Dare You to Hate Me by B. Celeste (classic fiction .txt) 📕

My eyes drop down to the jersey.

I’d asked him to trust me before.

“You have to let me go,” I whisper, burying my face in his neck and squeezing him as hard as I can. His arms are like a hook around my waist, anchoring me to the bedroom I’ve spent more time sleeping in than my own. “Trust me, Aiden. I’ve got this.”

Sighing in defeat, I slide the red jersey on over my long sleeve shirt and watch it drop mid-thigh on me. I flatten my palms along the slick material and turn toward the large mirror on the wall perched over the dresser.

Number 89 is plastered in big white letters on the front, and when I turn to glance at the back, my lips waver at the bold GRIFFTH across the back.

I’m remembering all the times I wished Aiden would have offered me his team jersey in high school knowing it would have meant something. The girls who tried worming their way into my good graces would beg me to convince him to let them wear it “in support” at the games they attended. But I knew better. They wanted to date him, to claim him, to hang on his arm. And I never liked that, so I’d always find a reason not to tell him about their interest. It wasn’t like he didn’t already know girls wanted to be with him. Sometimes I’d even wonder why he didn’t take up offers to go to parties or dates when they’d ask him. Instead, I’d soak up how he’d tell me he preferred staying in with me. I don’t know if it was a lie, but I liked to believe it wasn’t.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I pull at the shirt and blow out an exhausted breath. He was always the better one of us two, always good to me and willing to absorb my drama whenever I brought it to him. His family treated me with respect even though they knew who my parents were, and never made me feel unwelcome even if I struggled to make conversation.

Aiden made that pact in the old war fort behind our houses knowing it wasn’t for his benefit. It was for mine.

A knock at the door has me staring from the new shirt covering my body to the wood separating me and who I assume is Aiden. My first response is always to avoid the problem and pretend it doesn’t exist, but he won’t let me do that anymore if our conversation has any indication of what’s to come.

I expect a mountain of a man standing behind the door when I open it, not a curly-haired dirty blond with dark brown highlights and hesitant honey-colored eyes pointed at me.

Oh my God.

“Porter?” I whisper, stepping back in shock as I stare at my not-so-little brother. He towers over me now, something I’m not accustomed to. I look him over, waiting for him to disappear like a figment of my imagination.

It takes him a few seconds, but he slowly nods and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. One of the knees has a rip in it that looks artfully done, and he’s wearing a pair of sneakers that look exactly like another pair of Nikes he loved in the past. His favorite brand—always expensive but…him. “Yeah, it’s me.”

His voice is deeper, the baby fat on his face long gone and in its place a narrow jawline and envious cheekbones all clean of scruff except for a little peach fuzz over his top lip. Those eyes haven’t changed, and I start to wonder if mine show as much emotion as his.

No wonder Aiden can read me so well.

“What are you doing here? How…?” My eyes pop open as I take another step backward into the room as panic seeps in. “Are Mom and Dad with you?”

“He didn’t tell you?” is my brother’s response, face paling over the revelation.

I slowly shake my head.

“It’s just me and…” He glances down the hall and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I didn’t know Aiden didn’t say anything. I came to see the game with his parents.”

It’s hard to swallow knowing Mrs. Griffith is here. The only other person besides Aiden that I idolized.

“I lied to Mom and Dad,” he admits sheepishly, cheeks turning from white to pink in a microsecond. He always did that if he felt bad, blushed. “They think I’m staying at a friend’s house for the weekend.”

Friend’s house. He has someone in his life. That’s…that’s good.

Blowing out a breath, I wipe my hands down the front of the shirt and nod to myself over the admission. Porter’s eyes go to the jersey I’m wearing and his lips twitch, leveling again without giving me a solid reaction of what he’s thinking.

“Will they… Will you get into trouble? If they find out you lied, I mean. I don’t want you to—”

“Stop,” he cuts me off quickly, pain in his eyes as he steps forward. “It’ll be okay. I mean, yeah, they’d be upset but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. I, uh…”

My heart clenches at his hesitation, and I realize I need to be the person I wasn’t to him before. “You can tell me,” I reassure him. “I can take it. If you’re angry or upset…”

His eyes go back to the hallway, looking anywhere but at me. I get it. I’m nothing like I used to be either and have no clue what to say or what not to. “Ivy, I’m not sure angry or upset quite covers what’s happening in my head right now.”

I run my tongue across my bottom lip, as I glance at the carpet. “That’s fair.”

His sigh is heavy. “It’s not because of what you probably think. Listen, Aiden said some…things he wants left between us. His parents are chill people and agreed to drive me here to see you and the game when Aiden suggested it.”

My heart thuds. “You