“Did you see that?” I ask Dean, nudging him eagerly with my elbow. The players down on the field look tiny, so we are mostly watching the game on the screens, running our own personal live commentary. Dean understands football a little better than I do—Hugh lets him play, after all, and he wants to play football in high school—so he keeps explaining different plays to me.
“Yeah! That throw was insane!” Dean replies, his mouth wide open as his eyes flit around the field, never leaving the game. “Those are the type of throws I want to be able to catch.”
I lean forward a little and look past him, over to Dad and Hugh, who are sitting talking to one another, laughing and chugging beer out of cheap plastic cups. I’m not even sure if they’re watching the game. I think they’re just enjoying hanging out.
Dad catches my eye, and he smiles wide at me and asks, “Enjoying the game?”
“Uh-huh. Where’s the . . . the restrooms?”
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Dad tells Hugh, and he presses his cup of beer to his lips and chugs the remainder of it before getting to his feet. He squeezes past Dean, places his hand on my back, and guides me along the row. There’s so many people, so I’m glad he is coming with me, because there is no way I’d ever find my way back to my seat without him. It is way more hectic than a baseball game.
“Can we do this again?” I ask Dad as we swiftly navigate our way through the flow of people. I got my cast off at the beginning of the week, so it feels great not to be lugging around the extra weight on my arm anymore. My wrist is still stiff and it’s still weak, but at least it’s getting closer to recovery.
“It’s fun, huh?” Dad says, grinning down at me as we walk. “We never hang out just the two of us, not without your brothers trying to get involved, so let’s do this more often. How does that sound?” When I glance up at him, he is holding out his hand to me, so I high-five him with my strong hand. I like hanging out with Dad when it’s just the two of us.
We get to the restrooms, and when we meet again by the sinks, I am studying Dad curiously as I’m running the water over my hands. It’s been a month now. We’re happy. Things are different now, and I don’t think they are ever going to go back to the way they were. I think Dad has really changed. He is smiling a lot, and when he does get stressed, he keeps his distance from me. That’s why I figure it’s safe to ask him a question that I’ve been dying to ask for a while now, because if his behavior is different, then maybe his mindset is too.
“Dad?”
He glances sideways at me. “Yeah?”
I don’t know why I feel anxious to ask, but I stare down at my hands anyway, watching the water cascade over my skin. “Do you think . . . Do you think that maybe I could play football sometimes?” I slowly mumble, forcing my words out. I know Dad doesn’t like the idea of me playing football. He says it’s too dangerous and that I could get hurt. “With Dean and Jake? We want to join the team in high school.”
Dad immediately turns off the water and spins around to face me. “What did you just say?” he asks, but his tone is abrupt. I think he already knows what I said.
“Football . . .” I say again anyway, slowly. There is a sinking feeling in my stomach that I can’t quite explain. My nerves begin to heighten. “Can I play it?”
“Drop it, Tyler. I swear. You’re not playing football,” he says with a certain degree of finality to his words. He looks away, drying his hands on his jeans. There are a couple more guys in here, but they are leaving.
“But, Dad! Dean gets to!” I whine, folding my arms across my chest. Why can’t he just let me play? It’s only football. It’s not going to take over my entire life.
Dad’s green eyes flash up to me, and the smile he was wearing five minutes ago definitely isn’t returning anytime soon. He narrows his eyes, his jaw clenching as he points his finger at me. “Dean isn’t my son; you are. And you’re not playing, so don’t bring it up again.”
I turn back to the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror, grinding my teeth together. “You can’t stop me,” I mutter under my breath. I love Dad, I do, and I forgive him, I think, but I wish he would just let me do this one thing. I do everything else he asks of me. Why can’t he give me a break?
Suddenly, Dad grabs a fistful of my jersey and yanks me toward him. It’s so quick that my breath catches in my throat. He lowers his forehead to mine until our eyes are level, and he is glowering at me in such a way that brings back so many memories of all of those bad nights from before, all of those nights that I thought were over for good. “You don’t have time for football,” he hisses, and he is so close that I can smell the beer on his breath. “Not now, and especially not in high school. Mention it to me one more time . . . One more fucking time, Tyler!”
“Dad . . .” I swallow hard as I glance down at his fist. His knuckles are paling as his grip on my jersey tightens. Does he realize what he’s doing? Does he realize that he’s breaking his promise? My eyes flick around the restroom, but the only person here is a guy at the opposite corner, pacing back and forth while talking on his cell phone. He doesn’t even notice. It’s up to me to say, “Stop.” My voice sounds just as weak as it used to.
With his fist still wrapped up in my jersey, Dad shoves me back against the sinks, hard. He shakes his head at me, and for the first time in a month, he is looking at me with disappointment and aggravation. It is the most terrifying thing in the world. He runs his hands through his hair, the veins in his arms emboldened, and he turns and storms straight out of the restroom without me.
He promised . . . He promised he wouldn’t lay a hand on me ever again. And he just did.
He’s a liar.
And I’m an idiot for believing him.
* * *
I don’t enjoy the rest of the game. I can’t focus. I sit numbly on my seat, staring off into nowhere, my mind awhirl. There is sickness in my stomach that I am fighting hard to keep down. At one point, Dean even asks if I’m okay. And I tell him that, yeah, I’m fine, just tired. I don’t meet Dad’s eyes again. I hear him laughing with Hugh, though. I see him get up for more beers.
Does he realize that the small amount of trust I had in him that has taken weeks to build is now completely shattered again? How can I ever trust him again now? I really, really believed him. I really thought things were different, that things had changed. But they haven’t. Not at all, and now I don’t know how safe I am with him. We’re staying in San Francisco tonight, but I want to go home. I want to see Mom. I miss her. When I’m with her, I’m safe.
As we are leaving the stadium, the crowd is electric, the energy explosive. The 49ers won the game, but I couldn’t care less now. Dean is talking my ear off about his favorite plays as we follow Dad and Hugh outside, speed-walking to keep up so as not to lose them among the crowd, and I don’t think he realizes that I’m not listening.
“Wait,” I hear Hugh say, and he abruptly stops walking, grabbing Dad’s shoulder. He glances back at Dean and me, and then at the stadium behind us. “We should get a picture, or else the wife won’t be happy. She does love her photographs! Isn’t that right, Dean?”
“Yep!” Dean grabs my elbow and tugs me over to our dads. Dean and Hugh get photos at games all the time—they have the photographs displayed all over their garage as mementos, so I figure it’s a tradition.
Hugh flags down the first guy who passes by and hands him his phone, and then the four of us awkwardly huddle in close together with the stadium behind us. I steal a sideways glance at Dean. He is grinning wide for the photo, his arm over my shoulder, and next to him, Hugh’s smile is identical. On the other side of Hugh, Dad has his back to the camera, pointing his thumbs to the back of his jersey, to Grayson.
“Tyler!” he calls over to me, his voice light and cheerful. “Turn around!”
I ignore the sound of his voice. I refuse to turn around and show our name. I refuse to smile.
Inside, I am breaking.
44
PRESENT DA
Y
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.”