Page 6 of Sweetest Hate

Quinn scoffed. "Oh no, just wait. It gets better. Not only is the jackass coming to the cabin, but he's also spending a few weeks at the house in Holloway when we get back."

If Arsen really was as much of a jerk as Quinn claimed he was, I wasn't sure having him next door, even for a few short weeks, would be pleasant. Still, my interest was piqued. Quinn wasn't easily upset, so maybe I was wrong. Maybe Arsen wasthatbad.

"Okay, I get you're pissed. You don't like the guy. But we'll be back in Atlanta before you know it, so deal with it like the grown ass adult you're supposed to be. Don't make her feel like she has to choose between you and them. She'll choose you and be heartbroken over Bill."

I quickly glanced over at Quinn to gauge his reaction. The annoyed expression on his face told me just how much he was dreading the trip and weeks that would follow, as if his words weren't enough. "I know," he sighed. "Fuck, okay. I know." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'll deal." Not two seconds later, he perked up and snapped his fingers as an idea popped into his head. "You could go with me to the lake. That would make it tolerable."

"I'm flattered that I have the ability to make ittolerablefor you," I said, laying on a thick coat of sarcasm. "But this trip is supposed to be for your family."

"Youarefamily." Quinn was frowning when I glanced back at him. "My mom wouldn't care, and you know it."

My attention returned to the road just before we hit the ramp for the highway. "As much as I'd love to spend a week at a giant cabin on the lake, I'm pretty sure she meant Bill, you...and now Arsen."

I loved being out on a boat on a wide-open lake or floating a tube down a river under the heat of the sun, preferably with a beer in my hand. You wouldn't know it by looking at me in my usual attire of ripped jeans or shorts, band t-shirts, and pierced nipples—but the outdoors, in the woods, was my happy place. In high school, Quinn, I, and a group of our friends would regularly spend our weekends setting up ragged tents along the banks of the river that ran through the edge of town. Of course, we had invited girls, and I was almost positive that Quinn's bad mood was solely the fault of Arsen attending. My best friend was likely just as annoyed because he couldn't invite any girls on this trip. A week without sex would be the longest dry spell he'd had in years. That was one reason why I didn't believe for a second he was capable of settling down with one person. Not yet, anyway.

Quinn mumbled something under his breath, probably still ranting about Arsen. I sighed and turned up the radio, letting rock music roar from the shitty speakers in my car as I settled in for the drive.

* * *

The townof Holloway was the size of a pinpoint on a map of Georgia, with a population of less than five thousand people. Hell, our high school graduating class had consisted of a whopping thirty-seven seniors.

As we drove through the heart of town, I glanced around the familiar scene. The small run-down grocery store sat next to the old gas station where only one pump worked at any given time. And the police department that was housed in a crumbling brick building attached to the volunteer fire department.Home. I fucking loved it here. That's why I had plans to return to this micro town after earning my liberal arts degree. Some people had big dreams. Me? I only wanted to paint while locked away in a secluded lake house. Somewhere I could focus on the swirling colors always floating around inside my head, demanding an outlet for the art that expressed how I viewed the world around me—a collision of pain and hope. Until I could afford a place like that, Holloway would be my home.

Minutes later, I turned into our neighborhood, spotting both of our houses sitting close together. The simple cookie-cutter brick homes were almost identical, differing only in color, each on a small piece of land covered with grass and the occasional burst of weeds. We weren't poor, but we weren't swimming in cash either, and both of us attended college with student loans and grants.

I pulled alongside the curb in front of my parents' house and parked.

Quinn sighed. "If I wasn't dreading this week, this sight would be welcome as hell."

"Stop whining already and get out. I gotta piss." I rolled my eyes as I popped open my door and slid out.

Quinn scowled. "Fine, dick. Way to be supportive."

"I'll be supportive later. Now, get out."

Quinn snorted as he exited the car. We circled to the trunk, and he lifted out his luggage while I gathered my own duffle bag and canvas art portfolio bag so it wouldn't be ruined in the heat.

Adjusting the straps over his shoulders, he turned to face me. "Pizza in an hour at Murray's Diner. I'll call the guys, and we'll head into town if you're up for it."

"Hell yes." I was also starving, and every time we visited home we met up with the guys we'd gone to school with.

He took a step back. "Sweet. See you in an hour."

"Later." When I started up the walkway, I found my mom waiting on the porch with her long blond hair, the same color as mine, tied up in a ponytail and a wide grin stretching her lips. I smiled back as I approached her.

Hands propped on her narrow hips, she scolded, "You didn't tell me you were coming home early. I'm a mess." She gestured toward her outfit of loose shorts and baggy shirt, what she'd always worn when she'd been cleaning. "Give me a hug." Impatient to get her hands on me, my mom stepped forward and wrapped her thin arms around me the best way she could with my hands full and the bulky bag draped over my shoulders. "I've missed you."

"It hasn't been that long, Mom." I chuckled, noting she smelled of wood polish. "But I've missed you too."

"I'll never get used to you being gone." She pulled back and turned to walk inside. "Your dad is so quiet that it makes the house seem empty sometimes."

She chuckled at her own joke, and I rolled my eyes. My dad was extremely far from quiet. More like loud giant child who was forever goading my mother into mock fights that were more like disturbing foreplay than I cared to witness. He was the kind of man that laughed and joked more often than not.

I followed behind her, entering the comfortable, neutral-painted living room filled with an overstuffed couch and loveseat. Knickknacks my mom loved to collect from garage sales and thrift shops lined built-in shelves, and some of my mom's favorite paintings I'd done over the years hung on the walls. Specially installed lighting over the mantel showcased a large canvas I'd painted a few summers ago of a field of sunflowers, my mother's favorite flowers, with bright yellow petals atop tall stalks.

"I'm going to drop this stuff off in my room." I headed for the hall.

"Are you hungry? We have stuff to make sandwiches," she called out.

---