by Bailey B
I Love You, I Hate You Part 2
Broken Love Book 3
Bailey B
A note from the Author:
First of all, I want to say thank you for continuing this writing journey with me. I personally hate books that are broken into sections. It KILLS me when a story goes unfinished. That being said, this story was too big for one book. If you have not read Part 1, I Hate You I Love You, please please do so before reading Part 2. Part 1 has all of the background information you need to understand the decisions made that led us to where we are now.
As for Book one in the series, Beautifully Broken, it can be read either before or after the duology. While it has almost all of our characters in it, it won’t hurt you to read it out of order.
Now, sit back. Relax. And enjoy Part 2.
XOXO
Bailey
Blurb
I fell in love with my next door neighbor when I was eighteen. It was fast and crazy and the best experience of my life, until I got pregnant. Logan, he pushed me away when I needed him most. Without his support, I made the hardest decision of my life and then I left. I ran away to start over with no plans of looking back. Only now I have to go back. My dad is about to marry his mom and it's just a matter of time until my secret comes out. When it does, everyone is going to hate me.
Epilogue from Part 1 I Hate You, I Love You
Logan
Three months after Danika left
I stare up at the popcorn ceiling in Danika’s bedroom. I shouldn’t be here for a multitude of reasons, the top being that Mr. Winters could charge me with breaking and entering, but I can’t stay away.
The room still smells like Danika, although the scent is fading. I’ve sniffed every shampoo, soap, and perfume bottle I could find in every store I’ve gone into and have yet to discover the particular blend that is Danika. Soon this room won’t smell like her anymore and that terrifies me.
I bring the rim of my Sprite bottle to my lips. I carry one everywhere I go these days, the mixture gradually becoming more vodka and less soda, but it helps. The ache that ripples through me from the moment I wake up becomes more bearable with each sip, though it never truly goes away.
I never wanted to be this person, a man who depends on a crutch to get through life, but sometimes our paths are chosen for us. No matter what, though, I will not turn into my father. When he drank, he was verbally and physically abusive. Drinking amplified his problems. It dulls mine.
Tonight, however, I need a drink more than ever. It’s prom. The dance Danika promised we’d attend together. I had it all planned, too. I found a horse drawn carriage company in West Palm that was willing to transport their items up here. Our house is only fifteen minutes by car to the Horizon Hotel, where the dance is held, which means it’s roughly thirty minutes by horse. A long ride, but not unbearable.
We’d take the carriage to the hotel and ride the private glass elevator to the penthouse suite, where I planned to hire a private chef to cook for us. Once the dinner was over, we’d go down to the dance and enjoy the night. When it was all over, we’d enjoy each other.
I take another sip, closing my eyes. Tonight would have been perfect.
My phone vibrates beside me. I open my eyes, unsure of how long I’ve been asleep. Orange light peeks through the curtains. It’s early. I spent the night.
Again.
I reach for the Sprite bottle that rolled across the floor and fell off the bed, but it’s too far away. My phone buzzes again. Over and over. Not stopping, which means it’s a phone call. I give up my attempt at getting my drink and swipe at my phone’s screen because the damn thing is still vibrating. “What?”
“Where are you?” Mom’s voice shakes like she’s been crying. I force myself to pay attention and not fall back asleep. I’m tired a lot lately.
“Not far. Why?” It’s not a lie, but I’m not going to openly admit that I passed out in Danika’s bed again. I’ve been spending a lot of time here. Walter, Danika’s dad, says I’m welcome anytime but I have a feeling if he knew just how often I visited his home that invitation would be rescinded.
“Piper’s been shot!” Mom cries. “Cooper is with her at the hospital.”
“I’ll be home in five minutes.” I hang up before mom can protest or threaten to leave without me. I straighten Danika’s comforter so her dad will never know I was here and grab my bottle off the floor.
We sit in the ICU waiting room—Cooper, Rex, Mom, and me—anxiously waiting for someone to give us an update on how Piper is doing. My hands shake. The everyday darkness that I fight is heavier today. Hurts more today. I need a drink to lift the veil and find the light, but I don’t want to leave and miss anything.
After hours of waiting, a tiny woman covered in blood pushes through the double doors “Lovelace family?”
We all stand, but Mom is the first to speak. “It’s Harris, but that’s us.”
Cooper takes Mom’s hand. She’s a mess both physically and emotionally. Between her unkempt appearance, Cooper in shorts and a scrub top and Rex’s rust stained attire, we must be a sight to see.
“I’m Dr. Roe,” the woman says. “The bullet lodged itself into Piper’s shoulder blade, but we were able to remove it and fix the artery it nicked.”
I let out a breath of relief for Piper and my head spins. I walk back to the chair I claimed as my own and sit again. My stomach twists, probably because I haven’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday. I’m struggling to keep myself together when I hear it. Coma. Piper is in a coma.
Holy. Fuck.
I stand and rush to the bathroom. I push open a stall door and heave a mixture of stomach acid and last night’s vodka into the toilet. When everything is out, I lean against the stall door and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
My phone falls out of my pocket. I stare at it a moment, tempted to send another text message that will probably be ignored. Fuck it. What’s one more?
Me: The sky was clear last night. The moon was large, too. Beautiful.
What am I doing? Danika doesn’t care about the moon. Hell, she probably doesn’t realize that last night was prom at the Horizon Hotel or how similar the sky was to Homecoming night.
Me: You know that guy Piper started dating, Rex? He took her to prom last night.
I need to stop doing this. Texting Danika like we’re still friends. She never responds, but she also hasn’t blocked my number, which gives me hope that she reads my messages. That she misses me. And that she might come back.
Me: Anyway, I don’t know how it happened, but someone shot her last night.
Danika: Is she okay?
The air sticks in my lungs. I bring the screen closer to my face, making sure I’m not imagining this. Three months. Three long months of being ignored and finally, finally, I get a response.
Me: I don’t know. The doctor said she’s in a coma or some shit.
Danika’s response is instant and I take the easiest breath I’ve breathed in months. She may be miles away, but the same relief as having her in my arms washes over me.
Danika: OMG. Logan. Are you okay?
Me: Not really.
Me: I miss you.
Three tiny dots appear under the chat feed and disappear a dozen times. I shouldn’t have said that. I drop the phone in my lap and pull at my roots. She’s probably going to ghost me again.
Danika: 24 hours. I’m giving you 24 hours but you can’t talk about us.
Danika: I’m serious. The second you do, I’m done.
Me: I’ll take what I can get.
/>
Me: Can we FaceTime?
Danika: No. This is hard enough, Logan. If I see you, I’ll cave and come home.
The corners of my lips lift. I can’t remember the last time I smiled and it wasn’t forced. Danika still has feelings for me. If she has feelings, then I have a chance. I don’t care how long it takes or what I have to do, I’m going to win her back.
1
Danika
Present day
The world spins in a not so good, probably gonna throw up later, kind of way. I carry my heels in one hand and what’s left of my hard cider in the other while I amble across the closed pool deck to the sandy beach, stumbling in the dark into a lounge chair.
Tonight was the rehearsal dinner for a wedding I’d rather not be attending. A wedding I tried my hardest to get out of, but when your plane ticket is non-refundable and the bridesmaid dress comes in the mail with the invitation, it’s hard to say no. Especially when the person getting married is your father.
Too bad he’s marrying the wicked witch of the west, Tessa Harris. Aka Mamma T. Aka Logan Harris’ pathetic excuse of a mother. So, not only is my dad marrying the worst woman in the world, he’s making the man who crushed my heart my step-brother.
Peachy. Right?
Even though I was the one who ended our relationship, leaving Logan broke me. If I’m being honest, I’m still not one hundred percent over him. Every so often bits of memories flicker in my mind, reopening old wounds and making it impossible to move on.
I rub the sore spot on my shin and continue my journey to the beach. The soft sand under my toes is just what I need to settle my churning stomach that’s unhappy from both the environment I’ve been forced into and the six hard ciders I drank while hiding from my family.
Needless to say, they found me. Well, my best friend Sarah Archer found me peeking through the doorway. Thankfully it was at the tail end of the rehearsal dinner, meaning I didn’t have to mingle and pretend to be happy to be back at the Horizon Hotel.
Don’t get me wrong, I am excited to see Piper Lovelace and Cooper Harris and spend time with Sarah. There’s just too many other people in that ballroom I’m less than excited to be around. So, after the quickest hello in the history of time, I ran away. The people in that room may be my family at the end of this weekend, but we are not a family. Of course, the one person I want to get away from most has his elbows resting on the driftwood banister, preventing my toes from feeling the wind chilled sand.
I could turn back and head up to my room.
It’s what I should do.
After all, I’ve never been able to trust myself around Logan Harris. He has the ability to get under my skin and eat away at my resolve without trying because, like a moth to a flame, I’m drawn to him.
The wind blows, carrying the scent of his cologne with it. It’s different, not the same smell I spent hours in department stores searching for. If not for my Nona, I would have caved and come running back home after day one. I owe her everything. She ran her fingers through my hair, lulling me each night I cried myself to sleep. She didn’t judge me when I refused to wear anything but pajama shorts and Logan’s shirt for a month, only taking it off to wash. She accepted every emotional outburst and tear filled breakdown with grace. She reminded me daily that I made the right decision, that Logan wasn’t ready to be a father, and that until he found a way to manage his demons, he wouldn’t be.
I don’t have her tonight. I have this mirrored sky, where the stars and the moon are just as bright as they were on homecoming. I have Logan’s scent swirling through my head, replacing my semi-happy drunk with longing. And I have a mostly empty bottle of hard cider.
Had a mostly empty bottle of hard cider.
“The fuck?” Logan grumbles, rubbing the back of his head. He turns, face pinched in pain and anger, but softens his expression the moment our gazes lock. He bends down and picks up the bottle with a chuckle. “This yours?”
“Yup. I missed my mouth.” I take a step forward and hold my hand out. “I’ll take it back, ”I say, adding “please” for good measure. I may be drunk and slowly burning up from the inside out, but I will not let Logan think he unnerves me. Even if he does.
Even if my world is spinning and I’m not sure if the cause is him or the alcohol.
The corner of Logan’s lip lifts into a smug smile. He brings the rim of the bottle, my bottle, to his mouth, then leans his elbows on the banister behind him. “Come and get it.”
I shake my head, losing my balance and stumbling a step to my right. I raise my hand and point my finger at his chest. That chest… god, how does his shirt even fit over those muscles? Like seriously! I can practically see the broad lines of his pecs through the thin white material. Walk away, Danika. “You, sir, are drunk.”
I open my fist and block Logan’s face with my hand, ignoring the deep rumble of his chuckle, and the warm air between us as I descend the stairs. I need to put some space between us and get the fluttering in my stomach under control. Too bad I don’t make it. My ankle gives out as I try to go down the first of only five steps.
I should be tumbling to my sandy demise, but strong hands grip my hips. Fire ignites my skin through my dress. I feel sweaty, and clammy, and like I need to take the flowing black fabric off or jump in the water to cool myself. Both of which I know would be terrible ideas because this is the nicest dress I own and there are scars across on my body Logan doesn’t need to see.
“Easy there, killer.” Logan doesn’t pull me against him and I can’t decide if I’m disappointed or grateful. “If you sprain your ankle, you won’t be able to walk down the aisle with me tomorrow, which would be a shame, considering it’s the only time I’ll have that privilege.”
Guilt stabs at my side. Was that an intentional dig at what our relationship could have been or am I just drunk and overthinking things?
I push Logan’s hands off my body then grip the handrail, taking each step painfully slow. When my toes finally meet the moon kissed sand, a chill slithers through me, bringing my body temperature a little closer to normal. I walk through the soft grains. My ankles roll and I topple to the side a time or two, but eventually make it to the solid stuff—the sand the water teases, making it hard just so she can run away.
I drop my shoes just out of the tide’s reach and walk knee deep into the waves. I don’t care anymore that the hem of my dress is wet or that I’m ruining my perfectly painted toes from the first pedicure I've had in months. All I care about is slowing my heart and making my body feel a bit more normal. A hard feat considering that I am most definitely drunk.
I close my eyes and drop my head back, allowing myself to become one with the waves. But then there’s a jingling of keys hitting sand and a grunt of frustration from behind me. I exhale, pulled from the tiny moment of peace I found
I strain my ears, listening to the sound of a buckle being undone and the soft thump of pants falling to sand. I’d be worried anywhere else in the world, but no matter how much time passes I know Logan would never let anyone hurt me.
Water sloshes and my skin is hot again. Heat bounces between us, the tiny hairs over my body standing on edge, waiting for Logan’s voice or touch, anything. Finally, he speaks, his voice almost to a whisper. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?” There’s something about this moment that feels so beautifully wrong. Like a painted sky before a missile sails through it and destroys everything in its path.
“Suck the air from my lungs while breathing life into me at the same time.”
2
Logan
The ocean water’s cold, but the quart of alcohol running through my veins keeps me warm. I’m not naive enough to assume the heat I feel spreading through me is from Danika. She turned to ice the day she left without so much as a goodbye. Her soul hardened with each ignored text message and voicemail. Begging for an explanation as to what happened. To give me another chance.
The only reprieve I got from the spasms in my heart
was the day Piper was shot. Even then, Danika refused to physically speak to me, but we could text. Not nearly enough, but I greedily took the crumbs she dropped.
She gave me twenty-four hours of her time with the stipulation that I couldn’t talk about us. The moment I did, she said she was done. Four months of radio silence. Five unconventional months of being us. Too many broken years of friendship and I got one day.
As gut-wrenching as it was to know Piper was fighting for her life, that was the best day I had in what felt like a lifetime. It is still the best day I’ve had since because, for a short time, I could take a breath. My lungs, heart, and soul weren’t trapped in a vice for one horrifically beautiful day.
And then, like Cinderella, the magic ran out. My shiny carriage turned back into a pumpkin and I’ve spent every day since trying to recreate that feeling. The Sprite-tinged vodka I drink daily since high school helps take the edge off, but I’ve yet to achieve the peacefulness I seek.
Until today.
Until I set my hands on those wide hips. I swam up from the trenches of hell and finally, finally, found a pocket of clean air to fill my lungs.
It’s the reprieve I’ve needed. The reset I never thought existed. Even now, standing close enough to touch Danika, but keeping my hands to myself, I can still breathe. My mind feels sobered, and I am alive again.
Ironic, considering I’ve dreaded today for the last six months, ever since Walter told me his plans to propose to my mom. Don’t get me wrong, I like Walter. I like how he makes Mom happy, but I don’t like that he’s Danika’s dad. And I don’t like that I am supposed to act like she didn’t tear my heart out senior year and dig the heel of her stupid black Converse sneaker into it.
All of the anger and hurt I’ve bottled up the past few years mixes with desire. It pisses me off because I don’t want to be attracted to Danika. I’ve tried my hardest to get over her, but damnit if she doesn’t make my pulse race like I’m a fucking teenager again.
