Page 66 of Hate the One You're With
“Can you have them delivered to my apartment?” I ask, then groan as I remember my current living situation. “Wait, everything’s in that new place I leased.”
“Problem?” he inquires, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, I had already moved my things to another place where I planned to live after the six-month period,” I explain with a sigh. “Maybe I should use this time to paint the walls and remodel it. I’ve been meaning to do that for a couple of years.”
“Why don’t you move to the penthouse?” he suggests.
“The one that’s practically condemned?” I shake my head. “Nah, once it’s fixed, I’m selling it.”
“You can’t possibly sell something that’s been in the family for generations,” he says, a hint of disbelief in his voice.
Generations? Is that even a thing? My great-grandfather moved in when it was just built and . . . I guess it was. Still, I say, “It’s time for a new family to take over. I never planned to live there.”
“She’ll be?—”
“Disappointed?” I snort. “Everything I did disappointed her. I understand why my mother was so adamant on keeping me away from my grandparents outside of family dinners on Saturday and a few holidays. Yet, after she died . . .”
I want to forgive her, to not hate her but right now, I just can’t. “Gertrude ruined what could’ve been a happy life, you know? It wasn’t us being immature or not ready for love. It was her really wanting to cause damage if we didn’t do what she said.”
“She regretted it,” he says quietly.
I shrug, feeling a strange mix of emotions. “Anyway, send this to my temporary apartment. Thanks for . . . whatever.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Caleb
This time,I don’t take the easy way out by flying. Instead, I borrow Jacob’s bike and drive four hours straight to Boston. The roar of the engine beneath me drowns out everything else—the doubts, the frustration, the guilt. The wind rushes past, cool and relentless, whipping against my face as the road stretches ahead, a blur of asphalt and yellow lines. It’s exactlywhat I need right now.
Every twist and turn of the road pulls me deeper into my thoughts. The speed, the freedom of the open highway, it’s like a temporary escape from the mess I’ve made. But the further I go, the more it becomes clear—this isn’t about running away. It’s about heading straight into the storm I helped create.
I’ve finished a chapter, closed one door, but there’s another standing right in front of me. One that requires more than just an apology. It’s time to make amends, to grovel if I have to—because even though Gertrude’s schemes are what tore us apart, I’m the one who needs to prove to Emmersyn that everything I told her was real.
That I fell in love with her for who she was—the woman who could reach deep into my soul and caress it with her laughter. There was something about the way she saw the world, how she believed in others, how she believed in me, that made my heart swell with emotions I couldn’t quite put into words back then. Now . . . Now I know it was love.
It is love, adoration.
It’s every emotion I can feel for her and even more.
What made me love her irrevocably was the way she loved, fully and unconditionally, as if every part of me—even the parts I tried to hide—was worthy of her affection. It was like she saw straight through me, past the tough exterior, into the heart of who I really was. And still, she chose to stay, to love me, flaws and all. Every time she smiled, every time she laughed, it wasn’t just a sound—it was something I felt deep in my bones, this connection that ran deeper than anything I had ever known.
I pull into Boston, heading straight to Max’s place. As soon as I walk in, I’m greeted by the sight of him fussing over littleEmma, who’s nestled in his arms like the precious bundle she is. The place is buzzing with that new baby energy, everyone enamored with her tiny toes and button nose. It’s hard not to get caught up in it myself, even if I’m really here for another reason.
“I thought you were in New York, trying to pull a heist,” Max teases as I step inside.
“Where is everyone?” I ask, glancing around the living room and open kitchen.
He tilts his head toward the main balcony. “Everyone’s here. My family, Zoe’s family, even your parents—Zoe is in our room sleeping. Audrey and Lily went to run some errands.”
“You look too domesticated,” I say.
“And fucking happy about it,” he whispers, kissing Em on top of her head. “Cloud nine and all that shit.”
I try to hold back a laugh, but it slips out anyway. “When are you guys moving to the house in the burbs?” I mock, raising an eyebrow.
“As a matter of fact, we’re fixing up her brownstone. That’s where Zoe wants to live,” he says.
This really doesn’t sound like him, so I have to ask, “And what’s going to happen to all the luxury?” I glance around at the swanky penthouse, all sleek lines and modern elegance.
