Page 63 of Hate the One You're With
“Do you know how many times your grandmother told meI wasn’t good enough for you?” He looks at me, his eyes clouded with the weight of those words.
I scoff. “Please tell me you didn’t start acting like an asshole just because my grandmother was talking shit,” I say, disbelief tinging my tone.
He shakes his head slowly. “No, but she was right. I’m not good enough for you, baby. You’re like this celestial being, and I’m just . . . I’m just a mere mortal. But in my mind, no one would ever get to know you the way I did, or love you the way I do. No one?—”
“You have to stop saying that you know me or that you love me,” I cut him off, my anger flaring. If he really knew me, he’d understand how much he hurt me. He destroyed me.
“When her stupid money offers and visits didn’t work, she began to threaten my parents and my career,” he says, his voice thick with frustration.
I freeze, my mind racing to catch up with his words. Confusion knits my brows together as I stare at him, trying to process what he’s just said. “What?” The word comes out sharper than I intend, a mix of disbelief and anger lacing my tone. The idea of my grandmother—my own grandmother—doing something like that makes my stomach churn.
“She really wanted me to leave you,” he continues, his tone hardening. “She had my mother fired from her job when I didn’t respond to her threats. Then a lawyer—not Percival—showed up, offered me a big sum of money to leave you. If I did, they’d find a job for Mom, leave my family alone, and, well, I’d get the rest of what she thought I was owed.”
“I didn’t owe you anything,” I snap, the words coming out harsher than I intended.
“Your grandmother always assumed I would get paid more when the seven years were over—and I never corrected her,” he admits, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I never told her I wasn’t planning to leave you. She didn’t have to know that you were it for me. I had fallen madly in love with my wife.”
“That’s the money you used to pay me back when you left me?” I ask, the realization hitting me like a punch to the gut.
He nods, scoffing. “And I was still left with a big sum. She really wanted me out of your life, and I wouldn’t have agreed if it wasn’t for the fact that she would’ve had me kicked out of the Navy and destroyed my family.”
I swallow hard, a mix of anger and sorrow swirling inside me. “Fucking shrew. How dare she do that?”
“She thought she was doing you a favor. Your grandmother lived in her own world,” he says, frustration simmering in his voice. “I started to push you away, but then you . . . you lashed out so much, treating me like I was nothing. And things just spiraled out of control.”
“I overheard you one night . . . you were on the phone and said, ‘I’m just waiting for more money, and then it’s over, I’ll leave her,’” I say, the memory hitting me like a punch to the gut.
“Of course I reacted. Grandma had been in my ear, telling me how you were just using me—how everyone used us Langleys. That’s what happened with my father. The old daddy issues resurfaced, and I felt like I had to protect myself.”
“What really happened with your father? Charles, is it?” he asks, his tone softening with concern.
I nod, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Mom got pregnant when she was in college. She never really talkedabout it. Nobody knows who my biological father is. My grandparents wouldn’t allow her to be a single mother, so she had her pick of eligible bachelors.” I laugh, but it’s hollow.
“What’s funny?” he asks, confusion creasing his brow.
“Gertrude did something similar to me when she lied about not having money to pay for my college tuition,” I explain, the bitterness creeping into my voice.
“She lied?” he asks, leaning in a little closer, as if he’s bracing for more tea.
“Are you surprised?” I snort. “The woman didn’t want me running Langley Media. She wanted a man in charge and me just playing the role of a socialite housewife.”
“So you had a lot of men to choose from?” he asks, his voice tinged with skepticism.
“Losers like Charles,” I clarify. “They had trust funds, were set for life, but they always wanted more. They had this thirst for more but never the willingness to work for it. So, they had to marry into money.
“The point is that Mom married Charles to appease her parents. I found the contract between them. He agreed to accept me and treat me like his child. They paid him a generous amount for that, and he was a good father—until he got caught cheating publicly,” I say, my voice trembling. “Mom divorced him, he didn’t get a penny, and he made sure everyone knew I wasn’t his child. He rejected me every time I was close, called me names like ‘little bastard,’ and told me no one would ever want me. I was nothing to him.”
He reaches out to touch me, but I flinch. “Don’t touch me. I’m okay,” I insist, though the tremor in my voice betrays me.
“You’re not alone,” he says gently, refusing to pull back.
“I’ll talk to my therapist again. It’s just . . . I hate how Gertrude is still trying to meddle in my life—telling me who I should love, who I should be with, and how I should behave,” I say, my frustration boiling over. “There has to be something twisted about her insisting that I live with you for six months.”
He narrows his gaze, like a piece of the puzzle just snapped into place for him. Without a word, he reaches into his backpack and pulls out an envelope.
“What is that?” I stare at the envelope like it’s a ticking time bomb, or maybe some kind of cursed artifact straight out of a horror movie. I recognize my grandmother’s writing. What the ever-loving fuck? “Where did you get it?”
“Percival gave me this letter,” he says, his tone cautious as he hands it to me.
