Hate You Not

I wince. “Do you really want to know?”

“I really want to know.”

I swallow. Seven is the answer, but I’m going for Joe Average when I tell her, “Four.”

It’s not uncommon for people to have just two or three cars, right? Four is only one more than that.

Her eyes bulge like they’re going to pop out of her head. “Four cars? And one of them’s not a practical pickup for hauling stuff, is it?”

“One of them’s an Escalade for Tahoe,” I try in a hopeful tone.

She looks confused. “Oh, Lake Tahoe. Is that in California? I don’t even know. Geography was never my thing.”

“It is.”

“Tell me what other ones.” She nudges my ass with her unhurt foot, and I grit my teeth as my cock throbs. “I bet I won’t know any of their fancy pants names, but it’s worth a try.”

I shrug. “Oh, they’re just…sedans.”

“Is sedan code for flashy sportscar?”

I rub my forehead, holding my leg out a little and rolling my ankle like I’m distracted by a pain there—although in actuality, I’m avoiding her accusing eyes. “Define flashy.”

June cackles. “Spit it out, showboat.”

“Well.” I cut my eyes her way, and decide I’ll just let her have it. “I’ve got a Rolls-Royce Wraith. But that’s for picking up investors…you know, driving them around and shit.”

She nods, her big-eyed, tight-lipped expression making it clear that she is definitely judging me.

“I also have a Cullinan.”

“Bonus points because I’ve never even heard of that one.”

“It’s an SUV.”

“Oh, I thought you only had a fleet of practical sedans.”

“I’ve got a DBS SV. That one’s a car.” An Aston Martin convertible is technically still a car. “Anyway, cars are investments. People collect them.”

“Oh, I know. One of my friends collects cars. Whole junkyard with all the parts in different sections.” She smirks, and I feel wealth-shamed. Which I guess I probably deserve.

“I didn’t really expect to be so successful.” As soon as I say it, something in my stomach gives a quick twist, like I’m stepping out onto a wire.

She nods slowly. “Well, at least that much sounds honest.”

“I don’t know why things worked out the way they did with the first two. First two companies,” I tack on, figuring she might not follow if I call them startups. “The third one—the one I’m working on right now—it’s a lot different.”

“How so?” She’s leaned back against the arm of the swing now, her unhurt leg tucked under the one whose boot is resting on my leg. She tucks her flowing hair behind her ears and leans forward slightly, a rapt pupil.

“It’s more a medical app. More complex, because it peripherally deals with other entities like the local and state governments. It’s dynamic. And has multiple functions.”

She asks me what exactly we’re doing—what the app’s primary function is. I answer in the most general terms. I don’t want her tracing the app’s functionality to my mother’s situation. As far as I know, nothing about that is available for public consumption at this point. My father had all those records sealed, and if he hadn’t, I would have.Chapter 16JuneHis startup seems to have something to do with helping people call 9-1-1 via an app. But I don’t know more than that because he didn’t seem interested in expounding.

A beat of silence follows, and during that sliver of time where the only sound is the wind through the trees, I work up the nerve to ask him what I really want to ask: “Did you really think I took them in for the money?”

Even through my giant, plastic ankle boot, I feel his body tense. But I’ve gotta give him credit—the guy’s poker face is flawless. He exhales, so I can tell he’s thinking on his answer before giving it. Then his eyes pin mine and he says, “No.”

He sighs. “I mean—I didn’t know for sure. But no. I didn’t really think that, or I wouldn’t have if I had thought about it. I did the easy thing and believed what I wanted to believe. What suited me,” he adds after a beat.

He swallows, and I can see his jaw tick. “I did that because I wanted them,” he says, facing the porch screen wall in front of him. “I wanted them because”—he shakes his head, a single hard shake, like there’s water in his ear—“I needed something external to direct my focus at.” He says it quietly.

In the silence that swims between us after that, I find that I feel…grateful. There’s a crest of gladness and relief, and then this gratitude that’s almost overwhelming.

“That was generous answer,” I say, surprise seeping into my voice.

He gives me a soft smirk. “I’m a generous guy.” His lips twitch, and he shakes his head. “That’s a lie. I’m a big dick.” He pairs the words with a deadpan face that’s actually hilarious. I’m laughing. Then we’re grinning at each other like old friends.