I contemplate my brother’s words, wondering when he got so mature. I think fatherhood suits him, and suddenly I feel very proud to be his sister, which is the first time in my life I’ve ever been proud of being a Blake.
But when I think about how I tried to fight for Tristan, yet he still wanted nothing to do with me, I feel sick. “And what if that’s not enough? What if I’m not enough?”
“As much as it kills me to say this, I think Tristan loves you. After you told me what he did for you that night I started to re-think all of our interactions involving you.”
Ryan runs his hands through his hair, looking reminiscent.
“Deep down I knew Tristan would never hurt you. He might be an immature asshole, but he’s still one of the good ones.” He shakes his head. “It was easier to blame him than you, though. Hell, it was easier to blame him than myself. I admit that at first I was fucking pissed that you guys kept the truth from me for all these years, but once I calmed down I realized I wouldn’t have wanted to hear it anyway. I think I always knew he had nothing to do with your addiction, but he let me give him shit for years to protect you. A guy only does that for one reason.”
I lift my eyes, feeling a sudden surge of hope, before the memory of Tristan’s distant, hollow eyes clouds my vision. “Maybe he used to love me, but I don’t think he does anymore. I hurt him when he didn’t deserve one bit of it. I can’t blame him for hating me.”
“Can I give you one piece of brotherly advice?”
I shrug and nod at the same time.
“Guys are stupid, Hazel. Really fucking stupid sometimes. We let our pride get in the way and we don’t like to admit our flaws. I’ve known Tristan a long time and the dude has an ego the size of Texas. He’d never want to admit defeat, especially if he’s been burned before. But if he let me bust his balls for your sake, then I’d say he just needs a little more time to figure his shit out. You need to be willing to do the same.”
“Mom says a flaw is a weakness and people bring it upon themselves. She doesn’t think people can change. Maybe she’s right, because I still seem to be causing all sorts of pain for the people I care about.”
Ryan is quiet for a minute before looking me in the eye. “Does Tristan make you happy?” His voice is pained, as if he’s having an internal struggle about whether or not he really wants to know the answer.
I nod.
“Then fuck what anybody else thinks. Especially Mom. Do you really think she knows how life works? A lot of times things need to get worse before they get better, but we have to fix our mistakes on our own in order to change. Admitting our faults is a sign of strength. That’s how we grow. You can’t just give up, Hazel. Not if it’s your chance to be happy.”
I know without a doubt that Tristan makes me the happiest I’ve ever been, but I would sacrifice every bit of my own happiness if it means he can have his. “I don’t think I deserve him, Ryan. At least not yet. He once told me that in order to help someone, you have to make it about them and not you. I can’t be with him just to make myself happy. That’s not fair to either of us. I need to fix my own life before I can build one with him. We can’t make it if we’re stuck in the past.”
Ryan reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Then it sounds like you need to figure out a way to move forward.”
I smile and squeeze his hand back. “I think I know exactly where to start.”
Hazel
“Well, whaddya think?” I clap my hands together, not even trying to hide my excitement.
My mom walks around the car, taking in its rusted paint, cracked side mirror, and dented bumper. “Honestly, Hazel, this looks like a death trap. I wouldn’t pay for this with Monopoly money, let alone real American dollars.”
I smile wider. I honestly don’t care if she likes it or not. This car is a symbol of my newfound independence, and I bought it all on my own.
Once I found out my mom wasn’t quite as selfless as I thought she was by getting me into rehab, I realized I could let all my conflicted feelings about our relationship go. I’m ready to forget the past and work solely on building a future. If she wants to be a part of that I’ll give her the chance, but it won’t be because I’m indebted to her.
She takes in my beaming face and crosses her arms. “At least park it around the back. I don’t want our neighbors to see it in the driveway.”
With that she turns on her heel and stalks back inside.
I giggle to myself and hop in the driver’s seat, petting the dashboard as I take it all in.
The door handle may be broken and a few of the radio knobs might be missing, but I’ve never loved an inanimate object so much in my life. To know I worked, saved, and earned this without having to rely on anyone else makes me feel like I can do anything.
And I’ve got to say, it’s even better than being high.
I reach for my phone, but after sliding my finger across the screen I stop, my enthusiasm turning to sadness.
There is only one friend I really want to tell about this, but he’s no longer mine.
I rest my head back on the seat and close my eyes. I think a small part of me hoped that by buying this car I wouldn’t feel like I needed Tristan so much. I’ve been dependent all my life, needing my mom for money, drugs for escape, and Tristan for . . . well, to breathe. To make me feel whole.
But that wasn’t fair, expecting him to fix me. Countless times he tried to help me, and couldn’t. I’m to blame for ever letting him think everything that he did wasn’t good enough. That he wasn’t good enough.
Feeling restless, I start up the car and drive away from the house. I drive for hours, finally ending up on the road to Mr. Turner’s beach house. I park outside it and grab my earbuds, then almost immediately shove them back in my bag.
If there were ever a perfect time or place to confront my thoughts and feelings, this would be it.
I walk down the path and sink into the sand. I’ve spent the past couple of weeks trying to piece together the broken parts of what Tristan and I used to be, but I’ve come to realize I had it all wrong.
Tristan and I could never go back to who we were.
We weren’t supposed to.
As I watch the place where the surf meets the sand, I realize Tristan Sharp is a wave. One that comes crashing in, wild and impulsive, yet strong and measured, bringing you along for the ride until it breaks on the shore, at which point you either have to let it go by, standing strong as it recedes without you, or risk getting sucked into the unpredictable rip current that can drag you under.
By definition, waves are classified based on three factors: 1. The disturbing force that creates them; 2. The extent to which the disturbing force continues to influence them after formation; and 3. The extent to which the restoring force weakens them.
1. I am the disturbing force that created the monster wave that is now Tristan Sharp.
2. I should have stayed away, but instead I was reckless and stubborn and tested the laws of nature by returning to him.
3. I selfishly thought our physical relationship could somehow defy gravity and weaken all of the hurt and pain that has built up over the last five years, but instead it all got sucked back into our dangerous pull, generating a truth explosion that caused the tsunami that just wiped out our entire relationship.
Yes, Tristan Sharp is a wave that turned into a storm.
And the sad part is that I would still gladly drown in every single bit of him.
I once heard that you know you truly love someone when you don’t hate them for breaking your heart. If that’s the case, there is no doubt about my feelings for Tristan, because I don’t hate him. Not even a little bit. I never did. I actually understand perfectly why he had to walk away, and I know it’s all my fault. I broke us five years ago when I chose feeling nothing over feeling everything.
And that’s the ugly truth I have to live with.
I’ve beaten myself up countless times trying to figure out why I chose to hurt him, of all pe
ople, but the best I can come up with is that it was my fucked-up way of trying to save him. I wasn’t in my right mind, but I can only hope that deep down I knew I was drowning and I needed to sever our tie before I took him down with me. Either way, it will always be my biggest regret.
Now I need to move beyond it. Despite my reservations, I really have changed. It’s time to start a new chapter.
I reach into my bag and pull out the Red Cross CNA application I’ve been carrying around for weeks.
Tristan may not be in my life anymore, but he will always be a part of me and I want to make him proud. He believed in me even when I didn’t deserve it, and I want to show him it wasn’t wasted effort.
I pull out a pen and start filling in my name, age, sex, and address.
This is for both of us.
When I’m finished filling out the form I start up my new car and head to the post office to mail it. After that I just drive, learning how to navigate my newfound freedom.
We continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.
Tristan
“Let’s do something tonight.”
“No thanks.”
“How about Chaser’s?”
“No.”
“Dirty D’s across town? I hear they have a new dancer who does this trick with a lollipop and a cigar.”
“Fuck no. Hand me that board.”
“Man, you’re no fun anymore.” Logan pouts and hands me the piece of plywood I nodded to. “Why the hell are you so interested in finishing this place all of a sudden, anyway? You’ve had a half-finished house for years and seemed perfectly fine with it, and now it’s like you’re Bob the fucking Builder . . . on crack or something.”
I shrug, not sure where to even begin to explain things. Based on our conversation at the bar after our mom’s funeral, I know Logan knows way more than he often lets on, but he has the decency to pretend like that conversation never happened. He understands I need time to process.
It’s been four weeks since I abandoned a naked and broken Hazel Blake. I really thought it was the only way to stop our cycle of hurt, but the pain has only deepened.
For the second time in my life I tried to forget her and for the second time in my life I failed.
A few days after the funeral I came out of my apartment to find my truck, the keys sitting on the front seat in an envelope. Inside the envelope was also a picture of me asleep on Hazel’s bedroom floor, looking completely contented, satisfied, and happy.
A picture of me through Hazel’s eyes.
Scrawled across the photo in black marker, right across my chest, were the words Hazel was here.
Yup, she was there—written on me, wrapped around me, buried under my skin and permanently etched into my heart. She was and still is. Always has been, always will be.
But I spent so much time blaming her, hating her for the past, that I didn’t even try to see how much she’s changed. I was so busy trying to prove that I was different, that I didn’t need her, I couldn’t even see it was me who broke us this time. And it’s something I don’t know how to fix.
The first time I let her walk away. The second time I didn’t want to give her the chance to leave, so I left first. But man, I’ve come to realize I’d rather take the pain of loving Hazel Blake over the pain of losing her any damn day.
“Seriously, I haven’t seen you in weeks and when you asked for help nailing things, I thought it was code for something involving women. Not, well, actual nails.” Logan looks disappointed as I hammer the board into place.
“I knew it was the only way to get you out here.” I try to keep things light, even though heaviness grips my entire being.
Before Logan can form a comeback we hear a truck pull up the dirt path.
Ryan gets out and walks toward us with his hands in his pockets, stopping right at the wood-framed doorway.
Logan says, “Ry, please tell my brother he’s being a pussy and needs to get out more. First you and Lucas wife up, and now this guy would rather work all damn day and night than go out and get laid. I need to get some new friends.”
Ryan attempts a half-hearted smirk, but remains quiet. I also don’t move, not sure what in the hell to say.
Logan looks between us, picking up on the obvious vibe shift. “Manual labor really isn’t my thing, so I’m gonna get going. You ladies have fun.” He retreats to his own car, leaving Ryan and I to stare each other down.
Finally Ryan speaks. “You should have fucking told me.”
I sigh. “It wasn’t my place.”
His eyes narrow on me, serious and a little bit threatening. “You love her?”
I meet the intensity of his stare, not backing down. I nod.
“Well then you better figure your shit out.”
Ryan then picks up the next piece of board and helps me maneuver it into place beside the one I just secured. We work together for the next hour without saying another word. We don’t need to.
After Ryan leaves and I start to pack it in myself, I hear another vehicle pull up the drive. Mr. Turner gets out and whistles admiringly as he walks up to where I’m putting some tools back in their box.
“You sure have made a lot of progress on this place. Looking good, son, looking good.”
I grunt in response.
“Well, I just wanted to come by and let you know that I’ve been doing some painting up at the beach house. Virginia decided it was time for a change.”
The mere mention of the beach house has my jaw tensing and my skin tingling.
“Strangest thing, though. There’s this girl that’s been coming up and sitting out there on the beach. A pretty little thing . . . just comes and sits for hours in the same spot. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
I know this is his way of telling me what to do without telling me what to do, and knowing he’s talking about Hazel has my heart beating faster. I still have no words, but the way Mr. Turner laughs and heads back to his truck tells me he isn’t expecting any.
“Fixing this house isn’t going to fix things with your girl, so get your head out of your ass and tell her you love her, will ya? That way we can all finally see you happy,” he calls before driving off.
As I watch the cloud of dust behind his truck settle I know he’s right.
Hazel was willing to admit her past mistakes and put her heart on the line, so maybe it’s about fucking time I do the same.
We sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.
Tristan
I pull my car over and cut the ignition. I say a silent prayer that she’ll be here.
The sky is overcast and it looks like rain as I walk down the sandy path to the stretch of beach behind Mr. Turner’s property. As I pass the house I stop, remembering everything that happened the last time I was here.
But for the first time, the pain of the past doesn’t make me want to put up all my defenses. I accept everything that’s happened for what it’s taught me, but the only thing I can focus on is my future. And that’s a feeling I sure as shit could get used to.
I continue down the back path and my prayers are finally answered. As soon as the sand comes into view I see her: the girl I’m no longer afraid to love.
OK, that’s a lie. I’m fucking terrified.
But for the first time, I’m OK with that.
Things might still turn to shit in the end, but it won’t be because I’m too scared to try. I truly believe Hazel has changed, and what I want more than anything is to be her second chance.
Hey, being a pessimistic bastard hasn’t worked out for me too well, so I figure it’s time to try the whole optimism thing.
She’s sitting on the beach, staring out into the water as the wind whips her hair around her face, looking like a beacon of fiery light amidst the gray. I take a minute to look at her.
> God, she’s so fucking beautiful.
I walk up and sink down beside her. She doesn’t look at me, but by the way her body tenses she knows it’s me. We sit in silence for a while, both lost in the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. Every time the water hits the sand I can feel the slightest mist spray across my face. It feels like a new beginning.
I position myself to face Hazel and for the first time in months I get to see her. Really see her. I cradle her cheek in my hand, leaning forward to press my lips to hers. I can taste salt on her skin and I feel her gasp as we connect, each of us swallowing the other’s pain and breathing life back into our souls.
I reluctantly pull back to tug a familiar black box out of my pocket. I hold it in my hands, twisting it around in my fingers. I’m sure as fuck ready to rewrite the past.
Still staring down at the box, I muse, “There was a time I thought I wasn’t good enough for you. That I wasn’t good enough, period. I’ve come to realize it was true, but only because I was too much of a stubborn asshole to prove myself wrong.” I look up at Hazel. “But I refuse to let that be my truth anymore. I’m so fucking right for you, just like you are for me. That’s our truth. I’m in love with you, Hazel Blake, and I want to spend the rest of my life loving you.” I extend the box toward her. “We have another chance to choose the way we want our lives to go right now.”
This time there is only one choice, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’m all in. I am so fucking in.
Hazel slowly reaches out for the box, but stops.
My heart beats faster.
She looks up to me with tears in her eyes and moves her hand to my chest, placing it right over my heart. “I choose you, Tristan. From now on and forever and always, it will always be you.”
Her words heal every broken part of me and I kiss her again, fully and deeply. I move my hand over hers and wrap the black box between our fingers, urging her to open it.
Sick Pleasure (Crazy Beautiful Book 3) Page 15