The Hating Season

by Linde, K. A.

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to tell the police. They called me last night. That’s how I knew where you’d been taken. I think they’re going to want to file a report.”

  “Okay… but not right now.”

  “Okay. Dad and Ashley are flying out this afternoon. It was the soonest they could get a flight.”

  “You told Dad?” she gasped and then winced.

  “You’d been shot! You were in surgery. What did you expect?”

  Taylor nodded, chastened. “Yeah. Of course. You’re right.”

  A soft knock came from the door. I frowned and then yawned as the realization that I hadn’t slept all night hit me. I stiffly dragged myself out of the chair and went to the door. When I opened it, Court waited on the other side.

  “Hi,” he said softly.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, stepping out of the room and closing it behind me.

  “I brought you breakfast.” He held up a bag stamped with the logo from my favorite bagel place. “I wasn’t sure that you’d eaten anything.”

  “I haven’t,” I said. “I haven’t really left the room.”

  But I didn’t move forward to take the bag.

  “Has Taylor woken up?”

  I nodded. “She just did. She’s in a lot of pain and worried about Bea and about my dad flying in.”

  “Did she tell you what happened?”

  “No. Not anything more than what I’d gathered from her texts and voice mails. I’m not pushing her. She needs time.” My eyes told him I needed time too.

  “Look, I know that you’re mad,” he said. “I don’t want to push you either.”

  “I’m not mad. I’m disappointed.”

  He winced at the words.

  “I’m disappointed because you could have come to me, you could have trusted me, you could have thought about the future. But you didn’t. All you thought about was yourself. And I’m just tired of dealing with men who only think about themselves.”

  He opened his mouth like he was going to argue and then closed it. He had to know I was right.

  “And this,” I said, gesturing to the bag, “is too little, too late, Court. I needed to trust you for the hardest things. For all the times we weren’t together. While I appreciate you coming to the hospital last night, it doesn’t excuse or change what happened.” I took a step back, my hand on the doorknob. “So, I’m going to go back to be with my sister. You should… go figure out how to salvage your mother’s campaign.”

  “Is this the end?” he asked hoarsely. “Because I don’t want to give up on us. I won’t.”

  “I don’t know. I can’t think about it right now. I need to be with Taylor.”

  He swallowed hard. As if the very thought made him sick. Then, he passed me the bagel. “At least take the food.”

  I sighed and took it out of his hand. I stayed where I was and watched him walk back down the hallway. It wasn’t until he was out of sight that I leaned my head against the door and squeezed my eyes shut to keep the tears at bay.

  34

  Court

  Walking away from English was… fucking horrible.

  It’d been bad enough that Lark sent me away the night before. It had been the last fucking thing I wanted to do.

  But I’d thought it would be better in the morning. Nope. It’d been worse.

  Worse because she had a point.

  I’d been an idiot.

  I’d thought that I had to see Jane. I just… had to.

  With the way that I was feeling for English, I needed to talk to Jane. I needed to know if it had all been real. Why she had picked me. Why?

  In the end, it hadn’t even mattered. Jane had been… Jane. She was exactly the same as she had always been. Even six months in jail, in an ugly orange jumpsuit. She acted as if she had a hundred and fifty million dollars in the bank, but it just wasn’t liquid enough for her. That she’d be out in a pinch. That was why she’d pled not guilty. Why she had pushed for a quicker trial. She honestly had deluded herself into believing that she hadn’t done anything wrong.

  I’d left more pissed off than relieved.

  And I’d meant to tell English. I kept meaning to tell her. But at first, it felt ridiculous. Like… it was over with Jane. It would always be. She was in jail. She’d tried to ruin my life. She’d stolen tens of thousands of dollars from me.

  Then, the longer I didn’t say anything, the more it felt like it was too late. I would have had to say it at first… or not at all.

  So, I had gone with not at all.

  Now, I felt like a coward and an idiot.

  I’d ruined everything. Just when it was getting started.

  I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out how to fucking fix this. And I hated the answer. Hated it. But not as much as hurting English. Not as much as that look on her face when she’d asked me if I still loved Jane.

  And so that was how I stood on the sidelines of my youth lacrosse match the next day with the fucking media in attendance. I’d promised an interview afterward. My mother was even here.

  I’d been shocked that she hadn’t screamed at me the second I entered her office. But I’d shown up with a solution. Even if it went against every reason that I had started coaching to begin with. I’d wanted one thing that was mine. Well, if I hadn’t fucked it up, then I wouldn’t be here.

  And we lost the game. Again.

  Still, I told each and every one of those kids how great they had done. Pumped them up in a way my father never had. Nor had any of the intense competitive coaches I’d had growing up. I spoke to one kid individually about a particular play, and then they were free.

  I played the part. I answered interview questions. I deflected the bullshit about Jane. I smiled and took pictures with my mother. Became the person that English had set me up as. The election was Tuesday. If it wasn’t enough to squash what I’d done, then I didn’t know what else I could do.

  “You did good,” my mother said as we walked away from the last reporter.

  “Did I?”

  “Yes,” she said. She sounded shockingly sympathetic.

  “But I fucked it all up.”

  She sighed. “Yes, you did. But you’re trying to fix it. And you’re doing it authentically.”

  “Since when has that ever mattered to you?”

  “Since when have you ever tried to genuinely fix something?” She arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

  “Fair,” I finally admitted.

  “She’s good for you,” my mother said. “English, that is.”

  “I thought so, too. She’s mad about Jane and not talking to me.”

  “Can you blame her?”

  I glanced over at my mother and shook my head. I didn’t blame her. I’d known what I was doing. If it hadn’t been wrong, then I wouldn’t have hidden it from her. I was no better than her stupid fucking husband in that regard.

  My mother brought me to a stop right in front of her awaiting black car. “You’ve had both an incredibly privileged upbringing and a rather tragic one. I wasn’t the best mother. Your father was never the best father. I know that he was hard on you. He was mean and judgmental and thought the worst of nearly everyone. He let his vices get the better of him, and you were closest to him. You took the brunt of that.”

  I had.

  But no one had ever acknowledged that.

  “I was supposed to take over the company. Everything rode on my shoulders.”

  “In a way that Penn never really understood,” she said with a nod. “And afterward, I wasn’t there. I’d lost my husband and the governor’s race in one fell swoop. It felt like all of my dreams were ending. I left you to your own devices. And… I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry,” I muttered. I’d never, ever heard that from her.

  “Yes. I see now where you could have been all along. And that I did nothing to help you get there. So, you might have screwed up. But you’re owning up to it. You’re going to have to do that with Engli
sh, too.”

  I nodded. “You’re right.”

  She smiled once. A warm, genuine smile that took me off guard. “I love you, Court.”

  I pulled back in surprise. I didn’t remember the last time my mother had said that to me. “I love you, too.”

  “I’m off to win an election. Wish me luck.”

  I laughed softly. “You don’t need it.”

  “Right you are,” she said and then disappeared into her limo.

  I had no idea what to say. That might have been the most… normal conversation I’d ever had with my mother. As if we’d finally made up for all the horrible things we’d done to each other. One foot in front of the other. It had seemed impossible only six months ago. Another thing that English was responsible for.

  And now, I needed to try to fix our relationship like I’d worked it out with my mother. For some reason, I didn’t think it would be quite as easy.

  * * *

  The car service dropped me off in front of the hospital, and I beelined for Taylor’s room. I’d stopped on the way to get flowers and clutched them in my hand now with all the confidence and bluster I’d ever needed in my life.

  I was almost to Taylor’s room when I saw a figure walking toward me from the other end of the hallway. I could tell immediately that it was English. Her steady gait, the way she clutched her hands in front of her as if to hold herself together, the wave of energy she gave off that said she was the most powerful person in the room. She’d always had that energy. Even when it wasn’t remotely true. But she’d earned that confidence, and no one could take it from her. It just was her.

  She saw me then, and her lips pulled down. A sight I’d seen many times before. Before we were something. And now, I hated it. This was the after. I didn’t want to elicit that response.

  “Hey,” I said, reaching the door before her and stopping.

  “Thank you for the flowers. You can go,” she said curtly. Her eyes glanced anxiously toward the closed door.

  “They’re for Taylor.”

  “I assumed,” she said, biting her lip as if to keep herself from saying anything else.

  “I… just wanted to see her.”

  “And talk to me,” she finished.

  “Yes. Of course.”

  She shuddered at the words and crossed her arms over her chest.

  When she didn’t say anything, I barreled forward. “I told my mother about the lacrosse games.”

  Her eyes blinked back up at me. “That was smart of you.”

  “We just had a press release at the fields. The parents were into it. I’d thought they’d hate it as much as I did. But I guess everyone wants to see their child on TV. My mother came. She approved.”

  “Great,” she said hollowly. “I hope it’s enough for her.”

  She said nothing about me. And she hadn’t uncrossed her arms.

  I opened my mouth to try to say something else. To apologize, to fucking fix this somehow. But that was her job. I was the train wreck, and she fixed me. I’d thought I was just getting the hang of trying to fix her. But I didn’t even know where to begin to fix us.

  I closed my mouth just as the door to Taylor’s room was wrenched open. Both of us jumped as if a gunshot had gone off. But it was just a giant of a man standing in the door. He glanced between us. Me standing there, holding the flowers, and English looking wary and uncomfortable.

  “Hey, Bug,” the man said. “Why don’t you go back inside with your sister? She’s asking for you.”

  “Okay, Dad,” she said in what sounded like surprise. She stepped toward the door.

  “Take the flowers. Taylor will like them.”

  English reached out and removed the flowers from my hands. “Thank you,” she said and then walked past her dad and into the room.

  Leaving me alone with her father. He was a large, imposing man with dark brown hair peppered with silver and bright blue eyes that I’d recognize anywhere. They were the exact same shade as English’s. He wore a faded Dodgers T-shirt and Levi’s. He wasn’t what I’d expected. English had said that she hadn’t grown up in the nice side of LA. But I still hadn’t been able to conjure that she had grown up with a normal life when she was so extraordinary now.

  “Son, I think we should have a talk,” he said, closing the door behind his daughters and gesturing down the hallway.

  “All right,” I said evenly.

  We walked a few feet away from Taylor’s room, and then he stopped as if deciding that was sufficient.

  “I’m Joe. Joe English,” he said, holding his hand out for me.

  I took it and shook, startled by the power in his grip. “Court.”

  “Yes, I know a little about you. Bug told me that you two were going through a rough patch.”

  A rough patch. Was that what she’d called it? Or… were those his words?

  “Yes, sir,” I said, manners appearing out of thin air. “We are.”

  “Now, I don’t know all the details. Frankly, I don’t need to know them all. But I do know my daughter. I know that she’s strong-willed like her mom. She’s hardheaded like me. And she doesn’t trust very easily. She got that all on her own by being burned over and over again by the people who claimed to care about her.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I wasn’t finished,” he said, holding up his hand. “Her trust is fragile. And once you break it, you just have to give her time to figure it out on her own.”

  “I understand,” I said hoarsely.

  “I don’t think you do. If you push her, she’ll buckle down. And then there’s no coming back from that.”

  I stared up at him, understanding finally blooming. He was talking about himself. He’d broken English’s trust by cheating on her mom, by leaving them. And when he’d tried to put it back together, it had just hardened up into bulletproof glass. Even now, he couldn’t get through it. Years and years later. What chance would I have?

  “Oh,” was all I got out.

  “Just give her some space.”

  “For how long?” I croaked out.

  “As long as it takes,” he said with a sad smile and turned and walked back down the hallway.

  I was left standing there, feeling powerless. I’d ruined something again. The most important thing in my life. And there might never be a way to mend what I’d broken.

  35

  English

  The day of the election, Taylor was finally discharged from the hospital. It felt surreal that I was going to be wheeling her out of the hospital today instead of helping Lark with last-minute Election Day stuff. To know that I was going to be on an airplane back to LA instead of at the victory party. Or what I hoped was a victory party. It was still too early to tell.

  “Can I just see Bea once before we go?” Taylor asked for what had to be the hundredth time.

  I felt guilty, continually saying no. But not only did the doctors and psychiatrists and nurses think it was a bad idea for both of their recovery, but also, the police frankly thought it was a bad idea. It had come out that the drug lord they’d been buying from was the same person the police had been trying to track down for six months. He apparently had a nasty habit of killing young impressionable women. Taylor and Bea were the luckier of most of his victims.

  And if all of that wasn’t enough, Bea’s parents refused to allow Taylor access to Bea. They’d told us all next to nothing about her condition since they’d flown in from Boston. Just that the gunshot wound had gone into her abdomen and grazed her liver. We gathered that she was still in critical condition and that it would be several weeks before she could do much of anything. But at least she had made it through the long night of surgeries. Though the hardest part might still be ahead of her.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, kiddo,” my stepmom, Ashley, said from her shoulder. “Bea’s parents still think it’s best that she’s left alone to recover.”

  Taylor looked wounded by the statement. “Right. Her parents.”

  �
�But we’re finally going home,” Ashley said. She affectionately ruffled her daughter’s hair. “Won’t it be good to get back to the sunshine? It’s so cold in New York.”

  “It sure as hell will be better,” my dad said next to me. “I remember why I never came to New York.”

  I just laughed softly at them all. This might have been the longest my dad had ever spent out of the state of California.

  He always argued, “Why bother going anywhere else when California has it all?”

  “Let’s go home,” I said. Even though I was uncertain what that meant for me anymore.

  We wheeled Taylor out of the hospital, laden down with instructions for her recovery and paperwork to transfer her to an LA-based doctor. I blinked against the blinding sunlight. I hadn’t seen it in days and felt a bit like a zombie myself.

  I’d given my dad and stepmom the keys to my apartment, so they could go back and sleep the days they were there. They’d brought me a change of clothes and the good shampoo and conditioner. So, I felt more human, but I’d refused to leave Taylor’s side. Even when she’d complained that she was “fine.” But I was the one who had gotten those terrifying voice mails. I couldn’t imagine leaving her now. When I could have prevented it all to begin with.

  * * *

  Six hours later, our flight touched down at LAX. My body was telling me it was time for dinner, but the sun was telling a different story. Time zones were weird.

  I yawned dramatically and took my phone off Airplane mode as we waited for a wheelchair for Taylor. I’d splurged on first class, so we were all comfortably seated, but I hadn’t been able to sleep. I’d always been a bad sleeper, but ever since Taylor had been shot, I couldn’t get more than two or three hours in at a time. I kept waking up from nightmares, gasping for breath. No amount of tai chi had been able to calm me down.

  A string of texts appeared on the screen, but it was the news alert that simultaneously had my stomach swooping and a smile appearing on my face.