As we walk down the center aisle I notice most of the pews are empty. Of the few people that are there, I recognize even fewer.
Logan and I choose an empty pew in the second row. It seems wrong to sit in the first.
The casket is already in front, draped in an ivory cloth with a giant cross stamped on top.
Her husband made all the arrangements. When he called to tell Logan and me the news he asked if we wanted a say in the service. We politely declined. It felt right that he took care of it. He knew her better than we did, anyway.
The priest stands at the podium, addressing everyone with a reading from the Bible. His voice vibrates through the quiet room, echoing loudly off the vaulted ceiling:
There is an appointed time for everything,
and a time for every affair under the heavens.
A time to give birth, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant.
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to tear down, and a time to build.
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance.
A time to scatter stones, and a time to gather them;
a time to embrace, and a time to be far from embraces.
A time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away.
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
a time to be silent, and a time to speak.
A time to love, and a time to hate;
a time of war, and a time of peace.
The priest’s poignant words dim as I try to focus on something, anything, other than death. I stare in front of me without really seeing. My mind, of course, wanders to Hazel, and a sense of calm folds over me. I still don’t know how I feel about God or religion or faith, but something about being here makes me feel at peace—lets me know it’s OK that I’m not sure what to think or how to feel.
I can’t help but wonder what Hazel is doing right this very second. I picture all the times I’ve been with her. What did we say? What did we do? I think about how with us there always does seem to be a time for everything.
Sometimes we joke and sometimes we’re serious.
Sometimes we talk and sometimes we don’t.
Sometimes we hurt and sometimes we heal.
And sometimes we fuck.
Oh, how we fuck.
I shake my head and wonder if there’s something majorly fucked up about me that I’m sitting here thinking about screwing Hazel while I’m in a church at my mother’s funeral. I should be thinking about my mom. I should be thinking about our childhood and our past and all the time I spent with her.
Except that would only be to honor her, not because I want to. Rather than dwell on the past, I want to picture a future with Hazel.
A future where sometimes we joke and sometimes we’re serious.
A future where sometimes we talk and sometimes we don’t.
A future where sometimes we fuck, but sometimes we make love.
A future where sometimes we might hurt, but we always heal. Together.
It sounds like a fucking perfect life, but it’s not real. And having to live with that harsh reality is my penance, my punishment, for stupidly letting her back into my life.
If there is a God, he’s one sick bastard.
I bow my head as the priest finishes up the reading. A few lines in particular weigh on my mind for the rest of the service.
“What now is
has already been;
what is to be,
already is”
It sounds important, but what in the flying fuck does it mean?
I leave my mother’s funeral feeling more unsettled than ever. Logan and I end up at Chaser’s, sitting at the bar with two beers, although neither of us has taken a sip.
“Fuuuuck,” I groan, spinning around on the stool so my back is to the bar.
Logan has his index finger on the top of his bottle, tracing the rounded opening. “I hear ya, brother,” is all he says, knowing it’s the only way I’m capable of communicating right now.
I close my eyes and take slow, deep breaths, something I’ve seen Hazel do countless times. After a few seconds I do feel a little calmer so I open my eyes and look at Logan.
“Have you forgiven her?” I ask.
“Our mother?” He shrugs. “I don’t really think there is anything to forgive her for.”
I scoff. “How about for abandoning us? For making us feel like we weren’t enough to make her stop doing stupid shit?”
He shifts sideways to face me. “I didn’t feel that way. You felt that way?”
I just stare at him. I don’t admit the truth, but I don’t deny it either.
He shakes his head. “Yes, her choices were pretty shitty, I’ll give you that. But I would rather have lived in ten halfway decent homes than one really shitty one. She was in no position to raise us, and who knows where we would have ended up if she had tried?”
“I’ve wondered the exact same fucking thing,” I mutter bitterly. Maybe my brother’s life is all peaches and cream, but from where I’m sitting, a different life wouldn’t have been so bad. At least then I would never have met Hazel Blake.
As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I instantly hate myself, because I know deep down I would hate a life where Hazel Blake never existed even more than this tortured agony.
As if reading my fucking mind by some miracle of twin telepathy, Logan states matter-of-factly, “You do know they’re different, right?”
I look away, pretending not to know exactly what he means. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You’re really not ready to admit it, are you? Shit, T. I’ll give you points for consistency.” He drops his chin to his chest and chuckles silently before looking back at me. “Stop being the biggest fucking idiot in the entire world, OK? Hazel Blake is not like our mother. She got clean and she chose you and your head is so far up your ass only stupid shit comes out of your mouth.”
I stare at my brother. Fuck it if he isn’t right, but I’m still not ready to accept it. If I do, that means I have to face a whole lot of feelings I’m not used to.
Dammit, I hate it when he’s right. I hate that I have to deal with this. I hate myself and I hate this bar and I want to hate Hazel, but I especially hate how I haven’t actually hated her in a very long time.
“Fuuuuck,” I groan again, still unable to put any of my thoughts into words.
“Yup,” is all Logan says in response.
Feeling antsy, I hop off the stool. “I need some air,” I grunt, heading for the side door.
I shove it open and clasp my hands behind my head. I pace around the alley, trying to get a handle on things. I haven’t felt this jacked up since the last time I found myself in this very spot, trying—and failing—to fuck the feeling away.
As if on cue, the door swings open again and Tiffany appears.
I look up at the sky. God, if you’re up there, you really are sick. Funny, but sick.
I can’t help but chuckle to myself. It’s either that or cry, and we all know that’s not going to happen.
When I look up at Tiffany I notice a strange look in her eyes, but as soon as she sees me she plasters on a smile.
“Fancy meeting you here.” She stalks closer, running her fingers down my arm.
I study her face, and while she outwardly appears to be the same old Tiffany I’ve always known, something is definitely different. Her voice, actions, and clothing hint at nothing but a good time, but her eyes look . . . sad? Has she always looked like this? Have I never noticed it before?
I gently grab her wrist, stopping her from reaching my belt.
“Really? That’s the second time you’ve turned me down, Tristan. I promise there won’t be a third.” Her voice is confident and sassy, but when I see the hurt that flashes in her eyes, I finally recognize the look. Rejection.
In this one look I can te
ll she has just as many insecurities as I do. We’re the exact same type of person. We fear being rejected, so we offer only a small, superficial piece of ourselves. It’s not about having power over each other, it’s about helping each other to feel connected to something, even if only on a physical level. Sex is easy—it’s primal and carnal and you don’t have to think about it. It’s obvious and tangible and it allows us to hide our deeper feelings behind a shield of raw pleasure.
But it doesn’t connect us in a way that truly matters.
I take a step back, sincerely admitting, “I’m sorry, Tiffany. We can’t give each other what we really need.”
She crosses her arms, but her eyes soften. I think she understands exactly what I’m saying. I give her shoulder a light squeeze before stepping around her to head back inside.
I turn down sex with Tiffany because I don’t think I want to bury my feelings anymore.
And that, my friend, scares the ever-living shit out of me.
We made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
Hazel
“How’s my little nephew doing?” I look down at the cutest kid I’ve ever seen, cradled in Kelley’s arms.
“He’s great. His mom? Not so much. I’ve barely slept in weeks.” Kelley tries to laugh, but it ends on a yawn.
I reach my arms out and she places Caden on my lap.
I was actually surprised that Kelley asked me to meet her for coffee. We’ve become a little closer over the past few weeks, as I got into the habit of texting to ask if there was anything I could do to help with Caden, but I figured since my blowout with Ryan she would be taking his side.
“Thanks for meeting me. I really needed to get out and figured Caden could use a little Auntie time.” Kelley takes a sip of her coffee. She closes her eyes and looks like she’s having quite the orgasmic moment as she swallows it down.
I giggle and let Caden grab my finger. “Anytime. I’m just glad you’re not mad at me, too.”
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“I just figured since Ry and I had it out at the party over Tristan you’d be upset with me, too.”
She shrugs. “Just because I love your brother doesn’t mean I have to agree with him. I know he acts that way because he cares about you, but I also think it’s hard for him to see that you’re an adult now, too. You’re entitled to be with whomever you want.”
I smile, really glad my brother was smart enough to hang onto this girl.
“But you might want to cut him a little slack. He really does want what’s best for you.”
“Yeah, he really thought about that when he left home as fast as he could, leaving me behind,” I can’t help but blurt bitterly.
Kelley frowns. “I don’t think Ryan left you, he just needed to get away from your mother.”
“I get it . . . it’s not surprising. First my dad left, then Ryan, and now . . .” I trail off, deciding I’d rather not think about Tristan walking out on me. “Well, now my mom is all I have left, and we all know that’s not saying much.”
Kelley looks concerned before gently asking, “I know it’s not my place, but why do you stay with her?”
I sigh. “I know she’s not the easiest person to get along with, but I owe her my life for forcing me into rehab. She can’t be all bad if she cared enough about me to do that, right?”
Kelley looks like she wants to say something, but stops herself at the last second.
“What?” I ask, getting a weird feeling that she knows something I don’t.
She looks unsure before admitting, “I shouldn’t tell you this since Ryan would kill me, but screw it—I birthed his spawn so he owes me. Hazel, your mother isn’t the one responsible for sending you to rehab. Ryan is. I guess he felt like he couldn’t reach you so he threatened to air all your family’s dirty laundry if she didn’t get you help.”
I take a second to try and process this information. If what Kelley is saying is true, then everything I thought about my mother—and my brother—has changed.
“What? Why wouldn’t he tell me?” Caden decides that now is a good time to squirm around in my lap like an inchworm.
Kelley shrugs. “Because he holds himself responsible for you getting into trouble in the first place. He hasn’t given me all the details, but I can tell he carries around a lot of guilt about whatever happened. Now he’s just happy you are doing so well. He didn’t want anything to jeopardize that.”
I shake my head, wondering if my life could get any more screwed up. “He gave me such a hard time about Tristan I thought he was just being an overbearing big brother. I didn’t realize he had his own guilt to deal with.” I hand the squirming baby back to his mom.
“How are things going with you and Tristan, anyway?” Kelley asks, settling Caden in his stroller.
Speaking of complicated . . .
I look down at my lap, feeling embarrassed by everything that happened.
Picking up on my hesitation, Kelley calls me out. “It went to shit, didn’t it?”
I chuckle, even though I don’t find it remotely funny. “Completely.”
“What happened? Was it about what happened at the park?”
I play with the plastic lid on my paper cup. “Yes. No. Maybe?” I groan. “Ugh. I don’t know. I was ready to go all in but he wasn’t. The End.”
“He wasn’t ready, or he wasn’t willing?” Kelley takes another sip of her coffee.
“Does it matter? Same difference.”
“No, there’s a huge difference. If he isn’t ready that means he’s just being stubborn and there’s still time for a happily ever after. If he isn’t willing . . . well then, that means it’s time to start a new story.”
Kelley smiles. Her romantic optimism is almost contagious.
Almost. “We’ve had some bad fights, Kelley, but this was the worst. I’m not sure we can come back from it.” Maybe it wasn’t exactly a fight per se, but close enough. It’s the easiest way to describe it, since fights are often full of hurtful words and harsh realizations, which is essentially what happened.
“Just remember, a fight isn’t over until the make-up sex begins,” Kelley replies with a wink.
I genuinely laugh for the first time in weeks.
Spending the afternoon with Kelley not only helped me feel the tiniest bit better, but it also made me realize just how many people I hurt with my addiction. I knew I hurt Tristan, but Ryan? I never realized how much my actions affected him, too.
Which is why I’m knocking on his apartment door three days later, hoping he’ll still speak to me. I’ll take it as a good sign that Darrin, the security guy who guards the front lobby of my brother’s fancy apartment complex, didn’t tackle me to prevent me from going upstairs.
I hit the button for the fifth floor and knock lightly when I get to apartment E4. When Ryan opens the door I smile shyly and wave a white tissue from my pocket in the air.
“You’re lucky you’re my favorite sister, you know that?” he says on a laugh before letting me inside.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m your only sister, too, huh?” I grin.
We head to the living room and sit quietly on the large black leather couch. I’m not sure why I feel so nervous, so I look around the apartment to distract myself. I’ve only been here once before and I’m happy to see what a great life my brother has made for himself and now his little family. The dark wood and clean-lined furniture that make the place so striking are now nicely complimented by a few framed pictures, some throw pillows, and of course a bunch of baby toys.
“Kelley took Caden out for the afternoon. I think she mentioned going to see Kinsley so I’m sure she’ll be gone a while.” Ryan must sense my anxiousness.
I take a deep breath. “I wanted to come by to apologize . . . for everything.”
“I guess I should be saying the same thing.”
“Well you were kind of an ass to Tristan . . .” We both chuckle. “But
I want you to know that what I went through wasn’t your fault, either.”
Ryan shakes his head in protest. “I should have been there for you. I should have tried to help more. I saw you were hurting, but I was too busy fucking up my own life to do anything about it. But that’s no excuse. I’m your brother and it was my job to protect you.”
“You did all you could have done, Ry. I wasn’t going to listen to anyone, let alone my annoying big brother.” I playfully punch him in the arm to lighten the mood. Our family has never really been one for deep conversations, but it feels good to have a real talk with Ryan for once. “Kelley told me how it was you who wanted me to get help.”
I can see Ryan’s jaw tense.
“Please don’t be mad at her. I wish you had told me years ago, but I get why you didn’t. I felt so alone and I thought I was just ruining my own life with my choices. I couldn’t see how much they affected everyone around me. It was selfish, though, and I’m sorry I ever made you think it was your fault. I promise it wasn’t. It was my own self-destructive nature.”
“We seem to have that in common.” He shakes his head sorrowfully.
“But you got past it, and look at you now. You’re successful, have a beautiful family, loyal friends . . . I have to admit I’m kind of jealous.”
“You can have all that, too, Hazel.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think I’m able to escape the Blake DNA. I seem to have more in common with our father, messing up lives and leaving nothing but heartbreak in my wake.”
Ryan pauses. “I went to see him, you know . . . dear old dad. Shortly before Caden was born.”
My eyes go wide. “Why the hell would you do that?”
“Because I wanted to punch him in the fucking face.” Ryan snickers, then continues. “I thought the same thing you’re thinking, that I was too much like him. Kelley and I went through a rough time and I wanted to confront him. But what I saw was a guy who gave up, and I knew that wasn’t going to be me. So I made the choice to fight for what I have. That’s all it takes to break free, Hazel. You just have to want it bad enough.”
Sick Pleasure (Crazy Beautiful Book 3) Page 14
