Love To Hate You

by Isabelle Richards

  “Your body is perfection,” he whispers as he runs his tongue along my stomach.

  His feather-light touch all over my skin makes my senses come alive, stirring up erotic desires that have been long dormant. My body hums in anticipation, craving more contact, but I don’t want these moments to end. The reverence in his eyes and the adoration in his touch make me feel worshiped.

  Every time I reach to touch him, he pulls away. “You get to touch me, and I don’t get to touch you? That hardly seems fair.”

  “For the past three years, all I’ve had are my memories, my dreams. Now that I have you back, I’m not going to take that for granted.” He kisses my inner thigh. “I just want to savor you.” He places three more kisses along my leg then looks at me with hooded eyes. “Cherishing you the way I’ve longed to. The way you deserve.”

  As much as my body screams for him to touch me in the one place he has not yet ventured, I try to relax and enjoy his attention. Trusting him, I let my head fall back as he resumes the trail of kisses up my thigh.

  When his nose brushes against the apex of my leg, he inhales deeply. “If heaven has a scent, this is what it will smell like.” He runs his tongue along my slit in one long lick, sending a jolt of pleasure through my body. “I could spend the rest of eternity with your taste on my tongue, and I’d still crave more.”

  In a flash, he pushes his body up the bed, propping himself up so his body hovers above mine. He brushes a lock of hair off my face then looks in my eyes. “There’s no going back now.”

  “No?” I ask.

  “I’m keeping you forever this time.” As he slides inside me, his gaze stays fixed on my eyes. “You’re mine.”

  “Yours,” I whisper.

  His eyes roll back as he moans. “Oh, fuck. I forgot how amazing it feels to be inside you.” He moves slowly, as though he’s relishing each inch after delicious inch.

  After he eases his way in, he pulls out slowly and gives me a wink before, he slams back into me. His pubic bone presses against my clit and a euphoric heat spreads through my legs and up my back. He looks at me with a huge grin. He knows he’s driving me crazy, and he loves it. Desperate for more, I rock my hips, urging him to move. He hooks his arm underneath my leg, positioning my body in just the right angle so he can hit that magic spot deep inside me. As he slides in over and over, my muscles tense and tingle as my orgasm builds.

  The tension mounts so quickly, I have to fight the urge to come. I know the longer I hold out, the better it will be, but I feel like a spring being wound tighter and tighter. The sensation becomes so intense, it’s almost painful. Then with one final thrust, Chase hits the perfect place inside me, and the twinge of pain erupts into a wave of ecstasy that quakes through me as though every nerve ending in my body exploded, releasing a surge of intoxicating bliss.

  Chase’s orgasm follows soon after, then he collapses next to me. Breathless and sweaty, I feel as though I should say something, but my brain can’t seem to function. I glance at him and smile. Based on the dreamy look on his face, he’s in the same boat I am, floating along in a post-orgasmic haze. Our eyes meet, and I know I don’t need to say a word. Every emotion was just shared in the throes of passion. Chase was right—there’s no going back now. This time it’s different. I can feel it.

  We get less than three hours of sleep before we have to get up and moving. He has a long day ahead of him, and I need to get home to Daddy, so we don’t prolong our good-bye. Much. After some “morning calisthenics,” Chase hands me a T-shirt and sweats to change into for my walk of shame. I kiss him passionately and wish him luck today.

  As soon as I get home, I make breakfast for Daddy. I keep expecting him to pop up and grill me about my whereabouts this morning, but he doesn’t. Between travel, his little furlough activities, and the party at the Brennans’, he’s probably still asleep. Once breakfast is done, I place the smoothie and egg white omelet on a tray with the morning paper and bring it to his room.

  His bed is unmade but empty. I place the tray on the nightstand and call out to him, but I don’t get a response. His bathroom door is closed. When he still doesn’t respond, I push the door open.

  The next few moments come to me only in flashes, like I’m watching them happen to someone else. Daddy’s on the floor. Rushing to his side, I fall to my knees and tap his cheeks, begging him to wake up. His skin is grey, and his body is so very cold. I force myself to get to a phone and dial 9-1-1. When I return to him, I start CPR.

  Katie and Pat must come over when they hear the sirens. A whirl of people come into the house. Pat has to pry me off of Daddy. I fight to keep trying to resuscitate him, petrified that if I stop, I’ll lose him. The medics tell me that he’s been gone for too long and there’s nothing they can do.

  The world becomes a blur of sensations. The cold marble against my bare feet. The lavender scent of Pat’s laundry detergent and the soft feel of his cotton T-shirt against my face as he holds me. The sound of dozens of pairs of feet echoing off the vaulted ceiling of the room. It’s like an out-of-body experience. I have no connection to myself or all of the excruciating pain racking my body. I know the pain is there, but I’m too disassociated to feel it.

  The grandfather clock chimes eleven times, and my brain registers the time. “The game’s in two hours. You need to go,” I whisper to Pat.

  “No, baby girl. I’m not leaving you.”

  “Chase needs you. He’ll need you there when he finds out. I’d go, but I’m not sure I can get off the floor.”

  “Pop, I’ll stay with Ari. You and Mom should go,” Charlie says.

  I look over my shoulder at her, trying to figure out when she arrived, but I have no recollection of it.

  “I know the cops said they’d keep… this under the radar for as long as they can, but someone’ll leak. Chase shouldn’t be alone,” she says. “Knowing him, the second he finds out, he’ll leave and come to Ari, playoff game be damned.”

  That gets me off the floor. “You’re right. I need to keep this from him until after the game.” I run back to the kitchen to find my phone.

  Charlie and Pat are talking to me, but I don’t hear a word they’re saying. All I can focus on is how to prevent Chase from finding out. It gives me a purpose, a goal, something to do that isn’t sitting on the floor in the spot where my father died, hoping that this is all just a nightmare.

  I call the owner of the 49ers and tell him if he wants any hope of getting his team to the Super Bowl, he will ban all cell phones from field. Complete internet blackout. I call David, whose network is covering the game, and he assures me there haven’t been any media alerts. If there are, he promises his reporters won’t be the ones to break the news. I’m about to call the mayor of Santa Clara and order him to shut down all of the cell towers around Levi stadium when I get an image in my mind of fans holding signs saying Aldrich RIP.

  I run to the kitchen and grab my purse and keys. “We have to get there,” I shout at Charlie. “We have to go and make sure security looks at every sign.” I look at her, and she’s not moving. “Why are you just sitting there? Come on. We need to go.”

  She stands and takes the keys from my hand. “Honey, you’re in shock. You have to stop this. There won’t be any signs, I promise. Let’s just sit down and try to take a breath.”

  “You don’t understand. Chase must win this game. This stupid game was so important to Daddy that he literally gave his life up to be here. He has to win, otherwise what was the point?” My legs give out, and uncontrollable sobs rack my body.

  Charlie pulls my head into her lap. She whispers words in soothing tones, but I can’t decipher what she’s saying.

  Chapter Eight

  Chase

  I know I shouldn’t, but I keep looking for Ari and Aiden. They’re probably up in the owners’ box where they should be, but I keep looking at the locker room door, hoping she’ll make an appearance. Aiden lives for pre-game pep talks the way preachers live for Sunday morning sermons. No
t only is he inspirational and motivating, but the man loves to hear the sound of his own voice. Now that he’s no longer a member of the media, he can be as biased as he wants. I’m floored that he isn’t down here at his pulpit. I suppose it’s possible Coach revoked Aid’s open access. Two hours before game time, Coach put a communication ban on the team, going as far as to lock all our cell phones, tablets, and laptops in the safe in his office. Even the freaking towel boys had to fork over their phones. I’ve never seen anything like it. But if it helps us win the game, I’m down with it.

  Both teams are well prepared and thirsty for a win. There will be no easy plays today as neither team is willing to relent. It’s a battle, but my team is more in sync today than during any other game this season. We have to fight for each yard gained, but I drive the team down the field. By halftime, we’re bloody and a little battered but up by fourteen. As the clock winds down, I use my bench time to mentally prepare my statement to the sideline reporter. But before she has a chance to approach me, I’m flanked by three assistant coaches directing me to the locker room. I know better than to question them, but it’s bizarre.

  The second half is just as much of a battle. We’ve played twenty-one games since the start of the pre-season, and it’s wearing on all of us. As weary as our bodies may be, we’re too close to the prize to give up now. We claw and scrape our way down the field three more times. By the end of the third, I know my guys are gassed. We may have another touchdown or two in the tank, but we need the defense to hold the Saints. They come through for us, forcing turnovers and two interceptions. As tired as my guys are, I know if we’re on the field, we can dominate the game. Fifteen minutes of clock time goes by in the blink of an eye. With thirty seconds left on the clock, I take a knee, and confetti explodes all over the field. We did it. We’re going to the Super Bowl!

  My team is ecstatic. All the exhaustion we felt dissipates the second the clock ticks down. I’m hit with a rush of celebratory hugs from teammates and my friends on the Saints. Jeb Kane, the owner of the Niners rushes over to me. He’s the kind of owner who’s always wanted to be one of the guys. I’m expecting a belly bounce or one of the many secret handshakes he’s taught me, but it’s so loud on the field that I can’t make out anything he’s saying. He takes my elbow and pulls me to the sidelines where Pop is standing.

  Something’s clearly wrong. Pop has a tentative smile, but there’s something dark in his eyes. He doesn’t look like a man whose son is going to play in his first Super Bowl. Instead of going toward him, I take two steps back. The owner pushes me forward.

  “There’s a car,” I hear the owner say over the noise. “You must leave now.”

  I look at him, confused.

  He points toward the locker room. “Go! Now!”

  Pop steps toward me, and I clearly see the despair written on his face. “Chase, we need to leave now.”

  I don’t ask for clarification because I’m not ready to hear what he has to say. I take one last look at the celebration behind me, then I follow my father. He walks out the door that leads to the ambulance bay.

  “Take off your pads, son,” my father says. “Just leave them here. Someone will get them.” I peel my jersey and pads off, and he hands me a towel and an NFC Championship T-shirt. “Get in the car. We need to get out of here before the traffic gets too bad.”

  I wipe myself down quickly and throw the towel on my pads before getting in the car. “Pop, you want to tell me what’s going on?”

  He proceeds to tell me that the man I’ve always seen as a second father is dead.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” I scream. “I should have been there. I should have been there for Ari.”

  “You needed to focus on the game,” he answers.

  My father’s callous words spark a fury within me. “The game? Who gives a fuck about the damn game? This is my life, and that trumps football every time. Arianna needed me, and I should have been there. At least you should have given me the choice.”

  “We both know this is how Aiden would have wanted it. He wants—wanted—you to win.”

  “If he wanted me to win so badly, he should have stayed in the Bahamas and taken care of himself. He never should have gotten on that plane. It’s like he had a damn death wish!” I slam the heels of my hands into my eyes and scream with frustration. “Why the hell did he do this?”

  Pop gently pats my back. “I know, son. I’ve been asking myself the same question all day.”

  “How is she?” I ask with my head still in my hands.

  “About as good as you can expect after finding her father dead on the floor. She bounced back and forth between being frighteningly numb to screaming and crying. She would call out for you one moment then threaten to kill us if we told you. She’s the one that got this getaway car set up.”

  I pull my hands away from my face and glare at him. “I should have been there.”

  “I promise, son, she was so consumed with grief no one could have helped her, not even you. Today will be one big, painful blur to her. She probably won’t remember who was there and who wasn’t. Tomorrow is when it’ll get really hard. That’s when she’ll need you. Tomorrow and every day after that.”

  We’re quiet for the remainder of the drive. As the driver pulls up to the Aldrichs’ house, it begins to sink in that I’m going to go into Aiden’s house and he won’t be there. He’s not coming home later. He’s actually gone. I don’t wait for the driver to stop before I jump out. I need to get to Arianna. I barrel through the front door and dash from room to room looking for her. I finally find her asleep on the floor of the trophy room, her head in Charlie’s lap. Charlie holds her finger to her lips, telling me to be quiet.

  I nod as I gently pick up Ari. She stirs as I collect her. Her eyelids flutter, and she releases a quiet moan as she nuzzles closer to me.

  “You’re here,” she whispers.

  I pull her tight to my chest and kiss the top of her head. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Were there any signs?” she asks.

  Charlie pulls on my arm to get my attention and mouths, “No!”

  “No, baby. There weren’t any signs,” I reply.

  Her body relaxes against me. “Oh, good.” She drifts back to sleep.

  I give Charlie a puzzled look.

  “I’ll explain later,” she says quietly.

  I nod and carry Ari to her bedroom. She’s still wearing the sweats I put her in before she left this morning. Jesus, I can’t believe that was only this morning. What a difference twelve hours makes.

  After pulling back the blankets, I lay her down on top of me and pull the covers over us. Twirling a lock of her hair, I watch her sleep for hours. My mind and body are desperate for sleep, but I can’t force myself to look away. She looks peaceful, and I want to capture this image because I’m not sure when I’ll see it again. Arianna may be the strongest person I know, but Aiden’s death will crush her.

  The rays of the sunrise streak across the wall, making me stir. Stretching my arm across the bed, I’m met with cold sheets. The faint click clack of keys draws my attention to the chaise lounge by the window. She’s furiously typing on her laptop.

  I pad across the room, scoot behind her on the lounge, and gently knead her shoulders. “Baby, you should try to go back to sleep.”

  She brushes my hands away. “I need to get this press release written. From what I can tell, the news hasn’t leaked yet. I have to put this together so we can release it this morning. I want to control the story.”

  I return my hands to the knots between her shoulder blades. “Want me to look at what you have so far?”

  “I’m capable of writing a press release,” she snaps.

  Ignoring her rebuke, I place a soft kiss on her collarbone. “Of course you are. I was just offering to help.”

  “Yeah, okay,” she replies.

  Reading over her shoulder, I notice that she’s written thirty-seven pages. That’s one very long pr
ess release. She turns to the side and looks at me with wide eyes. Between the heavy bags under her eyes, her pale skin, and the red spider webs branching out in the whites of her eyes, she looks bone tired. The slight tremor in her hands tells me how fragile she is right now. She looks as brittle as a sheet of ice on a warm spring day. Once false step, and she’ll crack wide open and be swallowed up in the icy abyss.

  “Looks like you’ve been at this for a while,” I say delicately.

  She nods while she continues to type. “I woke up hours ago and had to get to work. This release has to be perfect. I’ve been writing for hours, trying to find the right way to describe Daddy, his life, his accomplishments. There aren’t enough words to capture him.”

  “No, baby, there aren’t. Aiden is so dynamic and larger than life. He can’t be captured in a few paragraphs.”

  “Was, Chase. He was dynamic.” A guttural wail comes from within her. She picks up her Macbook and hurls it across the room where it shatters. She wraps her arms around herself, as if she’s literally trying to keep herself from falling apart.

  I scoop her up and carry her back to her bed. She tries to push me away, but I refuse to release her.

  “I need to find another computer and start again. I have to get a release ready,” she says.

  I smooth down her hair, still untamed from a restless night’s sleep. “Why don’t we call your PR rep? Let her do this for you. If there were ever a time to lean on the people you trust, it’s now. Shelly has never steered you wrong in the past.”

  “You know Daddy won’t accept anything short of perfection. I must make it impeccable.”

  I love Aiden, but his obsessive drive and unrelenting demands put seemingly unattainable standards on Arianna’s shoulders. But no matter how unrealistic his expectations, she always found a way to surpass them. “Perfect every time. It’s the Aldrich way,” he would always say. This is one instance where no matter how hard she tries, she’ll never be able to obtain his approval, and I’m not sure how she’s going to handle it.