Page 40 of Hate To Love You

“I’ll be okay,” I rasp. “In a minute.”

“Whenever I get a cramp, I rub it out. Like this.”

My brain is too broken from the pain in my legs to make a rub-it-out joke. I wouldn’t, anyway. I’m too much of a gentleman. Somehow, through the tangle of my limbs, her hands find my calves. Her fingers start to knead. And darn it, I turn into the softest, most pliable dough she could ever want. I’d let her knead dough me forever.

Oh! Oh, that’s good. And it’s working. My legs are no longer two fiery rocks of terrible pain sucking the life and breath out of me. I feel like they’re no longer two instruments of murderous murder trying to take me out. My muscles are just muscles, not doom calves, and some of the fire releases. I go limp on the concrete. I feel drained. It’s just nice to collapse on it, soak up its heat and allow Patience’s hands to work away the rest.

Now that I can get functioning thoughts into my brain, I feel all the rage I should have felt at what she told me. I want to call her dad a prick to his face, even if I get why he did what he did. Well, actually, no, I don’t get it. Cutting off someone’s mom? What he made me promise was bad enough, but I’m not Patience’s mother. Okay, at the time, I wanted to call her dad a prick too. I’ve thought of a thousand variations of the word over the years. I might have thought the words, but each time, I let the anger go. I tried to understand. He wanted what was best for Patience, while I wanted my best friend to be happy. I couldn’t have everything, and if I had to trust that he would protect her, I wanted to believe he did that a hundred percent. That he cared about her happiness more than anything in the world because that’s what he made me believe. I still want to believe it. I know it’s not simple. I know people are human, and fathers make mistakes. I’m just so pissed that, in this, the person who was hurt the most was Patience.

“Let me help you find your mom.” My voice is still about three octaves higher than it should be. These leg cramps are just about as bad as getting booted in the junk.

“Apollo…” Her hands don’t stop working, and she can’t disguise the excitement in her voice. “You don’t have to do that. I’ve made you feel like you owe me something, and you don’t. I haven’t been nice. I haven’t said a single kind thing. I like your house, okay? I like everything about it, I like your skunk, and I like the spot you chose. I also liked having a breather in my life, I liked the change, and I liked…kissing you. That’s why I should leave.”

I can’t breathe. But it has nothing to do with the pain still in my legs or the water I should be coughing out of my lungs.

I turn my eyes to Patience’s face. Bent over me, her hair like a curtain, I can barely see any of it. I glimpse her nose, peeking through, and the curve of her lips. Suddenly, I don’t feel those cramps anymore. All the pain evaporates. I watch her shoulders and arms, the muscles there working as her fingers try to banish the ache I know is still there. I just can’t feel it because I’m floating. Right up off this cement. Levitating and probably glowing like a straight-up flashlight too.

I’ve wanted to take care of her since the minute her dad didn’t fight me when I asked to marry her so his company would be safe. I hadn’t even met her since I came back, but I sensed she wasn’t okay.

Saving her was the wrong thing to do, though, because she could save herself. She knows that now, and I’m so proud of her. I hate the pain for her, but I’m so proud she can already say she’ll find forgiveness. That she’ll get past it. I’m so proud of her determination and strength, her resolve to find her mom.

I want to help if she’ll let me.

I don’t want to help because of that kiss. Or because being close to her is the very thing I’ve craved since I left. The caveman in me isn’t the only reason I want to protect her. I didn’t want to make her mine with this marriage because I knew she was her own person. Even if we were married, for real, she would never belong to me. One person never owns another. One person loves another, which means giving yourself over, not exerting domination.

“Our dads will figure it out,” she says softly, her voice coming from far away. She brushes all the wet, dripping hair out of her face and leans back on her heels. “They’ll be okay. Or they won’t. But that’s not on us. The company isn’t on me. He’ll accept your shares. I feel like everything back home will just be…that it will be alright. If I leave, I can forgive myself for it too.”

She rubs her eyes, and I realize how much she’s carried around with her all these years. How much she’s still carrying around. I want to get up. I want to hold her. In a friendly way. The way I could have done…back when I was younger, and we had an uncomplicated friendship because we were kids, and loving your best friend with your whole heart didn’t mean anything other than that.

I try to push up, but I can’t. My body has suddenly turned into melted cheese. Delicious as that might be, it’s highly unhandy. Patience offers her hand, and I slip mine into hers. The bones are so small, and her skin is slightly cold from being soaked in the cold pool water. She has to half throw herself backward to get me into a sitting position, but the momentum carries me up and stops her from falling completely on her back.

It lasts for about a second before I tilt backward. I’m not liquified cheese. I’m one of those poor earthworms that get caught out in a rainstorm. Or comes out in a rainstorm and then doesn’t go back. I used to pick them up and try and make sure they were okay. Even in the city.

Patience squeals as she gets sucked back with me. She tries to keep me upright, but she’s no match for how much weight I have on her. I get my other arm up to brace her as she flies forward. She straddles me and winces as her knees make contact with the cement.

No. No, no, no. I’ve hurt her. “Your knees. Jesus, that had to hurt.”

“It’s okay.” Her hands are locked in mine. She curls them around but shifts her weight so she’s no longer touching me. “I’ve had worse.”

Her heat is everywhere, even though we’re barely touching. I think about what this—her on top of me—would look like to our dads if they came out. Mine would just turn around and walk back inside. He’d be embarrassed. And he’d think it was none of his business. He never did talk to me about stuff like this. I was too young before, and then I left, and someone else had to do it. Mostly kids in school. When is it ever not kids in school?

I just have my boxers on. They’re wet and tight enough, but no match for the way my dick reacts to Patience being so close. I want to lift her off me because I’ll die if she notices. An errant boner touching my once bestie who just saved my life isn’t the thanks I want to give her. I get my hands on her waist and try to lift her up. Shit on a stick, I could really use my strength back right about now.

Her soft green eyes change. Maybe it’s the dark, the cramps coming back, or the fact that I just about drowned, and my brain is affected. Maybe it’s the pain. I swear I see heat in them. I check the rest of her face, but she’s not wearing a mask anymore. She’s not closed off. She’s more open now.

“Pa—”

“Shh.” She covers my mouth with her hand. Now I really need to lift her off me. That’s ridiculously hot. I want to taste her palm. The saltwater from the pool and her essence. That’s what all of her would taste like. Her neck. Her lips. Her—nope.

Not going there.

Please go there, my dick urges.

I don’t want to wish a cramp on the fucker, but that would at least get him to obey.

I want her mouth where her hand is. I want her hand to always be there. I want the taste of her, the scent of her, and the heat of her wrapped around me forever. Even like this. Even when I’m mortified at my own lack of strength, being a champion swimmer and almost drowning my ass in my own pool, and not knowing my limitations, especially when it comes to her. Her hand slowly moves away.

“There’s something I never told you. But I don’t talk about it. I half understand why my dad did what he did and kept doing it, not with you but with my mom. Because I almost died once.”

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