As Long As You Hate Me

by Carrie Aarons

  As Long As You Hate Me

  Carrie Aarons

  Copyright © 2017 by Carrie Aarons

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Editing done by Proofing Style.

  Cover designed by Okay Creations.

  For all of the artists who have, unknowingly, at one time or another, saved me life. Through heartbreak, love, sickness, and bliss, music has always been the constant that has gotten me through.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Carrie Aarons

  Prologue

  Dean

  Ten Years Ago

  Ink black hair winds between my fingers and the strings of my guitar.

  "I want a custom pick, with my own initials."

  "You don't play."

  She sits up, hitting me a little harder than I thought she was going for. "Jerk. You're supposed to say that you'll buy me whatever I want."

  I grin, loving the smell of rain in the air as we sprawl on the bleachers. "I'm not made of money ... yet. But one day, baby, I'll buy you whatever you want."

  Those hazel eyes, almost a shade of purple, all but turn into hearts. It's that look I'm always trying to conjure out of her, the one that makes my heart fly into my throat when she makes it at me.

  "Dean Jacobs, will you always love me?"

  Kara O'Connor asked me this question at least once a week, as she'd done for the past year and a half.

  And I always had the same answer. "Until the rivers run dry and the moon goes black."

  She leaned her head against my shoulder like she always did, because she knew I meant it. We fit like two puzzle pieces in the same box, the two of us surrounded by hundreds of other kids at Elm Hill High School but only meant for each other.

  The first day I’d seen her, across the cafeteria eating a chocolate chip muffin before the homeroom bell rang, something inside of me sped up like the beat of a song before the bass dropped. This girl … I had to have her. That very moment I’d sat down and began drafting the Spotify playlist I would send to her when I finally asked her out. Dashboard Confessional, John Mayer, Ben Folds, The Beatles, Gavin DeGraw, Oasis … all music that a girl would like but is still considered cool in my book.

  “Write me a song.” Her long, slim arms wrapped around me, making it impossible to hold my guitar to do just that.

  Kara resembled an elfin princess, with her long, midnight hair, creamy pale skin, large almond-shaped eyes and mauve-colored lips. She always wore the same small pearl studs in her earlobes, and when she blinked her eyelashes danced upon her cheeks.

  Right now, she was huddled beneath my varsity jacket, the one I was awarded freshman year for making the football team but could care less about. I played the sport because my friends did, and had no intention of continuing after I graduated.

  No … I was going to Hollywood.

  Picking up the guitar Kara had gifted me just recently, I began to strum.

  “High school, the place where getting high is cool. But I only get high when I’m with you, pretty girl who makes half a man feel like two. Came from the wrong side of town, but she makes me right … I want to stare into those purple eyes all through the night.”

  My voice warbles in the smoky, low tone I’ve affected since practicing writing and performing my own songs.

  Kara cuts me off, her cold lips pressing against mine. Usually, she’d complain about being out here in the October chill of northern New Jersey. But her parents were home, and my dad was probably drunk on the couch … so this was our privacy. I could stay out here on these bleachers with her for the rest of time if it meant she didn’t have to leave my arms.

  “When you get your first album deal, I hope you name a song after me.” My girl. Always needing to hear the affirmation even though she knew I’d slice open body parts for her.

  I smooth back a lock of her hair, the sky a gray purple, almost the same as her eyes. “How about this? I’ll name the whole album after you.”

  She sighed and leaned into me again, her silence conveying her contentedness.

  I meant that too. Kara was the muse for every lyric, every chorus. And she’ll be the only one in the crowd of thousands I see when my moment on that stage finally comes.

  Chapter One

  Kara

  As if being single at a wedding wasn't pathetic enough, I had also been put on the one job that the maid of honor did not want to do. Veil duty.

  So here I stood in my violet chiffon gown, holding a gauzy veil that kept flying into my face and getting tangled in the curled pieces of flyaway hair that the stylist had left out of my updo.

  "Marie, are you putting this back on or can I go store it in the room?" I tried my best to end the sentence on a sweet note.

  The bride happened to be one of my closest friends from high school, so only for her was I suffering this miserable June heat and no plus one.

  "Well, I could put it on for one more picture. But I don't know that we can get it back in my hair the right way. Oh, I don't know, what do you think, husband?"

  She leaned over to kiss Henry, her high school sweetheart turned husband.

  That was all fine and dandy and I'd throw rice over their heads later, but I wanted a damn answer. And a bottle of vodka ... when we were released from duty to crash the cocktail hour?

  "I'm going to go put it away, and if you need it later, I'll grab it." They weren't even listening, too busy making out next to a plant on the venue's lawn while the photographer snapped away.

  Traipsing back across the crunchy, summer grass in my stilettos, I tried to look on the bright side; be happy for my friends, thank God that I was marginally closer to a drink and the steak dinner I'd been promised.

  I hadn't always been this cynical about love, but if you'd been through the ringer I had, you'd be patting me on the back for not getting on my soapbox and interrupting the wedding when the priest had asked for objectors earlier.

  "Are they almost done with photos? We need to get her flat shoes on
and parade them around cocktail hour." Marie's sister, Stephanie, asked when I walked into the upscale hotel that the wedding was being hosted at.

  "Not sure, you should go check." Considering you're the maid of honor, and I'm not your bitch. I added that part in my head.

  Marching inside, my heels clacking on the white tile of the venue, I couldn’t wait to get these death shoes off. The entire place was done up in shades of purple and white, Marie’s signature colors of the day. It looked like a Pinterest page had exploded in here, and it made me cringe. I was nothing if not simple, my own room at home bare in terms of decoration except for the few pictures of friends and the peach and white bedspread I’d fallen in love with at Anthropology last summer.

  Yes, I still lived with my parents at twenty-seven. You would too if you had school loans up to your ears and another year of medical school to go. One more year, and I’d be a fully licensed dermatologist. My dream as a child had been to be Meredith Grey, a surgeon with kickass hair and a hot doctor boyfriend who could screw me in on call rooms. Instead, I was a whiz with acne, cysts and laser hair removal. And as much as other medical professions liked to mock us, I really do love what I do.

  Cocktail hour starts and ends, I stuff myself full of way too many pulled pork sliders, and we’re finally seated in the ballroom, listening to speeches. The best man, currently giving his drunken, awkward speech, is a guy I went to high school with, as are most of the people attending Marie’s wedding. It’s both a downside and an upside; I have to see and converse with people I actively avoid friending on Facebook, but another half of the room is actually decent and I enjoy having a drink with them.

  At least Henry didn’t ask him to be the best man. From my knowledge, they hadn’t spoken in years. I’d refrained from asking Marie if he’d been invited, but he would never come even if he was. Weddings in Jersey do not scream red carpet or celebrity status.

  Four Jack and Cokes later and I’m feeling pretty good … and even better about my single status. It means I can Irish goodbye right after the cake is cut and go home to my pint of red velvet ice cream and reruns of Friends.

  Familiar chords start, the slow melody of everything I'd held in my heart once playing out over the dance floor. Christ, did they really need to play this song?

  The rain came down,

  And so did you.

  Meeting between the gray and blue,

  I found you there,

  Mine to keep.

  I got up from the table and made a break for the ballroom doors, unable to sit in the onslaught of lyrics now being sung by the man in the song.

  Outside in the hallway, I could still hear it, but only faintly. Looking down, I realized I'd done myself a favor and brought my drink out with me.

  Finishing the last dregs of it, I sighed and leaned against the wall. "God, I hate that fucking song."

  "Tell me about it."

  A shadowy figure leaned against the wall farther down, and I startled a bit not realizing I wasn't alone.

  And then he stepped out of the shadows. That voice ... I could pick it out anywhere.

  "Hey, Kara."

  Blue eyes, the color of a hurricane-influenced ocean, sandy blond hair down to his shoulders, that tall, lean body with hands always shoved in his pockets.

  I haven't seen his face in person in seven years. What the hell he's doing back in New Jersey, I have no clue. My intuition had failed me, and the lovebirds inside were going to get an earful about not looping me in on the fact than an invite went out with Dean Jacobs’ name on it.

  But how dare he say my name. How dare he show up here, his usual sly, cocky charm following him in whichever direction he breathed.

  Before I know what's happening, I move toward him, setting my empty drink down on a nearby table.

  And as soon as I'm within reaching distance, I smack him square across the face.

  Chapter Two

  Kara

  Adrenaline pumps through my calves, shooting aches into the arches of my feet as I try to run, avoiding cracks that the slim stilettos heel could get stuck in.

  “Kara! Kara!” His voice commands, but I don’t stop.

  He’s going to catch up to me. It’s inevitable. He’s bigger, faster … and I’m drunk and in stupid fucking high heels.

  But I keep going anyway, because vindictively, it feels good to have him chase me. My hand burns from where my skin met his, but it also sings with victory.

  “Stop it!” Fingers wrap around my elbow and I know I’m bested.

  I’ve made it to the parking lot, the humid night air sticking to my body. Out here we’re alone, I bet no one inside even knows he’s here yet. Silence surrounds us, and the only illumination comes from the spotlights and street lamps strategically placed around the grounds of the venue.

  “Get your fucking hands off me,” I seethe, anger oozing from every pore.

  Dean lashes back like I just hit him again. “Hell, that’s not really the welcome I was expecting.”

  Still so cocky after all these years. I guess I should have expected it. Stardom has done nothing if not blow his ego into a stratosphere of its own.

  And it makes me snicker. “Really? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  Those baby blues, the color of a polished sapphire, register confusion. God, he has some nerve. And he’s more gorgeous than I remember. I’ve avoided pictures for so many years, trying to actively not register his face in my brain has become my favorite pastime. But here he is, and I can’t not look. Looking at Dean is like trying not to look at a solar eclipse; you know it will damage you, leave you blinded, but it’s so incredible that you’re forced to stare until you get your fill.

  Since I last saw him in person, he’s filled out … what used to be a lanky, teenagers body has morphed into carefully-built muscles carved into that olive complexion. Sandy blond hair, almost brown at its root, is tucked behind his ears in a devil-may-care style that only serves to make him sexier. His lips are still full, and I can’t help but think if they’d still taste the same.

  But there is one added difference. Tattoos. Dozens of them. Up and down his bare arms, ink and script intertwining. Of course, he’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt to a black-tie wedding … and completely pulling it off.

  Dean Jacobs never did play by the rules.

  I feel like my head is going to explode. “You’ve made a mockery of me for the past seven years. Parading around our most intimate moments in your songs all to make a dollar and a dream! While you went off to Hollywood and got rich, I was here, Dean. Dealing with the blow back. The stares and the whispers from all of the people you left behind. You think I’d just welcome you home with open arms? Especially after what you did … because we both know that the music wasn’t the only way you betrayed me.”

  Now his expression turns to twisted guilt, and I know he remembers exactly why we crashed and burned so epically. The cars in the parking lot are the only spectators to this blood bath, and I have to bite back the tears remembering that final phone call.

  “I protected you, didn’t I? From the media. They never knew who you were … always the speculation about the girl in the songs. But I never sold you out.” I can see this is his saving grace, the thing he convinces himself of when the sludge in his soul builds up too high.

  My fists shake now. “No, not completely. I’ve just been used from the shadows, isn’t that right?”

  We’re standing closer now, the rage and hurt sparking between us like electricity. It’s a miracle one of us isn’t struck by it, but my heart feels the shockwaves from here. How in God’s name can he still make me feel this way after all of this time and all of the intolerance I’ve built up?

  “I don’t know what you expect me to say, Kara. I was invited here by Marie and Henry, I thought it would be nice to come and celebrate their wedding. See a few old faces. Maybe even sing a song or two.” He tried to flash a smile and I wanted to smack him again.

  “So, of course, this is about yo
u showing off your career once again. You didn’t come here for two of your high school friends … this is some ego boost. It always is, Dean, let’s just be straight with each other.”

  His face grew a shade of red as he leaned in. “You want me to be straight with you? I’m here because my manager told me to be … and you’ve never looked more beautiful than you do right now.”

  Those words almost knock me on my ass, but I steady internally, pushing down the urge to accept them and ruminate over my high school sweetheart calling me beautiful.

  My eyes register the flash before my brain does, and I’m stupefied at what could possibly be going off like fireworks from behind one of the cars.

  “Shit!” Dean grabs my hand and pulls me back toward the way we came.

  “Hey! What the hell—”

  “Shut up,” he hisses, his long legs leading us behind the privacy of the double doors I’d stormed out of not five minutes before.

  Tiny flares burst in front of my eyes still, the effect not doing good things for my already drunken state. Once we’re around the corner, he stops on a dime and I nearly fall over.

  “What is wrong with you?” I spit, fury rattling my teeth.