Hate to Love You

by Jennifer Sucevic

  The forkful of pancake I was in the process of hoisting to my mouth stalls in midair as I meet Brody’s eyes from across the room. His hair is freshly washed and is pushed away from his face. The ends curl slightly above the collar of his sweatshirt.

  It doesn’t escape me that guys with long hair have never been my type.

  Apparently, that’s changed.

  Crap.

  Crap.

  Crap.

  The last thing I want is to find myself attracted to Brody. That would be disastrous. Falling for a manwhore never ends well for any girl. I’m no exception to the rule.

  In the cold light of day, I’m angry at myself for allowing this to happen. I’m smarter than this. I went through a similar situation last year with Reed. I don’t want to stereotype, but I know what these guys are like. I’ve been witness to it for three years running. A countless number of girls have cried on my shoulder about Wildcats hockey players who lured them into bed (snort—more like they dove in there headfirst, but whatever) and then dumped them the moment they zipped up their khakis.

  The good old pump and dump.

  I have to remind myself that what Brody and I have is nothing more than a pretend relationship. There’s nothing meaningful going on between us. There are absolutely no feelings involved.

  See? Now I feel better. More in control.

  The fork drops back to my plate with a clink as I frown. “What are you doing here?”

  My reaction doesn’t seem to faze him in the least. In fact, he beams a smile my way. “I thought you might need a ride back to campus.”

  “That is so considerate of you, Brody,” Mom says. “Have you eaten breakfast already? I have a few extra pancakes and some bacon if you’re hungry.”

  “Thanks, that would be awesome. I had an early practice this morning. Other than a protein bar, I didn’t have a chance to eat.”

  My voice fills with irritation. “Don’t you and your dad normally have brunch after practice?”

  Mom grabs a dish from the cupboard and stacks three fluffy pancakes with a side of bacon onto a ceramic plate before setting it down in front of him.

  “He had a meeting, so we skipped it.” His eyes dance with ill-disguised humor. “I thought I’d stop over and see what you were up to.” He bats his eyelashes and coos, “Plus, I missed my Pooh bear.”

  I nearly choke at the endearment. “Maybe you should have called first.”

  “Would you have answered?” he fires back in a singsong voice.

  I grind my back teeth, saying nothing because we both know I would have gone into avoidance mode after what happened Friday night. Damn him for showing up out of the blue and forcing my hand. I spent all Saturday thinking about it and my physical reaction to Brody still mystifies me. If he hadn’t put the brakes on our makeout session, I don’t think I would have. Considering that I don’t even like the guy, it’s a real kick in the pants.

  A superior expression settles across his face. “Hence me showing up unannounced on your doorstep.”

  “Syrup is already on the table,” Mom cuts in, sounding shrill. Her eyes pinball between us as if she doesn’t know what to make of our interaction. “How about some orange juice?”

  I wilt in relief when Brody drags his eyes from me to Mom. “Thanks, Mrs. D. I’d love some.”

  “We’re happy you could join us.” Mom’s questioning gaze darts in my direction as she arches her brows. “Wasn’t it thoughtful of Brody to come by and pick you up?” The silent message written across her face is clear.

  Be nice, Natalie Marie!

  I’m tempted to roll my eyes but don’t. Mom has no idea what’s going on between us. Well, she’s not alone. I haven’t a clue either. “Yes, it was very considerate.” Changing my tone, I say in an overly sweet voice, “Thank you so much for showing up on my doorstep for the second time without any warning. You’re like a bad penny that keeps turning up at the most inopportune times.”

  He grins around a forkful of pancake. “Anything for you.”

  Mom shakes her head. “You two have a very odd relationship.”

  Brody’s shoulders tremble with silent laughter. I can’t help it, the corners of my lips twitch.

  Mom’s right. We have an odd relationship. He loves to give me shit, and I enjoy slinging it right back at him. Tenfold.

  “That’s one of the things I like about your daughter, Mrs. D. Her sharp tongue keeps me on my toes.”

  Mom’s expression turns from confused to thoughtful before she carefully asks, “Do you come from an abusive home, Brody?”

  He nearly spits out the mouthful of orange juice he’s in the process of swallowing. He coughs and thumps his chest with his fist as it goes down the wrong hatch. Being the loving girlfriend that I am, I pound on his back extra hard until his eyes grow glassy with tears.

  He chokes out the words, “No, ma’am. Why?”

  Mom shrugs. “Just a theory.”

  I say with a straight face, “Brody knows I subscribe to the philosophy of treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen.” I flutter my lashes at him. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

  Too busy trying not to cough, Brody nods his head emphatically. “Can’t argue with that,” he croaks.

  Mom purses her lips and sighs. “I think the divorce has hit you hard, Natalie. Maybe you should see if they have yoga classes on campus. I think a little self-reflection would be good for you.”

  Before I can reply, Brody catches his breath and changes the subject. “How’d your date go last night, Mrs. D?”

  The question seems to throw Mom off guard. I’d asked her the same thing this morning, and she’d brushed the query aside, saying nothing more than “it was good.” And because it’s weird to discuss dating with my mother, I hadn’t pushed the issue.

  But I’m curious as to what she’ll tell Brody.

  “We had a nice time, and the band was great.”

  Brody shoves another mammoth bite of pancake into his mouth before asking, “Think you’ll get together again?”

  I perk up, interested in her response.

  She hesitates and glances away. “I think so.”

  “So, when do we get to meet the lucky fellow?” Brody gives me a wink. “Maybe we can double date. How fun would that be?”

  Mom chuckles but looks uncomfortable by the suggestion. And I’ll admit, it’s not something I really want to do either.

  “Oh, I don’t think we’re quite to that point yet. But maybe.” She glances longingly at the door leading to the hallway as if plotting an escape. “I’m, ah, going to the study to finish up some work. Let me know before you leave, okay sweetie?”

  Before I can open my mouth, Brody cuts in. “I’ll be sure to do that, Mrs. D.”

  Mom purses her lips in an attempt not to smile. I think she’s already figured out that it’s a mistake to encourage him. “I meant my daughter. But it was lovely to see you as well, Brody.”

  He gives her a little wink.

  Once she’s gone, I wad up my napkin and throw it at him. “A double date, huh?”

  He chuckles. “Did I go too far?”

  “By like a mile.”

  He shrugs. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. Figured you’d want some backup while meeting the new guy your mom is getting serious with.”

  Something in my belly clenches at the idea of her dating one man exclusively. Ever since Dad left, it’s been just the two of us. I’m not sure if I’m ready for some stranger to barge in and throw off the balance we’ve found after all these months.

  “Davies?” Brody reaches out and touches my arm. “You okay?”

  I force my lips up and lower my voice. “Yeah. I’m fine.” I don’t want Mom to overhear our conversation. “It’s weird to see your parents dating. This is the first guy she’s gone out with. At least, it’s the first one she’s mentioned. It’s not that I don’t want her to find someone, but…” I’m not sure how to finish that sentence without sounding like a selfish jerk.

  “You don’t
necessarily want to have a stranger dropped in the middle of your life,” he finishes for me.

  My body wilts as he voices my silent concern. It’s a relief that he gets it. That I don’t have to justify my feelings to him.

  “After everything that happened with my dad, I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready for both of my parents to be in relationships. To introduce new people into my life.”

  His fingers brush against mine and wrap around them. “It took a little bit of time to get used to the idea of my dad dating again. It sucked thinking someone might come in and try to take my mom’s place, but,” he shrugs, “I wanted him to be happy.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “It’ll get easier. I promise.”

  For the first time since the divorce, I feel like someone understands what I’m going through. The fact that it’s the guy I spent three years hating on makes it even more bizarre. Or a cosmic joke. Even though his mother died and my parents are separated, we still have to deal with extraneous people involved in our lives.

  “I hope so,” I whisper. Because right now, it feels excruciating.

  “Just give it some time. Let the dust settle.”

  I nod.

  Who would have ever thought I’d be taking life advice from Brody? It’s enough to make me wonder if I’ve entered a parallel universe.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Natalie

  Brody and I are camped out on the third floor of the library. Books and papers are spread out across the table. We have a test on Friday in our Managerial Finance class, so we’ve been hitting the library to study when time allows. Which, with Brody’s hockey schedule, is no easy feat.

  I never realized that playing a sport at the college level is like having a full-time job. I hate to admit it, but Brody’s schedule is grueling. I’m not sure I would want to have it. He’s usually up by five and doesn’t fall into bed until eleven. Tonight, he looks especially exhausted. I feel a little guilty for assuming that he’s been coasting his way through school. Obviously, that’s not the case.

  There’s something else I’ve noticed this week.

  The books Brody uses are large-print texts, which make me suspect that something’s going on, but I have no idea what.

  Vision problems?

  But that doesn’t make sense when he’s such an amazing hockey player.

  Sometimes I watch him from beneath my lashes. Where I can skim over the page of a textbook in a matter of minutes, Brody takes a lot longer to read through and digest each section. He highlights passages or important concepts and types them on his laptop. The entire process seems painstaking and slow.

  I’m beginning to suspect that Brody has a learning disability. He hasn’t mentioned anything and I’ve been too afraid to ask. I don’t want to offend him. A couple weeks ago, I wouldn’t have cared about hurting Brody’s feelings, but something subtle has changed between us. Somehow, we’ve managed to strike up a tentative friendship, and I’m loath to ruin it.

  After about an hour, I pull out a stack of index cards from my bag and silently slide them across the table.

  Brody stares at the pile held together by a rubber band. There’s a guarded expression on his face when his eyes lift to mine. “What’s that?”

  An unexpected burst of nerves wing their way to life inside me. “I made some cards for you to study with.”

  He seems taken aback. “You made me flash cards?”

  Only now do I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. Unfortunately, it’s too late to snatch them off the table and pretend this never happened. I gulp. “I thought it might make studying a little easier. That way you have something small and portable you can pull out when you have a couple of minutes of downtime.” I don’t want him to think it’s a big deal. “Even if you spend five minutes flipping through them a few times a day, it might help.” I shrug, wishing this didn’t feel so awkward. “Zara sometimes makes notecards for herself. It helps her to memorize the material.”

  When he remains silent, I repeat miserably, “I thought it might help.” Shifting on my chair, I reach out, ready to slip the cards back into my bag. As I make a grab for them, he covers my fingers with his own. I stare down at our clasped hands.

  Brody clears his throat. “Thank you.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” I say quickly, just wanting to drop the subject.

  “It is,” he says. His voice is low and scratchy. Full of emotion. “I appreciate it.”

  I suck in a breath and force it out again. The question tumbles out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Is memorization an issue?”

  Silence stretches between us. It seems like forever before he says, “I have dyslexia. Pretty much everything school-related is an issue for me.”

  “Oh.” Once again, I feel like Brody has thrown me for a loop. I’ve spent three years in class with him and it never occurred to me that he might struggle academically. Now that I think about it, the signs were there. But for some reason, I assumed the worst about him from the beginning. “I didn’t know,” I say stupidly.

  He shrugs like it’s not a big deal, but I can tell it is. It’s there in the stiff set of his shoulders. The way he refuses to hold my gaze for more than a moment or two. The tension radiating off him in thick, heavy waves is another indicator that I’ve unearthed something raw and painful.

  Our hands are still clasped. I shift mine around until I’m the one holding him. I want to offer comfort, but I’m not sure how and that makes me feel helpless.

  “My professors know, and for the most part, they’ve been great about making accommodations. They give me notes prior to class so I can focus on the lecture. Instead of taking written exams, sometimes I can take an oral one. I do better when I don’t have to read long sections and answer questions. That’s always been a killer for me. I also buy large-print books because it helps make reading easier.”

  I shake my head in wonder. I would have never suspected.

  “Look,” he says gruffly. “I’ve been dealing with this for a long time. I’ve figured out strategies to help myself.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” God, I feel like such an asshole right now.

  “Actually, the cards are great. My handwriting is pretty messy, so these will make it easier.”

  “I can make cards for your other classes, too,” I say quickly. “It’s not a problem.”

  He nods. “Quizzing me verbally on the information helps as well.”

  A piece of the puzzle slides into place. “Is this the reason you didn’t want to work with a tutor?”

  A look of guilt flashes across his face before he pulls his gaze from mine. “I’ve managed to get through three years of college on my own. But we’re only a month into the semester and it’s already challenging. I’m struggling more than I have in the past.”

  My heart feels like it’s being cracked wide open. I’ve never felt anything like it. “I’ll help you as much as I can.”

  The corners of his lips lift. “Thanks. And I appreciate the cards.”

  “You mentioned going over the information verbally. Is there anything else we can do?”

  He takes a breath. “If we could discuss the concepts, especially in finance, so I have a better understanding of them, that would help a lot. I have a difficult time memorizing for the sake of memorizing. If I have a better working understanding of the ideas, then it’s easier for me to commit them to memory.”

  “We can do that.” I make a mental note to do a little research on dyslexia. Maybe if I have a better understanding of Brody’s struggles, I can figure out other ways to support him.

  “I appreciate your help, Davies.” His eyes drop as he shifts on the chair. “Do me a favor?”

  “Anything.” And strangely enough, I mean it. I’d do just about anything he asked right now.

  His whiskey-colored gaze pierces mine. “Don’t mention this to anyone, okay?”

  “Is that what you think? That I’m going to blab this all over school?” It hurts that he feels the need to say th
at to me. “I would never do that to you.”

  Some of the tension drains from his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t. It’s just…” He shrugs as if at a loss for words. “I’ve learned over the years to keep my guard up. Whitmore is a cesspool for gossip. I don’t want this getting out. It’s no one’s business but my own.”

  “You have nothing to be embarrassed of. You’ve obviously found strategies that work for you.”

  He nods. “Yeah, I have. But school has always been a struggle. I’ve had to work my ass off just to get B’s.” He cocks his head. “Do you have any idea how much it sucks to work that hard and not see a payoff?”

  I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t. School has always come easy for me. I’ve never had to study very much. I’m blessed with a good memory.

  “I spent a lot of years hating school, hating how difficult it felt, hating that everyone seemed to pick up stuff easier than me. They watched me struggle and thought I was lazy or stupid, or a troublemaker because I would get so frustrated and lash out.”

  His words break my heart. Especially since I’m guilty of thinking the same. I’ve never felt so ashamed of myself as I do at this moment.

  “I’m sorry, Brody. That sounds miserable.”

  “You know what saved me?” He pauses for a beat, and I shake my head. “Hockey. As much as I struggled in the classroom, I was a natural on the ice. If I didn’t have hockey growing up, I’m not sure I could have gotten through all the other bullshit.”

  “If school was so difficult, why go to college? Why not go straight to the NHL?”

  “I signed a contract with Milwaukee during my senior year of high school. They wanted me to play juniors. I was eighteen years old and needed time to mature physically. Attending college was my decision. I could have turned pro after the second year of juniors, but it was important to my mom that I get my college degree, so that’s what I’m doing. I’ve focused on a business degree, because after I’m done playing hockey my plan is to join my father at his management company.”

  I feel like everything I’ve ever thought about Brody is wrong. Okay…maybe not everything, because he’s still a manwhore. But the importance he’s placed on school even though he clearly struggles is proof enough that there’s more to Brody than I allowed myself to believe.