* * *
Hours later, I am crammed into the backseat of Mom’s Range Rover. We’re heading to Culver City to watch their Fourth of July fireworks display, but I am in no mood to celebrate the occasion. And it gets worse: Eden is pressed up against me. I can’t bring myself to look at her. Not after what happened on Saturday. I stare out of the window instead, ignoring the feeling of her arm against mine, trying to tune out her touch. I think she is trying to ignore me too. Even before we got in the car, we pivoted around one another and kept our heads down.
“I didn’t know you wore Converse,” I hear her quietly note halfway through the journey. Mom and Dave are talking up front, but neither of us is partaking in that conversation. I’m surprised to even hear Eden speak.
I angle my head away from the window and glance sideways at her, meeting her warm, curious gaze. She looks nice today, but I guess she always does. My eyes fall to her lips for only a split second, and I have to swallow the lump in my throat in order to force out a quick, “Yeah.”
I turn back to the window, and I don’t even know why, but my pulse has sped up. I try to focus on slowing it back down again, but it’s hard. I keep thinking about her, about the way she looked at me on Saturday night, about the way her mouth felt, about the way she tasted, about her hands on my body. I even close my eyes, squeezing them tightly shut and fighting to force her out of my mind, but it’s impossible, especially when her skin is already touching mine.
I don’t even like Culver City, but I am so relieved when we finally pull up into the local high school’s parking lot. The fireworks display is being held here. Santa Monica hasn’t hosted its own display in years. Apparently it’s too dangerous to set them off by the pier or some other bullshit like that. It means that every July Fourth, we have to head somewhere else. This year, we are here in Culver City, and we are definitely not the only people with this idea. There are crowds of people flooding through the parking lot, and as soon as Mom has put the car in park, my seatbelt is off and I am almost throwing myself out of the vehicle. Being around Eden is too unbearable, and I think it will continue to be awkward until we actually talk about what went down between us at the weekend. That’s why I walk slightly ahead of the “family” as we follow the crowds across the campus. The fireworks, I think, are being held out above the football field, and access is only available by following a series of confusing signs through the school building.
“If any of your friends are here, you can go find them,” Mom says, glancing between Eden and me. Jamie and Chase aren’t old enough to disappear on their own yet. “We’ll call you at the end if we can’t find you again, okay?”
“And behave yourself,” Dave adds in quickly, fixing me with a stern look as though it’s even possible for me to somehow create trouble among this crowd. It’s just a damn fireworks display. How much damage is he expecting me to do?
“Yeah, yeah, we will,” I say, shrugging them off. With the go-ahead to leave, I don’t waste anymore time. I don’t even know if any of my friends are here—Tiffani definitely isn’t, thankfully—but it doesn’t matter. I refuse to be seen hanging out with my brothers on July Fourth, so I push my way into the crowd, trying my hardest to disappear out of sight. I don’t mind being on my own. Sometimes, I prefer it.
When I get back outside into the cool, fresh air, I am reminded of why I hate the Fourth of July so much. The music, the marching band, the voices. There are thousands of people here, crammed in across the football field and piled up in the stands, illuminated by the floodlights as the sky darkens. All I can smell is the grease from the food trucks. Gross. People are brushing against my shoulders as they push past me, but I don’t even know where to go, so I just remain in place.
Until, out of the corner of my eye, I spot Eden. She is frozen in place exactly like I am, only a few feet ahead of me, lost among the crowd. Her gaze is wide as she analyzes the scene in front of her, and she has the same look of frustration as I do. It’s too busy here, and she looks almost worried. I should talk to her. I’m alone. She’s alone. Now is the perfect time to just get it over with. If I don’t talk to her about that kiss right now, then I most likely never will. It’s nerve-wracking, but I take a deep breath and filter my way through the crowd toward her.
“I didn’t think you were the type to go off on your own,” I say gently as I reach her. I have to raise my voice slightly over the noise around us. Eden glances over at me, and she looks so out of place and so uncomfortable that it’s almost cute. “We can talk now.”
“Now?” Eden says, surprised. Her eyes flicker around the crowd again, at the commotion out on the field.
“I didn’t mean right here,” I say. The conversation we are about to have is definitely not one that can be done in public. We need to be alone, we need privacy. “Come on.” I’m about to reach for her elbow to pull her along with me to someplace quieter, but I refrain from touching her and keep my head down instead. I’m not sure how she feels about that kiss yet, so until I find out, it’s best not to make any moves on her. But it’s tough not to.
I turn back toward the school building and push against the flow of people, edging my way through the crowd. All the while, I am praying that Eden is following me. The worst case scenario would be if she couldn’t care less, but I think I can sense her behind me, so I’m reassured that she cares enough about that kiss to want to talk to me about it.
Inside the school, I have no choice but to ignore all of the “NO ENTRY” signs taped to the walls of the hallways that are shut off to the public. I need to talk to Eden, and it definitely can’t wait. I need a classroom or something. Somewhere that’s quiet and still, somewhere away from these Fourth of July celebrations. So, despite the signs, I head on down the first hallway I come across. I can hear Eden’s footsteps behind me, but she doesn’t say anything. Maybe she didn’t notice. It’s a long hallway, and I walk all the way to the end of it, and suddenly we are in tense silence. Very faintly, I can hear the music from outside, but it feels so distant. It’s dark up here, and I stare at the wall for a minute, trying to gather my thoughts.
Slowly, I turn around to face Eden. She is looking at me with those wide, anxious hazel eyes of hers, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so terrified. God, how do I even begin? A lump forms in my throat, and I decide that there is no good in tiptoeing around the subject. I have to just say it: “What the hell happened on Saturday?”
“I don’t know,” Eden splutters quickly. Maybe she’s been as desperate to talk about this as I have, because all at once, she begins to babble a string of words even faster than she did on Saturday night. “I’m sorry. You were just—you were annoying me and I didn’t want you to buy more drugs and I just—I just did it. I didn’t mean to.” She pauses to take a breath, and she needs it. Her voice is husky and ragged, and none of her words sound right. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s really weird and it’s making me feel sick and we just need to pretend it didn’t happen.”
Pretend it didn’t happen? Ouch. I should have known it was only a mistake. I should have known a girl like Eden wouldn’t be even remotely interested in a guy like me, and not just because we’re stepsiblings. Her apology stings. “I wish I could say the same about me,” I say, stuffing my hands into my pockets.
“What?”
“I kissed you back,” I remind her. I kissed her back because I never knew how much I had wanted to. I kissed her back because I couldn’t get enough of it, of her. I kissed her back because I like her. She may have kissed me by mistake, but on my end, I kissed her entirely on purpose. “I’m not going to apologize for that.”
Eden is staring at me with her lips parted. “Why?”
I take a moment to take in her expression as confusion captures her nervous gaze. In this light, with the final hue of the sunset shining in through the windows and hitting her face at just the right angle, she looks so pure. Do I tell her why? I don’t have anything to lose. She should know, because if I don’t tell her, then per
haps I will regret it later. I may not get the chance to tell her again. “Because I knew exactly what I was doing,” I finally say.
“Why did you do it?” she asks quietly through bated breath, but her voice is almost a squeak. She is on edge. I can tell by the way she isn’t breathing, or blinking.
“Because I’ve wanted to do it so fucking badly.” I spit the words out almost as fast as I can so that I don’t have the chance to overthink them. I turn away from her and press my hand to the wall for support, exhaling. It’s true. I did want to kiss her; I just didn’t realize it until her lips were pressed to mine. That’s why I felt so weird whenever I caught myself studying her features for too long. It’s why I’ve been curious about her.
“You’ve wanted to?” Eden repeats, her voice echoing down the still hallway. It feels like we are so far away from everything else that is going on around us. “What the hell are you saying?”
“You want the honest truth? I’m saying I’m fucking attracted to you, alright, Eden?” I spin around to face her again, to read her expression as her eyes widen, and I am getting so heated over the situation that I can’t help but feel angry at her. “And I know I shouldn’t be, because you’re my damn stepsister, but I just can’t help it. It’s stupid as hell, and I know you don’t feel the same way, because you’re fucking apologizing for Saturday.” Why did it have to be a mistake? It’s still stinging, and I really wish it wouldn’t hurt as much. Hell, Tyler Bruce doesn’t know the meaning of rejection. But I guess that right now, I am just me. And I care. “I really wish you hadn’t said sorry for it,” I say quietly, not quite meeting her eyes, “because apologizing means regretting.”
Eden is quiet. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I’m not sure if I even want to know. If she didn’t like me before, then she probably thinks even less of me now. Now I’m the creepy older stepbrother who is attracted to her, and she’ll probably never talk to me again. “I thought you hated me,” she says after a while. It’s not exactly what I was expecting.
“I hate a lot of people, but you’re not one of them,” I reassure her. Tyler Bruce did a good job at being an asshole, then. “I hate the fact that you turn me on. Like, a lot.”
“Stop,” Eden says. She shakes her head, closing her eyes for a second, and she even moves away from me. She is several feet away, but I wish she was closer. “You’re my stepbrother. You can’t say that.”
“Who makes up these bullshit rules, huh?” I glance out of the window, at the crowds across the football field below, and everyone there is as much a stranger to me as Eden is. I look back at her as the frustration at the situation sets in, and she is still staring at me in fear. “Three weeks ago I didn’t even know who you were. I don’t see you as a sister, okay? You’re just some girl I’ve met. How the hell is it fair to label us as siblings?”
“You have a girlfriend,” she whispers. She takes even more steps away from me, her face paling. She looks as though she really is going to be sick. “Tiffani’s your girlfriend.”
“But I don’t want her to be!” I don’t mean to yell at her, but she just doesn’t get it. I have no choice but to be with Tiffani, especially at this current moment in time. I’m not mad at Eden. I’m mad at Tiffani, at myself, at this situation. “I don’t want to be with Tiffani, okay? Don’t you get that? She’s just another distraction.”
“What the hell is up with you and distractions?” Eden asks, throwing up her hands. She suddenly seems exasperated too, and now we are both yelling across the hallway at each other.
“NOTHING.” I take a moment to inhale, to catch my breath, and then I try to stay calm, lowering my voice. This is stupid. I am wasting my time standing here and discussing this with her. Honestly, I’m embarrassed, and I just want to get away from Eden now. I can’t believe I thought there was even an ounce of hope that she would feel the same way as I do about that kiss. I’m trying to be honest for once, but it’s backfired completely and now I regret it. Keeping secrets is so much easier than this. “I’ve said what I’ve needed to say, you know what I think of you, you’ve made it clear you think differently, I’m done.” I stride past her, pulling at my hair, and I mutter, “Enjoy the fucking fireworks.”
I’ve humiliated myself, and now I just feel like a damn idiot. I can’t even look at her anymore. It’s going to be impossible to live in the same house as her over the summer, because we are inevitably going to be around each other. It’ll be unbearable from now on. She knows I’m attracted to her.
“Wait,” Eden says, and I immediately come to a halt as a new sense of hope fills me. Please, please tell me you didn’t regret it. I can’t turn around to look at her, though, but I am listening closely, begging for her to say something that is worth staying for. And seconds later, her husky voice fills the silence as she says, “You didn’t give me the chance to tell you that I find you interesting.”
35
FIVE YEARS EARLIER
My friends are fighting to sign my cast at lunch on Monday when I return to school from the hospital. We’re in the cafeteria, huddled around our usual table, and a black Sharpie is being passed around as I hold my wrist out. Meghan is bent over my arm, her tongue out as she focuses on surrounding her name with black, squiggly flowers. I almost beg her not to because it’s sort of lame, but I keep quiet and let her do her thing. Flowers are at least better than the self-portrait Rachael has attempted to draw.
“My turn,” Jake says, reaching over to pluck the Sharpie out of Meghan’s hand. He’s sitting cross-legged up on the table and he bends forward, grabbing my arm.
“Nothing stupid,” I warn him. Last time, he drew a pair of boobs, and Mom scribbled over it when I got home. The design of my cast ended up looking crap after that, and this time, I want it to look pretty cool. It could be the last cast I ever wear.
It’s been three nights since Dad last laid a hand on me. He hasn’t hurt me since the moment he promised me he never would ever again. I’ve been watching him closely over the weekend, noticing the way he never comes too close to me and always thinks first before opening his mouth. He still expects me to work hard, which I do, and even when he got frustrated at me last night, he only walked away.
I think this is really it this time. I think the bad nights, the worst nights . . . I think they might be done for good. I think it might be over. Maybe this time, his apology really is the last. We can go back to the way we used to be, the way we should be, when he would help me out with my homework, when we would watch TV together, when we would play out in the backyard . . . when he would actually act like a real father who loves his son.
I feel hopeful. I feel almost . . . happy. Not entirely, but happier than I’ve felt in a while.
“There you go,” Jake says. There’s a mischievous smirk on his lips as he sits back. I glance down at my cast, and honestly, I have no idea what he’s even drawn. It looks like some sort of satanic devil, and underneath, he’s scrawled: Remember Jake is cooler than you. It’s not even surprising, and it’s not enough to ruin my good mood.
“Sweet,” I say, grinning back at him. His smirk falters, as though he’s disappointed I’m not throwing my lunch at him. I take the pen from him and offer it to Dean. “You wanna sign it?”
“Yeah,” Dean says. He shuffles in closer to me, takes the pen, then picks out an empty spot on my cast. As he writes, he asks, “How did you even break it again?”
“You do know it’s Tyler you’re talking to, right?” Rachael cuts in, rolling her eyes at Dean. “Accident prone.”
“Yeah, basically,” I agree with a laugh. Little do they know, I’m no longer going to be clumsy. No more bumps and bruises. No more excuses. No more lies.
Dean finishes signing my cast. He’s written his name and then underneath, he tells me to get better soon. No boobs or Satan. Dean is too nice for that. I glance around the table, and everyone has signed my cast except for one, and that’s the new girl, Tiffani. Although, she’s not really new anymore, and she’s been joining
us at lunch for the past couple weeks. She’s sitting at the end of the table, quietly watching the rest of us in silence, chewing her lip.
I look straight at her, hold up my wrist, and give her a small smile. “Can you sign it?”
“You want me to?” Tiffani asks, widening her eyes in surprise as though she hadn’t been expecting me to ask. I figure she considers us as her friends, so it would be rude not to.
“Yep.” I grab the pen from Dean and stretch across the table, offering it to her, and she takes it from me as she gets to her feet. She grabs her bag and walks around the table, then sits down on the corner of it as she reaches me. Her hair falls over her face as she scribbles her name, just Tiff with a small heart next to it. Then, she tosses the pen down onto the table, reaches into her bag and pulls out a lipstick. We are all watching her in silence as she paints her lips a dark pink, then she gently reaches for my wrist with both hands and lifts my cast up. She kisses it, right above her name, her blue eyes looking back at me.
“Unique,” she says with a smile as she lowers my arm back down. “Like me.”
“Hey,” Jake calls out across the table. “I think my lips are broken. Do you wanna sign them too?”
36
PRESENT DAY
The sky outside explodes into colors of pink and blue, green and yellow. The fireworks have begun. In our silence, Eden and I turn to the large windows overlooking the football field, the crowds, the celebrations, the commotion. The colors light up the hallway, streaks of light flashing in our eyes, but I can’t focus on the display. No, I can only focus on Eden. Her hazel eyes, lit with red, glistening through the darkness. Did I really hear what she just said correctly?
“Interesting?” I say. The word sounds strange on my tongue. I’ve never considered myself interesting, and it definitely wasn’t what I was hoping to hear. My heart sinks. “That’s all you can say?”