Author: Estelle Maskame
Category: Romance
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/10329_7
“Why, Tyler? It’s not like you need the money.” She grits her teeth and flicks her hair over her shoulder. I watch her closely as she exhales deeply, and for once, I do actually think she might just care about me a little. “Do you really want to be behind bars for dealing while the rest of us are in college, partying and getting our degrees? If you do this . . . You’re absolutely crazy. Tell Declan to find someone else to deal his shit.”
I don’t have the energy to argue over this again, so I do what I do best: I give in and let her win. It’s not worth the agro. Besides, I am craving another drink. “You’re right,” I tell her. “I’m not going to do it. It was stupid to even consider it.”
Tiffani’s face lights up. “You swear, Tyler?”
“I swear, now come here.” Teasingly, I place my hands on her shoulders and squeeze her, pulling her toward me. I wrap my arms around her tiny body and hold her against my chest, my chin resting on the top of her head. I fixate my eyes on a spot in the distance, trying to keep myself stable so that I don’t topple over and bring her down with me. “Now this is better than arguing, isn’t it?”
“Mm-hmm,” she agrees against my shirt, then her body locks up beneath my grip as she pushes me back a step. “But you’re smudging my makeup.”
Whispers: Interactive StoriesMake your own choices and decide what happens next!
I roll my eyes, almost fall over from the dizziness, then kiss her.
9
FIVE YEARS EARLIER
Hugh’s truck is parked across the street. I spot it from a mile away, but only because I am desperately searching for it. Dean is by my side and we’re making our way out of school and across our campus. Today hasn’t been so bad, and having Dean’s dad pick us up makes it better. I may have got kicked out of science, but I took part during gym class and survived it, so I consider it an alright day. I just hope it stays that way.
“Why does he have to get out of the truck?!” Dean moans from beside me as Hugh pushes open his door and steps out. Of course, he is smiling, pleased to see us, and when he raises his hand in the air, Dean groans. “Oh, crap. Kill me before anyone sees.”
I don’t know why Dean hates it so much. My dad would never get out of the car to greet me. He barely even smiles when I climb in. That’s why I find Hugh so cool. I give him a thumbs up back, and Dean fires me a sideways glance of betrayal, but I don’t care. He doesn’t realize how lucky he is.
“Hey, boys!” Hugh says as we approach. There’s a smudge of grease on his chin, and I figure he must have just got off work. He has his own garage, and he wants Dean to work with him when he’s older. Dad wants me to work for him too one day. That’s why he pushes me so hard, but I don’t even know if it’s what I want.
“Dad, please stop embarrassing me,” Dean says, and throws open the passenger door of the truck and climbs inside. I follow suit, pulling myself up into the backseat and clicking on my seatbelt.
“Embarrassing you?!” Hugh repeats in mock disbelief as he joins us inside. He widens his eyes at Dean, and then leans over to ruffle his hair. “Never.”
“Stop!” Dean pushes his hand away and then sulks against the window. I know he’s embarrassed only because I’m here, but I wish he knew how jealous I was. Last week, Dad grabbed my hair and dragged me across the kitchen. So, if your dad waving to you and ruffling your hair is embarrassing, then I would happily be embarrassed every single day.
“Oh, lighten up, Deano,” Hugh says with a laugh. He starts up the engine and it growls to life, and as he pulls on his seatbelt, he glances over his shoulder at me. “Hey, Tyler. How about you come back to our place and throw a football around for a couple hours? How does that sound?” He smiles at me, and it’s not the fake kind of smile that Dad gives me.
“Really?” I ask. Playing ball with Dean does sound good, but in the back of my mind I know I have homework that needs to be done. Although, none of it is due tomorrow . . .
“Absolutely,” Hugh says, and he begins to drive. “I’ll let your parents know.”
We head back to the Carters’ house and during the entire ride, all I can do is pray that Dad will be working late today. I hope he doesn’t mind that I’m going over there. I have all night to do my homework, so he should be fine with it.
* * *
We stop for a break only when Dean’s mom brings us some juice, and we lie on the lawn, out of breath and staring up at the sky. I glance sideways at Dean. “What if we were brothers?” I ask.
He looks back at me, furrowing his eyebrows. Then he smiles. “I thought we already were.”
“Okay. Can I ask you something then?” I sit up and cross my legs, anxiously pulling at the grass. I’ve been trying to find the opportunity to talk to him about this for a while, and now I finally have the chance. We are alone. We’re friends. Brothers, even. I can talk to him about this.
Dean sits up too, angling his body to face me. “What?”
“Does your dad ever get mad at you?”
“Uh, yeah,” he says, almost matter-of-factly, and then rolls his eyes. “I spilled his coffee all over his shirt on Sunday right before church. He was sooooo annoyed.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. I glance away. He doesn’t get it. “Like, really mad.”
I’m just trying to figure out whether it’s normal or not. I don’t think it is. I don’t think your dad is supposed to get that mad. I don’t think he’s supposed to be that strict. Maybe it’s just the way my dad is. Maybe there’s something wrong with me, something that makes him so angry, something that makes him flip. Everyone else makes him happy, so why don’t I?
Before Dean can answer, we are distracted by the sound of a car approaching, and when I glance over my shoulder, my chest tightens when I realize it’s him.
Dad’s Mercedes pulls smoothly to a stop by the sidewalk, and my heart is pounding as I stare, frozen with fear. The engine dies and the door swings opens. Dad steps out, his tie loosened after his day at work, and he rests one hand on the top of the car door, the other on his hip. I can see the Rolex that Mom got him last Christmas shining in the sun.
“Tyler,” Dad says, and the firm hardness to his voice immediately tells me that he isn’t happy. The coldness in his green eyes as they meet mine only reinforces this. “You’re supposed to be at home. Studying. You know that.”
I scramble to my feet and my voice catches in my throat as I try to blurt, “We’re just playing . . . playing football. Hugh said I could come over.”
As if on cue, Hugh steps outside onto the porch with a beaming grin. He must have been keeping his eye on Dean and me from the window. He holds up his hand, giving Dad a small two-finger wave of acknowledgment. “Hey, Peter!”
“You were supposed to take Tyler straight home,” Dad states. He isn’t smiling back. No, his mouth is a bold line and his gaze is sharp.
The grin on Hugh’s face slowly fades while his eyebrows furrow with confusion. He scratches at his head. “Ella said it was fine so long as I had him home before six?”
“No,” Dad says, shaking his head. They are calling across the lawn to one another, and although Dad and Hugh are good friends, Dad isn’t hiding the fact that he’s pissed off at him. “He should have been at home studying, not messing around playing football.” Dad’s attention shifts to me again and he gives me a strict nod. “Tyler, grab your stuff.”
“Oh, c’mon, Peter!” Hugh says with a laugh, attempting to lighten the mood. “They’re just kids. It’s only seventh grade, not college. I’ll make sure he’s home by six, alright?”
Dad fixes Hugh with a threatening glare, but doesn’t reply. Instead, he looks back at me again and in a harsher tone he says, “Tyler. I said grab your stuff.”
“You’re going home?” Dean asks, looking up at me from the grass.
“Sorry,” I say with a shrug, my voice quiet. Dad is angry, so I don’t have a choice. I already know exactly what I’m in for when we get home. It would be a stupid move on my part to attempt to argue over staying here, so I run across the yard to the porch where my bag is. I sling it over my shoulder
as Hugh watches me.
“Sorry, buddy,” he says with a small smile, and then pats my head. I think he knows Dad can be pretty strict, but I wish he knew how bad it really was. I wish he would say something so that I won’t have to. I don’t want to be the one to get my dad in trouble.
Please don’t let me go, I’m thinking. I want to stay here with you.
I can’t say it out loud. I just stare up at him instead, praying that he can read my expression, that he can see how terrified I am to get into Dad’s car, that he can help me. But of course he doesn’t notice. Why would he?
With no option left, I force myself to walk toward the car, but my legs feel stiff, like my body is trying to override my decision, telling me not to go. I fight against it and keep on pushing. I can’t look at Dad as I approach, even though I can feel his intense eyes watching me the entire time, and I stare down at my sneakers as I climb into the passenger seat and pull on my seatbelt.
I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to be alone with Dad. I don’t want to get hurt again.
Dad joins me in the car, slamming his door shut behind him. He turns on the engine, his dark eyes set on the road ahead, then he casts me a quick sideways glance. It’s the exact same warning look he always gives me right before he makes another one of his mistakes. Already, I can hear his apology in my head.
10
PRESENT DAY
I am standing on my own lawn, staring at my front door, wondering how the fuck I got here.
It’s the middle of the night. I’m wasted. I can’t even see, let alone stand. Did I walk home? If I did, then I am impressed with my ability to navigate a two-mile walk while drunk. I glance around me, and thankfully, my car is nowhere to be seen. At least I didn’t drive. Did someone give me a ride? Who? I can’t remember the past couple hours. I was supposed to stay at Tiffani’s place tonight. Where is she?
“Tiffani?” I call out, but no one replies. No one is here. My street is empty, houses are in darkness.
I look down. I’m still holding a damn beer. It’s almost done, so I press it to my lips, wobble a little, then finish it off. I crush the empty can in my hand and toss it away. I should get some sleep or else I’ll suffer for this even more than already necessary.
I reach into my pocket for my keys, but the only keys I pull out are for my car. I fumble in my other pockets, pat myself down, pull out an abundance of lighters and gum and my phone, then realize that I didn’t even have my damn house keys with me in the first place.
“Fuck,” I say. Then again, louder. “FUCK!”
I turn back, tilting my head while I study the house, groaning. There is no life inside, everyone is asleep. Mom would flip if I woke them all up to let my sorry drunk ass in. I could call Jamie to wake him up and then get him to open the door. Or I could break a window around back.
“No,” I tell myself, shaking my head. “No.” I’m not waking anyone up, and I’m not breaking any windows either. That’s stupid. I’ll sleep out here on the lawn for tonight. There’s a breeze, but it’s not cold. I slump down onto the grass, running my hand through the dry blades. Comfy. “What the hell is going on? When did it pass midnight?” I laugh out loud then, because honestly, I know I’m pathetic. I’m sitting on my lawn talking to myself, goddamn.
Suddenly, I hear something that sounds like a hey, but I can’t tell if I’m imagining it or not. I’ve never had hallucinations from alcohol before, and I really doubt we have a neighborhood ghost, so I tell myself I’ve imagined it. Until I hear something again, and this time, it’s louder and as clear as day, a female voice whispering, “Up here!”
I glance around, searching for the voice, until finally my gaze lands on someone peering down at me from the guest room window upstairs. They are so far away and blurry at first, so I narrow my eyes at them for a few seconds as they come into focus. And it’s her, that girl again, that damn girl with the husky voice. My . . . No, I’m not saying it. It’s too weird. Has she been watching me this entire time? “What the hell do you want?”
“Are you okay?” she asks, frowning down at me with those full, plump lips of hers, concerned.
No, I’m not okay, I think. I’m drunk and I’m stuck outside.
It hits me then that actually, this girl has just become my savior. This girl is going to be the one to let me sleep with my head on a pillow rather than a beer can. “Open the door,” I tell her, then quickly push myself up from the lawn and head toward the front door. I feel as though I could throw up, but that’s lame. I can handle the alcohol. At least I think I can, but I am desperate to get inside, and this girl certainly isn’t rushing to help me. I stand by the door for a few minutes, focusing on my breathing so that I don’t hurl, until finally I hear the lock turning.
The door swings open and there she is. She’s pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, her hair piled into a heap above her head, her eyes tired. I can’t remember her name. Emma? Ellie? I know it, I do. It’s on the tip of my tongue. It’s . . . It’s Eden. That’s it. Eden.
“You took your damn time, huh?” Oh God, I really am going to throw up any second. I clamp my mouth shut and push my way into the house.
Eden wrinkles her nose at me with disgust, then locks up the front door behind us again. “Are you drunk?” she asks, although I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even need to ask. Isn’t it obvious?
“No,” I answer, just to tease her. “Is it morning yet?”
“It’s 3AM,” she states blankly, her eyebrows furrowed.
Huh, 3AM. That’s still early. I laugh, but then I feel it again, that sickness rising in the pit of my stomach. I quickly turn for the stairs, fumbling for grip as I try to climb them, but I fall several times and almost break my damn leg. “When did these get here? They weren’t here before.” I pat the stairs, and I know I’m talking shit, but it’s funny to me. Everything is funny right now.
Eden stares up at me from the bottom of the stairs, chewing her lip as though she doesn’t know what to do. “Do you want water or something?”
I need water, desperately, but that’s lame. This girl doesn’t know me, and she never will, so I’m going to stick with being the Tyler Bruce I am so used to being. “Get me another beer,” I joke over my shoulder, and then I force my way back up the remaining stairs. It’s such a relief to push open the door to my room, to see my bed still unmade from this morning, to see my bathroom.
I leave Eden behind, close my door and then dive straight for the toilet, only barely reaching it in time before I promptly throw up.
* * *
“Unbelievable,” Mom is mumbling under her breath. She’s been walking around my room for at least five minutes, furiously picking up clothes from my floor and emptying my trash. I think she’s doing it on purpose just to torture me, because it’s not even 9AM yet. “Unbelievable,” she says again. She moves to my window and yanks open my blinds, allowing the morning sunlight to flood my room and set my eyes on fire.
I groan and bury my head further under my pillow. “Mom, please!” My head is pounding, I’m sweating buckets, and I still feel so damn queasy. I can’t deal with Mom right now. I need more sleep, more water. My throat is so dry, I think I might choke.
“Do you think I’m oblivious, Tyler?” Mom stands by my bed, glaring down at me with her arms folded across her chest. “You thought I wouldn’t know that you were drinking last night? You stink of alcohol. Look at you! You’re a mess.” She shakes her head in disgust at me. “Get up. You don’t get to spend the day in bed. Kids who are capable of drinking are also capable of mowing the back lawn.”
“Mom,” I try again, my voice pleading. My body is aching, and I think I would rather die than suffer this hangover. “Please just leave me alone.”
“You know,” Mom says quietly, her forehead creasing with concern as her shoulders relax, “there are better ways than this to deal with things, Tyler.” I know exactly what she’s talking about and I know where this conversation is heading, but right now, I just can’t deal
with her attempts at promoting more healthy methods of dealing with the past. “You don’t have to be reckless. Bottling everything up isn’t good for you. Maybe you should talk—”
Right then, my phone rings and cuts Mom off. It vibrates wildly on my bedside table, and Mom raises an eyebrow as she snatches it before I do. “It’s Tiffani,” she tells me, then rolls her eyes at the inconvenient interruption and tosses me the phone. I expect her to leave at this point, but she doesn’t budge. She just stares at me, watching in disapproval. She’s never really liked Tiffani all that much, and I wonder if it’s because she knows me well enough to realize that I’m not even in love with the girl I’ve been with for three years. Mom’s not stupid. I bet she knows the relationship doesn’t mean anything.
I roll over so that my back is to her, then I press my phone to my ear. “What?” I mutter. Is Tiffani insane? Why the hell is she calling me at this time? Did she even get home last night?
“Wakey wakey, baby,” she says, her voice way too cheerful this early in the morning, and I almost throw up again in my mouth right there and then. Isn’t she hungover too? I can’t remember if she was even drunk last night. I can’t remember anything. “I’m picking you up in half an hour. I need to go shopping, and you’re coming with me. I’m thinking the promenade, and then we can go pick up your car too.”
“Are you kidding me?” I groan again and press my hand to my forehead. My skin is blazing with heat and my hair is damp. A cold shower would be amazing right now. “I’m dying, Tiff.”
“Well, that’s what you get for being an idiot,” she says with a bitter laugh, then quickly adds, “See you in thirty!” before she hangs up on me. We are back to normal again.
Aggravated, I throw my phone onto the floor and grind my teeth together. If I didn’t have to suck up to her after our argument last night, then I for sure would not be going anywhere today.
“What now?” Mom asks. I wish she would stop heaving those sighs. It’s all she ever does, and I fucking hate it. It makes me feel like all I do is drive her insane.