Hate

by Laurel Curtis

  And that was the truth. It’d been hard work, but I’d effectively shut him and any feelings I had for him way the hell out. I’d categorized a relationship with him as “never gonna happen” and attempted to move on.

  “Elbow,” he forced out, his features elongating noticeably, clearly just as shocked as I was. His hand went straight to his hair, gliding backwards effortlessly through the imaginary tresses. It was exactly what he used to do, only now, he had no excess hair to arrange.

  I clenched my eyes shut and convulsed as that one annoying word slammed into me, fighting through the skin and flesh, gnawing at my bones, and coursing through my veins with the intensity of Niagara Falls.

  Years of armor—penetrated in an instant.

  All the hurt and longing—palpable. The soul-crushing, unrequited love—there and debilitating.

  Fuck.

  “What are you doing here?” I wheezed, forcing my eyes open again.

  He looked around comically before feeding me the sarcasm I hadn’t even realized I’d missed. “Um, flying?”

  Angry and frustrated from all of my no-longer-contained decade worth of suppressed emotion, I released it on him, accusing, “You’re in my seat.”

  “This?” he questioned with a point to his jean-clad lap. “This is your seat?”

  “Yes,” I bit out.

  “Hm. That’s funny. I’m pretty sure this is my seat. Can I see your ticket so we can clear this up?” he offered, extending his hand in anticipation.

  “Ha,” I laughed with a caustic smile. Ruefully, I shook my head. “Fine. It used to be my seat. But I want it back. Switch with me.”

  Enter trademark smirk. “Sorry, pretty girl. No can do.”

  “Come on. I’m right next to you. 2B.”

  “The middle seat?” he said through a laugh. “Nice try. Haven’t you noticed my long, muscular legs and sizable wingspan?”

  “No,” I lied, averting my eyes to keep from giving it away. Five seconds after getting over my initial upset, I’d started ogling every inch of him my greedy eyes could find, wingspan and legs included.

  “Pity,” he mused. “I wish you had.” Shrugging, and then gesturing to the seat in question, he remarked, “Regardless, I won’t fit comfortably in there. You, on the other hand, with your petite figure, will fit perfectly.”

  “Petite? Now I know you’re just bullshitting me.”

  “Whit?” he called, ignoring me.

  “Ugh,” I grunted, annoyed. “Yeah?”

  “You’re completely messing up the flow. You’ve got a backup a mile long behind you, and Missy’s giving you the bitch face.”

  I looked over my shoulder briefly before asking, “Missy?”

  “The flight attendant. Sit your cute ass down.”

  “Missy,” I mouthed scathingly to myself, wondering just how well he knew the slutty tart.

  I pictured his long fingered hands on her ass, her thigh hiked up and around his hip. She’d be moaning for sure, and his soft lips would no doubt be working the sensitive spot right underneath her ear. Most men couldn’t find it to save their lives, but Blane would be able to.

  Definitely.

  Running my eyes over the sinewy veins in his forearms, I followed them up over his shoulders, along the enticing column of his neck, and ended at the gentle curve of his smirk.

  Ugh. I considered violence, but our location pretty much ruled that out. And unfortunately, all that left me with was annoyance.

  As I grumbled, “Can you at least get up?” I realized that my irritability from Blane’s fictitious affair with the harlot was real despite its lack of basis in reality.

  “I rather like the idea of you having to climb over me.”

  “What the fuck, Blane? Get the hell out of your seat and let me through.”

  A smile transformed his face, and a bright light filled his intoxicating eyes as he unbuckled and climbed effortlessly from his seat.

  “There she is.”

  “Who? Missy?”

  “No! You. What have you been doing to damage your brain cells for the last twelve years? I could have sworn you were smarter than this the last time I saw you.”

  “Ha. Ha. Fuck you,” I spouted childishly while sliding into the row and settling into my seat.

  “You curse more too.”

  I hated the middle seat and all of its claustrophobic qualities.

  And I hated Blane Hunt.

  But most of all, I hated that no matter how good I had been at convincing myself of the opposite, I still loved the bastard.

  BLANE HUNT.

  He thought he knew so much about me.

  Well, he didn’t.

  I hadn’t seen or spoken to him in twelve freaking years and had done most of my growing up during them.

  And now, I’d been giving him the silent treatment for the last fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem bothered. Of course, it was annoying the hell out of me though.

  The need to know what he was thinking was almost overwhelming. It itched my skin and poked at my muscles to the point that I almost couldn’t stand to sit there anymore. My elbow rubbed against his, neither one of us willing to give up the arm rest between us.

  “What are you doing here?” I repeated, giving in and breaking the tension-filled silence as Missy went over the safety instructions.

  Obviously, Blane was still very much the direct person he used to be. “Ah, so you’re talking to me now? What changed? Couldn’t resist the innate female urge to speak any longer?”

  My eyes narrowed into slits reflexively. In turn, the edges of his lips curved into a smirk.

  I could feel the anger climbing up and out of my throat, like a teapot just on the brink of boiling.

  “Must be one hell of a dry spell to make you lash out at the fairer sex like that,” I retorted, using my words like a weapon and shield all in one.

  If he struck, I would strike back.

  His eyes flicked to the front of the plane, and I swear to God, I almost lost it.

  I didn’t know how I could feel such jealousy while having no claim. And I’d never had a claim. Certainly, if I had, the statute of limitations would have run out, but I didn’t. I never did and never would.

  Green had nothing on me. I felt raw. Wild. Inexplicably enraged.

  When his eyes came back to me, something changed. Perhaps my face read like I was deranged. Perhaps, he hadn’t been planning a come back at all. No matter what he intended to do or didn’t, it was clear, what he did was better.

  “You’re right.”

  I was so ready for a comeback, all I could utter was an eloquent, “Huh?”

  “You’re right,” he confirmed for my benefit. “This dry spell. It’s longer than any man would like, and I took it out on you.”

  “Wait,” I stuttered, disbelieving. “No way.”

  I assessed him up and down, feasting on each muscle flex, the lines of his strong arms, and the warm tan of his skin. His teeth were just barely crooked—years of braces and retainers too much of an imposition for the likes of him—but it was the kind of flaw that built character and actually made him hotter.

  “What, like a week?” I questioned before I thought better of it.

  He shook his head, the corner of his mouth hooking up and catching where God knew better than to put a dimple. It would have been too much.

  “A month?” I continued, shamelessly, unwilling to accept the possibility that it wasn’t any of my business.

  I just had to know.

  He shook his head some more, but still, gave me no verbal cues.

  “It can’t be more than a month,” I muttered to myself. Though, it wasn’t quietly enough that he didn’t hear. “It just can’t.”

  He had to be playing me. Him and no sex were like oil and water. They just couldn’t mix.

  We’re talking science, people.

  He patted my hand that rested between us and suggested, “Why don’t we move on to something else?”

  Well, shi
t. I didn’t want to move on. This was going to eat at me like a freaking flesh eating virus.

  On the other hand, the real answer would probably carve the heart right out of my body.

  Better the flesh than the organ.

  “Alright. What are you up to these days? What puts you on this plane, right here, in the seat next to me?” I asked.

  “Work,” he muttered while looking everywhere inside the cabin but at me. “I travel a lot for work.”

  “Okayyy. What kind of work?”

  “This and that,” he evaded again, his focus still avoiding me.

  Aggravated, I demanded, “Are you this annoying naturally, or do you have to work at it?”

  “Sorry,” he said sheepishly, turning slowly to meet my eyes. That is, if really manly men did sheepish. It was more like a wolf with a little extra fluffy fur or something. Definitely not full on sheep. Well, maybe a ram with really big horns.

  Yeah. Ram-with-big-horn-ishly.

  Anyway, I digress.

  “Oh!” I exclaimed, having found the answer to my earlier question in my mind. “You’re married.”

  His face scrunched up in confusion as he responded, “Um, no? Why would you think that?”

  I frowned dramatically. “Oh, I just assumed. You know, the dry spell? Seemed like the only logical reason.”

  “What? Why? You don’t think I’d please my wife enough to make her keep wanting it?” he asked seriously. Meanwhile, my eyes couldn’t help but follow the movement of his long, tan fingers as he rubbed them against his chest in affront.

  Damn.

  “No, I’m sure you would,” I appeased.

  “I would,” he snapped. “My wife would want to have sex constantly.”

  “Right,” I laughed. “Because she wouldn’t be tired from work or your kids or life in general. I’ve got to tell you, even if your prowess is off the charts, we get tired. Sometimes we really would rather have an hour of sleep than your penis.”

  “I refuse to believe that’s true,” he stated with a narrowing of his eyes. “Besides, how would you know? You haven’t even seen my penis. It could be really magnificent.”

  I bit my lip to stifle a smile, and then immediately fought the sting of my nose from threatening tears.

  I missed this. I fucking missed it. And I missed him.

  Turning my head slightly away, I regained my composure.

  I wasn’t going to ruin this moment with more tears. I’d cried enough over this one relationship to last a lifetime. Maybe even two.

  “Hey, you okay?” he asked as I turned back to face him, ducking slightly to try to see my downturned eyes.

  “Yeah,” I said with a scoff, waving him off. “I was trying to visualize all of the tricks your magnificent penis can do. You know, sit. Roll over. Shake. That sort of thing.”

  “Woof woof, baby.”

  Shaking my head, I bit my lip and smiled. “Down, boy.”

  He laughed. Loud and rumbling and genuine. It was so inviting, it called the attention of several of the surrounding passengers. Numerous females swallowed visibly.

  It’d been twelve years since I’d seen him, but nearly thirteen since I’d seen him laugh like that.

  My skin tingled at the memories. Cruelly, those memories turned into another.

  One that neither of us had even hinted at mentioning.

  My eyes jumped from the women around us to his lips, immediately replaying our first and only kiss all those years ago.

  They still looked just as soft, if not softer, and were framed by just the barest of scruff.

  I wondered if they’d be as demanding, taking and molding mine where they wanted them to go, or if they’d be gentler, more precise with their efforts.

  Would his tongue seek mine immediately or was the speed of our first kiss dictated only by the urgency of the moment?

  I didn’t know, but I couldn’t help but want to find out.

  Especially, when these lips belonged to my Blane. The one who laughed and teased. Loved and annoyed. Not the one who’d been battered so repeatedly, it was a miracle he hadn’t broken.

  “Earth to Whitney,” he called, seemingly for not the first time.

  “Sorry,” I apologized, fearing I’d zoned out for a freakishly long time.

  He stayed silent, staring at me with an intensity that made me nervous. It hinted at the possibility of him taking a stroll down the very same memory lane I had. But I couldn’t tell if it was the kind of road he hoped to travel often, finding it soothing and welcoming, or if it was a stone better left unturned. A journey once taken, but never to be repeated.

  Unable to wait it out, I broke the tension of the moment by filling it with useless chatter. “I’m headed down to my parents’ house.” His eyes smiled, but he stayed quiet, waiting for me to continue. “They moved down to Tampa a few years ago, like so many retirees do. But their nest was never empty, and that crazy bird Gram has finally driven them to their breaking point.”

  “Good for your Gram. She was always fun. I’m glad to hear she’s still raising hell.”

  “Oh, she is,” I agreed. “Apparently she’s taken to avoiding any and all proper sanitation. For some reason, she thinks I’m the best member of the family. This was her way of forcing my hand.”

  He chuckled softly. “Smart lady.”

  “Smart, sure,” I conceded with a shrug. “But what does that make me?” I didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Crazy, that’s what. Stupid me thinks my job is important enough to move her up to New Jersey to live with me. Alone! And she doesn’t even have all of her marbles anymore.”

  “What’s your job?” he asked easily, lulling me into a false sense of calm. One where I apparently didn’t mind telling him everything about myself.

  “I’m a grief counselor at the women’s shelter.” Biting my lip, I qualified, “Well, technically, I’m a counselor at Jersey Central Hospital. That pays the bills anyway. But the women’s shelter is where I really feel like I’m making the most difference.”

  “Wait a second,” he requested, his unsteady voice evidence of his teasing. “You, Whitney Lenox, counsel people on having a positive outlook?”

  “Hey!”

  “What?”

  “I’m very people friendly.”

  He could do nothing but laugh. He tried to contain it, but after fighting for several seconds, an honest to God snort jumped right out of his nose.

  It was something of a perceived impossibility, a snort coming from someone as distinctly masculine and attractive as him.

  But I’d just witnessed it, and apparently it was very possible.

  “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “You’re a loser!”

  “Oh yeah?” he asked with a smile.

  “And a jerk!”

  “One of those too?”

  “And you couldn’t be more wrong about me!”

  “I’d say I’m pretty right. I know you.”

  “You wish!”

  His face sobered immediately. “You’re right. I do.”

  And that took the wind out of my metaphorical sails. “Yeah, well. Good. You should wish. And you don’t know me. Those girls are the most important thing in my world.”

  “That much I believe,” he said, turning to face the seat in front of him. It sounded nice, but there was more to it.

  I pushed to find out what. “What do you mean?”

  He didn’t delay in giving me an answer, and the only pause he took was in order to take a breath.

  “You always put all of your energy into one very specific thing.”

  “What? No, I don’t—” I said by way of protest.

  “You do!” he nodded, turning to face me again. “When we were in school, it was all about school. God forbid, you go on a date or make a friend or do any of the things that were so readily available to you. And then once I bullied my way into a friendship with you—”

  “I let you in, you didn’t bully—”

  �
�I absolutely bullied. And once I did, you only had enough concentration for me, and Franny, when I forced her into the equation.”

  “I was still very much determined in school,” I argued vehemently.

  “Not the way you used to be. You were friends with us first, everything else second. And everything only meant a couple of things. You still never let a boy turn your eye, you still—”

  “That’s not true!” I snapped.

  “It is. And you know what, that’s okay. I loved that you gave so much for me, for her, for all of us as a unit.”

  “Apparently, I didn’t give enough,” I mumbled, my chin tucking into my chest instinctively. Because a boy had very much turned my eye. I just realized it too late.

  “Of course you did, Whit. You gave us everything. We’re the ones who didn’t give you enough back.”

  “Don’t say that,” I said, a slight quiver in my bottom lip. I couldn’t do this now. I wasn’t ready to do this now.

  “Why?” he asked. “You think that by saying that I’m blaming myself, or even Franny, for the things we did back then?”

  I didn’t answer, but he didn’t need me to.

  “I’m not. We were just kids! But so were you, Whit. God, we were all fighting the best we could, but sometimes things just don’t work out like they’re supposed to.”

  “How can you believe that?”

  “I didn’t used to. It took me a lot of years to believe it. But I have to. I have to. Otherwise, I’ll get lost in it all. The missed opportunities, the inability to control the loss of, first, my child, and then Franny. The completely unjust killing of a man I not only respected, but loved wholeheartedly. If I believed all actions led directly to consequences, I’d have to believe that my dad somehow provoked his death or that Franny deserved hers. That the brave men I fought alongside in a never-ending war’s deaths were warranted. And I’m just not willing to think that way.”

  The muscle in his jaw ticked as he added, “Not anymore.”

  “But you used to?”

  “Some knowledge takes more time to glean.”

  Hesitantly, I asked the first question that came to mind. “What else have you learned with time?”

  “Honestly?”

  I nodded. He shook his head and looked to the seat back in front of him. “A whole hell of a lot. But the one that stands out the most?”