Page 42 of Hate To Love You

Oh, and he was taking Bitty Kitty to his room since he wanted some skunk cuddles.

“I made some calls,” Apollo says, breaking the silence. I think he knows I don’t know how to start. “Last night. I don’t have weird PI people at my beck and call or anything, but I think I found a guy. He’s going to look for your mom.”

He doesn’t have to do this. I won’t ask him to, but I also won’t stop him. I want to find my mom, and I don’t have the resources on my own. I don’t have words to thank him for this either.

“I wanted to ask my dad where she is. Where the letters came from, when he last got one, and how long it’s been, but I just didn’t feel comfortable. I didn’t know if I could trust him to tell me the truth.” I run my fingertip over the clear plastic arm of the chair. “Maybe I just don’t want to hear that the last time she tried to contact me was ten years ago. I don’t want to think she ever gave up. That’s silly, isn’t it? Refusing to admit the truth?”

“I think you’ve been through enough hurt. Your dad, too, in his own way. I told you last night that I would help you, and you know I’ll do anything. You know I have the money to do it. Trusting in that, in people who know how to find people, is easier than trying to have that conversation with your dad when things are completely raw. I think you half wanted to spare him, and half just used logic.”

“Maybe I just wanted to fully spare myself.” It sucks putting this out there.

“If you did, it’s not wrong, Pay. It’s okay. Most people don’t go through things like that. I don’t think there’s a set of rules when it comes to the steps you should take and how you should feel about it.”

“I think most kids do find out that their parents have lied to them. Just not like this. And not at this age.”

“Making up the tooth fairy and Easter Bunny doesn’t compare.”

I laugh weakly. “I was pretty pissed when I found out Santa wasn’t real. That was bullshit.”

“I agree. I fully agree. But this? This isn’t going to be bullshit. I’m going to find your mom. We’re going to find your mom. Together.” He sounds so sure, and his face leaves no room for doubt. I still don’t know why he’s helping me and why he’s so kind, though. “Yeah, I know I’m coming on too strong.” He notices me watching him, and he thinks what I’m seeing is a bad thing. I see him trying to tone it down. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not coming on too strong. I appreciate it more than I can say.”

The expression on his face—all that softness and all that hardness—makes me want to get out of this stupid air-filled plastic chair, leap across the room, and…hug him. It makes me want to be close to him, closer than I should be. It’s not just a hormonal reaction this time. And it’s not just my body that wants this. It’s something more. Something that goes so much deeper. It half scares me because I’m not ready to feel things like this.

Things that make me remember that wild and impulsive kiss I gave him out of nowhere. I shouldn’t have done that. If anything was going to confuse things, it was that, but I didn’t think about it. I just did it. I did it because I’d been looking at his mouth, watching his lips, watching the rest of him, and longing for days. I wanted him in that moment…more than I could comprehend. I wanted to be close the same way I now want to be close. With every bit of me. I want my hands in his hair and on his skin. Rough and soft.

I touched him last night. I thought he was going to drown. I even massaged the cramps out of his legs. All night, I thought about his body beneath my hands. I don’t know if I’ve ever been as scared as when I saw him go under and not surface. My heart stopped. I’ve been scared so many times in my life, but nothing compared to last night. I don’t know if he would have kicked to the surface on his own. I think he scared himself too. I wasn’t going to take chances.

It’s not right that I keep thinking about the way his muscles felt under my fingertips. I hated that he was in pain. I wanted to save him from that too.

I said I was going to leave, but I haven’t yet. We’re going to find my mom, and we have to do it together. I want to do it together. I don’t have another place to go yet, but I’m going to find one. I’m going to because if I stay, I’m going to feel the way I do now. Flipped inside out. Like I’m powerless to stop what my body wants. I feel like I’m on the edge of desperation, and it’s way too much.

Maybe I just don’t want to leave because the mushroom house is so awesome. It comes complete with a pool, mountains, fresh air, the woods, one stellar treehouse, beautiful night skies, and an adorable skunk-cat. That makes it pretty tempting to want to stay. It’s not like it’s Apollo at all. He’s not the reason.

He’s not just the reason.

And it’s not like I think about him constantly.

Fuck, I do think about him constantly. I’ve thought about him constantly for years. He’s been a part of my life my whole life. I want him. I’m scared of wanting him, but I do, and I can’t stop.

He could have died last night. I’ve had a close call too. I know life isn’t forever. People aren’t forever. His mom passed away, and his dad still misses her, I can tell. Then my mom left. She and my dad weren’t forever either. Maybe there’s no right time. Maybe…I’m just so tired of hiding myself from everyone, probably even from me.

I stand up, and the plastic chair gives off a weird squeak and lets out a sucking noise. It’s hot, I’m wearing shorts, and my legs are kind of suction-cupped to it. I slowly pull my T-shirt over my head.

“Garrpppppahhhhh!” Apollo chokes on his saliva.

I’m wearing a sports bra, and it’s less revealing than most bathing suits. Grey and built to keep the ta-tas tucked in tightly while actually doing sports, it’s one of those hugely intimidating bras that look overbuilt and overengineered for just about any body type. My point is that it gives away nothing and covers way more skin than most regular bras.

I turn slowly because the scars don’t start or stop under the bra. They start on my shoulders and go all the way to my butt.

Apollo lets out another gasp, but it’s not one of disgust. It’s one of outrage.

“What happened?” Apollo is on his feet faster than I can turn around. I tug my shirt back on. I’m not self-conscious, but I can see that he’s angry and scared. More scared and also stunned.

This is why I never changed in the changing room with the rest of the girls. I’d go hide in the bathroom stalls. I was always so guarded and paranoid that someone would see. It was silly, but back in school, it felt like a big deal. I didn’t stop caring until my last year, and by then, I was so used to covering up and hiding that it was just second nature to keep doing it.

“I had a really scary moment when I was eleven. I was riding my bike, and this guy…he was just a kid too—he’d just gotten his license—well, he blew through a stop sign. He didn’t see me until he was pretty much on top of me. He did brake, but he hit me…well, mostly my bike, but I was dragged under it. It was so, so scary, but it happened so fast. It was worse after when I looked up and was staring up at the undercarriage of the car. It was actually a truck, which was lucky because there was room for me under it. I wasn’t seriously hurt, but I did have an insanely bad road rash. It was another reason my dad was so protective. He went up another level after my back got peeled like a carrot.”

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