Dare You to Hate Me

Porter scratches his jaw. “She never did.”

Squeezing my torso, I murmur, “That’s because the surprises I had growing up were never good ones.”

They’re all quiet, making me feel bad for making things awkward. I focus solely on my brother when I say, “Let me grab my stuff and then we can go.”

“Are you coming with us?” DJ inquires.

“Aiden’s parents are taking us,” is all I offer for explanation before disappearing into the room and grabbing my phone and my bag from the bed. The small crossbody purse is nothing special, but it holds what little money I have, Chapstick I’m bound to lose by the end of the trip, and my I.D. cards that are heavily outdated.

When I’m back, it’s just Porter and DJ left. “Where’d Matt go?”

I get a shrug from the blond. “Told him I’d make sure you got down there okay. I haven’t seen Aiden’s ‘rents in a while.”

My brows rise as I close the door behind us and follow him and my brother down the long hallway toward the elevators at the end. “You mean since your not-so-mysterious boys trip like a week ago?”

He presses the button and snorts as the doors open for us. “You didn’t need to know, Ives.”

I grumble my disagreement.

“They come to a lot of our games. Big supporters of Griff’s. His mom gets into it, and his dad—” He stops himself. “Well, he’s a good guy but he’s intense. Wants the best for Aiden and sometimes shows it in a tough love kind of way.”

That grabs my attention. His father has always been a big fan of Aiden, helping him train and learn the playbooks when he played in high school. But he always meant well. “Do they not get along?”

“Nah, that’s not it.” DJ hits the GROUND FLOOR button and turns to Porter and I who are leaning against the opposite wall. “They get along fine. His dad definitely bothers him sometimes with how hard he pushes him, but it keeps Aiden on track.”

“Mr. Griffith seems cool,” my brother intervenes, giving me a one-shoulder shrug. “We talked football the whole way here.”

DJ looks to him. “You play, right?”

Porter clears his throat, looking almost shy over the quest

ion. “Quarterback.”

“Ah, big shot. You a leader then?”

Something about his questions makes me snap. “Can you stop with the inquiry, DJ?”

Porter instantly drops his eyes to the floor as we descend to the ground level. DJ presses his lips together and nods, not looking surprised over my reaction.

Shoulders tensing, I glance between the two boys trapped in the little box with me and realize I’m not being fair. I don’t know Porter— his likes, who he’s become, and have nothing to contribute. Having someone else get to know him better before me makes the itch come back under my skin, the pressure that I want to ignore. “I’m sorry,” I say to both of them.

It’s Porter who bumps my arm with his, offering me a small smile when I shift my eyes upward. “I get it. This isn’t easy for me either.”

DJ remains uncharacteristically quiet across from us, letting us have a moment. I’m not sure how many we’ll get before I mess everything up.

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.”