Page 5 of Hate To Love You

Dad finally clears his throat. It’s been silent for six hundred years in here.

“Apollo. Thank you for coming. I think Patience has her bag packed. She’s ready.”

She’s ready? He doesn’t sound sure, which is the only thing that makes this better. That and the fact that I can see how my dad is trying not to tear up, and his voice is wavering. There are no right words in a situation like this. There’s no right anything.

“I guess this is where my happily never after starts,” I grunt. I literally grunt. Like a bear waking up on the wrong side of hibernation. Like a stick has just gotten jammed up my sphincter. That stick is staying. I might have to marry this jerk who thinks he can just take my life in a game of cards, but I don’t have to like it.

Apollo does the awkward throat-clearing thing, too, just like my dad. “Thank you, sir. If it’s possible, could you give us a few minutes alone to talk things out? We don’t have to leave right away. There’s no rush. I want to make this as easy for Patience as possible.”

There’s no end to how relieved Dad looks. It makes my heart pinch, which only happens because I’m a long way from being heartless, no matter how angry I am or what kind of a shock this is. I’m always going to love my dad. I’m not the kind of person who can hate anyone.

Not even my mom for leaving and never contacting me again. For forgetting I exist.

Not Apollo for abandoning me after he promised he would never do that.

It’s different with my parents, though. My dad raised me, and my mom…well, maybe she needed space. I’m not going to pretend to understand, and I’m not going to make excuses. She did give me life, and I’ll never hate her, no matter what decisions she’s made.

I’m just never going to soften toward this beast of a man. He has my ire for life.

“I’ll just be in the backyard, sweetheart. You take your time. Come and get me if you need anything.” Then, Dad practically runs off. With the twisting circle of feet, I’m surprised his legs don’t turn around on each other like those windmill things in gardens.

“Thanks, I’ll be fine,” I mutter, but he’s already gone. He can’t hear me. That’s as rocky a reassurance as I’ve ever heard. It’s more like a question. Will I ever be okay?

Yes, I will. Because I’m strong. I’m strong as…as…as fuck, thank you very much.

I thrust my hands on my hips, mostly to make myself as big as possible—if it works in the animal kingdom, it might work for me—and glare at this Apollo in the man-body over here. “I hate you.”

He still smiles at me as though I’ve just complimented him on his very obvious muscles. “You’re very unwilling. I see that now. I was hoping you might realize I did this to save you and your dad, but I guess…I guess maybe you don’t realize it. I guess maybe saying you’re unwilling to come with me is the least of it.”

“I’m always going to hate you.”

“I know.” He doesn’t sigh. Instead, he looks so patient. Unemotional. Of all the reactions, that one drives me the most crazy. “But I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.”

A promise? A freaking promise? That is the richest of rich bull crap I’ve ever heard. “You’ve already broken it. You. Left. You never came back.” I give him my best go-to-hell scornful face.

He keeps trying to nice-smirk, which is more of a sweet smile, but he’s an asshole, so I’ll never admit his smile is sweet or even a smile at all. “I wouldn’t say never. I’m here now.”

Back when we were kids, back when I’d get mad at Apollo, I’d…I don’t know. I don’t know what I’d do because I don’t think there was ever a time I was mad at him. I can’t exactly throw a seven-year or eleven or fourteen-year-old style tantrum. “You might be here, but I’m not going anywhere.” It’s probably best to acknowledge the basics first. “You don’t own me. And I’m not going to marry you. I don’t need saving.” Ooh, yes, I’m on a hang of a dang roll now. “If you’re doing this out of some misguided sense of obligation, that’s even worse.” I let him take the full force of my hairy eyeball for a second before I start in on his name, which we used to have so much fun with. “Apollo, god of butt biscuits and everything and nothing.”

His grin only widens. “Nice. What other biscuits are there?

“Regular good biscuits! And has anyone told you to just go…go off and go have fun playing with sticks? In traffic. And rusty rakes. Where the butt biscuits come from.”

“Has anyone told me to go fuck myself with a rake and play in traffic? Like at the same time or separately? Either way, I can’t say they have.”

Yikes! He’s so frustratingly and infuriatingly calm. He’s clearly enjoying my immature attempts to insult him. “Then let me be the first to say that too.”

It’s pretty hard to convince someone to do something they really don’t want to do when you’re grinning like a total d-bag, so he finally stops with that shit. His smile fades, but he has a resting smile face even when he’s trying to keep his smile flatlined.

Ugh. So much ugh.

“If you don’t marry me, or at least come with me, then my dad has every right to take your dad’s company. I did some looking into things before I got here, and I know his company isn’t in very good shape. He’s barely hanging on. He should have stuck it out with my dad and worked out whatever differences they might have had.”

He’s right, but is there any way I will admit that? Ever? Yeah, no. “Maybe your dad shouldn’t have tried his darndest to ruin someone who was once a friend and who just wanted to live his own dreams. They didn’t have to be enemies. He could have wished him well. My dad worked hard to build what we have. And on top of that, he taught me everything because I…I didn’t have the money to go to college like you did. I didn’t get to go on a free ride.” Oh no. My eyes are not burning. No freaking way. I’m not going to cry about this. Not now. Not ever.

Okay, they’re burning because I sound like a jealous asshole, and my whole life is going to straight-up pot. Pot shit. A shit of pot. A potful of shit.

Apollo’s hair is gorgeous. So dark and shiny and nicely cut. It looks expensive. The haircut and the hair itself, I mean. It looks like he uses nice shampoo. His dark eyes are pretty too. The rest of him…the jeans, the T-shirt…it all looks so comfortable. That’s the word I’ll use because comfortable is a safe word. No, not that kind of safe word. Just a word that is safe because it doesn’t involve me thinking about the body wearing the clothes.

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