Ian greets the other girls next, heading across the room and leaning against the wall, arms crossed and making small talk.
It’s funny how years ago we were all on the same page about Ian and his penchant for lying and cheating and scamming and generally only looking out for his own interests, but I go away for years on end and suddenly it’s like he’s taken my place and everyone loves him again. And it’s not that I’m jealous—this isn’t a fucking competition—I just hate that some of us seem to have forgotten what a vile human being he is.
Ian won’t stop checking his phone and after a minute, I watch as he types out a quick message and shoves it back into his pocket before returning to his conversation.
“She’s going to be okay, Isaiah,” Calista says, voice low.
“I know.”
“You’ve been here since 6 AM,” she says, “and you haven’t left her side once. Go. Get something to eat. Grab a coffee. Stretch your legs. Just do … something.”
“I’m good.”
Calista marches around Mom’s hospital bed, arms folded. “I’m serious. Go for a walk. It’s better than sitting here stewing, which is exactly what you’re doing.”
“I’m not stewing.” My nose wrinkles.
She rolls her eyes before grabbing the sleeve of my t-shirt and yanking me into a standing position.
Exhaling, I straighten my shirt, smooth out the wrinkles, and squeeze between my obnoxious older sister and the wall beside Ma’s bed. Ian, Raya, and Layla watch as I leave, and I walk with purpose, like I have somewhere to go, when I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do.
I’m not hungry.
I don’t want a coffee.
I don’t want to go walking around a germ-y hospital.
It’s cold as hell outside.
Passing the nurses’ station, I spot my older brother flirting with a copper-haired, freckle-faced girl-next-door type in lavender scrubs, and he’s so far gone he doesn’t notice me.
Rounding the next corner, I stop mid-trek when I nearly bump into a familiar face.
“Oh. Hi.” Maritza brushes a strand of dark hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her left ear. “I’m just … I came here to support Ian.”
“Obviously.”
Her expression softens and she’s a little less bent out of shape than she was yesterday morning at the café, and I take this opportunity to share a few things on the off-chance she might be more receptive this time around.
“You know, I came home a few weeks ago,” I said. “Tried to call you, but your number was disconnected. Tried stopping by the café, but you were never there. I couldn’t remember your address because I’d kept it in this book in my tent and we lost it in one of the airstrikes, and to be honest, ever since the coma, parts of my memory are a little foggy sometimes. Couldn’t even remember how to get to your place when I came back.”
Her dark eyes point toward the ground and she pulls in a breath of purified hospital air.
“But the one thing I didn’t forget was you, Maritza,” I say. “I never stopped thinking about you for two seconds. I don’t know what he told you, but I can—”
“Maritza.” Ian’s voice over my shoulder brings my commentary to a screeching halt. “Everything okay over here? Just came to find you. Wasn’t sure if you got lost.”
Her gaze lifts, traveling between us, and she nods. “Yeah. It’s fine.”
“No, everything is not fine.” My voice is a harsh growl and my jaw tightens. “Go back to Mom’s room. Go back to pretending like you’re some stand-up guy.”
“Isaiah.” Maritza’s voice is somewhat scolding, like she thinks I’m being hard on him, but if she only knew …
“You can’t date him, Maritza,” I say. “Date anyone else. Just not him.”
“You can’t tell her who to fucking date,” Ian says, trying to step between us. I place my hand on his chest and shove him out of the way, keeping my eyes trained on her.
“What makes you think we’re together?” Her arms fold across her chest and her gaze narrows.
Chuffing, I say, “Because that’s what he said …”
“Ian, is that true?” Maritza peers over my shoulder to where my brother stands. “Did you say we were seeing each other?”
I answer for him. “Yeah. He was telling our mom all about you, how he was going to introduce you to the family soon and all this other shit.”
“I never once said we were dating,” Ian says, the embarrassment in his tone obvious, but that’s what he gets for lying.
“But you sure as hell made it sound that way.” I talk to my brother but I’m looking at her. “See, Maritza? He’s a liar, a master manipulator. You can’t date him.”
“I’m not.” Her pretty face is red and twisted and she glares at both of us with the same disdain. “I’m not dating Ian. We’re just friends.”
“Good. You deserve better than that jackass,” I say.
“What, like you’re any better?” Ian chuckles.
Turning to face him, I rush him against the wall and gather his shirt in my hands, giving him a good, hard shove until that stupid fucking smile of his disappears.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” A hand on my back gathers a fistful of my shirt and yanks me away.
Calista.
“The hell are you two doing out here? Having a pissing match? In the middle of a hospital? Are you both insane?” Our sister splays her hand on Ian’s chest, keeping him from making any sudden moves as he stands there seething.
He’s lucky I didn’t bash his fucking head in.
“I’m sorry, it was a bad idea coming here. I’m going to go.” Maritza turns to leave before anyone has a chance to stop her.
“Is that the girl you like, Isaiah?” Calista asks. “The concert girl? How does she know Ian?”
Maritza turns for a split second, as if she heard my sister, but then she’s gone.
As much as I hate the fact that I didn’t get to say my piece and explain everything the way I wanted to, at least she got to see firsthand what a Svengali my brother is. If I can keep her from so much as thinking about dating him … I’ve secured a small victory.
But the war is far from over and I’m hardly done fighting.
I won’t stop fighting until I win her back.
Chapter Forty-Two
Maritza
“Thanks for meeting me today,” I say when Ian arrives at the Coffee Bean on San Vicente. I feel like it’s only fitting that we have this conversation here, where we first “officially” met. “How’s your mother? Is she okay?”
He takes a seat. “Yeah. She’s going home today. They think there was some kind of mix-up with her meds, so they’re getting that straightened out and she should be good to go.”
My hand covers my chest. “So glad to hear that.”
“And before you say anything,” Ian says, “let me just apologize for yesterday. For Isaiah. You shouldn’t have been put in the middle of that, and I hate that he made you feel uncomfortable.”
“You don’t need to apologize for your brother,” I say, noting the way he wasted no time placing all of the blame on Isaiah.
“Sorry.” His full lips twist into a smile. “Old habit.”
“But I wanted to talk to you about what he said … about you telling your mom about me and wanting to introduce me to your family …”
He sits up straight, eyes locked on mine.
“I thought I made it clear that I didn’t want to date you,” I say. “And you said you only saw me as a friend.”
Dragging his hand along his smooth jaw, he flashes a disarming smirk. “Yeah, I guess … I guess my feelings changed, Maritza. And I got a little ahead of myself.”
“Why’d you give him the impression we were dating?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know why he interpreted it that way.”
I’m beginning to see through him, little by little, piece by piece. There are all these little nuances in the way he talks, the word choices he uses. It’s crazy tha
t I didn’t see these things before, but I can’t stop seeing them now.
“Anyway, I wanted to meet up today because I was thinking,” I begin, “and after what happened yesterday, I don’t think it’s a good idea that we continue our friendship.”
Ian’s expression falls, his gaze shaded in disbelief. “You can’t break up with a friend, Maritza. Who does that?”
“It’s not a break-up. I just don’t want to cause any more rifts between you and your brother, and I don’t want to give you the wrong impression about my intentions,” I say. “For now, I think it’d be in everyone’s best interest if we all just went our own ways.”
His chiseled jaw unclenches and he clears his throat before scanning the room. He doesn’t have to say anything for me to see his ego in real time.
We linger a bit, neither of us saying anything. I’ve already said my part, but apparently I’ve left Ian speechless.
My phone vibrates in my bag and I reach down to silence it, catching Rachael’s name flashing across the screen. I told her I was coming here today to have this talk with Ian, so she’s probably just checking to see how it went. I’ll call her back when I leave.
“You okay?” I ask, brows lifted. “You’re so quiet over there.”
“You’re still in love with Isaiah, aren’t you? That’s what this is about. He came home, you saw him, and you—”
I laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. This has nothing to do with him. And I was never in love with him.”
Ian rolls his eyes before checking his watch. “All right. Well, you’re not that fucking special anyway.”
“Ian.” I half-chuckle because I can’t tell if he’s joking.
He rises, straightening his red silk tie. “You’re just a waitress with nice tits.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” His honey eyes scan the length of me and his full mouth twists at one side, as if he’s suddenly judging me.
“Evidently, Isaiah was right about you,” I say.
Ian scoffs. “Believe what you want to believe, Maritza. At the end of the day, I know the truth about the kind of person he is, and honestly, you two deserve each other.”
His chair screeches across the tile floor, and just like that he’s pushing past a handful of teenage girls with iced coffees in their manicured hands.
Way to make an exit, jackass.
Good riddance …
My phone buzzes one more time and I glance down to see Rachael’s calling again. Sliding my thumb across the screen, I lift it to my ear and answer.
“Rach, what’s up? He just left,” I say. “And let me tell you, he reallllly doesn’t like being rejected. Holy shit. You should’ve seen hi—”
“—Cooper has a fever of a hundred and four and he’s saying his ear hurts,” she cuts me off. “I’m so sorry. I hate to ask you this, but I can’t get a hold of my mom or the sitter. Would you mind staying with the other two while I run him to urgent care?”
Rising and gathering my things, I say, “No, of course not. I’m on my way.”
“Thanks, sweets. I swear this is his third ear infection in three months.” Rachael sighs, and my heart goes out to her. I have no idea what single motherhood is like and I imagine it’s the hardest thing in the world, but she always handles it like a trooper.
“Don’t stress, okay? I’m leaving now.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Isaiah
“What’s in there?” A wide-eyed, blonde-haired, lanky-armed spawn of Rachael peers into the small cardboard box I brought over.
“Stuff,” I say.
“What are you going to do with that stuff?” she asks.
“Things.”
“What kind of things?” she asks.
“Caitlyn,” Rachael says, striding into the room in a sweatshirt and leggings and guiding her daughter away. “I’m sorry. She asks a million questions and she doesn’t know when to stop.”
“It’s fine.” I’m seated on a worn-down sofa covered in flowers in the cozy living room of Maritza’s co-worker’s bungalow.
It’s surreal being here and I have no idea if I’m going to make the world’s biggest fool of myself or walk away with the ultimate victory, but I have to try.
I owe it to myself. And to her. To Us.
“Thanks again for doing this for me,” I tell her, slicking my hands together.
“Of course.” She waves her hand. “She’s going to kill me for lying to her, but I think—I hope—everything’s going to work out for you guys.”
Earlier this morning, I stopped into the restaurant hoping to catch Rachael. All I wanted to know was if she gave Maritza the letter because I couldn’t comprehend why she’d still be so distant and upset with me if she knew the truth.
But when Rachael told me Maritza refused to read it, she unexpectedly softened the blow by offering to help in any way she could.
“She’s a stubborn old mule sometimes,” Rachael says. “Usually she’s this happy-go-lucky girl flitting around with a smile on her face but once she digs her heels into the ground, there’s rarely any moving them.”
“You think she’s going to be pissed when she shows up?” I ask with a slight chuckle, imagining how fucking cute she looks when she’s angry, her pretty face all pinched and her delicate hands resting on her hips.
“I mean, I don’t think she’s going to be running into your arms in slow motion, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Rachael rolls her eyes. “But all we need is for her to come on and hear you out. Cooper’s prepared to lock the door if I say the magic word and Calla’s going to hide her car keys if it comes to that.”
Shaking my head, I smirk. I know she’s just trying to lighten the mood and take the edge off a bit, but all I keep thinking about is the way she looked at me the other morning at the restaurant and the way that everything I said at the hospital seemed to go in one ear and out the other, like she wasn’t even listening.
If she doesn’t want to hear me out, if she’s so convinced I quit talking to her on purpose, then I can’t change that.
But it won’t stop me from trying.
“Mom, she’s here!” Rachael’s son shouts from the front window.
“Okay, okay. I heard you. Now take your sisters and go back to your room for a bit,” she says, brushing her fingers through his wavy blond hair. “And only come out if you hear me shout the magic word.”
Cooper nods and takes his sisters by their little hands, leading them down a hallway. It’s only now, in the stifling quiet, that I realize my heart’s beating like a kick drum in my chest and my palms are sweating up a storm.
I’ve never been so fucking nervous in my life, but I swallow it down. I stuff it down where I can’t see it or feel it or hear it anymore, because I have to get her back. I have to prove to her that I care about her more than I’ve ever cared about anyone in my life, and I can’t do that if I’m a bumbling mess bracing myself for the worst.
The doorbell chimes and Rachael strides across the room. Maritza’s shadow moves on the other side of the opaque glass door.
“Don’t hate me,” Rachael says when she answers.
“Where’s Coop?” Maritza asks, stepping in. “And why would I hate you? You had an emergency.”
Her eyes scan the empty house until they land on me and her smile fades like it was never there at all.
“What is this …?” she asks, pointing to me. “Why is he here?”
“You two need to talk,” Rachael says, placing her hand on the small of Maritza’s back and all but shoving her toward me. “I think you should hear him out, Ritz.”
She stands before me, eyes searching mine and feet frozen. Her lips part, as if she’s about to say something, but then she stops.
Rachael glances at the two of us before drawing in a deep breath. “All right. I’ll be out back with the kids if you need me for any reason, babe.”
As soon as we’re alone, Maritza folds her arms across her chest, eyes narrowing, and I pat the seat besi
de me on the sofa.
“I’m fine standing, but thank you,” she says.
I roll my eyes, patting the seat a little harder. She still won’t budge.
“Fine,” I say. “Suit yourself.”
“So?” she asks, eyes traveling to the cardboard box beside me. “What did you need to say so badly that you had to involve my best friend and force her to lie to me?”
I lift a palm. “Nobody forced anybody to do anything. This was all her idea, actually. Having you come here.”
She lifts her brows, fighting a smirk. “Fair enough. I can believe that.”
Placing the box in my lap, I reach in and retrieve the first item: a photo from earlier this year from Madame Tussaud’s, where she’s standing next to Miley Cyrus’ wax likeness, her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth.
“Why did you print this?” she asks, examining the singed edges.
“I took it with me over there.”
“You had this printed before you left?” she asks.
“CVS one-hour photo.”
“Why’s it burnt?”
“It was on my right side, resting in an interior pocket, when the first explosion happened,” I say. “Fire and shrapnel mostly hit my left side. I’m convinced you were my lucky charm that day.”
Her mouth turns up at one side, though every other part of her is still trying to pretend she’s still angry with me; her intense stare, her rigid posture and crossed arms.
“I kept it with me from hospital to hospital while I recovered.” I drink her in, studying the way her features soften, like she doesn’t want to hate me anymore. “Made all the nurses hang it up in my room each time they moved me.”
Maritza steps closer, finally taking a seat next to me. Drawing in a long breath, she rests her eyes in mine.
“I had no idea you were hurt.” Her voice is softer now.
Lips pressed flat, I reach for the top button of my shirt and begin to unfasten it, then the next and the next. When I’m finished, I pull the left side down my arm and show her the burned, scarred mess of skin that trails all along my left side and stops at the base of my shoulder.
P.S. I Hate You Page 20
