Hating you, p.13
Hating You, page 13
“So, what?” I seethe, attempting to ignore the way the room is spinning right now. “You used a less conventional route to spy on me and get a feel for my reaction?”
“Spy on you?” he scoffs. “You’re joking, right? You started it, Say. You created the profile. You messaged me out of the blue. That’s on you. Not on me.”
“But you knew!”
“Yeah, and I was desperate enough for your attention that I didn't care. I just wanted to talk to you. To get you to let your guard down for once in your life.”
“Once in my life?” I laugh dryly while avoiding the curious stares from our fellow coworkers. “Sorry, Owen, but you’ll have to cut me a little slack on that one. My guard was down the first time you broke my heart, remember? I guess you’ll have to be a little patient with me while I try to figure out how to let you in a second time. Although now that we’re talking about it, I think we both know what a massive mistake that would be. You lied to me.”
His punishing grip tightens.
“You lied to me,” he argues, his voice sounding like gargled glass. “And I didn’t even give a shit about it, so why the hell are you putting this on me?”
“Because I wanted to talk to you! I wanted proof that you weren’t all that I thought you were cracked up to be in high school. I wanted evidence that you might pretend to like me in real life, but you’d do that to any girl if given the opportunity––”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. You were always it for me, Say. Always. And I’m tired of trying to prove it to you when you won’t even give me a chance.”
As if I’ve been slapped, I flinch away from him. “So what? You’re done? Again? That’s it?”
“I’m not going anywhere, Say. I’ve already told you that, even though you refuse to believe me. You’re it for me. You’re the one. But I’m not going to play games with you. Call me when you’re ready. The ball is officially in your court.”
His punishing grip disappears from my bicep, and he storms away, leaving me alone with a bunch of gawking coworkers. Including my baby sister.
“Crap,” she murmurs before guiding me into the hallway. I feel like I’m suffocating. Like an elephant is sitting on my chest. Like I’m going to pass out if I don’t get some freaking air.
“Breathe,” Skye orders me, picking up our pace as she practically shoves me into one of the hall closets.
“What just happened?” I cry. My chest is heaving at an uneven rhythm, but I still feel like I can’t breathe.
“Slow down, Saylor. Deep breaths. Slow. Controlled. Just. Breathe.” She demonstrates the motion with each dragged out word, and I slowly start to follow along until my breathing evens out.
“It’s okay,” she whispers. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Didn’t you hear what he said? He’s––”
“He’s not going anywhere, Say. He’s pissed, yeah. But even with whatever blowup that was in there, he still promised to stick around. Just give him some time to cool down.”
“Then what?” I choke out.
“Then we’ll figure it out. But for now, you need to calm down so we can get you to class.”
Shoving my hair away from my face, I drop my head back and stare at the ceiling. She’s right. I have to go to work and put on a happy face for my students.
Fan-freaking-tastic.
A very worried Skye watches me carefully, waiting for another breakdown.
“I’m fine,” I tell her.
“You sure?”
“Yup. Just peachy.”
“Okay.” She grimaces. “Do you want me to see if I can switch to your class today to help? I’m in Bullock’s class, but she saw what went down so––”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. Just…go.” I wave my hand toward the door.
“Say––”
“I’m serious,” I tell her. “I’ll be fine. I just need thirty seconds to myself, and then I’ll put on the same freaking mask that I’ve worn since the moment Owen left me after high school, and no one will be able to notice the difference.”
Her expression falls. “Say––”
“Just go.”
She chews on her lower lip, studying me carefully.
“Seriously, Skye. Go.”
With a quick squeeze, she disappears through the door, and I take a deep breath.
Focus, Say. It’s gonna be okay.
I just don’t know if it will be.
As I rest my head against the closed door, the tardy bell rings across the halls like a bucket of ice water drenching my tired muscles.
Time’s up.
On Jell-O legs, I get to my classroom and paste a fake smile on my face before making the rounds between desks to catch up with my students’ lives. I always thought it was easier to spend five minutes doing it in the morning than to battle them every few minutes while trying to keep their attention focused on the curriculum. Unfortunately, I have a feeling today’s going to be more difficult than usual.
“Morning, everyone!” I call out, trying to keep my tone even and upbeat. “Did you guys have a good weekend?”
The dull ringing in my ears overwhelms their responses, but I nod every few seconds and add, “Ooo, that sounds fun,” every once in a while for good measure as I weave between their tables until a certain voice cuts through the noise.
“Right, Miss Swenson?”
I turn to the culprit, who’s sitting at his desk with the sweetest look of curiosity I’ve ever seen. “What was that, Grady?”
“I told Turner that the next one is called Attack of the Clones.”
“Oh. Um, yes. That’s the title for the second movie,” I reply.
“So are you coming?” he asks.
“Coming?”
“To movie night this weekend.”
“Oh. Um,”––I lick my lips.––“I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it. I’m sorry.”
“Why not?” Grady and Turner ask, their tiny voices showcasing their outrage.
Man, they really are two peas in a pod.
I squeeze my eyes shut to stave off a headache, but it doesn’t do me any good.
“Miss Swenson?” Grady prods.
“Um, it just…isn’t a good time for me. I’m sorry, buddy.”
With a frown, Grady rests his elbows on his desk and stares up at me intently while Turner rushes off to grab something from his backpack.
“We can do Saturday instead,” Grady offers. “I think my dad said that’s okay.”
On the verge of tears, I squat down closer to his eye level and choke out, “That’s really sweet of you, but I don’t think I can come to Star Wars night anymore.”
“Why not?”
“It’s…complicated. I’m sorry, though.”
“Oh.” His tiny mouth pulls into a thin white line as the little boy I’ve fallen in love with turns into a shell of himself and stares blankly at the wall in front of him.
What just happened?
“Grady, what’s wrong?” I ask.
“A-are you mad at me?” he whispers, still refusing to look at me.
“What? No, of course not––”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Not at all, Grady.” My heart splinters before I point to my chest and tap my finger against my sternum. “I did something wrong.”
Confused, he peeks over at me. “What did you do?”
My smile is tight as I tilt my head to one side and give him the truth. “I did something stupid. And then I yelled at someone because of it.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Emotions are hard,” he tells me, a sense of camaraderie blossoming between us. “That’s what Dad says.”
With a weak laugh, I wipe away a bit of the moisture that’d collected in the corner of my eye. “He’s right. Emotions are very hard sometimes.”
“Did you say you’re sorry?”
Another weak laugh escapes me. “Not yet. I’m too mad to say I’m sorry.”
“I do that too,” he admits with a sheepish grin that looks too much like his father’s. “Is that why you can’t come to Star Wars? Because you’re in time out until you can say sorry?”
“I guess so.”
“I do that too. But don’t say sorry unless you mean it.”
“I won’t,” I promise.
He smiles back at me. “Okay.”
“Hey, Grady?” I ask.
“Yeah?”
“What does your dad tell you to do when you’re not the only one who needs to apologize?”
Grady shrugs then drops his voice an octave and mimics his father. “We can only control ourselves. We can’t control the people around us, so it doesn’t matter what they do. What matters is how we react, and that’s on you.” With the surety he gives his speech, I can tell he’s just regurgitating previous conversations and teaching moments with his dad, but I appreciate it nonetheless.
“You’re right,” I decide before pushing myself up to my full height.
I can’t control Owen. And yes, he screwed up, and that’s on him. But I screwed up too, and I need to accept the blame for that. I shouldn’t have ever created the Slytherin4ever profile. But it was also kind of nice to have a fresh start with him, even though it wasn’t real. I need to remember that. I did learn one thing, though. I missed Owen. I missed our conversations. The connection we have. All of it. And it hurts to feel used all over again. But the idea of letting him go a second time hurts too. Does it mean I want to open up the can of worms labeled Owen Daniels? After everything we’ve been through, I’m not sure I can handle it. So, where the hell does that leave me?
The desk behind me squeaks with Turner’s weight, bringing me back to the present as I glance over my shoulder and smile at him.
Tapping my knuckles against Grady’s desk, I murmur, “Thanks for the chat.”
“You’re welcome. Will you say sorry soon so we can watch Star Wars, though?”
I sigh. “Why don’t you keep the tradition alive without me, but you can give me all the details on Monday mornings, okay?”
He nods. “Okay.”
“Thanks, bud.” I rub my hands together, then raise my voice so everyone else in the room can hear me. “Alright, guys. Let’s get started, shall we?”
15
Saylor
The next few weeks go by in a blur of numbing chaos. The Boo Bash was great. Owen and I didn’t say more than ten words to each other, but he was there to chaperone, holding up his end of the deal. Though I’m a little ashamed that I was actually surprised he decided to show up.
Principal Wells gushed about how smoothly everything went, promising that he’d remember this when it came time for choosing a vice-principal. And even though that should’ve made me happy, all I felt was a familiar numb acceptance of the future I’m trying to build. Alone.
And now, I get to pretend everything’s great, grand, and wonderful at a Thanksgiving dinner that I want no part of.
Lucky me.
“Hey, everyone!” I call out to no one in particular as I let myself into my childhood home. The scent of gravy and mashed potatoes tickles my senses, making me smile before I slip off my thick coat and hang it near the door.
“In the kitchen,” my mom’s voice echoes down the hall. It’s mingled with the floors creaking from my father’s weight as he appears a few seconds later, his arms open wide.
“Hey, Sweet Pea,” he greets me.
“Hey, Dad.” I melt into his hug before he places a quick peck against my forehead.
“Have you been avoiding me, Say?”
“What?” I pull away and peek up at him. “No hello first? Just going to dive right into the interrogation? And why would you say that?”
“You haven’t been around lately. Not even for Sunday dinners,” he scolds.
“I know. Life’s been…busy.”
“Busy?” Dad challenges, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The guy’s always been in pretty good shape, but his age is slowly catching up with him. It breaks me any time he's holed up on the couch from tweaking his back or pauses to catch his breath when he’s shoveling the driveway. Thankfully, today he seems as impenetrable as possible. Though I’m not sure how great I feel about it, considering all that brooding alpha is directed at me.
“I’ve been planning a Boo Bash––”
“That was last month.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” I mutter before giving him a scowl that would make a lesser man cower in fear.
My dad only grins and cocks his head to the side. “Go on.”
“I’ve also been helping Principal Wells with a few other odds and ends too,” I huff.
“I was lucky enough to raise busy girls who know how to balance their crazy lives with what’s most important. Family. Therefore, I call bullshit, Say.”
My shoulders sag. “Dad….”
“Would your disappearance have anything to do with a certain someone moving back to town?”
“I, uh, well….” I shake my head. “You know about that?”
“Of course, I know about that, Say,” he returns. “I might not be one for town gossip, but I pay attention to my daughters’ lives, and he was a big part of yours. None of us wanted to bring it up because of your history, but now, it seems like you’re hardly talking to anyone. Period. So, why should we keep walking on eggshells around you?”
“I never asked any of you to walk around on eggshells––”
“You didn’t have to. He hurt you, baby girl. And don’t think that I don’t remember what I told you when he left the first time.”
“Dad––”
“Don’t change the subject––”
“Dad––”
“Brock! Skye! Sway! Anthony! Saylor!” my mom’s voice interrupts us from the kitchen. “Get your butts in the dining room! Everything’s on the table!”
I cringe. “She’s already finished cooking?”
“Your mom’s on top of things this Thanksgiving.” He drops his voice low and adds, “It’s a modern-day miracle. You can help with clean-up.”
“Okay. I’m sorry I showed up late. I just figured….”
“That it would be like every other holiday?” He laughs before tossing his arm around my shoulder and guides me to the dining room. “Nah. She’s been stressed about her girls. Between Sway getting married, Skye’s pending divorce, and your…,” he pauses to search for the right words.
“My what, Dad?” I challenge.
“Your blast from the past. It’s been a lot of stress on the family. Especially when you’ve kept us in the dark.”
“Dad…,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time since I walked in here.
“Don’t Dad me. We’re going to talk after dinner. It’s time.”
I blow out all the pent-up oxygen in my lungs but nod my agreement. “Fine.”
“Good girl.” With another quick kiss to the crown of my head, he adds, “Now, go say hi to your mama and see if she needs help carrying anything else from the kitchen. I’m going to round up Sway and Anthony.”
“Where are they?”
“They took the snowmobiles out for a quick ride.”
“Aw, I’m jealous.”
“The field’s big enough for all of you to tear up plenty of powder. Maybe after dinner, you and Skye can take them out.”
With a smile, I murmur, “Okay.”
I watch him disappear down the hall toward the garage, then head into the kitchen to find my mom juggling a bowl of mashed potatoes in one hand and a platter of freshly baked rolls in the other.
“Hey, Mama,” I lean in and press a quick kiss to her cheek before grabbing the rolls from her.
“Hey, baby girl. Glad you could make it.”
“Sorry I’m late.”
“Don’t apologize. You’re totally fine, despite whatever crap your dad gave you in the entryway.”
My nose scrunches with a combination of embarrassment and amusement. “How’d you know?”
“Because I’ve been his therapist for the past few weeks,” she informs me with a smirk.
“Way to take one for the team,” I compliment.
She laughs. “He’s just worried about you. And then with everything else going on, it’s been rough. And you know how your father gets.”
“He’s a fixer.”
“Exactly. And therefore, he’s been tinkering away, sticking his nose in everyone else’s business in hopes that it’ll fix things that are out of his control.”
“Even Anthony’s business? The perfect future son-in-law?”
She laughs a little harder before correcting herself. “Okay, maybe not Anthony. But he did mention the fact that Sway’s pink hair is a shade darker than it used to be, and he wouldn’t mind seeing her natural locks every once in a while.”
I snort. He’s always been our biggest fan when it comes to hairstyles, outfits, and everything in between. As long as we didn’t walk out the door looking like prostitutes, then he was cheering us on.
“And what’s Skye’s crime?” I ask.
“Skye’s the youngest––”
“So she can do no wrong,” I finish with a grin. “Lucky little brat.”
“Who’s a brat?” Skye calls, approaching us with empty hands.
“You are.”
She sticks her tongue out at me but doesn’t deny it. Skye has always gotten away with murder, but I assume it’s because our parents were too busy mending my broken heart while trying to help their second-born come to terms with the fact that she would never be able to have children of her own. It was probably refreshing to have a relatively normal caboose to raise during the tough high school years. Until she became the scapegoat for her pending ex, anyway.
“Good to see you too,” Skye returns before rocking back on her heels to assess the messy kitchen. “How can I help?”
“Grab the cranberry sauce from the fridge,” Mama orders while scanning the kitchen from a chef’s perspective and mentally checking off random tasks from her imaginary to-do list. “Other than that, I think we’re ready.”
“It smells amazing, Mama,” I compliment.
She waves me off. “Let’s enjoy it before it gets cold.”
We all head to the dining room with our arms full of a mouth-watering feast, then take a seat and say grace before dishing ourselves up.
