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

Biting on the inside of my cheek, I move my hand down to his and link our palms. For a moment, Porter freezes, but eventually he melts into my touch and squeezes right back.

When the door opens to the lobby, neither of us lets go and the people who greet us at the very bottom instantly smile when they see us walk out hand in hand.

“Ivy,” a voice belonging to a familiar dark-haired, bright-eyed woman calls out to me. It’s hard to breathe when Mrs. Griffith gives me a once over with a big smile. Her hair is streaked with more white than I remember, and the corners of her lips and eyes are wrinkled from years of laughter that I remember being so fond of hearing. “I am so happy to see you, sweetie.”

She envelopes me in a tight hug, and only then does Porter let go of me. I’m frozen, telling myself to lift my arms and return the hug like I used to. I lived for her warmth and happiness and am slammed with the cinnamon and sugar scent wafting from her from all the time she must still spend baking.

“Hi, Mrs. Griffith,” I offer weakly, hooking an arm around her back.

She squeezes me tighter despite my lackluster attempt at a reunited front. “Oh, Ivy. I’ll never get you to call me Emily, will I? You’re as stubborn as I remember.”

I pull away first, managing a smile that she returns easily. “Yeah. Aiden likes to remind me about that.”

Her hands go to my shoulders, rubbing lightly until the friction warms me. “You’re still beautiful too. I’m sure my son has told you that plenty of times as well.”

Before I can control myself, heat gathers in my cheeks. “Er…”

“Emily,” Mr. Griffith calls out from a few feet away. His baritone voice has my eyes shifting to him for a moment. “We should get going or we’ll be late.”

There’s something unreadable in his eyes as they study me carefully. His hair has gone almost completely white, a far cry from the dirty blond he used to be, and his gaze is hazel green and hardened from life and experience. I recognize the silent warning in them that I’ve gotten from others surrounding Aiden and already know this may not play out like my old friend thinks it will.

I know what disapproval and fear looks like because I’ve seen and felt both plenty of times when I look in the mirror. John Griffith is showing me his feelings with one single head nod in greeting.

“Hi,” I greet him, picking my head up as if his armed eyes don’t affect me like he wants them to.

Porter sidles up beside me. “You good?”

I swallow, the lie slipping off my tongue effortlessly because I’ve caused him enough problems by putting myself first. “Of course. Ready to go?”

His head cocks as if he’s contemplating my honesty, but doesn’t say anything other than a short, “Yeah.”

The second mother to me, the one who I used to pretend was mine when I needed someone maternal to praise and comfort me, guides me, my brother, and her husband out with a hand at the small of my back.

She leans in when we fall back from the others and whispers, “I’ve always believed that the best things in life come after some of our toughest trials. I don’t know what’s happened over the past few years, Ivy, but I have no doubt you’re stronger than ever. But Aiden…”

I try to calm my racing heart, but it does nothing to steady the heavy thumping in my chest that always comes with Aiden’s name being mentioned.

“Aiden has some trials left to face.” When I meet her eyes, mine are shy and laden with confusion as she rubs my back. “Wait for him to sort it out like he did for you when you went to your grandmother’s house. That’s all I’m asking.”

I say nothing in reply, her words twisting my mind with confusion until I realize she has no idea where I’ve been.

And maybe, to preserve what respect she still has left for me, it’s better she doesn’t.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Aiden

I never thought I’d step onto this turf again, listening to the rapid chant of Raiders fans filling the recently renovated stadium. The crowd is a mixture of gold and red, with my former team’s colors taking up most of my periphery as I coast the crowd with my gaze to find the only people I care about from the sidelines.

Mom is holding a huge white sign with my number in big red letters, sporting college garb that matches the rest of my family. And while I always appreciate seeing them cheer me on at the games they attend, it’s the long jersey that looks like a dress on Ivy’s body that captures my attention the most.

Coach Pearce got my parents seats at the 50-yard line like he always does, not realizing he’d be adding two more to the group until last minute. And when I told him one was for Ivy he’d given me a look before I shut him down saying, “You’re my coach, not my father and not me. You don’t get to make decisions for me, and you don’t get to speak to the people I care for with disrespect.”

And to my surprise, he’d ensured I’d have the extra space for them and added, “Your girl reminds me a lot of the missus when she handed me my ass during our talk, son. Scared me to hell to know there’s a clone of my Liza. All I can say is good luck. It may be you bringing home the big paychecks, but it’s her who’s going to wear the pants in that relationship.”

If I didn’t know he loved his wife so much, I may take that the wrong way. Instead, it made me chuckle. He slapped my back, I shook my head, and he hasn’t said a word about Ivy since.

Ivy is listening to something her brother