Make Me Hate You: A Best Friend's Brother Romance

by Kandi Steiner

When Robert told the officiant it was he and Amanda who gave Morgan to the groom, kissing her cheek and passing her hand to Oliver’s, everyone sat, and the ceremony began.

  It was beautiful.

  It was emotional.

  It was perfect.

  And after they shared their first kiss as husband and wife, they walked down the aisle together, and Tyler held out his arm for mine to walk us right behind them, as rehearsed.

  But it was the first time we had touched since the night we’d had each other fully, and we both sipped a short, burning breath when my arm slipped through his. I squeezed the muscles hidden by his tuxedo jacket, mostly so I didn’t fall, but also because I couldn’t help but revel in their strength, in his warmth, in his scent, like teakwood and turquoise waters. He held his arm steady, but I didn’t miss the shakiness of his next breath.

  We held our gazes forward, somehow managing to smile and nod to everyone as we passed, but for me, that moment stretched on into infinity. I wondered if Tyler wanted to hold onto me, too, or if he was just desperate to get this over with so he could never touch me again.

  As soon as we were behind the shutter doors, he answered my question — releasing me without so much as a glance or a second thought. Moments later, Azra was in his arms, and he kissed her cheek as she smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  I felt that kiss like an ice pick to the heart.

  And it stayed there the rest of the night.

  The reception was held immediately following the ceremony under a tent set up on the beach. It might as well have been a grand ballroom, for how the wedding planner had transformed it. Soft fairy lights were strung from end to end, working with the various sizes of candles on each table — some floating, some stable — to give the night a beautiful, magical glow. The centerpieces were simple, elegant lilacs and clematis arrangements that brought the colors of the wedding into the evening. It was all warm and cozy and filled with love, the distant sound of the waves on the beach adding to the ambience of the band as they played soft and slow jazz.

  Everyone was eating, but I’d found myself unable to get more than a bite or two of my bread down. My stomach was in a fit of knots after the ceremony, and when the wedding planner handed me the microphone for my speech, it only somersaulted, tying itself up even more.

  The band nodded when the planner gave them the cue to stop after the next song, and then I was standing at the center of the dance floor with that mic in my hand, laughing internally at the irony of it. I loved to talk. Putting a microphone in front of me usually brought me to life. Hell, I had a podcast that I’d made a career out of because I loved talking so much.

  But I didn’t know how I’d make it through this speech still breathing.

  A few people gently clicked their silverware against their glasses at the end of the song, cueing a kiss from the newlyweds before all eyes were on me.

  I did my best not to look at the one pair of eyes I felt the most.

  “Good evening, everyone,” I said, smiling, and it almost felt like another version of myself stepping in to grab the mic and take over. I stood straight and confidently, cracking a joke to open the speech before I launched into my version of the story of how Morgan and Oliver met, talking about the long, late night phone calls I’d received from Morgan gushing about the new guy she’d met on the Cape.

  The girl speaking in the center of that dance floor seemed a million miles away from the one inside my heart.

  “She told me when she left that trip that she was going to marry Oliver,” I told the room, joining the wave of smiles that spread at the words. “And I realize this was only a few days after they met, and any other normal friend would have taken that as a joke. But I know Morgan maybe better than anyone, and if there’s one thing I know about her, it’s that she follows her gut instincts, and once she’s made up her mind, there’s no changing it.”

  A few echoes of hear, hear rang out.

  “Truthfully, I don’t think the poor sucker had a choice once she said it out loud.”

  Everyone chuckled at that, and Morgan leaned into Oliver, who wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her temple.

  I took a deep breath, smiling at the couple and wrapping both hands around the microphone. “All jokes aside, I don’t think it takes more than just a fleeting glance at these two to see how deeply their love for each other runs. And it isn’t the kind of love we see in the fairy tales or the movies or hear about in our favorite songs.” I shook my head. “Their love is the real kind — the raw, unfiltered, honest and true kind of love that makes your chest hurt a little when you see it up close, because it’s just so damn beautiful, it takes your breath away.”

  Morgan wrinkled her nose, turning to kiss Oliver before her glossy eyes were on me again.

  “It’s the kind of love Morgan’s parents have, the kind of love we all dream about, the kind of love you do everything you can to hold onto.”

  My voice shook a little at that, and I cleared my throat, hating that when I looked up again, my eyes immediately found Tyler’s.

  And I couldn’t tear them away.

  “I don’t know much about that kind of love myself,” I admitted. “At least, not yet. But I think when you find a love like that, it’s effortless. Everything comes easy, as if loving that person is as natural as breathing, and just as necessary to live.”

  Tyler’s eyes were dark and hooded, his fist wrapped around a glass of scotch, but he watched me emotionless. Azra squeezed his arm and leaned into him, casting her gaze up until he returned hers with a gentle, knowing smile that broke my heart into a thousand little shards.

  My next exhale shook, echoing in the mic, and I turned my attention back to the couple with tears pricking my eyes. “Oliver, you’ve won the lottery with my girl here, and I know you’ll take care of her and love her the way she deserves. And, Morgan,” I said, smiling at my best friend. “Please, go easy on the guy, will ya?”

  Everyone laughed, and I raised my glass of champagne into the air.

  “To effortless love and finding that person who completes you,” I said. “And to the new Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Bradford. May your marriage be happy, healthy, and abiding.” I paused. “And may you have lots and lots of adorable babies for me to spoil.”

  “And me, too!” Morgan’s mom added to the symphony of laughter.

  Then everyone hollered cheers! and the room filled with the clinking of glasses and a soft applause. The wedding planner took the microphone, and Morgan and Oliver took turns wrapping me in warm hugs.

  Then, the band picked up their pace, launching into the first song off the playlist Tyler and I had made — and the party began.

  I took my first full breath of the evening once my speech was out of the way, finding myself able to relax — even if it was only marginally. Aunt Laura and I hit the bar together, settling on the fruity rum drink named after the newlyweds, and then we were on the dance floor with the bride and groom, giving everyone else the cue to join.

  The band was a smash, and for most of the evening there wasn’t a single butt in a chair. Everyone was out dancing — even Morgan’s grandparents and Oliver’s great aunts and uncles. Aunt Laura was becoming fast friends with Oliver’s mom, and when someone grabbed a tree branch off the beach and used it as a limbo stick, all bets were off. Those two challenged each other back and forth and had the entire party rolling in laughter.

  There were several surprises throughout the evening, including Robert announcing that his wedding gift to the new couple was a down payment on a house. And as much as that had surprised and thrilled the bride, nothing could have topped when Mackie’s Donut Truck pulled up on the beach next to the reception tent. Morgan’s eyes went wide as silver dollars, and she launched herself at a chuckling Oliver, who spun her around and held her tight.

  “I told you I’d figure it out,” he said when he placed her back on the ground.

  “My hero.”

  They kissed, and my hear
t surged, and then I rushed to help the wedding planner distribute the donuts to all the guests.

  It was easy to keep myself occupied. Whether I was grabbing a drink from the bar, or joining in for a group line dance, checking in with the wedding planner on what needed to happen next, or holding Morgan’s dress in the bathroom — I was busy. And all attention was on the bride and groom, just like it should be.

  What was even better was it had been relatively easy to avoid Tyler and Azra. Any time we happened to land in the same spot on the dance floor, I’d shift, joining another group or bailing off the floor altogether. If they were at the bar, I wasn’t. If they were with the bride and groom, I was with the planner or my aunt.

  I’d nearly made it.

  It was almost midnight, the reception crowd winding down as little by little, the older guests were beginning to excuse themselves.

  The bar was less crowded, the dance floor thinning out, too, and the newlyweds watched each other like they were ready to ditch the party and be alone.

  I was almost in the clear without a single scar from the night.

  But the band announced one last slow song, and though I’d been able to keep myself busy all night when the songs faded into slow melodies, I found myself completely unoccupied this time. There was nothing to do, nothing more to check, nowhere to escape to with the bar closing down and the evening coming to an end.

  So, I could blame all of that — my lack of being needed elsewhere — for what I did next, but maybe it was just masochism. Maybe it was just blatant desire for self-torture that had me standing at the edge of the dance floor when Tyler took Azra into the very middle of it, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his chest as they swayed to the band’s soft and sweet version of “When A Man Loves A Woman.”

  Azra wore a long, silky yellow dress that blazed off her dark skin in a way that was impossible not to marvel at. She’d caught more than just a few pairs of eyes that evening, and even now, with a dozen other couples dancing around them, they were somehow the center of attention.

  At least, they were of mine.

  Her tan, slender back was exposed, and Tyler’s large hands splayed in the middle of it, holding her close as they swayed. She leaned into him, holding tightly, a loving smile on her lips that were painted a deep, dark red. She was the center of Tyler’s universe in that moment, with his hands on her like that.

  And yet somehow, I could feel his touch, too.

  I closed my eyes, and I could feel his hands on my waist, on my hips, his mouth covering mine. I could taste his tongue, smell the faint scent of his cologne mixing with his natural aroma that had always intoxicated me. I rolled my fingers together at my sides, imagining they were in his hair, that his lips were on my neck again, that his body was pressed into mine — seeking, claiming, sieging.

  I swallowed back the emotion building at the back of my throat, and then a stiff inhale found me as my eyes shot open.

  And Tyler’s gaze was locked on me.

  It was inexplainable, what I felt in that moment, with his dark eyes watching me from across the floor. His arms held another woman, but his gaze held me, and every ounce of strength I’d managed to harvest that evening fled away like bits of leaves on the breeze.

  I couldn’t stand it anymore.

  It was too heartbreaking, too soul aching to put myself through the torture of loving him, knowing I’d never have him, for any longer than I already had.

  I felt my bottom lip quiver against the emotion I could barely fend off anymore as I turned away from Tyler, covering my mouth and searching for the newlyweds to bid them goodnight. But after a quick search, I could see they were already gone, and that was all the permission I needed to get the hell out of there.

  I fled through what was left of the party, muttering excuse me as I darted between couples and families until I hit the edge of the tent. I stopped long enough to bend down and remove my kitten heels, and I held them in my shaking hand as the other gathered up the skirt of my dress.

  It was just a few hundred feet down the beach to the house I was staying in, and the more I walked toward it, the more all the emotion I’d fought back caught up to me. Every cell in my body quivered, eyes blurring, heart squeezing so violently in my chest that I worried it’d break free of my rib cage and leave me altogether.

  The band’s music faded behind me, the crashing waves taking its place, and I’d almost made it to freedom when I heard Tyler call my name.

  “Jasmine,” he said again when I didn’t stop, and I trembled even harder, willing my feet to keep moving. “Jasmine, wait.”

  It was as if that command was one of a god, the way I halted at the words. I closed my eyes, reveling in the cool sand beneath my feet, as if it was the only thing grounding me in that moment.

  And in the next breath, I started crying, and I didn’t even bother to try to stop myself this time.

  When I turned to face Tyler, his face crumpled at the sight of me, and he opened his mouth to speak, but closed it all the same, shoving his hands in his pockets as if he was afraid he’d reach for me if he didn’t.

  I prayed he would.

  I prayed he never would.

  It was a constant war, one neither of us would ever win.

  Time stretched between us under the dim light of the moon, the breeze doing nothing to cool my hot skin as I waited — just like he’d asked. I dropped the skirt of my dress from one hand, my heels from the other, abandoning them in the sand. But Tyler just watched me, his eyes casting their gaze over every inch from head to toe, his jaw tense, eyes filled with an emotion I couldn’t place.

  “You left,” he said simply.

  I choked on something of a sob or a laugh, though I couldn’t be sure which. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I did.”

  “Why?”

  My eyes rolled up to the stars, like they would somehow be able to explain what I couldn’t. “Because I can’t do this anymore,” I whispered, rolling my lips together as fresh tears marred my cheeks. When I finally found his gaze again, all I could do was shake my head. “I can’t watch you with her, Tyler. I can’t watch you put your arms around her waist,” I choked. “And her lean her head on your chest, and you hold her the way you held me. I can’t watch you with her at all and pretend like I’m okay.”

  Tyler’s lips flattened, his brows bending together so fiercely that a flurry of fear swept over me.

  He took one step toward me, and somehow I managed to keep my feet planted. “You said this was for the best. You said you didn’t want me.”

  “Well, I lied, okay?” I said, matching his step with my own, and before I knew it, we were chest to chest, nose to nose, every shaky, hot breath of his meeting mine. My hands reached out for him, but I stopped them before they could make contact, holding them in the warm air between us as I whispered again. “I lied.”

  The air was thick and heavy, armed with electricity and toxins as we stood there on that beach bathed in starlight. My hands trembled as I lowered them, gently, carefully, until they rested so lightly on the lapels of his suit that I wondered if he’d even feel them at all.

  I lifted my chin, looking up at him through my lashes, waiting for him to say something — anything.

  But nothing came.

  I watched as a range of emotion washed over him, everything from surprise to pain, but he settled on something that looked a lot like anger. He ground his teeth, his eyes welling with tears and jaw muscles ticking from how tightly he held his mouth shut. His mouth opened just enough to let out a hot, quivering exhale, and his eyes flicked to mine.

  They were filled to the rim with tears, but he didn’t let them fall, and he didn’t say a word, either. He just watched me for a long, anguished moment.

  And then he sniffed, looking straight ahead again, his hands still in his pockets and his jaw set.

  That was it.

  That was my cue to leave, to let it go, to let him go. This was his chance to take what I’d confesse
d and run with it, to pull me into him, to say he wanted me, too.

  But he didn’t.

  The breath I took when I stepped back was like black smoke to my lungs. The first steps I took away from him felt like walking on shards of glass and rusty nails. And when I turned to look at him once more over my shoulder, it was a view I knew would be burned into my memory for the rest of my life.

  Still, I left him there.

  And he let me go.

  The day my mother left, there was an elemental shift in me.

  I didn’t realize it then, because I was young and, for the most part, untouched by the cruelties of the world. I lived in the sheltered little bubble of Bridgechester, in the warm hideaway of my best friend’s house and family, in the comfort of my aunt’s arms. I believed everyone when they told me something — Morgan when she said we’d be best friends forever, Tyler when he told me I was spectacular, my mother when she told me she’d be back for me.

  But on that day, something shifted.

  It was the first time I was hardened by life, the first time I saw through the curtain I’d been hiding behind and viewed the world for what it really was.

  I hadn’t felt that way growing up without a father, for some reason. Maybe it was because I never had one at all, so I didn’t know what I was missing. Robert was the closest thing I’d had to a father figure and he served me just fine. But, when my mom made a promise to come back for me and then broke that promise, I never recovered.

  And when Tyler told me what we’d done was a mistake and that it shouldn’t happen again, it drove the nail further into the coffin of what my life had been before that day.

  I looked back now and saw that moment for what it truly was — an awakening. It was the separation between who I had been as a girl and who I would become as a young woman. It was a clear, delineating line of before and after.

  And when I woke the morning after Morgan’s wedding, I felt that same, bone-quivering, soul-deep shift.

  I packed my bags in silence, listening to the gentle waves outside and the steady beating of my heart. My mind didn’t race, the way it had for the past few days — hell, for the past two weeks since I’d flown back to New Hampshire. Instead, I felt eerily calm and decisive.