Dare You to Hate Me

My hands drag down my thighs as I watch him study the room like I did when Aiden first brought me here. His legs spread to get comfortable, his arms resting crossed over his chest, and when he finally looks at me, I don’t expect him to ask, “Are you and Aiden a thing?”

Legs crisscrossing under me, I shove my hands into my lap and fight the blush that wants to creep under my skin. “Is that really what you want to talk about?”

He shrugs. “Seems like a good place to start considering he went through all the trouble to get me here.”

Knowing he has a point I give him the best answer I can conjure. “I’m not sure what Aiden and I are right now. We’re…” Like him, my shoulders lift slightly. “It’s a work in progress, like a lot of things are in my life. I don’t want to talk about that. We have years to catch up on. Things I should explain.”

“You don’t need to explain anything.”

“How can you say that? I up and left. Do you not want to know why? Get closure?”

He averts his gaze, making me feel anxious for his reply. “Mom and Dad told everyone you went to live with Grandma Gertie.”

My lips part, then quickly close.

Porter lets out a heavy sigh and then swipes his fingers through his hair. “I believed them for a while because I had no reason not to. You left and Mom and Dad seemed…I don’t know, Ivy. They weren’t okay, but they were quieter than I remember. It was sort of nice.” We both make faces, him cringing with guilt, and me twisting with hurt. “Shit, that sounds bad. Look, I’m not proud of the things I thought. I was pissed off at first that you didn’t even say goodbye, but it was obvious that our parents were going to at least try to be decent after you went away.”

Went away. My tongue clicks as I think about the letter I’d handwritten and stuffed under my pillow. I made sure a corner stuck out enough for them to notice when they finally realized that me, my bag, and my favorite clothes were all gone.

I told them I’d prove them wrong.

I told them I didn’t need Gertie or them.

I told them not to look for me.

“They really made everyone believe I moved in with Grandma?”

A head nod.

I want to be angry that they went with the lie so easily, and there’s definitely a sense of heaviness threatening to bubble in my veins, but I focus on something else to beat those darker feelings down for the moment. “They were better after I was gone?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “Define better,” he murmurs, repositioning so he’s sitting straighter. “They still fought, but it was nowhere near as much. I’m not totally clueless. I know you were the reason I didn’t have to deal with them for so long. I remember all the times you’d make sure I ate or took the fall if I did something bad so I wouldn’t get into trouble. You were always doing that for me even when I was a brat, and I still—”

His abrupt stop makes me lean forward in curiosity. “What, Porter? Say it.”

His knee starts bouncing. “You were always making sure I was okay, and all I could be was angry at you for leaving. And I know you weren’t happy. I heard you tell Mom all the time how much it irritated you that they spent money on me for sports or other stuff. Part of me should have been happy you were going to live with someone who probably had the time to get you what you wanted and needed, but it was like you didn’t care what happened to me anymore when you disappeared.”

It’s impossible to swallow or speak, so I don’t even try.

He drops his head backward onto the couch cushion. “I’m not angry anymore. Confused, maybe, but not angry.” Picking up his head, he offers me a comforting look. “I overheard Mom talking to Dad about Gertie dying. Heart attack, I guess. Anyway, she said they’d have to figure out what to do. I thought they were talking about funeral arrangements and when they’d get you home, but Mom said something I’ll never forget.”

My heart drums loudly, vibrating my ears. And it nearly stops when he says, “Mom told Dad that you were right about something. That you were always better off on your own. And Dad didn’t say anything. He didn’t agree or disagree, he just sort of stared at her, shook his head, and left. He was always leaving, like he didn’t want to be there anymore either.”

I grind my teeth, holding back the emotion rising up my throat before grounding out a cold, “When?”

“When, what?”

My fingers ball into fists, hidden between my crossed legs, squeezing so hard it physically hurts. “When did Mom say that? When did Gertie die?”

Porter hesitates, his eyes trailing to think of the time frame. “A couple years ago now.”

A couple… “When I was eighteen?”

There’s a pause, then a single nod.

When I was eighteen.

When I was doing shady things for shelter.