Make Me Hate You: A Best Friend's Brother Romance Page 11

  I stood outside his door, watching the dim light that cracked through the bottom of it and splayed over my bare feet on the wood floor. I could hear the slight thump of music, though I couldn’t make out what it was, and over it, the distinct sound of typing.

  Maybe he’s working, I thought, my hand coming up to rest on the wood of the door. I pressed my head into my hand next, listening, breathing, wondering.

  That’s how it had been for years — watching, wondering.

  Before I realized what I was doing, I had my podcast equipment in hand — USB mic, laptop, briefcase with my mixer and audio interface — and I made my way to the top floor of the house, holing myself up in a music room that only Robert ever used. It had a keyboard, electric guitar, and drum set in it — all of which he played.

  Best of all? The room was soundproof.

  I set up my equipment, hitting the record button and talking before I even knew what to say. It had been a long time since I’d done that — sat down to record unscripted, without a plan, without an agenda and an outline of everything I wanted to cover.

  I just… spoke.

  “What do you do when you find out something you always assumed to be true is completely and utterly false?” I started. “Have you ever had this happen? It’s the most disturbing and turbulent thing, like being on an airplane going through a hurricane. You just hold onto the armrests and try not to vomit as the plane jolts and dips, and you try to figure out what’s real and what’s not, your past flashing before your eyes, the possible future fading in the background.”

  I paused, letting that sink in — the weight of that feeling.

  “I think I found out today that I’m stubborn. I hadn’t realized it before — it was always something I attributed to my aunt, or to my best friend, but never to me. I’m not stubborn. I’m completely rational. I make decisions based on facts, on research, on logic — not on feelings.” I laughed softly. “Or at least, I thought I did. But the truth is that maybe I don’t want the truth. Maybe, I run from it instead of facing it head on because I’m so scared of what I’ll find.”

  Why did I never ask him? Why did I just run? Why didn’t I go back to him, hold his face in my hands, and demand that he tell me why he was pushing me away?

  Why didn’t I refuse to leave, refuse to accept that that night meant nothing to him when I knew it meant something to me?

  Another pang of guilt found me when I realized where my thoughts were wrapped up again. Because I understood why Tyler did what he did, but it didn’t absolve him in my mind.

  It pissed me off.

  I was furious for him, for me, for what we maybe could have had.

  And under all that was a muddy layer of guilt that I was even thinking about him at all when I had Jacob.

  “I also discovered today that I am a terrible person,” I whispered into the microphone. “I guess we all are, aren’t we? At least, when we really break ourselves down to the molecular level. When we push aside all the sunshine and bullshit, and look good and hard at who we are, at the decisions we make, at the things we feel — things we would never say out loud or confess to anyone else.”

  I shook my head, eyes losing focus where I stared at the shape of the recording, a flat line now that I wasn’t speaking, a little green spike when I began again.

  “Maybe, at the core of every human being, there’s a dark, hidden world. Maybe it’s not what we do for a living or our hobbies or our background or our family that makes us who we are, but rather what exists in that dark little world that no one sees. And we can’t ever show it to anyone — not to our best friend or our family or our significant other — because we know in our gut that if anyone ever saw what truly existed there, they’d run. They’d run and curse us and scream at us to stay far, far away.”

  My chest hollowed, breath sticking in my chest.

  “Maybe we’re all monsters,” I whispered. “Just selfish, righteous things living in a nightmare, blaming our past for why we eat everyone around us alive, and feeling like we deserve something better, something holier — just because we’ve survived this long.”

  My bottom lip trembled.

  “He did it to protect me,” I whispered, knowing I would never use any of this for anything, that no one else would ever hear it — and yet still feeling guilt shred me from the inside as I confessed to the microphone priest. “He didn’t want to hurt me. I wasn’t a mistake. All this time, I thought… I thought…”

  But the recorder ticked on, and I sat there staring — silent, speechless.

  Because I couldn’t even remember what I thought, or what I felt, or what I held onto before Morgan’s confession.

  It was another life. Another girl. A dream that I’d woken from in a start.

  And now, I was someone new, someone reborn.

  A monster.

  And I didn’t trust what I’d do next.

  Two days later and exactly one week before the wedding, I stood in the bathroom, staring at myself in a bikini and wondering whether I was certifiably insane or just a little crazy.

  Tyler had stayed hidden all day again yesterday, going into work even though he said he’d taken this time off for the wedding, and then staying the night at his own place instead of here with the family. It wasn’t that that was odd — not to anyone who didn’t know what had transpired between us. His parents and Morgan believed him when he said work had picked up with things he couldn’t wait to address, and that he wanted a night alone in his own bed.

  It was logical. It made sense.

  Except I knew it was all bullshit.

  He was avoiding me, because I’d pushed him until he’d confessed that he’d missed me. And little did he know what Morgan had told me the next day.

  With all the information I had that no one else did, I couldn’t just sit still. I couldn’t let him avoid me and pretend to hate him and ignore him right back — not now that I knew the truth about what happened between us seven years ago.

  Like he’d said, I couldn’t not try.

  I needed to talk to him.

  And so, it was my brilliant idea to take the stressful task off Morgan’s hands of narrowing down the wedding playlist for the band. It overwhelmed her, anyway — she was worried she’d pick the wrong songs and no one would dance. Trusting my taste much more, she happily agreed when I offered to take over.

  I also suggested that Tyler help me, since he knew more about her family and what music they would love.

  It didn’t take much convincing — mostly because Morgan wanted us to be friends about as much as she wanted to get married next weekend. So, she called Tyler up and asked if he’d work with me on the playlist while she and Oliver took the day to check other items off the list, like sending their list of poses and family portraits to the photographer, finalizing the seating chart, and writing their vows — which they wanted to do together.

  A sigh left my chest as I gave myself one last look over in the mirror, feeling a little self-conscious in the strappy bikini. It was a sunshine yellow that made me look more tan than I really was, and brought out the brightness of my long, blonde hair. I braided said hair over one shoulder, threw on a maxi dress that covered my swimsuit entirely, and then grabbed the bag I’d packed the night before that had everything we’d need — sunscreen, towels, water, speaker, and of course, a pair of swim trunks I’d snuck out of Tyler’s old bedroom since he was gone last night.

  When I skipped down the two flights of stairs, Oliver was leaning against the banister at the bottom of them, watching his wife-to-be pace back and forth in the foyer on the phone with someone.

  I stopped when I was at his side, adjusting the bag on my shoulder and nodding to Morgan. “She okay?”

  “Oh, she’s fine,” he said with an amused smirk. “It’s the poor owner of Mackie’s Donut Truck that I feel sorry for right now.”

  “Uh-oh. What happened?”

  He quirked a brow at me. “They’re already booked for another event next weekend, and M
organ insists it has to be Mackie’s donuts at our wedding. She’s offering everything but a bar of gold to get them to come to the Cape instead of the previous engagement they had booked.”

  “Which is?”

  “A fundraiser of some sort for the church.”

  I groaned, leaning a hip against the staircase railing with my eyes on my best friend. “Oh, Morgan.”

  Oliver chuckled, and it was then that I noticed Morgan was pacing back and forth in her wedding heels. They were absolutely stunning — cream white with pearl and lace details and a high, delicate heel that made me shiver at the thought of balancing on them. The front door swung open, letting in a blast of sunlight that silhouetted Tyler, and when he closed it behind him, our eyes met.

  He looked more relaxed than he had when he left the day before, his boyish hair unsettled and jutting up this way and that. He wore cream-colored chino shorts and a sea foam green polo that hugged his biceps and stretched across his wide chest. The belt around his shorts accented his narrow waist, and a pair of sunglasses hid his eyes.

  His expression was unreadable.

  He didn’t frown, but he definitely didn’t smile, either. Instead, he slowly plucked his sunglasses off and watched me for a long, pregnant pause before his eyes fell to his sister’s feet. Then, and only then, did he arch one brow into his hairline.

  “Uh…” He pointed at her feet when she ended her phone call, still huffing and pacing with the phone in her clutches.

  “I need to break them in,” she said, as if it were obvious. “You ever break in a pair of high heels before? Trust me, it’s torture, and I don’t want to be tortured on my wedding day.”

  “No, you’re saving that for the poor vendors, apparently,” Oliver chimed in.

  She pouted, giving him a look that made me want to run and pull her into my arms. Her bottom lip was protruded, eyes big and watery. “They won’t budge. I tried everything. But they… we won’t have Mackie’s Donuts at our wedding.”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Oliver said, wrapping her in a hug just as she hid her face from our view. Tyler and I exchanged a knowing smile, and then we joined in on the hug, wrapping our arms around the two of them.

  “We’ll figure something out,” he assured her.

  “But I want Mackie’s Donut Truck,” she mumbled in the middle of the group hug.

  He chuckled, kissing her hair as we all released her. “Trust me, okay? There will be donuts at our wedding, and they will be delicious. I promise.”

  She sniffed, but smiled. “Alright.”

  And in the next breath, she was back in business mode.

  She called out to her parents, who were in charge of driving down to the Cape to meet with the planner and go over the last-minute décor requests and day-of itinerary. They were just going to stay out there, since we’d be joining them in a couple of days anyway.

  Then, she pointed at me and Tyler, making us promise to make it the best damn playlist of songs to ever exist at a wedding. Once we saluted her, she had her arm looped through Oliver’s and was tugging him out the front door. And then it was just me and Tyler in the foyer, him with his hands in the pockets of his shorts, and me hiding a swimsuit under my dress.

  “I’ll drive,” I said.

  I was already turning toward the front door when he cocked a brow. “Drive?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “We’re supposed to work on the playlist.”

  “And we will,” I said, opening the door and holding it for him. “But I think we need some inspiration, some good vibes to make the right decisions. So, we’re getting out of the house.” I gestured to the world outside. “Look how beautiful it is today. Sunny, breezy, a few clouds… don’t you think it’d be nice to work outside?”

  Tyler hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “We could sit by the pool.”

  At that, I huffed, leaning over to snatch his wrist in my hand and tug him out the door. “Just come on.”

  That earned me a chuckle, and I felt that vibration all the way through my ribcage and to the very core of who I was.

  That dark, monstrous core.

  I shook off the thought, climbing into the driver side of his mom’s Cadillac. And once Tyler was in the passenger seat, I threw the car in drive and steered us toward a road I hadn’t driven down in years with my heart racing in my chest.

  A warning, or a rally cry?

  I could never be sure.

  At the end of a hidden back road where an old abandoned lake house sat, there was a giant dock and a rope swing hanging from the limb of a tree. It was our favorite, secret place to go as kids — mine, Morgan’s, and Tyler’s — and I took a risk in assuming that that old house would still be here, still be abandoned, and that the dock would still be standing.

  But it was.

  It was a quiet part of the lake, a little enclave without a neighboring house in sight, and the lake was mirror-like, perfect for kayaking or canoeing or paddle boarding or — my favorite — skipping rocks.

  Tyler had spent most of the ride quiet, with his arms crossed over his chest like he was annoyed, or bored, or inconvenienced, or maybe all three at once. But when he realized the turns I was taking, the path I was leading us on, he glanced over at me with a curious smile.

  “The old house?”

  I just smiled, not answering, but he already knew.

  When we pulled into the drive, overgrown with weeds and brush, I tossed Tyler the trunks I’d snuck out of his room and told him to change and meet me on the dock. He shook his head on a grin, which I returned as I jumped out of the car and left him to change.

  The breeze was strong, cooling the summer sun above and making the trees rustle, the long weeds making images in the lawn as they blew this way and that. I smiled at the familiar feel of summer, at the smell of the dogwood and the sassafras, at the sound of the lake water gently lapping at the shore.

  It wasn’t until I stepped foot on the old dock that my stomach tightened with longing. I thought back to those endless summer days spent with Morgan and Tyler, pretending like they were my real family, like I had siblings and parents who loved me and cared for me. How many days had we spent jumping off the dock, or swinging off the rope swing into the lake? How many afternoons had we wasted away talking and listening to music, playing games, teasing each other about teenage things like crushes and puberty? How many nights had we goofed away sneaking into the old house, pretending we saw ghosts or heard voices before running out of there like our tails were on fire — laughing, tumbling into a mess of arms and legs in a heap in the yard.

  I was still smiling at the memory when I dropped my bag at the end of the dock, stripping my dress overhead and reaching into the bag for the sunscreen I’d packed. I rubbed a small amount on my face, lathering up my shoulders and arms. I was just starting to spread the block on my chest when I turned to check on Tyler, and there he was, at the other end of the dock, rooted in place with his eyes on me.

  I didn’t want to notice it, the way those deep, brown eyes cascaded over every inch of me like a waterfall. I didn’t want to notice how tense his jaw was, how the muscle ticked a bit when his eyes paused where my hand was rubbing lotion over my cleavage. I didn’t want to notice the way those eyes crawled slowly and purposefully over my stomach, my hips, my thighs, all the way down to my ankles before they trailed back up.

  But I couldn’t help it.

  And the monster inside me purred with satisfaction.

  I’m not sure how I managed it, but when his eyes found mine again, I smiled, waving him down the dock. He blinked a few times before his feet finally moved, and when he made it to me, he offered a small smile. “You’re sneaky,” he said, gesturing down to his swim trunks. “You’re also very lucky I still fit into these.”

  I shrugged. “I’m sure we could have figured it out otherwise. Here,” I said, tossing him the bottle of sunblock after I squeezed a healthy amount into my hand. “Lather up. Your sister would kill me if either of us got a sunburn before h
er big day.”

  “The pictures,” he mocked in her voice, and I laughed before we both fell silent — mostly because he had just started rubbing lotion over his broad, sculpted shoulders, and I was trying to remember why I ever thought this was a good idea.

  Once we were protected from the sun, we spread out our towels and took a seat on the dock. Then, I pulled the Bluetooth speaker out of my bag, propping it up between us and pulling out the clipboard with the band’s lists of songs they knew how to play. Then, I uncapped my bright yellow highlighter and we started from the top.

  Slowly, song by song, we filtered through the list, going over everything from what the band would play while everyone ate, to what would make people get up and sing and dance, to what would be perfect for the bouquet toss and garter throw. We selected a handful of slow songs, deciding which ones to group together for the couples to get some dances together, but ensuring it wasn’t too long so that the solo folks would want to throw themselves out the nearest window.

  Turned out Tyler and I had both been to weddings where we felt that latter scenario.

  The band had given us five pages of options, and after a few hours, we’d gone through them all, highlighting the ones that would go over best with the crowd that would be there for the wedding. And when our duty was done, I let the clipboard fall between us, the highlighter clacking on top, and then we both leaned back on the heels of our hands with a sigh, our eyes wandering the length of the lake.

  Clouds had begun to roll in, shielding us from the sun more than they had in the earlier afternoon, but the sun still peeked through enough to warm our skin, and the breeze was warmer now, too. I closed my eyes and soaked in the feeling of it blowing over my face as an old Tom Petty song played on the speaker.

  “Now this is summer,” I said, and I didn’t have to open my eyes to know that Tyler was watching me. “All we need now is a good swing off the rope.”