The Love You Hate: A Charge Man Novel (The Charge Men Series Book 1)

by Rachel Robinson

  Nate laughs, but eventually pops his head in. “I told you it wasn’t just a scratch. You’ll be fine. I doubt it will even leave a big scar.”

  “Wait, so it might leave a small scar? I can’t have any scars on my face, Nate. Make it go away.” For a second, he looks completely perplexed, like he’s trying to come up with an unknown scar remedy. “I’m joking. It doesn’t matter if I look like Shrek. At least not anymore.” I grab some toilet paper and dab my lip where blood is forming. “No one cares.”

  “Are you done feeling sorry for yourself?” Nate asks.

  “I don’t know are you feeling sorry for me?”

  “No. Plus, scars give you character.” He leaves for a few seconds and comes back with an ice pack. “Here. This is the only thing that might help it not scar… badly.”

  Hissing, I put the pack on the injured side of my face. “Dinner,” I say, when my stomach reminds me of its presence.

  “Want to grill out? I have steaks.”

  “That is the best idea you’ve had all day,” I reply.

  He rolls his eyes like a toddler. “Someone needs to have good ideas between the two of us.”

  “Why do you do that? You look at me with goo-goo eyes one second and then rail me with insults the next. What gives?”

  Nate does something unexpected. He winks. “You wish I was railing you.” He stalks off to the kitchen, leaving me openmouthed staring after him.

  I giddily scream at his back, loud and shrill. “Oh my god, did you just make a joke? A sexual one at that? Who the hell are you Nate Sullivan?”

  His chuckle echoes back to me as I hear a cabinet close. “You left it wide open and I’m trying to figure that out myself.”

  The change in tone and demeanor is night and day. The more time we spend together, the more I realize I might be able to crack him, after all. In my former life, I would be headed to a plastic surgeon to make sure my face would heal perfectly. I stare at my reflection and can’t find it in me to care. My mother would have a heart attack if she saw me. She’s probably already dead if she’s in a place like Gold Hawke. There’s a large chance I’ll never see her, or my other friends and family again. It’s part of the deal, and I accepted it. The woman who works on my case did mention maybe, way far off in the future, after the dust has settled and a new generation doesn’t know what my father did, and how I’m attached to him, there could be a chance of a small get together. As it stands, I might as well be an orphan dropped off at an alien planet.

  I let out a hiss as I run my finger across my face. Always present yourself like you might run into the queen. That’s what my mother always said. Perfection is bought, not inherited. The last day I saw her before they sent me to Gold Hawke was the first day I’ve ever seen my mother without a full face of makeup. Her face was mottled and blotchy from sobbing, and even though I was standing right in front of her she didn’t see me. Looking through me, she was only quantifying her loss. Not just my father, who had been locked up for life, but all of his money.

  *****

  “Mom, can you hear me? They said I have fifteen minutes before I leave for my flight,” I say, studying her face. “This is the last time I’ll see you until… well, I don’t really know.” My heart races, like I’m in the throes of cardio, but really my body was running on uncut anxiety. “Can you hear me?” Helen Cohen has checked out.

  She murmurs, continues staring at me, and I’m waiting for her to start rocking back and forth in the corner. “That’s what you’re wearing?” Mom’s gaze dips down to my tracksuit and sneakers.

  “This is what they left me! It’s not like I’m going to see the queen today. If I did, her guard would be trying to kill me. Remember, the royals also lost a lot of money because of Dad.”

  She shakes her head. “Presley, this isn’t how it was supposed to be. We were almost to the golden years where your father could slow down and enjoy what he worked so hard for. Everything, our whole life of work, has been destroyed.” She eyes me again. “I can’t believe they took clothing. Did you see what they left in my closet?”

  An ugly pit forms in my stomach and threatens to rise up. Why wouldn’t they take the clothing worth hundreds of thousands of dollars? They confiscated everything. “How are you worried about fucking clothes right now? They’re sending me away, Mom. I might never see you again.”

  The use of the word fucking gets her attention, and she cringes away from me. “This is what they’ve said is safest for us and there are no guarantees we won’t see each other again. Keep your head, Presley. That language is unbecoming. Your father would be so disappointed.”

  Her words cause nausea. “Dad is in prison for the rest of his life. I’m not worried about disappointing a man who lied and cheated his way through life. In case you forgot, he is the one who ruined our lives. He is the reason I’m losing all my friends. Dad is a fucking hypocrite. Everyone glorified him. His business dealings glamorized him and it was all a lie. He was one giant lie.”

  Helen rears her hand back and smacks me across the face. Tears sneak out of the corner of both eyes, and I commit this moment to memory. The first, and probably only time I’ve seen my mother cry. Her anger is palpable, it has a life form all its own. She couldn’t do anything to save him and I know she thinks she should have. That she alone could cause a miracle and Dad would be found innocent. It’s her God complex. When you’re accustomed to buying anything and everything you want, the idea that she couldn’t buy his freedom is jarring. I cradle my cheek and step away from her. “This is how you want to end things with me? We are in this together. He ruined both our lives. He’s gone, Mom, but I’m still here.”

  “Get out of my sight. You don’t deserve to be in this family. You’re a traitor. It’s your father who arranged for your protection. He should have left you to live on the streets. You’re unappreciative.”

  “Unappreciative?” I stutter. “Mom, he is the reason we’re in this situation.”

  A man in a black suit pops his head into the drawing room. “Five minutes,” he says, gazing directly in my eyes. When I nod, he leaves.

  “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Just go, Presley. Just go.”

  The urge to hug her rises, because this seems so final. The last chapter of one book closing, and another beginning, but I push the urge down and make my way to the door. A lump in my throat causes me to breathe deeply and rapidly. Then I catch sight of myself in the mirror, Helen Cohen’s hand print, bright red, and perfectly outlined embedded on my cheek. Fitting that this would be the last thing she gave me. Glancing behind me, I look at my mother, also a victim, one more time. She deserves whatever comes her way if for only the reason she never questioned my father. I was a child, naïve and held at a distance. My mother could have been stronger, craftier in her ways to uncover truths that were staring her in the face. In the end, she just didn’t care, and the price was high.

  She just didn’t care. I close the door and follow the guard down the hall and up the stairs to the helo pad. It’s idling, kicking up a strong wind in all directions. That ride is the first time I let myself cry. It was then that it felt I had lost… everything.

  ****

  Nate calls out, and I realize belatedly it isn’t the first time. I leave the bathroom, and the reflection of my red, marred face. “Sorry, I was trying to clean my face up.”

  “How do you want your steak?” He thumbs over his shoulder at the open door, where the grill is sizzling and popping.

  “However you’re having yours,” I respond, nudging him out of the way so I can go outside. Leaning over the balcony, I eye the garden we did today and smile. I take a deep breath and try to calm my nerves. Thinking about my past, especially my mother, drags up old emotions. They took everything else, why couldn’t they take the damn emotional baggage too? Nate flips the steaks; I hear the grill hiss on contact of the raw meat. I turn and admire his back. His neck is thick and his hips are narrow. I noticed at the bakery,
but here with the sun highlighting him, his presence is even more overwhelming. I can’t help imagining what he looks like without any clothing. “You’re right, Nate.”

  He turns to look at me over his shoulder. “Shocking sentiment, but I need more to go on. What am I right about?”

  “Roller derby will be too dangerous. I’m not going to join the team.”

  Nate laughs. “The smashed-up face really give you a stern talking to?”

  I groan. “Kind of. Not really. I just came up with something better to take its place on the redo bucket list.”

  He turns all the way around to face me, tongs in one hand and a sardonic expression washing across his face. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this.”

  “Spankies. Up the mountain? They’re holding auditions, and I’m going to try out.”

  His eyes wide. “The strip club? Wait, why?”

  I shrug. “I’ve always wanted to and wasn’t allowed to do anything that scandalous before… Gold Hawke. I like the whole naked in a public place thing.”

  He licks his lips and the set of his jaw tightens. “I’d like to think you’re joking, but you’re serious. Aren’t you? That place is gross, and I really didn’t take you for someone with daddy issues.”

  “That’s awful judgmental. Not all strippers have daddy issues. Plus, I said I want to try out. Who knows if they’ll hire me.”

  He scoffs as his anger rises. “Of course, they’ll hire you. They hire everyone.” He motions to my body. “Why wouldn’t they hire you?”

  His rage is confusing. “Nate. It’s on my bucket list. It’s not something I’ve aspired to do my whole life. I want it as an experience. I figured as my friend; you’d be supportive.”

  He laughs meanly as he tosses the steaks on a clean plate and brings them inside. “Dinner is done. I need a second,” he says. “Everything you need to eat is on the counter.” He breathes deeply a few times. “And no. I’m not supportive. That club is disgusting. That’s what it’s known for. A woman was robbed in the parking lot two weeks ago. Supportive is roller skating or taking a hike. Fucking insanity is letting strangers grope your naked body. If it’s voyeurism you’re after, you should get a little more creative.” I can tell he wants to say something else, but leaves the room instead. The door to the guest room slams, and I startle.

  Annoyance is what I expected. This is something a little stronger than that. There are two plates and silverware laid out on the counter. I take one steak, sit down at the lonely table and inhale it because I’m starving. This isn’t how I imagined the day ending, in fact, now I’m stuck here without a car. Nate has to drive me home, and with the amount of time he’s been in the room, I doubt he’s exiting anytime soon. It’s a quick walk, and I know there’s a jogging path that connects to the one down on my road. Darkness isn’t ideal, but I’d rather take my chances than interrupt whatever Nate is doing in the mood he’s in.

  I slip out of the side door quietly, and make my way down the dark street. Because it’s rural and there aren’t any other houses around, nor are there any streetlights, it is darker than I thought it would be. I didn’t take that into consideration, and my stomach turns when a stick snaps from beside me in the woods. Squinting my eyes at the tree line, I search for the break where the trail begins. A burst of cool wind whips my hair and another stick cracks from behind me this time. Jog, Presley. Or even run, I think. My face throbs as I pick up my pace, but I decide against going into the woods for fear I wouldn’t make it out on the other side. The dirty road is rocky, but my footing is steady. My face can’t take another fall today. I cut a right-hand turn, and I’m certain someone is following, keeping their form hidden in the dense trees. I pick up the pace when I see the lights of my street, where it actually seems more civilized because there are a few raggedy lamp posts that flicker. In the distance I see a car pulling away from a trailer, but can’t tell which trailer it’s leaving. It drives off in the opposite direction, the same way I’m running. Was it beige? I’m still too far away to know if it was at my house.

  My heart pounding, because now I’m running quickly, and I’m terrified, I forget why I’m out here in darkness in the first place. Then the reason doesn’t matter at all. A woman, who would be a worthy opponent for Ratchet Ryleigh stumbles out of the woods with a sawed-off shotgun in her hand. She’s aiming it directly at me as I abruptly halt in place.

  I put my hands up, as my whole body shakes. “Yer fuckin’ my man,” she slurs, wiping sweaty bangs off her face. “I saw it.”

  If I was good under pressure, I’d try to remember who this woman is, because I must know. She’s on my road and this is Gold Hawke, Colorado. I open my mouth to reply as she inches closer. “I can assure you; I am not fucking anyone and not for lack of trying,” I reply, voice trembling. “You have me… have me… confused with someone else.”

  “There’s only one new bitch in town, Cohen.”

  I swallow hard and nearly choke. A lone gunshot rips through the silence of night.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Nate

  Unpredictable. Difficult. Maddening. Presley is going to set a record on how quickly our cover is blown. I fire the gunshot into the air from inside the woods—undetectable in location. Rayleen cringes, like I suspected she would. She doesn’t have the gumption to shoot someone unless it’s her husband Frank’s balls. He’s a serial cheater, and everyone knows it. Presley is off like a shot toward her house. I watch her scurry inside, and I approach Rayleen, tucking my gun in the back of my jeans.

  The gun is shaking in her hands next to her side, like a leaf in the tree. “What are you doing out here alone in the dark?” I ask.

  “Someone is trying to kill me,” she says, the scent of alcohol and halitosis hitting me like a punch. “They shot at me.”

  I jut my chin toward her piece of shit shotgun. “You sure? You’re the one holding the gun. You shot the gun. I watched you.” Gaslighting is a specialty when you need to convince someone of something, and they happen to be skunk drunk. It was a part of my lie detection training. “I was coming down here to see my friend.” I nod at Presley’s trailer. “And I saw you let a shot off in the air.” I pause, wondering how much is too much. “Why are you out here to begin with?”

  She breathes out a long, stinky breath, and her rotten teeth are visible when the light post flickers on. “Frank was banging some bitch, and I chased her out of the house, and down the road.”

  I’d love to ask why she didn’t chase Frank out of the house instead, but I’m not trying to create more drama, I’m trying to make her believe the drama I’m spoon-feeding her. “Where did she go?” I ask.

  “It was that Presley Cohen girl.” Her gaze glints evil, and I reassess whether she could shoot a person. I’ve been wrong before. “That slut was banging my Frank. Bouncing up and down on him. I ain’t got the good knees anymore, so he misses it and gets it elsewhere.”

  I swallow a laugh, but can’t help a small grin. “You actually think my friend Presley would bang your husband? I can assure you it was not her.” The thought is endlessly amusing though.

  “She was running away! Took off like a madwoman!” Rayleen screeches, showing all the empty gaps in her mouth. Oh, the irony of her words. “Why else would she run from me?”

  “Presley was at my house. We’re the new people here. We stick together. The locals aren’t very welcoming, and Rayleen, you are holding a gun. I think most people would run from you.” Except the cops.

  Her face is muddled with confusion. “It could have been Verna now that I’m thinking ‘bout it. Same color hair.” Verna is middle-aged and completely busted. She looks nothing like Presley, but Rayleen is right, they do have the same color hair.

  I nod. “It has to be Verna,” I reply. “Not just because Presley was with me, because I heard Verna was hoping to move in on Frank… permanently. That’s what’s going around anyway.” I can’t resist stirring the pot. If Gold Hawke wants gossip, who am I to deny
it? This gets one crazy bitch off our backs, too. “Go ask Frank,” I suggest.

  “You know what city slicker? You’re right. I’m gonna march my fine ass back home and demand he tell me the truth. I might not have knees like I used to, but I can bounce some thick ass from the bottom.”

  There’s nothing to reply to that with. Nothing I can think of except a blank stare and pursed lips. Rayleen doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about much, obviously, but right now she spins without saying another word and wanders back into the woods. This place really is something. I’m not sure they prepared me properly for the world’s most difficult Principal in what must be the world’s most… rural, town. When I’m sure she’s gone, I shake my head, replaying the conversation and walk toward Presley’s. The lights are on in every room, and I know she must be scared, but I need some space from her after being with her all day. My stomach tightens at the thought of being near her, and for that reason alone, I make the decision not to go inside right now. Sighing, I sink down in the trees behind her house and run my hands down my face.

  Tonight’s report took longer than it should have. Because I had to sugarcoat the truth. The slope I’m precariously balancing on gets a little more slippery with every passing moment. I’m sexually attracted to her. More, I think it’s beyond just attraction. It makes me feel physically ill trying to decipher what it means and if it’s going away anytime soon. They took all this bullshit away. That was the point in the deprogramming training—so I wouldn’t have to deal with this. It wasn’t my intention to leave her alone for so long tonight, but I never thought she would leave my house, on foot, without saying a word. Of course, I knew the second she left and followed her by foot, keeping a watch from a distance. Writing up the fucking report only made me more confused. While I was detailing her day, it read like some romantic date you see on the movie screen. My boss wouldn’t think that, of course, because that isn’t even a flicker in the brain of a Charge Man. Especially for my Principal. It’s that scandalous.