Blissful Hook by Hannah Cowan

Chapter 14

They say that to let go of your past and move forward, you need to start by accepting whatever it is that you're holding onto so tightly. Only then can you allow yourself to finally be set free of those haunting restraints. Personally, I think it's a giant load of shit.

There's a reason why we distance ourselves from the memories that haunt us. We do it to protect ourselves—to help keep the façade of happiness intact. Why the fuck would we willingly want to revisit the demons living in the deep dark closets in the back of our minds? The ones that we purposefully locked away?

I know I sure as hell don't want to. Nor do I ever plan on it.

Maybe that makes me a cynical bastard. I mean, it isn't that far of a stretch for those that know anything about me. Not even the closest people to me know what hides behind the smirk that's expected to reside on my seemingly always chapped lips. It's just easier that way.

Nobody expects anything from you when they know there isn't anything for you to give. Or at least that's what I have worked so hard trying to prove to everyone around me. Unfortunately, though, I wasn't expecting a sparky blonde to throw me for an absolute loop.

Of course, I should have expected that a certain Hutton would give me a run for my money. She's always been obnoxiously confident in ways that I have never been able to fully comprehend in my broken mind. It used to be easy to brush off her obvious shows of affection with a throaty chuckle and a roll of my eyes back when she was just a kid. The sixteen-year-old teen with curly blonde hair and wide, innocent, blue eyes didn't warp my thoughts into unthinkable static or send shivers down my spine like the grown, confident spitfire that she so proudly is now.

Mexico was the first time I ever acted on the new attraction I felt towards her. We were both looking for an escape on that trip. She needed a break from her overbearing job and boy problems, and I needed to hide from the family drama and pain that haunted my dreams every night. We both agreed that whatever happened in Mexico stayed in Mexico. But it got more complicated than that the further into the trip we got. And now, having her so close to me, looking at me the way she always does, while she sits on this bathroom counter just inches away from my chest, sends endless unholy thoughts through every single inch of my heating body.

She wants me to let her in. To spew my deepest thoughts to her like word vomit. To tell her that somehow, someway, I feel something for her. A confession that deep down, we both know will only bring her disappointment.

Gracie Hutton deserves everything that I could never give her. She always has and she always will. Gracie deserves the fairy tale love story with the wrap-around porch, white picket fence, and the dalmatian named Spot. She needs someone who will get married in an old barn with her, surrounded by family and friends as everyone drinks champagne and boasts about their happiest childhood memories.

Unfortunately, I don't have family nor happy memories worth sharing with anyone. Especially not her. She doesn't deserve the drama that I carry around with me like a suitcase of unfortunate events. The evil step-father, the junkie mom who, regardless of being offered help from her youngest son, relies on other junkies and a shitty job at a worn-out diner for money. Then let's not forget about the older brother who ran away when he hit the cash motherlode, abandoning his underage brother and helpless mother in the hands of a manipulative son of a bitch as he did so.

I suppose I could always take the risk and share my burden with her. Maybe she'll be strong enough to handle it—to take some of the weight from my shoulders and set it on her own. But if that were to happen, how long would it be before it got too much for her? Before the weight of all of my issues crushes her?

That's what worries me.

Soft fingertips brush against my cheek, the feather-like touch urging my eyes to flutter shut as warm breath hits my lips. The music thumps faintly through the empty bathroom, just loud enough to remind us that we are not totally alone.

"I think I will surprise you," Gracie whispers, her fruity breath hitting my nose in a soft puff. My head shakes before my cheek is engulfed in her now open palm, my eyes still pressed shut, not wanting to open and be blown back to the harsh reality waiting for us outside this room. In this bubble, right now, everything is okay.

"When Jacob broke up with me, I was relieved."

I know right away that this is her attempt at trying to show me how to open up. My eyes open slowly, and I watch her pull her bottom lip between her teeth nervously, something I have noticed she seems to do quite often.

"I know that probably makes me an awful person, considering I dragged him along with me when I knew I should have just let him go," Gracie adds, her voice wavering slightly.

"You're nowhere close to being an awful person," I laugh with a shake of my head. My eyes swim in hers as I try to search for the pain I can hear in her voice. She gives her head a quick shake and drops her hand from my cheek, leaning her forehead against mine instead.

"I was with someone else when the only person I've ever really wanted was you."

Her hand latches onto mine as soon as I start reeling back, keeping me in front of her. My frantic breaths meet her steady ones as she runs her hands up my back before using them to hold my cheeks.

"I've waited this long, Ty. I can wait until you're ready to admit to yourself that I'm not going to run from you. You can trust me. I won't hurt you,” Gracie says softly. Her words snap me back to a time I try to forget.

"You can trust me, Son. I won't hurt you," Allen slurs as he crouches down in front of me, cigarette smoke blowing across my face and painfully down my throat as I inhale. I look around his shoulder, staring up at my mom with an unfamiliar urgency.

"Mom?" I murmur, my attention still locked on my new step-father and resting on her. The diner uniform is clean tonight, not a single stain tarnishing the white material. It must be new.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," Allen hisses, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. He shakes me until I'm forced to turn my focus on him again.

"Sorry, Allen," I apologize quickly, not wanting to upset my mom. She found me and River a dad. I should be respectful.

"Ty? Tyler? Are you okay?" Gracie's frantic voice cuts through the room, successfully and thankfully, snapping me out of my reverie.

"Sorry. I'm fine," I cough. Taking a step back from her, I create some much-needed distance between the two of us. Her face drops at the slight rejection, and her hands fall from my cheeks and to rest at her sides.

"We should get back before your brother comes looking for us." I walk over to the door without daring to steal another look at her.. I can hear the change in her breathing from where I stand. I would be lying if I said every inch of me isn't fighting off the need to walk back to her and slam my mouth against hers.

Fuck I need a smoke.

"Right. My brother." She sighs over the sound of water rushing from the tap. I look back despite my better judgment to see her staring down at her hands as they rest limply in the harsh flow of water.

I'm doing the right thing. I know I am.

"Those are going to kill you one day."

"No shit,” I say and take another drag pointedly. What did I do to deserve this? Tonight of all nights? Oakley scoffs, putting his hands in his pockets and standing awkwardly off to the side.

"If you're here to punch me again, at least wait until I'm done," I mumble before taking another deep inhale. The thump of sneakers against the cement sounds behind me, and my shoulders tense. I prepare myself for the inevitable pain coming my way.

"I am not going to punch you."

I throw the cigarette on the sidewalk, stomp on it and look over at Oakley. The crisp night air chills me straight to the bone. Or maybe that’s just fear. I’m not sure. I really don’t want to be punched again. My eyebrows shoot up as I silently question him.

"Then why are you here? I highly doubt you came out here to smoke a dart with me."

Wouldn't that be a scene to remember? Goody two-shoes Oakley Hutton smoking.

He clenches his jaw tightly and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I'm assuming she's okay? After earlier?" The suspicion is obvious in his tone as he tries to see if I'll tell him the truth about where I have been.

"She will survive. It was just a small cut."

He chuckles at my answer, and rolls his eyes. "You know that's not what I meant, smartass."

"And you know that's all you're going to get from me, hotshot," I retort before a genuine laugh pushes through my slightly parted lips.

"Look, Tyler. If you want to date my sister, all I ask is that you don't hurt her. Or lie to me again." He sighs and leans against the tree standing to the side of us. "That wasn't cool, man."

"You have nothing to worry about. There is no Gracie and I. Okay?" I huff slightly at the curious expression on his features as he watches me thoughtfully, judging every slight movement I make. I don't blame him for not believing me; even I don't believe it right now.

"But you'll tell me if there is, right? You're both my family. And I know my sister better than to think she's going to roll over." He laughs genuinely and holds his hand out in front of him, taking a step forward.

"Scouts honour." I wink and grasp his hand in mine, giving it a firm shake. "You're my family too."

"I'm not going to apologize for punching you, by the way."

"I wouldn't expect anything else."

I really wouldn't.