The Hating Season

by Linde, K. A.

  “I have to go after her.”

  “Erm… wait, what?” Lark asked. “Is that a good idea?”

  “Fuck good ideas,” I said abruptly. “I need to hear it from her.”

  “If this is just to pad your ego—”

  “It’s not,” I said, cutting her off.

  Lark looked at me, really looked at me. She tilted her head as if seeing something different in my expression than she ever had before. I wasn’t showing her the Upper East Side playboy that I always wore. This was just me. And I needed to find English right now.

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s at her apartment.”

  “I’ve never been.”

  Lark scoffed. “Seriously?”

  I hadn’t thought about how strange that was until this moment. We’d always met at my place. Everything, except her orgasms, had been about me. Fuck. I needed to talk to her. I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

  “Tell me how to get there.”

  And to my surprise, she did.

  “What are you going to do about Poppy?” Lark asked.

  I shook my head. “We need to get her help. She’s worse off than I thought. I swear she’s gone to the restroom two or three times already. Can we send her back to rehab?”

  “Jesus, Court,” Lark said with a shake of her head. “I’ll handle it.”

  “You sure?”

  “Go! Before English changes her mind.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I felt light for the first time in so long. “Thanks, Lark.”

  “For the kick in the ass?”

  I winked at her. “For being a good friend.”

  Then, I left Lark to deal with Poppy and rushed out of The Plaza.

  24

  English

  My apartment still didn’t feel like home. Even though I’d been living there for two months, it didn’t quite belong to me. Likely because Josh had purchased it and we’d planned to live here together. A guilt gift. One I probably should have gotten rid of. I would have, if it wasn’t perfect.

  Still, it felt cold tonight.

  Fall blew into the city, and the full glass windows overlooking Manhattan did nothing to trap the heat inside. But it was the empty space and the broken promises and the crushed dreams that made it so frigid.

  I tugged off my black party dress and haphazardly threw it against my desk chair. I replaced it with my oldest, softest, comfiest black sweatpants and an oversize sweatshirt. My long hair went up onto the top of my head with a wayward scrunchie. And I settled onto the couch to watch some Friends and not think about the shit night I’d had.

  I was halfway into the pivot episode when someone knocked on my door. I glanced up in confusion. No one had knocked on my door since I moved here, except when I ordered takeout. I really did not want to talk to a stranger right now.

  With a huff of frustration, I paused the episode and went to answer the door. I pulled it open, prepared to tell whoever it was to leave, but standing on the threshold was Court Kensington. In a tuxedo. Looking sexy as hell.

  “Court?”

  “Hey, English.”

  “What… what are you doing here?” I forced myself to say. “How did you even know where I live?”

  “Lark told me.”

  Lark. Ah. She must have said something to him. She was usually such a good friend. This confrontation was the last thing I needed tonight.

  “I don’t know what she said, but I really don’t want to do this tonight.”

  “You just left,” he accused.

  “Well, yeah,” I said with a shrug. “Why was I even there? I don’t know Penn and Natalie. I’m just a publicist. I don’t even know why I got an invite.”

  “But that wasn’t why you left.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked up at me without guile.

  I sighed. “It doesn’t matter why I left.”

  “I think it does.”

  I reached out to close the door. “Just go back to your heiress, Court.”

  He put his hand out to stop it short. “Can we talk? Really talk.”

  “About what?” I said irritably. “I think I saw all that I needed. I don’t need words wrapped in lies. I just want to get some sleep.”

  “You like me.” He said it so matter-of-fact. As if there was no other option. Not a single other possibility.

  I met that beautiful blue gaze and tried not to flinch. Hearing it out of his mouth made it all the worse. I was not supposed to fall for Court Kensington. A lamb wasn’t supposed to fall for the wolf.

  With a sigh, I let the door swing all the way open. “You might as well come inside.”

  I didn’t wait for his reply. I just turned on my heel and strode into the kitchen. I’d just purchased a bottle of Hendrick’s the day before with vermouth and olives. Thank god for yesterday English’s quick thinking.

  I poured the contents of the drinks into a shaker and vigorously shook them. Then, I carefully filled each martini glass nearly to the rim, leaving just enough room for olives.

  “You look like you’ve done that before,” Court observed.

  “I started bartending when I was sixteen.” I passed him the drink.

  “How did that happen?”

  “I grew up fast and realized early on that I could use that to my advantage to make a lot of money. If you think fixing your bullshit is hard, you should see me stop a bar fight without lifting my finger. It’s a party trick.”

  Court furrowed his brow. “But I thought you grew up in Hollywood.”

  “I grew up in LA. Hollywood is for the birds.”

  He looked at me as if I were a puzzle that he couldn’t quite put together and then took a sip of the martini. “You know I prefer vodka martinis.”

  “Go to hell, Kensington.”

  He smirked at me. “Why did you leave, English?”

  “You know why I left.”

  “Because you didn’t want to see me with Poppy.”

  “Because watching you throw another woman in my face felt less than stellar,” I quipped.

  “But you shouldn’t care,” he countered. “You were the one who said that this couldn’t happen.”

  “It can’t,” I said unconvincingly.

  “And yet…” He held his hand out, gesturing to the apartment. As if his very presence changed that.

  “Just because I said that this couldn’t happen… that I want to watch you with someone that you don’t even like. Or watch your jealous stupidity about Robert.” I shook my head. “I came there tonight, hoping I could talk to you and that we could mend what I’d fractured with my assumptions about your character. But then…”

  “I proved you right,” he finished.

  I shrugged. “At least you proved that when you’re hurt, you lash out. And I don’t know what to do with that information, Court. Not after what happened to me.”

  “I didn’t purposely lash out. I thought I should move on. That the easiest way to stop thinking about you was to be with someone else.” He met my gaze, strong and steady. “Not only did it not work, but I had to deal with Poppy all night.”

  “You seemed perfectly okay with that from where I stood.”

  “I wanted you to think that.”

  I grumbled in exasperation. “That’s exactly my point.”

  “So, maybe I did lash out.” He drained the remainder of his martini and set it aside. Then, he stepped closer to me. “But if you didn’t feel anything for me, then it wouldn’t have even mattered.”

  “But I do,” I whispered.

  His eyes rounded. As if he couldn’t believe that I’d admitted it. In some way, I couldn’t believe I’d admitted it.

  “I didn’t know,” I told him, biting my lip. “I thought that I was just mad because you brought Poppy. But it was more than that. I went to see you this week. I wanted to talk this through.”

  “What? When?” he asked with a furrowed brow.

  “Monday.”

  He snapped his jaw shut. He knew what he’d bee
n doing Monday.

  “I knew that you worked until three and then met Camden at that gentlemen’s club thing. So, I went there.”

  “You did?” he asked softly.

  “Yes. Camden told me you weren’t there.”

  “He did?”

  “So then, I got worried. No,” I corrected myself. “I got sick to my stomach. I thought you were lying to me. Hiding that you were seeing someone else.”

  “I wasn’t seeing someone else,” he said on a sigh.

  “I know,” I whispered. “I tracked down the car service while I was looking for you. He told me where to find you.”

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  “I’m sorry that I know. As soon as I saw you out there, I realized you wanted to keep this to yourself. That you didn’t want to coach for the publicity.”

  Court nodded. He looked as if he’d been caught red-handed, peeking in on Christmas presents early.

  “It wasn’t a secret,” he finally said. “Not exactly. I just…I don’t want to be Court Kensington when I’m out there. I just want to be me.”

  “And those two people can’t be reconciled?”

  “No,” he said immediately.

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Look, for the longest time, I didn’t give two shits what anyone thought about me. It was easier to let them have their own assumptions about who I was. I gained my reputation honestly, but that wasn’t me. I don’t know if that makes any sense.”

  “You aren’t always the guy who gets arrested and fucks anything that walks?” I asked as I drained my drink.

  He glanced at me, his eyes wide and concerned. As if he’d never explained this to someone else before. “That’s the guy who always went along with everything else. I just let things happen. That was a part of me. And I started to get really careful about who I let see the whole me. Because every time that I did, it backfired. So, I stopped caring. But I cared what you thought of me. I thought you saw past that.”

  “Which was why you were so mad at me?”

  I stepped back into the kitchen and shook us out more martinis. I needed one for this conversation. I’d never heard Court be so earnest.

  “Yes. The truth is… I might have been a playboy. I might have been a train wreck. Christ, I might still be those things. I don’t know. But something changed after the arrest… after Jane.” He reached for the drink I’d offered him and took a large fortifying gulp. “I got a taste of what it was like to be used. I’d been doing this to women for years. And it felt like absolute shit for Jane to do it to me.”

  “Reality check.”

  “It pulled me up short. I’d thought what I had with Jane was real. I’d thought we were in love. But… it was a lie.”

  I winced at his words. They hit so close to home. Too close. Even if the situation with Josh was night and day compared to what had happened with Court and Jane. It felt so real. So familiar.

  “I know what you mean,” I muttered.

  “I suspect you do.”

  “So, where does this leave us?”

  “It means you like me,” he said with a cocky grin.

  “Oh god. Don’t make me regret it, Court.”

  He set the martini glass down and then moved into my personal space. He tilted my chin up until I was looking at him. And I did look. He was mesmerizing. All strong lines and hard edges. Endless depths of blue ocean with that pinprick of black at the center. Long lashes that weren’t even fair on a man. Full, lush lips that were perfectly kissable.

  And something more. Recognition. He saw me. And for the first time… he was letting me see him, too. Not the Court Kensington he revealed to the public. The one that I’d read about. But the real person under that Upper East Side facade.

  The youth lacrosse coach, the book nerd, the gentleman.

  I didn’t know what to make of him. He wasn’t what I’d expected. Not by a long shot. And I’d had no intention of having feelings for him. Hell, for anyone. Josh had fucked me up beyond recognition. I’d already been dark and cynical and jaded, thanks to my bullshit parents. Josh had taken that to the next level.

  And yet, when I looked up into those unfathomably blue eyes, I looked into a mirror. We’d both been forced to grow up fast. We’d both had to play our parts to fit in. We’d both been put through the wringer, and somehow, we had found it in ourselves to still feel.

  After Josh, I’d never thought I’d feel again.

  Court had ruined it all.

  Or saved me.

  Depending.

  “I like you, too, Anna,” he breathed an inch from my lips.

  “You do?”

  “Yes. I like your ambition and your wit and your insufferable need to always be right.”

  “I do not—”

  He pressed a finger to my lips. “Like I said.”

  I snorted.

  “I don’t know where this leaves us,” he admitted, trailing his fingers back into my hair. “But I know I want to try.”

  I breathed out at those words and nodded. He fitted his lips to mine, sealing it with a kiss.

  Part IV

  Reality’s a Bitch

  25

  English

  The sidelines of the first youth lacrosse game of the year were a surprisingly loud event. The parents clearly knew the rules much better than I did. I had no idea what was happening. Court had tried to explain the mechanics of the game to me, but it just made little sense.

  So, I watched him in his natural element and tried not to laugh when I overheard some of the moms going on about how hot the coach was. Couldn’t blame them for that assessment. It was half the reason I braved the brisk October temperatures.

  The referee blew the final whistle for the game. Court’s team had lost terribly. They’d only had a few weeks of practice, and it was a brand-new team. So, it wasn’t surprising, but it was disappointing.

  After slapping hands with the other team, everyone huddled up around him. He swiped the red hat off of his head. He must have given some pep talk that energized them because they went from looking defeated to optimistic. They did a chant and then raced to their bags.

  I stepped out of line with the parents and trotted forward with a grin on my face. Court flopped the hat back down and met me at his bag.

  “Good game, Coach,” I said with a barely suppressed grin.

  “Did you understand any of it this time?” he asked with his own smile.

  “Ball goes into the mitt thing. You use the stick to try to get it into the net. They did not do enough into-the-net action.”

  He shook his head in dismay. “You catch the ball in the head of the lacrosse stick. The stick part is called the shaft. And yeah, scoring could have gone better.”

  I snorted. “Head and shaft. This sport was clearly created by a man.”

  “I can’t with you.”

  “Oh, come on. Try to tell me it’s not phallic.”

  He shrugged. “Fine. But isn’t everything?”

  “You can show me later.”

  “That I will.” He gestured for me to stand to the side while he answered a few parent questions. He waited until his entire team had left with a parent, and then we walked off of the field.

  Despite the wind, it was a beautiful day. The trees faded from vibrant green into gorgeous fiery red, burnt orange, and golden yellow. Leaves lined the walkways, crunching under our feet. And already, the sun lowered earlier on the horizon.

  It was most people’s favorite time of year. But as a California girl, I was not looking forward to my first year with seasons. And absolutely dreading the snow. Why couldn’t it be seventy-five degrees everywhere?

  “Bummed that you didn’t win?”

  He shrugged. “My competitive side says we should up practices to two or three times a week. That maybe I should recruit some other kids from better teams. I could probably convince the parents to switch.”

  “You’re insane. You realize these are, like, ten-year-olds, right?”

 
“Yeah. It’s just supposed to be fun, right?”

  I laughed at his distressed face. “It will be fine. You’re not doing it to win championships anyway. You’re doing it to help kids with an outlet. Most of them wouldn’t even be able to play lacrosse if it hadn’t been for your donation. Between uniforms, masks, sticks, cleats, and all the fees. You’ve done a great thing.”

  “I still want them to win,” he said, determined.

  “I like this side of you. Why did you ever hide it from me?”

  He grinned and slipped his arm around my waist. “Mostly, I didn’t want it to be a publicity stunt. I thought you’d see it as one.”

  “I probably would have,” I agreed.

  “And now?”

  “Now, we’ll just use it if we have to.”

  He snorted. “You’re a trip.”

  I wished I were joking. But if we had to use it, then we would. I just hoped that we stayed far enough ahead of everything that it wouldn’t matter. We had a month left before his mother’s campaign ended. I thought we could hold it together until then. So far, nothing more had come of Jane’s trial announcement. But I knew December was going to be a rough month. At least it was after the election. We could deal with everything one at a time.

  Court stowed his bag in the trunk of the awaiting car service and then held the back door open for me.

  “Are you still okay with us driving to the river? I don’t know if you want to meet Taylor… or do Oktoberfest with a bunch of New School college kids.”

  “I want to meet Taylor,” he agreed easily. “After I change.”

  I laughed. “Obviously. Didn’t think you’d want to head down there in your coaching uniform.”

  “That is a fact.”

  “But… you know, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

  He turned to face me. “Why do I get the impression that you don’t want me to meet your sister?”

  “It’s not that. Taylor and I only recently started to have a good relationship. It’s kind of new, and I’ve never done this before.” I bit my lip.