his eyes begin to crinkle. This is Dad, really. This is him deep down. This is the dad I used to love so much.

  “Really?” I ask, widening my eyes. Dad’s never taken me to a football game before, but he knows I’ve always wanted to go. “We’re going to a game?”

  “I thought you’d like that,” Dad says, and for once, he looks almost sheepish. He locks his gaze on his beer while he traces its rim with his thumb. He goes quiet for a few seconds as he runs his eyes over the notes that are still lying on the desk, then he frowns. “I am sorry, Tyler,” he apologizes again, glancing back over to me. “You’ve worked hard enough tonight, so come on. Let’s head back downstairs. We’ve got a game to watch.” He smiles, wide and pure, just like he always used to.

  28

  PRESENT DAY

  My neck is stiff in the morning, so I roll it until it cracks as I’m walking downstairs. Not only did I sleep on the floor, I also slept upright. Upright. I’m suffering for it now, but I’m headed to the gym with Dean so I’m hoping to loosen up the stiffness with a workout. He’s running late, so I make my way down into the kitchen to grab some water, ignoring Dave as I pass him in the hall, and then I see Eden slamming the dishwasher shut. “Morning,” I say as I approach her.

  She straightens up and turns around, wrinkling her nose at me, wearing her usual expression of repulsion. “Ugh.”

  “You’re supposed to say good morning back,” I say, purposely brushing my shoulder against hers and nudging her out of my way as I walk over to the refrigerator. I pull open the door and stick my head inside.

  “You kept me up all night,” Eden states.

  I steal a glance back at her. I’m not sure what she’s talking about. “Huh?”

  “The knocking.” She squints a little, her eyes locked on mine.

  Oh, that. She heard it? Why didn’t she knock back? “I wasn’t knocking,” I lie, letting out a laugh. “Didn’t your dad tell you the house is haunted? Demons everywhere.”

  “Oh, shut up,” she says, but I hear her almost laugh too. “Couldn’t you get to sleep or something?”

  “Not exactly,” I say, grabbing a bottle of water and spinning back around. I push the door shut behind me and take a step forward, folding my arms and raising an eyebrow at her. “I was hoping you’d wake up and knock back.”

  “Sorry. I wasn’t in the mood for communicating with you through the wall at 4AM,” she deadpans. I can see her gaze traveling all over my body, studying me.

  “Ouch,” I say, and I keep my eyes focused on her face until she glances up again. Then, more because I’m curious rather than just trying to be playful, I ask, “What about tonight?”

  Her eyes slowly lower to my chest. “What?”

  “Tonight,” I repeat. My eyebrow arches even higher, my head tilted to one side. “Will you knock back?”

  “No, Tyler,” she says slowly, her eyes flashing back to mine, “I don’t want to knock back and forth. It’s just weird.”

  “Damn.” I glance down at my watch to check the time, but just as I’m about to sigh at Dean still not being here, I hear him in the hall, greeting Mom.

  He enters the kitchen a few seconds later, spinning his car keys around his index finger. “Ready?”

  “Dude, you’re twenty minutes late,” I say, setting my eyes on him. Our gym always gets super packed after ten. And it’s now after ten.

  “My bad,” Dean apologizes. “I had to stop for gas.”

  When I steal a glance at Eden, I realize I’ve been doing it again. Slipping up. But now that Dean’s here, I can’t afford to do that. That’s why I glare at her and mutter to Dean, “You left me to hang with this fucking loser. Let’s just bail already.” I feel like such an asshole, but Tyler Bruce is an asshole. Tyler Bruce is a jerk. Neither Eden nor Dean is impressed, though. They both stare at me in silence, Eden glowering while Dean gives me a more scolding shake of his head. “Chill, guys,” I say quickly. “Just a little sibling rivalry, right, Eden?” The word slips off the end of my tongue, but it doesn’t taste right. Sibling.

  “We’re not siblings,” Eden says.

  “And thank God for that,” I shoot back. I’m glad she agrees, because honestly, I don’t know if it’s just me who’s finding it impossible to think of her in that way. I can’t look at her the same way I look at Jamie and Chase. It’s different. She’s just . . . She’s just a girl to me. And a pretty cool one.

  She exhales and walks away, slipping outside into the backyard through the patio doors until she’s out of sight.

  “Dude,” Dean says. When I turn to look at him, he’s shaking his head slowly at me as he leans back against the countertop. “Why did you talk to her like that?”

  “I talk to everyone like that,” I say, my tone defensive. I unscrew the cap of my water and take a sip, not quite meeting his eyes. I know I shouldn’t have said what I just did, but Tyler Bruce is ruthless.

  “Yeah, but . . . C’mon.” Dean heaves a sigh. After Eden, he probably comes in at a close second on the list of people who seem to actually call me out on all my shit. There’s been a lot of times when he’s sat me down and asked if I was alright. I’ve always lied and said, yeah, of course I’m alright, I’m Tyler Bruce, the guy with the hot girlfriend and the nice car. “She’s cool, you know.”

  “And how would you know?” I ask, my tone aggressive. I don’t mean to be a jerk to Dean, but I can’t help it. How does he know Eden’s cool? He doesn’t even know her. Neither do I, really, but I’ve at least spent time with her.

  “I took her home last weekend. After you were a dick to her at Austin’s party,” Dean says. He shoves his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. “And we hung out on Saturday night at the La Breve Vita concert. Again, after you took her to Declan’s place. I mean, seriously? Jake had to rescue her.”

  “Yeah, I already figured that,” I mutter. I didn’t know Eden had gone to some concert with Jake and Dean, but I do know she eventually ended up with Jake the entire night. “He brought her home in the morning.”

  Dean’s eyes widen. “Woah. He did?” He looks away, blinking at the patio doors for a few seconds. “Damn, I knew she left with him after the show, but I . . . I didn’t know she’d stayed the night.” His voice goes quiet. “Seems like Jake’s already got her in his clutches then. Whatever. Let’s just go.”

  * * *

  My heart is beating a little too fast, my gaze darting around, never quite focusing for too long on one spot. I keep shifting uncomfortably in my seat, anxiously running my hands around my steering wheel. I have a pound of weed in my glovebox.

  Why the fuck did some chick want to meet here, at the damn pier of all places? It’s pretty packed for a Wednesday afternoon, and I’m parked up in the main lot as people stream on by. I’m waiting for someone, but the longer I sit here, the more and more suspicious I feel I look. I’ve been helping Declan out the past couple days, but I’ve never felt as nervous as I have now. Probably because all of the other hookups I’ve done haven’t been at the city’s busiest fucking hotspot.

  My phone buzzes on my lap and I flinch. I expect it to be Stacey, the girl I’m supposed to be meeting, but no, it’s Tiffani. She’s texted me a picture of her nails, freshly manicured and painted a glossy blue. Probably to match her eyes or some shit. I don’t know.

  Just got out of the salon. What
do you think???

  They’re sharp and she tears half my skin off when she runs them down my back, so no, I don’t like them. But I’d be asking for an argument if I told her that, so instead, I simply text back: Looks nice. Good day with the girls? It’s much better to just stay on her good side.

  Yeah, we’ve planned a party for Meghan’s birthday. We’re having it at Rachael’s place on Saturday, so keep it free, she replies. Just as I’m about to begin typing a message back to her, another text comes through and she adds, Don’t mention it to Declan Portwood or any of that crew. They’re losers and we don’t want that shit at Rachael’s house.

  I chew on my lower lip. If only she knew I was one of those losers, out here working for Declan right now as we speak. I promised her I wouldn’t get involved, but I have, and so now I have to be extremely careful. If she finds out . . . I don’t even want to consider how she’d react. No problem, I text back. Even throw in a smiley face.

  “Hey,” someone says through my open passenger window. I glance over and there’s a girl ducking her head into my car, her hair falling over her face. My heart beats even faster. “Tyler, right?” Her mouth curves into a small smile, and as discreetly as possible, she opens her closed fist and fifteen bucks falls onto my passenger seat. So, this is Stacey.

  “Reach down,” I murmur, but my voice is so dry. There’s people milling around us. We’re surrounded.

  Stacey leans further into my car and I can see her eyes searching the vehicle, and then after what feels like the most agonizing wait ever, she finally spots the gram of weed in a tiny plastic baggie in the storage compartment of the passenger door. She swoops her hand down and grabs it, then shoves it into the front pocket of her jeans. “Thanks,” she says. “Catch you around.” And just like that, she turns and walks off, casually blending into the crowd on the pier’s boardwalk.

  My shoulders sink with relief and I let out a long breath of air. My heart is still rocketing back and forth against my ribcage, so I stay put for a while, breathing deeply until I feel it begin to settle. How does Kaleb do this every day? I’ve been doing it for three, and already I’m paranoid as fuck.

  Suddenly, there’s a knock on my window, right by my ear. I jump straight out of my damn skin and then quickly fire my eyes up, half expecting it to be Stacey returning for more, but it’s even worse than a college stoner. It’s a cop.

  Hands on his hips, sunglasses over his eyes, name badge shining in the sunlight, he stares straight down at me through the glass. He totally saw. He totally fucking caught me. He knows what’s up.

  My heart rate is erratic again, thumping all over the place as my breath gets caught in my throat. My stomach twists as I roll down the window, and I just stare blankly up at the officer, praying he can’t sense my fear.

  “Nice car,” he says with a couple nods of approval. “What year is it?”

  What? I furrow my eyebrows, silent for a second while I figure out if he’s kidding or not, and then I force myself to swallow hard and force an answer out. “Uh. ’07.” Is he seriously asking me about my car and not the pound of weed that’s in my glovebox?

  “Nice,” he repeats, then takes a step back and cocks his head to one side as he checks out my rims. I sit in disbelief, my heart still pounding. Then, he steps closer again and places his hands on my door, leaning down to look at me. “You seem familiar,” he says. He pushes his sunglasses up into his receding hairline, and it’s enough for my heart to finally stop.

  I recognize him, and it doesn’t take me more than a couple of seconds to piece it together once I read his badge. Officer Gonzalez. He’s dealt with me before, back when I was younger. Years ago. More than once. He was there the night that Dad . . . The night that it all ended.

  “Uh, I don’t think so,” I splutter quickly, glancing down at my steering wheel. I can’t meet his eyes now. I don’t want him to remember who I am. I don’t want him to remember how he knows me.

  “No, really,” Officer Gonzalez insists. He leans even closer toward me, like he’s trying to analyze my features. “Ella Grayson’s son, right?”

  I look up at him. He really still recognizes me? “It’s not Grayson anymore,” I mumble. There’s no point in denying it. He’s already figured it out. “But yeah, that’s me. It’s Tyler, by the way.”

  “That’s it!” he says as his features ease with relief, but then he quickly straightens up and silently watches me for a few seconds. His expression grows solemn and wrinkles form on his forehead as he squints his eyes at me. Pity. That’s what’s in them. Fucking pity. “How are you doing anyway? Good?” he asks quietly.

  “Yep, fine,” I mutter stiffly, turning my eyes back to my steering wheel. Uncomfortable, I pick at the ripped knee of my jeans.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” he says, but I don’t even look at him, let alone reply. I just continue to keep my eyes fixated on my steering wheel, my pulse racing. “Take care, Tyler,” Gonzalez adds, and he pats his hand against my car door before he turns around and walks away.

  I finally lift my head a little, watching him from beneath my eyelashes as he strolls over to the boardwalk, patrolling the pier. I always liked Officer Gonzalez. He was always nice, and he still is. I’m grateful that he didn’t ask too many questions. I don’t like questions, and I especially hate being asked if I’m okay, because I’m not.

  29

  FIVE YEARS EARLIER

  Dad is mad again.

  I don’t know what I’ve done wrong, but what I do know is that it’s always my fault. He doesn’t get mad at Jamie. He doesn’t get mad at Chase. He doesn’t get mad at Mom. That means there’s nothing wrong with Dad; there’s something wrong with me. I was the kid he didn’t plan for. The kid he changed his life for. The kid he puts too much pressure on himself for. He has become this monster because of me.

  It’s one of the worst nights. I’m already numb, already somewhere else, already praying it will end soon. Mom’s out with her friends tonight. They get together for cocktails once a month. I can see her face through the darkness now, laughing. I like Mom’s smile. It’s bright and contagious. I wish she was here right now, I wish she could help me, but I also want her to keep that smile.

  I think something happened at Dad’s work again. I don’t know what, exactly. But I was studying like he would have wanted me to do. I was finishing up my homework while he worked downstairs at the kitchen table, frantically flipping through papers and running his hands back through his hair. I should have had the homework done before I came downstairs for a drink. But I didn’t. I only had one question left. It would have only taken me a minute.

  He’s yelling, he’s cursing, in both English and in Spanish. His green eyes are fierce and terrifying, so I close mine. I weigh nothing to him. I’m thrown across the kitchen, taking down one of the chairs with me, landing in a heap. I’ve landed on my wrist. A brief, sharp pain surges up my arm. But it’s okay. It’s not broken. The pain isn’t bad enough for that.

  I’m grabbed from the floor, my body is bruised, I am aching. His knuckles are rock hard. I can feel them as they smash into the corner of my jaw. He yells something at me, but I don’t register his words. I’m wincing in agony under his tightening hold on me. He shoves me away again. My forehead smacks against the corner of the kitchen table on my way down to the floor. I can feel the warm dampness of blood on my skin, trickling from the fresh cut. I reach up and touch it with my fingertips. I still can’t open my eyes. I’m waiting for his firm hands to grab me again, for his harsh voice to scream at me.

  But the only thing I hear is the sound of glass shattering. There’s some more cursing. A groan. A deep breath. Then, footsteps that for once don’t grow louder. They fade away into the hall, leaving behind the deafening slam of the kitchen door.

  My breathing is out of sync, fast and ragged, and I slowly peel open my damp, wet eyes. The kitchen is a mess. Dad’s business papers are scattered all over the floor, some torn. Three chairs are knocked over onto their sides. There??
?s shards of glass lying just in front of me.

  I retreat from the glass, crawling as far away as I can until I’m pressed against the corner of the room. I hug my knees to my chest, my wrist throbbing, my forehead stinging, my bruises deepening. I’m shaking uncontrollably, and as I bury my face into my knees, I break down in tears.

  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 myself together. 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.