The Hating Season

by Linde, K. A.

  “Good-bye, English.”

  Then, he walked away, and I let him.

  And I wished then that there were a blue-eyed Manhattan playboy with a penchant for fantasy novels and a love for lacrosse here tonight instead. I wished I could cry on his shoulder about Taylor… and have him tell me it would all be okay.

  But I did none of those things.

  I just went back to the party to see Winnie and live this new life.

  37

  Court

  The stick cracked into the cue ball and smacked hard into the red three ball, and I pocketed it in the top-left corner.

  “Phew,” I muttered, leaning back against the pool table and forcing a smile. “Thought I’d miss that one.”

  Camden had just lit a new joint and passed it to me. “I think you’re going to miss them all.”

  “Ass.”

  I waved off the joint even though I probably needed it. My anxiety had been through the roof since English left. It had been ten, going on eleven, brutal days without her. Not a call, not a text, not even an active notification that she was online. It was as if the world had screeched to a stop.

  “Suit yourself,” Camden said as he took a hit of the joint. “Make your next shot.”

  I stared down at the pool table and saw essentially no clean shots. I was fucked. Camden was a better pool player than me anyway. I usually lucked into a lot of my success. As per usual, apparently.

  I lined up my next shot. Camden chuckled softly behind me. Yeah, I was going to miss it. We both knew it.

  “I don’t think you understand how geometry works,” Camden said when I whiffed the ball.

  “Fuck,” I grumbled.

  Camden smirked at me as he took his own pool stick and effortlessly made his next three shots without looking up. It really was pointless to play with him.

  “Did I ever tell you that I found out who had leaked that image of you with Jane?” Camden asked as he nailed the next shot. He glanced up at me. His face was surprisingly indifferent, but I could see something else simmering underneath there. That darkness that lurked just beneath the surface.

  “No, you never mentioned that. How did you even find that out?”

  He shrugged. “I have sources.”

  “Well?”

  “Do you know Margery Wells?”

  “No.”

  “I think you do.”

  I stilled. “Is that… English’s old boss?”

  “Indeed.”

  “What a bitch!” I gasped out. “She got ahold of pictures of me and released them just to fuck with English.”

  “Actually, I believe that she had you followed.”

  “Jesus Christ. How did you find any of this out?”

  Camden shrugged once more and then pocketed another ball. “Like I said, sources.”

  I’d never get a straight answer out of him. Camden was a powerful man, who ran one of the largest hotel companies in the world. He was not easily discouraged from getting what he wanted.

  “Also, no one fucks with me or my own,” Camden said, lethally quiet as he easily won the game, pocketing the final ball. He straightened and smirked at me in his victory.

  But I just put my hand to my chest. “Aw, I’m touched.”

  “Fuck off, Kensington,” Camden ground out.

  I laughed and stepped forward to pull the balls out of the holes and rerack for another game. I was going to lose. But at least I was losing to a friend.

  I finished the rack and stepped back. “Winner breaks.”

  It was then that Katherine Van Pelt stepped into the room, looking like a hundred pounds of femme fatale. She wore a slinky red dress and matching cherry-red lipstick. Her hair was down in waves, and she wore black fuck-me heels. I’d never go for Katherine. With the feud between my brother and my best friend, I’d have to be an idiot, but I wasn’t blind.

  I whistled at her as she strutted inside. “Going out?”

  She dramatically rolled her eyes. “Yes,” she said curtly. “Big plans.”

  Camden’s expression was neutral. No one should be able to look at her in that dress and be neutral. Let alone her husband. Who I was certain wanted to at least bang her.

  “Do you have a reason for interrupting us?” Camden asked. He leaned back against the pool table, crossed one ankle over the other, and brought the joint to his mouth.

  She pursed her lips. “As if you’re so busy.”

  “We just finished a game,” I cut in before they could go at each other’s throats.

  “The game never finishes,” Camden quipped. More directed at Katherine than anything to do with billiards.

  “I’m well aware,” she said dryly. “I’m here for the idiot Kensington actually. I heard you in here. I assume you don’t read celebrity gossip or else you wouldn’t be doing this bullshit.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Celebrity gossip?”

  “Do you want English to get back together with her husband?” Katherine asked pointedly. “He’s hot as fuck after all. A movie star. The latest Jason Bourne. He has a mansion in LA with a swimming pool the size of your penthouse. He doesn’t match your net worth, but well, he’s earned his money.”

  “What do you mean, she’s getting back with Josh?”

  I was suddenly very attentive. I’d spent the last ten days trying to give her the space that she needed. There was no fucking way that she had forgiven Josh in that time. It wasn’t even fucking possible. The last time he’d been in town, she’d throat-punched him and sent him on his merry way.

  “I mean, this.”

  She pulled out her cell phone and passed it to me. On the screen was a picture of English and Josh hugging. She had her arms wrapped around his neck. Her face was pressed tight into his shoulder, and he held her close. Like they had always been just like this.

  The article read:

  Reconciled? Josh Hutch Reunites with Wife at The Beverly Hills Hotel.

  After a messy breakup, talks of divorce, and dating rumors, our latest Jason Bourne is caught with wife out at Universal’s party with Director…

  I stopped reading.

  “What the fuck is this trash?” I demanded, tossing the phone back to her.

  “It looks like someone went home and decided to get back with her husband. While you’re dicking around here, playing pool and getting high.”

  “She is not getting back together with Josh.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “What the fuck?” I repeated with a shake of my head. “She wouldn’t. Not after what he did.”

  “Are you sure?” Katherine repeated.

  “English says those tabloids are all lies,” I bit out.

  “Are you going to stake your relationship on that?”

  I ground my teeth together. “No. Fuck. Of course fucking not.”

  Katherine smiled. She looked triumphant. I was sure she was going to take credit for this if it worked out. Though I still had my doubts. Had she been gone long enough for her to not still hate me? Was it long enough for her not to dig her feet in like her dad had said she would? I wouldn’t know that… couldn’t know that until I saw her.

  I turned to Camden as if to apologize for leaving, but he just waved me off. “Go.”

  I handed him the pool stick. “Thanks, man.” I patted Katherine’s shoulder as I passed. “And you, too.”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “Apparently, my job is to remind men how stupid they are.”

  “Mission accomplished,” I told her.

  Then, I hustled out of their apartment, prepared to fight for the woman I loved.

  38

  English

  “This all appears to be in order,” Mr. Jenkins said. He was a partner at Jenkins, Jones, and Jameson LLC, one of the top-rated law firms in LA.

  And Winnie and I were paying him a pretty penny for this meeting.

  He shuffled the paperwork around. We still had a lot to do before English & Bardwaj would get off the ground, but we wanted to cross our t’s and do
t our i’s before we got started.

  “Mostly, we’re concerned about the non-compete,” Winnie said primly.

  “Yes. Is it likely that Margery will sue us through Poise because of that document?” I asked.

  “It’s possible,” he said finally. “Even likely. I’ve had clients who left popular PR firms in the past, and she’s attempted to go after them. A lot of firms believe that this protects them from building up agents and then having them walk out with all their clients. But it’s really a tool to keep talented agents like yourselves saddled to one agency for life and prohibiting you to work.”

  “So, you believe we’ll still have to go to court?” I asked. “Even though, legally, it’s bullshit.”

  He laughed. “To put it plainly, yes. But she won’t win. Most of my clients settle out of court, or the non-compete is thrown out the window. Legally, she can’t keep you from working.”

  “And how do we ensure that she doesn’t win?” Winnie asked, leaning forward.

  “I’ll go through the process with you and everything that I suggest you do for your business setup so that it’s as seamless as possible.”

  “Excellent,” I said. I pulled out my legal pad and prepared to take Margery down.

  * * *

  A few hours later, Winnie and I stepped out of Mr. Jenkins’s office and back out into the California sunshine. It was a gorgeous eighty-one degrees in the middle of November, and I immediately stripped out of my blazer as we walked into the parking lot.

  “This is actually going to work,” Winnie said in triumph.

  “I think so.”

  “I’m so excited. I can’t wait to see her face when she finds out we’ve started our own firm.”

  “I hope I never see her face again, to be honest.”

  Winnie tipped her phone at me. “Touché.”

  “Okay, I have to head home. I need to take Taylor to a PT appointment soon.”

  “How is she doing?” Winnie asked sympathetically.

  “Well, it’s her first PT appointment. Mostly an assessment. She’s still in a lot of pain, and they don’t want to take it too fast, but you know, we’ll see.”

  “And mentally?”

  I breathed out heavily. “Worse than her leg, I think.”

  Winnie nodded. “I’d suspect so.”

  “She blames herself for what happened with her and her friend. And it doesn’t help that her friend’s parents won’t even update us on her progress.” I sighed heavily. “I don’t know. I think the mental side might take longer than the physical.”

  “Doesn’t it always?” Winnie said with a sigh. “Well, good luck. Let me know if you need anything. I can pitch in.”

  “Thanks,” I said with a smile and then walked over to my awaiting Mercedes.

  It was nice to drive again. In New York, I never drove anywhere. There was no need. But I’d grown up, driving everywhere in LA. Sometimes, we just drove for fun to get out of the city and out of the traffic. It’d been six months since I was behind the wheel, and I suddenly didn’t want to give it up just yet to head home.

  So, I drove.

  I drove with the windows rolled down and my hair whipping around my face.

  I drove like I was sixteen again, just figuring out how to live.

  I drove, not even knowing where I was going until I was there.

  I pulled into the old, familiar neighborhood. It looked smaller than I remembered. Grungier. As if the world had grown up around it, but this place had just sunken deeper and deeper and deeper. Growing into the ground instead of up out of it.

  There were still three blocks ahead of me when I began to bring the car to a crawl. It wasn’t the kind of neighborhood to leave a brand-new Mercedes idling. Not if I wanted to find it where I’d left it when I came back. But I couldn’t exactly park it in the driveway either.

  I didn’t even know if I wanted to see my mom.

  It had been nearly five years.

  I could remember the day in its entirety as if it were a movie I’d watched over and over and over again. She’d begged me to come see her. To meet her at the house, so she could “fawn over” me. I’d gotten the job at Poise about six months before. Josh and I had only been dating three months. She pretended to be proud. Her little girl off to conquer the world.

  But it was a pretense. I could see it in her eyes. It was the same look she’d given me as a kid when she thought she’d come in to some new money to pay for her problem.

  And at first, it wasn’t her fault. When I was a toddler, only three or four years old, she’d gotten into a horrific car accident on her way to pick me up from daycare. They’d had to remove the doors to get her out of the car. I’d seen pictures of it. It was beyond comprehension that she’d lived.

  What they hadn’t accounted for… was that she’d live with the chronic pain of the accident.

  Like any good doctor, he wanted to manage the pain. But at that time, there wasn’t enough information about opioids. Or the information was a lie. And what had started out as managing pain turned into full-blown addiction within a couple years.

  No matter how many times we tried to get her to stop, to treat the pain with marijuana or go to a rehab facility, the drug had her in its grasp.

  And that day that I went to see her, she saw me as the dollar signs.

  I’d put up with her bullshit as a kid. Hated myself for it in my teens. Thought I’d finally escaped in college and law school. And realized in that moment when she asked me for money to further her addiction that I’d never escape.

  When I said no, she railed against me. Screamed in my face. Called me every horrible name I’d ever imagined. And then she threw something at me. Her favorite coffee mug. I cried out as it hit me in the jaw and then shattered on the linoleum floor.

  She tried to run after me as I raced to my car with tears streaming down my face.

  “Baby, baby, I didn’t mean it,” she cried. “I just need the money. You know I need the money. What will I do without it?”

  I looked at her then. Hopeless, ragged, refusing help after she just struck me, her only child, and knew then it was over. “That’s all you care about. The money. The drugs. If you won’t get help, then I can’t help you.”

  She spat more vitriol at me, even as I sped away and promised myself that I’d never come back.

  Yet here I was. A block from her house. I could see her driveway from where I sat in the car.

  I eased the car forward until I slowly moved in front of the tiny two-bedroom that I’d called home all those years ago. The front curtains were pulled back. I could see my mother standing in the kitchen, taking a drink out of the refrigerator. She popped the top on the can, opened a pill bottle nearby, and swallowed the pills and the drink together.

  I frowned. Of course she had.

  I followed my mom as she walked into the living room and handed the drink to a man seated on the same sofa she’d had when I was a kid.

  I didn’t know who he was. How could I? But I knew the type. After my dad had left, there had been a string of guys she dated. It got to the point where my dad didn’t want me to stay in the house with them. My every other weekend with my mom became only when he really needed someone to watch me. I should have given my dad more credit for that. I hadn’t understood when I was young.

  I knew what would happen if I knocked on that door.

  The same old.

  My mom looked happy now. But she wouldn’t be happy to see me. Because I wasn’t going to give her money. I wasn’t going to go back into that toxicity. And if she was still popping pills, then had anything really changed?

  I swallowed back my own sadness and then pushed the pedal to take me away from the sight before me. I’d seen what I needed to see. I’d made the right decision five years ago when I cut her out of my life.

  And maybe I needed to cut my dad some more slack.

  I drove back to my dad’s house in a daze. My mom always had that effect on me. I just needed to get inside and
change, and then I could take Taylor to PT. Thinking about her would be a good way to not think about my own life.

  I parked the Mercedes behind my dad’s truck and trudged up to the front. With a yawn, I pulled opened the front door. I stepped inside, prepared to call for Taylor.

  But I stopped with one foot inside.

  My dad and stepmom were both standing in the living room. Taylor leaned into her crutches and had apparently just stopped talking as I entered. They were all clustered around the couch.

  Where Court Kensington sat like a fish out of water.

  39

  English

  “Court?” I asked with wide eyes.

  I couldn’t believe he was in my dad’s house… in LA… in the fucking Valley. What kind of alternate universe was I living in?

  He stood hastily, dusting off his jeans. “Anna,” he said softly.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came here for you,” he said so sincerely that I thought I might fall over.

  He’d come all the way to LA for me.

  My dad cleared his throat. “Well, don’t mind us. Maybe we can finish that talk later, Court. You two should take some quality time and talk.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Taylor said, grinning like a fool. It was the first time I’d really seen her smile since the incident. “Go to the beach!”

  “Taylor, honey, just let them decide what they want to do,” Ashley said. “Why don’t we get ready for your PT appointment?”

  “Oh, I was going to take her,” I said.

  Ashley waved me off. “No need. I can handle it.”

  My dad just nodded his head at me and then followed Ashley and Taylor out of the room.

  “The beach might be nice,” Court said. “Since it was thirty degrees when I left New York.”

  “I just… can’t believe you’re in my dad’s living room.”