I Hate You, I Love You

by Bailey B

  I Hate You, I Love You

  Bailey B

  Let’s Keep In Touch

  Bailey here! I hope you’re enjoying my stories. If you’d like to know what’s happening first, join my mailing list or come hang out in my Facebook group. Talk to you again soon!

  A note from the Author

  *****Possible Spoilers*****

  I rewrote this story a few different times trying to find the best way to paint the full picture of Danika and Logan’s relationship. I ended up splitting the story into two parts because I felt It wasn’t enough to see their past through flashbacks. You needed a full painted picture to understand the decisions they make later in life.

  I warn you, IHY,ILY part one is set before we meet Piper and Rex in Beautifully Broken. This means we get a glimpse at one of Piper’s darkest moments, but hers is not the worst we see. There are some major potential triggers—drugs, alcohol, lots of F-bombs, a skeezy a-hole who thinks he can do whatever he wants with women, and an older man with wandering hands—but these key moments aren’t graphic and are handled with care.

  Logan and Danika’s relationship does not come without struggle because each have their own burdens to bear. Also (don’t hate me) this book ends on a cliffhanger, but I promise that by the end of part two they will have their happily ever after.

  1

  Logan

  I run a shaking hand through my hair, dark strands slithering like snakes against my palm. I thought my new neighbor looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why. At first I didn’t give the girl much thought and assumed the familiarity was because we had hooked up or something. But that round face and those long dark locks haunted me all night. And then, passing her on the way to first period this morning, the scent of rosewater shampoo set fire to my neurons.

  My middle school best friend, Danika Winters, has returned home after more than three years and instead of being thrilled, my skeletons are knocking.

  I swallow a lump in my throat the size of a cannon ball. My heart’s racing. Vision’s blurring. Suddenly, I’m a seven-year-old boy again, sitting in my therapist's office, his icy fingers curling over my shoulder. I shudder and blink back the first round of demons haunting me.

  Feelings I’ve fought for years bubble in my chest. I can’t risk Danika running her mouth and anyone finding out what happened. No one besides me, her dad, and the two other men in that room know the truth.

  I intend to keep it that way.

  Twisting an unlit cigarette between my fingers, my gaze drifts to Danika as she enters the cafeteria. Watching her amble to the food station with Sarah Archer, I don’t know how I missed it. She looks exactly the same as she did in middle school, only older. Same olive skin. Same hazel eyes. Even the singular dimple on her left cheek when she laughs is still there.

  I watch, with a sick sense of deja vu, as Danika bypasses lunch entirely, instead opting for just a Coke. Lunch was our thing back in middle school: sitting on the stage, sharing a peanut butter and banana sandwich, and a soda. I still remember the day she told me her mom was sick. She cried the whole lunch period, never once touching her half.

  Being the nosy fuck that I am, I’ve noticed there’s only one car in the driveway next door. Now knowing that Danika is my neighbor, I’m guessing her mom died. Whatever they were doing in California that kept them gone for so long apparently didn’t work, and I doubt it was cheap.

  Tad Parker sits on the tabletop beside me. “You look like you’re out for blood. Who was stupid enough to piss you off this early in the year?”

  I don’t particularly like Tad but being on the same football team all throughout high school has forced us into a strange sort of friendship. He thinks we’re friends, and I don’t. I slip the cigarette I’ve been playing with between my lips and light it up. “No one.”

  Trays settle on the table behind me. I don’t need to look to see who’s sat down. Tad only hangs out with a specific group of entitled pricks and no one would dare to enter his circle without being invited.

  I scan the cafeteria again, searching for Danika’s unique hue of brown. It’s a rich shade, filled with natural highlights. She’s always had a color too pure to be from a bottle, something I didn’t appreciate when I was thirteen.

  I take a drag of my cigarette and exhale a cloud of smoke above me. I’ve got to stop thinking about Danika like this. Like she’s still the girl I ate lunch with every day for three years. The one I told all of my secrets to. The girl who used to be my best friend.

  Danika is my enemy because she may know what happened that night, and I have to remember as much. I take another drag and hold my breath, letting the smoke singe my lungs. Focusing on the burn in my chest makes tuning out the cafeteria chatter easier.

  Until I hear her name.

  “You guys remember Danika.” Sarah sets her tray beside Tad and looks at my tablemates. “Right?”

  There's a collective murmur of uninterested hellos, meaning no one remembers who Danika is. Good. She’ll have to prove she belongs and judging by the fact she still wears Converse sneakers; Melody is going to eat her alive.

  Melody Fox, self-crowned queen of St. Anastasia's High School has earned every bit of her title: bitch. I can’t stand the bitch, but for some reason she seems to think we are a thing. Exclusivity isn’t in her vocabulary, so I gave up fighting her on it last year. I still get to fuck who ever I please and she…I don’t know what she gets out of the arrangement. I don’t care either.

  “You’re like, really pretty,” Melody taunts, setting a trap Danika is sure to fall into.

  I almost feel bad, but Melody is making my job easier. Danika was always a quiet girl and cowered when met with confrontation. I highly doubt that’s changed. I give it a day, two tops, of being on Melody’s radar and then she’ll find another lunch table to sit at. Hell, maybe she’ll find a new school while she’s at it.

  “Who does your hair?”

  “Um.” Danika runs unmanicured fingers through her long strands. “I don’t dye it.”

  “So that’s natural?” Melody snickers.

  Her best friend Rachel Moore cackles beside her. They glance at each other, a silent conversation in the works. I’ve never understood how girls do that, communicate with each other with nothing more than a look. Guys don’t put in that much effort. If we have something to say, we say it.

  “She’s probably too fucking poor to dye it,” I add on an exhale. The words feel heavy on my lips, but I can’t stop thinking about what Danika might remember. I need her on edge, and possibly even a little afraid of me. Maybe then I can intimidate her into staying quiet. “Have you seen where she lives?”

  “No! Where?” Melody gasps.

  Another drag. Another exhale to numb my mind and the shiver of guilt rippling through me. “The fucking shack next to me.”

  “You mean Mr. Andrew’s old guest house?” Melody titters.

  The weight of Danika’s stare burns my skin. I turn my head and glare at her because she needs to realize that I’m not the same timid kid she left behind.

  Sorry Dani.

  “Whatever. Poor or not.” Gunner Wells cuts off Melody’s infectious hyena laugh. He looks at Danika, gaze settling on her massive rack then finding her face again. “You’re fucking hot.”

  Danika isn’t hot, she’s beautiful. Always has been. Only now, she’s grown into her body. She developed early. I know that’s strange to say but come on. I’m a guy. I notice these things. Especially on a pretty girl who leaves her table to sit with the weird friendless kid who had a stutter in the sixth grade.

  That kid was me.

  Awkward as fuck, thick rimmed glasses, and quieter than a church mouse because damn near everyone picked on me when I talked.

/>   I was in therapy for years to correct my speech. Although, looking back, I’m not sure if those sessions helped my situation or made it worse.

  Tad crushes his soda and tosses it at the trash can. It circles the rim then falls onto the cafeteria floor. He grunts, probably remembering how shitty he was on the basketball team as a freshman. “Yeah, at least she’s not like Piper.”

  “Don’t fucking talk about Piper,” I quip. Tad smirks, realizing he’s gotten under my skin and I’m reminded once again why I can’t stand him.

  Piper Lovelace, my on-again-off-again foster sister, doesn’t deserve to be treated the way she is. Part of her reputation is my fault, I started the rumor that she was a slut as a joke last year, when I considered her to be nothing more than a nuisance. Before I knew what she was going through. Not that that’s any excuse.

  I never expected the rumor to stick because most of the things people say about Piper are forgotten in a day or two. It didn’t help that soon after she started hanging around with a bunch of different guys adding fuel to the rumor fire. Even so, everything they say about her is wrong. Piper is a good person, she’s just been dealt a shitty hand in life.

  “Let me guess, Piper’s fucking both you and Cooper now that she’s moved back home again?” Tad digs a joint out of his cigarette pack and lights it, not giving two fucks about the cafeteria monitors. They won’t do shit anyway, a perk of going to the most expensive school in the county. Certain kids could probably murder someone in cold blood on campus and damn near get away with it.

  Tad sucks in a breath, holding the smoke in his lungs then passes the rolled paper to Gunner and says, “Tell me, is that bitch as good in bed as the rumors say she is?”

  I toss what’s left of my cigarette to the floor and jump off the table, ready to kick Tad’s ass, but Cooper—my twin brother— beats me to it. He comes up from the left, catching Tad in his blindside and throws a jab at his face. Tad falls off the table and clutches his cheek like the little bitch that he is. Serves him right. Piper is family and you don’t fuck with family.

  I sit on top of the table again and light another cigarette to calm my nerves. I’m anxious, full of unused adrenaline and need something to take my mind off stomping Tad’s face into the pavement.

  “Fuck!” Tad yells, but anyone within earshot has gone back to talking with their table mates. Everyone on campus knows that if you fuck with Piper, talk to Piper, hell even look at Piper the wrong way, you’ll face the wrath of Cooper. He’s more protective of her than a starved watchdog with a steak.

  Our principal, Mr. White, grabs Cooper by the arm and escorts him to the office with Tad in tow. Mom’s going to be pissed when he gets suspended for the rest of the day but she’ll understand. She always does. Cooper spends more time out of school than in and she barely bats an eye. But when I get in trouble, all hell breaks loose.

  Melody groans and rolls her eyes. “Always with the drama.”

  From my peripheral vision, I see Gunner make himself comfortable next to Danika. I don’t like the way he’s looking at her, the way he’s whispering into her ear. How she playfully shoves him and they both laugh. I have no right to be pissed, but just being around her sets me on edge.

  Besides, I saw her first.

  2

  Danika

  Compared to the toothpicks on campus, I’m not a tiny girl. At one hundred and fifty pounds my hips are thick but I have the ass to go with them. My stomach has more fluff than most, but the double-D’s I’ve been blessed with make my waist and tummy look smaller than it is. I have my assets, and I know how to work them.

  That being said, I don’t openly flaunt what I’ve got. I make it a point to cover up because guys, young and old, have gawked at me since I was eleven years old. Back then, my figure seemed to develop overnight and I didn’t know how to handle it. Logan was good about not making a big deal of my body.

  I knew who Logan was the second I laid eyes on him. My heart soared when I realized Sarah and I were about to sit at the same table. Even more so when I realized that he had friends.

  Logan was always a social loner. Any time Cooper was around, Logan was surrounded by people. But the moment Cooper was sick or anywhere Logan wasn’t, those friends disappeared. Everyone wanted to be around the smooth-talking football prodigy, not the quirky kid with a speech impediment.

  All things considered, I’m not surprised Logan outgrew his awkward stage. It helps that he’s absolutely gorgeous, but he’s always been cute. From what I can tell, both Harris boys have long, lean bodies, muscled in such a way you know they still play some kind of sport. While Cooper’s hair is the color of gold and buzzed short. Logan has locks so dark they’re almost black that fall into his eyes. Sitting on top of the table at lunch, he looks like a living sculpture. Too beautiful to be real. Too flawless to be human. In California, I’d have argued that no one looks that good unless they’ve had work done, and yet Logan defies my logic.

  I shake my head, still stunned that little Logan Harris has turned into the kind of man my mother warned me about. Dark and magnetic. Every fiber in my being is drawn to him with a pull I’ve never felt before. Mom said she’d only felt an attraction like this once, and it wasn’t to my dad. Their love was pure. Wherever this feeling stems from is dirty. I hate it. I love it.

  Too bad Logan doesn’t remember me. Or worse, if he does that means that he consciously chose to be a jerk. Although, I can’t for the life of me figure out why. I’ll have to ask him after school. Perks of being neighbors.

  Coach blows his whistle, signaling to get ready. I widen my stance and intertwine my fingers, prepared to hold my own once the first serve is sent over the net. Volleyball is a good sport for big breasted chicks. There’s minimal running, which is great because even with two sports bras my tits go bouncing, and that shit hurts.

  I’m in the first row, center, with Melody to my left and some red-headed chick to my right. The ball goes flying over the net and behind me. We volley it back and forth a few times, until the other side scores. We go a few rounds, my team holding its own against our opponent until Melody sets up to serve.

  She tosses the ball into the air and spikes it straight into the back of my head. “Sorry.”

  Bitch. I rub the sore spot with my palm and hold up my other hand so the game can continue. We are tied with roughly fifteen minutes left in the period and I hate to lose. I’ve been competitive for as long as I can remember, from spelling tests to mini golf. Losing is not a concept I handle well.

  Coach blows his whistle and Melody sets up again. She serves, hitting me in the head harder than before. I spin on my heels, pressing my fists against my hips. “What’s your deal?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Melody smirks. “I missed the net.”

  I take a step towards Melody, prepared to let her know that what happened at lunch today was a one off. If I wasn’t so thrown by how Logan treated me, that belittling conversation wouldn’t have gotten as far as it did.

  I hate a bully almost as much as I hate cancer. Cancer is a bully. It picks on your cells. Takes over your body. And when the medicine isn’t strong enough, you die. I can’t do anything about cancer, but I can take a bully down. And I’m good at it.

  Coach blows his whistle twice, the loud ring echoing in the silent gymnasium. Seems like everyone stopped to watch us. “Focus ladies.”

  I pop my neck and turn back towards the net. Let that bitch hit me one more time. Thump. The volleyball smacks the back of my head again and the snickering behind me sets my blood on fire.

  I turn, lunging at Melody before she has a chance to figure out what’s happening. She lets out a high-pitched, blood-curdling scream as I grab a fistful of over processed hair and drag her to the ground. Melody is tiny, maybe one-hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. Even if she could throw a decent punch— which I doubt— she wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Coach blows his whistle again, hollering at us as the back of Melody’s head smacks
against the shellacked wood floor of the gymnasium. He snakes his arm around my chest, securing me in a school approved choke hold. I’ve been in my fair share of fights at my old school. This may be Florida, but I doubt the protocols are that different from state to state. I hold my hands up in surrender, letting Melody’s hair go, but taking a fistful of dyed strands with me.

  Once I’m considered to be deescalated, Coach has me escorted to the school guidance counselor, Miss. Cherrybroom.

  She stands outside of her office waiting, perfectly manicured nails curled into a fist at her hips. I walk through her open door and chuckle because her office is everything, you’d expect a high school guidance counselor’s office to be: plain and intimidating with a touch of warmth. You know, to remind the unruly that she’s in charge but still understanding.

  Miss. Cherrybroom opens my school file as she settles in behind her desk. “Danika Winters.”

  My manila folder is thick, having been forced into guidance sessions in California, every emotional outburst, every tear, every fist thrown was documented. I was considered high risk. Relocated from my friends. Terminal mother. Blah blah blah.

  “It’s your first day and you’re already getting into a fight.” A sigh escapes Miss. Cherrybroom’s thin coral lips, “I guess this is my fault. I should have scheduled to meet with you this morning,”

  I shift in the oversized plush chair. “No. You should switch my classes. Melody is the devil.”

  “Seems like you’ve always been a fighter.” Miss. Cherrybroom ignores my request. She flips through my file, silently skimming through each page. “Until the spring of last year. The fighting stopped, even while you were a victim of bullying.”

  Her big eyes widen as she mumbles “oh my” under her breath. I know what she sees. I don’t need her to remind me of what I’ve been through. I clear my throat and Miss. Cherrybroom abruptly shuts my overstuffed manila folder. “Your last counselor was very...uh...detailed in her notes.”