Hate To Love You

“You know my friends,” he started.

I shook my head. “I don’t. I actually don’t. I had no clue about Cameron. He scared me when I met him, and I met him on your back porch! Are you not getting how screwed up this all is? I don’t know you. You said your mom is a lawyer. You live in a house with other football players. I know you’re friends with Linde. You’re sleeping with me. That’s all I know! And surprise, you’ve had a stalker you had no clue about for a full fucking year and a half. I am still racking my brain. How is that possible?”

His mouth dropped. Pain flitted over his features. “I’m a guy. Girls like me. Guys want to be my friend. I . . . I don’t know. I don’t have any big skeletons in my closet, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“You never talk about yourself. Why is that?”

“I—” He was shaking his head, perplexed. “I just don’t think about it. I’m focused on you when we’re together. We have sex, a lot of it. That takes up my attention.”

“No.” I shook my head. “No.” The second one was quieter. A pit was starting in my chest, and it was getting bigger and bigger. “That isn’t fair. You can’t say that. We have sex, but there are nights you just hold me. You know all about me.”

“But do I?”

I sucked in a breath. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not asking that to be a dick, but do I really know you? We went backward with this whole thing. You didn’t like me, then suddenly we’re making out, and that went to sex real quick. We’ve never stopped to look back. You were living with me, even. I mean, we are not normal. The whole getting to know each other, we skipped over that part.”

“You know about me. I told you about me.” I was remembering seeing strangers at his house. Cameron. Finding out about Sabrina. The last piece—Phoebe. “I feel blindsided, and I’m playing catch-up. These hurdles are coming at me, and I can’t see them until I’m already knocked out by them. That’s what it’s like dating you.”

He drew in his own breath now. “That isn’t fair. That was a low blow.”

Was it? Yeah, maybe. “I’m sorry.” I was hurting. I wanted to hurt him, too. “I can’t date you and not know you.”

His head whipped back to mine. “What are you saying?”

“I—” I had no clue, just that . . . “I have to know who you are.”

“I’m Shay Coleman. I’m thinking about going to law school, but I’m into the second semester of my junior year, and I’m still not sure. I’m taking all these different courses trying to figure out what I want to do.”

“Okay.” He was going this way. Fine. Forget the secret stalker. First date questions—I could do that. “What does your dad do?”

“A lawyer like my mom. They got divorced my freshman year of high school.” He didn’t let me ask another. He plowed through, “My mom has a new husband. I have two stepsisters, who are both in high school. They’re total brats, but I love them anyway. I have a little brother who lives with my dad. I went with my mom. Nathan went with my dad, and he hates being called by any nicknames. You have to call him Nathan or he won’t talk to you. He’s in eighth grade. They live in New Orleans, so I don’t get to see him or my dad that often. My dad is newly remarried. They got married last summer, and I’ve only met her that one time, but she seems like a nice lady. My stepfather is a partner where my mom works. I have no idea what my stepmom does, and I should, but I don’t care. My little brother plays soccer. My two stepsisters are cheerleaders, and I’m pretty sure they’re on a dance team. I don’t go home that often because every weekend is a sparkle and glitter party. My stepsisters have their friends over, a lot.” He stopped, still staring at me. A hard glint formed in his eyes. “Anything else?”

“Any past trials, tribulations, or trauma?”

His nostrils flared. “Is that a joke?”

No. Yes.

I hung my head. “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Maybe?”

“I got my girlfriend pregnant when we were freshmen. It was during the time of my parents’ divorce, and she got an abortion. She told me afterward.”

I felt punched by that statement. I could only stare at him. “Shay—”

“I’m pretty sure one of my stepsisters has an eating disorder. I told my mom, but she doesn’t want to deal with it, or has no clue how to, so she ignores it. I think my little brother is gay, and I worry about him. If he is, he hasn’t told anyone and I want to support him and protect him when and if he comes out. Anything else?”

He would’ve had a kid . . .

He hadn’t known . . .

I asked, feeling so small now, “You found out she was pregnant after the abortion?”

“Yeah,” he clipped out. His jaw clenched. “I’ve never told anyone, so you’re the first.”

What had I done? He was hurting.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He looked away, straightening in his seat. A moment passed. A second one. Total silence. Then he hit the steering wheel. “Shit!” His head went down, and I looked over. His eyes were closed. Another moment later, his voice was so soft, “I’ve never talked about that.” He looked up, his eyes in agony. “It wasn’t meant to keep you out. I don’t talk about that with anyone. My closest friend is Linde, or was Linde. It’s you now. I’m not really close to people. It isn’t that I purposely keep secrets. I, just, don’t talk. To anyone.”

He was loved by so many.

He was wanted by so many.

He confided in no one.

He was alone.

I reached over and took his hand. “I’m sorry.”

He squeezed it. “You already said that.”

“I mean it. I was being a bitch. I was hurting, and—”

He shook his head. “You’re fine. I need to talk, and I don’t. I never have. That girlfriend, when she told me about the abortion, she shattered me. Then my parents got divorced and started building their new families. I don’t want to be all ‘woe is me, feel sorry for me.’ It was never like that. I’ve always had friends. I’ve dated, but no one got in.” His gaze fell to my lips, then back to my eyes. “Until you. You got in. And I still don’t quite know how it happened, but you’re in, and I thought I was dying when I heard you were in trouble tonight. I couldn’t drive here fast enough. I wanted to hurt whoever was hurting you, and then I saw it was Phoebe, and I still have no clue who she is.”