Hate You Not: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Ella James

  “The events will proceed according to the program, but first, we’ll kick this off with a lovely rendition of ‘God Bless America,’ from our very own Bobbi Seymour.”

  “Oh Lord, she’s awful,” Mary Helen tells me. She leans back a little, and for the first time I get a good look at her face. She has different eyes than June’s—gray-blue, and more cat-like, where June’s are more round—but they share a similar bone structure and the same lips. She leans back a little, nodding at the kids beside her. “These are two of my three—Charleigh and Jack. Other one’s home sick.”

  A few minutes after what is indeed a terrible rendition of “God Bless America,” the rodeo events start with a few rounds of calf roping.

  I finish my beer, and Shawn offers another one. I’m not sure if I have to drive the kids back to June’s house, but I can tell you don’t say “no” to Shawn Lawler when he offers you beer, so I take it and just hold it. All around me, everyone is talking, cheering for whoever’s riding. Strangers keep stopping by to introduce themselves to the kids and me, as if they’ve been wanting to meet us—all of us, even me—for years.

  During a brief break between the calf roping and whatever is next, I get up to get more peanuts—for the kids, of course—and look for promised popcorn. I’m in line behind two teenage girls. They both have braces on their teeth and something shiny that looks like Christmas tinsel braided into their hair. They’re wearing jean skirts, fringed boots, and button-up plaid shirts, and the taller one is wearing a white cowgirl hat. The line is long, and like usual, my cell phone’s service isn’t good, so I listen to them to pass the time.

  “You are so weird,” one laughs, shaking her head.

  “I’m telling you, the dark matter is something important. It’s the way everything is tied together. Or it’s God or something. I don’t know. I have a sense about it, though,” says the girl with the hat.

  “Oh I believe you, chica. You’re the one that’s got the scholarship to Duke.”

  “And you’re the one going to Georgia Southwestern. With my boyfriend.” The girl wearing the hat sighs, and then they’re up to order.

  I look both of them over—discreetly, of course. To me, they look about twelve years old, but I guess they’ve got to be somewhat older.

  Then the girl behind the counter says, “Junior punch card?”

  They whip something out, and I realize that must mean they’re in eleventh grade.

  I chew on that as the kid behind the counter gets my order together. Both of those girls already have colleges picked out. They’re planning to go.

  “Here you are, sir.”

  I take my debit card back, and as I make my way back to my seat, I think of what went down between June and me when I picked the kids up. She said, “Don’t go anywhere you shouldn’t. Such as north and toward that airport. I’ve got all the paperwork, and you will not win.”

  I told her “Good luck,” and she said, “Yeah, I bet you hope I break a leg or two.”

  She leaned against my rented car and kissed her finger, pressed her fingertip to the window by Margot, and then sashayed back inside.

  “She looks beautiful,” Oliver said to me as I started down the driveway. And she really had. She had on a white, flowing sort of shirt, suede-looking riding pants, and a pair of shiny, dark brown leather cowgirl boots. Her hair was curled in ringlets that flowed down past her shoulders.

  When I get back from the concession stand and see Shawn standing at the rail in front of the bleachers with Margot and Oliver beside him, my stomach ties itself into a tight knot. Mary Helen stands up, too, and waves me over. “Look, that’s June!” She points. “She’s over on the dark horse.”

  “Oh yeah, I saw him today. Hot Rocket?”

  She snickers. “Used to be Crotch Rocket. She bought him off the biggest pig of a man. Drunkard with no sense to his name. But he’s a fast horse. Trained since he was young, and he’s not old now. Only four and a half.”

  I laugh. “Do you know his birth month?”

  She smiles. “Shawn here delivered him.”

  “Wow, does he work with a vet?”

  “Hell no. Don’t take a vet to deliver a foal. Shawn’s sort of a horse whisperer.”

  Everyone’s attention shifts to one end of the arena, and Mary Helen says, “She’s gonna come out over there. Horse will race around the barrels in a pattern. It’s a timed thing.”

  I knew that already, but I nod as if I’m grateful for the info.

  June and Hot Rocket shoot out into the small arena with a decent bit of speed. I watch as she and “Hottie” whip around each barrel, noting that she’s got a cowgirl hat on. She’s fucking good—a better rider than me, and during Asher’s cowboy phase, he and I trained at some of the best stables in the country.

  June moves effortlessly with Hot Rocket—right until the moment that a firecracker pops, and the horse stumbles. It seems to happen in slow-motion. The big horse goes down. June flies almost over his thick neck, then slips off his side. My brain seems to speed up, surging out ahead of her. She isn’t moving.

  “OH MY GOD, HER FOOT!” Mary Helen wails.

  There’s a millisecond when it looks like June’s leg might twist right off. Then she’s on her back in the dirt, and the track is flooding with people. Oliver and Margot are crying. Mary Helen pulls them up against her, and Shawn grabs my arm.

  “C’mon.”

  Chapter 10

  Burke

  Shawn leads me onto the dirt floor of the arena. Why, I’m not quite sure, but the sea of people parts for him, and therefore for me.

  June is lying on her back in the mud by the time we reach her, fat tears streaming down her cheeks as some older man holds her leg, rolling her foot at the ankle. A line of blood runs down her chin, and I realize in horror that the pain is making her bite through her lip. He lifts her foot a little, and she recoils, moaning.

  “Fuck!” I wave at the moron. “Stop that!” Everyone quiets, looking at me. I sigh. “Who’s got scissors?”

  Shawn hands me a pocket multitool, and I use the little scissors to cut her leather boot a few inches. When I can tell the scissors aren’t powerful enough for the job, I get her foot at an angle I don’t think will hurt and use both hands to rip the leather open.

  June gasps and starts panting. I can feel her body trembling, and I see why. Her ankle’s so swollen and bruised, I’d be shocked if it’s not broken.

  I look around at all the faces—men and women looking pale and stunned. “Anybody here a doctor?”

  A woman raises her hand. “Dental assistant.” It takes some self-restraint to keep from groaning.

  “Is there a local doctor?” I ask.

  “We drive over to Dawson.”

  Okay—so that’s another little town nearby. “Is there no ambulance here tonight?”

  Shawn mutters something, and someone else says, “Probably up at the damn Sonic!”

  There are other mutters, and I catch the word “hussy.”

  “You a doctor?” Someone asks me.

  “No, but I’m a paramedic.” Or I was in college. My mother was an orthopedist—the kind of doctor June needs to see—but that’s nobody’s business.

  “I can carry her,” Shawn says. “Where we taking her?” His eyes catch mine.

  “The nearest hospital. Not a clinic, but a real ER. Is that in Albany?”

  He nods, looking worried.

  “Thirty minutes?” I ask.

  “Yeah.”

  “We can get here there a little faster in my rental.”

  “Put me in the GD car,” June hisses. “This isn’t…the freaking water cooler.”

  It’s a struggle not to laugh, but then her face tightens in pain, and I see sweat along her hairline, and that helps me focus.

  “Shit. I’m sorry.” I look up. “Does anybody have a pillow or a pile of blankets?”

  “Blankets,” someone says.

  I look at Shawn. “Can you get a bunch of blankets and meet me at my r
ental car?”

  “That silvery one?”

  I nod.

  “Yeah.”

  I get the key fob in my hand and then scoop June up. There’s no way to grab her up out of the mud without jostling that leg around. She cries out in pain and curls herself against my chest. She’s panting.

  “I’m so sorry, baby.”

  “Not…your baby,” she whimpers.

  Then she presses her head against my chest and lets out a groan.

  “I’m so fucking sorry.”

  “Watch your language,” she moans. “Baptists…here.”

  I change my grip on her a little. Then I’m walking with her, and everyone in the little arena is clapping. We pass Mary Helen, and I look at Margot and Oliver.

  “She’s okay. She’s only got a hurt foot, nothing major. We’re just going to the doctor. Then I’ll bring her back. I promise.”

  June lifts her head, and I angle her so they can see her. Both of them are crying.

  “I’m okay. I’m not going to heaven. You’re stuck with me.”

  Margot says, “Good!”

  Oliver wipes his eyes and looks around to see if anybody saw him crying.

  “Okay. It’s okay,” I murmur as we move toward the exit, cutting through the line at the concession stand. “You’re going to shut that mouth and try to relax. Let me take care of you. I won’t bite. Just let me be your friend for an hour or two.”

  “I would…rather die,” she manages.

  I stifle a laugh, so as not to jostle her around. “Oh, c’mon. I’m not that bad.”

  “You’re the villain.”

  “Sometimes the villain turns out to be the prince.”

  “Or the other way around,” she whispers.

  “Oh,” I grin, “so you think I look like the prince?”

  I think her adrenaline rush is wearing off now, because she moans as we reach the car, and then she’s just whimpering as I hold her against me and watch Shawn run across the parking lot with what looks like an armful of blankets.

  He runs up, shaking his head. “Shit, my fuckin’ pants are slidin’ down.” He tugs them up.

  “Can you open up the door, man?” I ask. “Put some blankets in here behind the driver’s seat to prop her foot on? And then hold one out so we can cover her up?”

  I know June is in a lot of pain, because she’s quiet and still except the panting and shaking she’s doing. My stomach pulls into a knot as Shawn does what I ask.

  “You trust me with your wheels?” he asks me. “I can get us there fast. I know the route.”

  “Yeah. I’m kind of a backseat driver, though, so nothing crazy.” I start to lay June across the back seat, but as I do, I realize it makes more sense for me to stay back there with her.

  “You care if I hold you? I can throw your legs over my elbow so your foot stays elevated.”

  She gives a shake of her head. I get us into the car, and I can feel her shoulders sort of curling in. One of her hands covers her face, and I can tell from how her torso shakes that she’s crying.

  “Dammit.” My stomach tightens. “I’m so fucking sorry. Let me tell you something that I think will distract you.” She shudders, and I shift so that I’m holding her a little closer. I lean down, so close that I can smell her shampoo—or perfume. It smells fruity, like peaches and vanilla.

  “I’m gonna let you keep those puppies,” I whisper. “And those kids. If you’re sure you want to. We can talk about it more, but if you want to, I’ll step back and try to help and let things lie.”

  She goes absolutely still for one long moment. Then she groans, “Why?”

  I think of the girls talking about dark matter. And June’s sister pulling the kids to her side when June and Hot Rocket fell. And I tell her the truth, surprising myself as much as I bet it surprises her.

  “Because you’re who they picked. You’ve got a bunch of family who can help if you need it. And even though this town is small, and I’m still worried about them having every opportunity, I can help with some of that. If you want to raise these kids—like if you really want it—who am I to stand in the way? You were right; I do work a lot more than most people. They would be raised by hired staff. Like I was.” My throat feels stiff on those words, so I swallow hard, staring at the road as Shawn drives like NASCAR.

  “You were?” she whispers.

  “Yes.” I tighten my grip around her.

  “Did you like them?” she asks in a voice that trembles. Cold sweat moves through me; it’s like a sympathetic sensation.

  “Some of them were okay. Then at a certain point, it was me doing the watching. Asher was the younger one.” I clench my jaw, unsure why I pointed that out.

  She nods, and I hear her sniffle. “I’m sorry you lost him.”

  “I’m sorry for you too.”

  “Do you…really…mean it?”

  “About what?” I murmur. “The kids?”

  She nods. I smooth her hair back off her clammy forehead. “Yeah. It was the rodeo that helped me see it. Everybody is so damn nice around here. Friendly and involved in one another’s lives. It’s not like where I grew up. But I think it could work. Especially if you’re being honest and you really want to take them on.”

  Her eyes squeeze shut. “I still think you’re an ass.”

  “Don’t you listen to her,” Shawn calls from the front seat. “She’s hurt, talking crazy.”

  “Traitor,” she hisses.

  He laughs. “She’s got a mouth on her. Don’t let anybody tell you she don’t.”

  “Don’t worry, no one has.” I grin down at her, and June’s biting her lip again. She starts to pant, and I can see the stark pain on her face.

  “You hurting?”

  She nods once. Her eyes squeeze shut. I think she’s crying. Goddamn it.

  “You feel sick?”

  She nods once.

  “Sort of a stomach ache?”

  She gives another little nod.

  “That’s normal.” I move my fingers through her hair, hoping to use one sensation to distract from another. “You feel dizzy?”

  “Kind of.”

  “It’s okay. That’s normal too.” Especially if the bone is broken, but I don’t say that part out loud.

  “Have you ever gotten hurt like this?” I ask.

  She gives a little jerk of her chin, and Shawn says, “Fell out of a tree in our back yard when she was seven. Broke her arm near clean in half.”

  June groans at his words.

  “That make it hurt worse?”

  She nods, and tears start dripping down her cheeks. Shit. “I’m so sorry.”

  I’m holding her so I’ve got an arm around her upper back, and my other one under her knees; my left bicep is aching from the strain of holding her legs so that her ankle’s elevated. But it’s worth it. If I could do more for her, I would.

  Shawn slows for a lone, country red-light, and her body quakes a little harder.

  “Let’s play question and answer. Focus on my words, okay?”

  She sniffles.

  I lean my head down, so my cheek is pressed to her hair, hoping that might make her feel a little like I’ve got her. “Let’s start with something basic: Coke or Pepsi. I’m going to guess the answer’s Coke, since it seems to be your state’s official beverage.”

  She nods once.

  “Yeah? I figured that. You drink the Zero kind, or regular, or diet?”

  “Diet,” she rasps.

  “Better without sugar. I’m not a big fan of carbonated drinks, but if I have one, it’s a Diet Pepsi.”

  She makes a small dissenting noise, and I try not to laugh; I don’t want to jar her.

  “I like that it’s kind of spicy. You know what I mean?” I ask. “Sort of a pepper taste at the end?”

  She makes the noise again—like she disagrees.

  “I had Dr. Pepper—the sugar-free variety—a while back, and that was good too. Maybe that should be my new official restaurant beverage,” I muse
.

  We must be going through a little town now, because there are street lights illuminating her face, showing me her damp cheeks and her bloody lower lip.

  “This is Dawson,” Shawn says.

  I place it on my mental map. “Okay.” I look back down at June. “Pancakes or waffles?”

  “French toast,” she croaks.

  “A dissident.”

  “Better,” she says, so softly.

  “Yeah, it’s better. I can get behind that.” I wipe my thumb over her chin, but the blood’s dried. Then I push my fingers gently against her throat, wanting to get a read on her pulse—something I should have done already.

  It’s fast, but I’m not surprised.

  “You doing okay? Feel any more sick or any more dizzy?”

  She shakes her head, burying her face against my chest, which makes my heart kick harder. “It hurts so bad.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I hold her a little closer and tense my left arm more so her leg stays elevated.

  Then I brush my lips over her forehead.

  Chapter 11

  June

  Surely I’m hallucinating. First the devil says he’s gonna let us be. Then he’s holding me against him like some sort of Disney hero. Now I’m pretty sure he might have kissed me on the head.

  I know I’m hallucinating, because when his lips touch my skin I flush like a firecracker, from my forehead all the way down to my toes—which means the firework moves through my ankle. And that hurts like hellfire, so I moan, and I can feel his chest tense under my cheek.

  “Sorry.” It’s a whisper.

  “You’re the devil,” I say weakly.

  That makes him laugh. His torso gives a small shake, and I grit my teeth because it hurts my ankle.

  “Shit, that hurt? I’m really striking out here, aren’t I?”

  “Do you…want to hit it?” I manage. My head is spinning from how bad my ankle hurts.

  “I’m not laughing at that question. But it’s a tall order.”

  Against my will, I give a laugh then grit my teeth. “Why does it hurt so bad?” I press my forehead against his chest—anything to distract from how damn bad it hurts.