Page 71 of A Hate Like This

Wait? What? My complaining about too much is getting me more? It’s like I’ve stepped into an alternate dimension where up is down and less is more.

Before I can say anything, Prisha hangs up her phone. “You’re all set. Holland will be there at three.”

The only words that come out of my mouth are, “I’ve never had a massage.” That is if you don’t count the three-minute half-assed foot rubs Everett gave me when he wanted to have sex.

“I figured, babe. Which means youreallyneed this.”

“I’m not sure how comfortable I am having a man do it though.” More accurately, I’m kind of freaking out at the thought.

Prisha waves her hand in front of her face. “Holland is a six-foot strapping Adonis …”

Now I feel nauseated.

She continues, “Who’s been happily married to Charles for the last ten years.”

“Oh, well, if that’s the case, who am I to say no? Also, thank you very much.”

Ethan stays remarkably silent on the subject until Prisha leaves. That’s when he looks at me with hurt in his eyes and asks, “It’s okay for Prisha to do something nice for you, but not me?”

“You’ve already done so much, Ethan. I just feel like the scoreboard is so weighted in your favor that I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“We’re not playing a game, Moira. At least I’m not.”

Before I can ask him what he means, Ash comes running over. “Can we go to the beach now?”

“Sure, buddy,” Ethan says at the same time that I say, “In a bit.”

Ash looks back and forth between us, clearly trying to decide who’s in charge. To be honest, I’m not even sure anymore. Letting out a sigh, I concede, “Sure, let’s get going.”

Chapter36

Ethan

I cannot remember a less enjoyable time at the beach house, which is saying something because I once had food poisoning and poison ivy at the same time when we were staying there. The tension between Moira and me is as thick as pancake batter.

We barely speak the entire day. Instead, we focus all of our attention on the children as a way to avoid each other. Turns out kids are quite handy in that regard.

Our surf lessons were cut short when Colton slipped on his surfboard and smashed his nose. There was blood everywhere. Unfortunately, Moira was only a few minutes into her massage at the time. As soon as she heard the commotion, she came rushing out in a robe and she took over for me.

After that, she quickly sent Holland home, then sat with Colton on a couch overlooking the veranda for a long time while I took Wyatt and Ash back out to play in the waves. Neither of them was keen to keep surfing.

We stopped for fish tacos on the way home from Malibu, along with shakes and churros. You need to be well-fueled to battle summer traffic on Pacific Coast Highway. By the time we got to my house, Colton was fast asleep, so I carried him up to his bed. I left while Moira tucked the other kids in.

I’m currently sitting outside under the stars by the pool while I sip a cold beer and wonder what the hell happened today. To say I’m hurt and angry would be an understatement. And while I’m not sure this is the best time to have it out with Moira, I can’t imagine things getting better if we don’t talk.

When I hear the patio door slide open behind me, I don’t turn around. It isn’t until Moira is standing next to me, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, her hair wet from a shower, that I shift to look at her. “Hey,” she says quietly.

“Hey.” I take another sip of my beer, then set it on the side table next to the lounger. It’s not one of the ones built for two, either. I’m in a single person lounge chair tonight. Moira’s earlier behavior has dictated that choice.

“Can we talk?” Moira asks, sitting on the chair next to mine, facing me.

“I hope so. I’d really like to know what's wrong,” I say.

“You’re angry.”

“A little bit, yeah,” I tell her. “That stuff you said about how my parents and I live seemed a little uncalled for.” I don’t let her defend her actions; instead, I add, “All I’ve tried to do since I met you is to make your life better, and somehow you’re pissed off about it.”

She lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m not pissed off. I’m just … confused. I don’t belong here, and neither do my kids.”

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