Hate to Want You

by Alisha Rai

  “Well, those two have been blown up to hundreds and thousands. There’s a fucking hashtag calling for a boycott. Why the fuck is there always a hashtag?”

  Because hashtags got people to listen, but he wasn’t about to sit here and explain social media to his dad. “Listen, I’ll handle it. We’ll issue a statement tonight. Say we’re committed to our mission statement, as always, and while we have identified a couple of products, we have no evidence of any others.”

  “Say we’re discontinuing those products, effective immediately.”

  “That’s a good idea. I could also say we’re going to do a comprehensive review of all suppliers to ensure no others are engaging in practices that run counter to our policies.” He held his breath, ready to launch ten million arguments to achieve the outcome his grandfather—and he—wanted.

  “Yes, fine, whatever. Just make this go away, for crying out loud. I’m getting harassed on every end here.”

  “Yes, sir.” Without bothering to say goodbye, he hung up, and only then saw the string of texts he’d received in the last half hour. Had he checked his messages first, he would have seen a rundown of the situation from their public relations vice-president. He responded with instructions.

  When he heard footsteps behind him, he pivoted, having temporarily forgotten where he was or who he was with. Livvy was fully dressed, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her face wary. “Sounds important.”

  He lifted his phone. “I’m sorry. Small emergency at work.”

  “Hmm. Well, uh. I gotta get home. This has been real fun and all.” She scooped up his shirt and tossed it to him.

  It hit him in the chest, and he grabbed it automatically. “Listen—”

  “You’re gonna want to cover up that tail.”

  He looked down at his chest, having forgotten the mermaid. Even in permanent marker, the drawing was cute. Not something he’d want on his skin permanently, but Livvy’s talent was evident in the mischievous look in the sea creature’s eyes, the fluid lines of her body. “I’ll drive you home.”

  “You’re busy. I can walk.”

  Making certain to imbue his voice with every ounce of command he possessed, he repeated himself. “Not that busy. I’ll drive you home.”

  It was the tone that got people to jump and scrape the second he spoke to them, but she looked unimpressed. “There’s no need—”

  “If you don’t let me drive you, I’ll creep along beside you while you walk home,” he said flatly. “It’ll take ten times longer, and we’ve established how terrible I am at lurking.”

  Her lips twitched. That was one of the things he’d always appreciated about Livvy. No matter how stubborn or angry she got, she never lost her sense of humor. That hadn’t changed. “I guess you wouldn’t look so handsome in an orange jumpsuit.”

  “It’s not my color.” He caught her wrist before she could move away. “You asked if it was so terrible to feel helpless.” It should have been. For a man obsessed with control, who used coldness to keep himself from falling apart, he should have been terrified.

  One feeling.

  Yes, the Pandora’s box was open, and he could sense all those emotions he’d carefully kept locked away struggling to get out, but he’d ignore them for now. He’d focus on that one feeling, that desire to be with her.

  Her lips quivered, but then they firmed. So tough, she was. Tougher than him.

  He stared into her dark eyes. “It wasn’t. It wasn’t terrible at all.”

  Chapter 10

  “DROP ME off here.”

  Nicholas didn’t appear thrilled, but he complied with Livvy’s order, stopping at the end of the cul-de-sac. It was dark out, but the lights from the dashboard illuminated his face in a greenish glow as he turned to her. “Will you think about meeting up with my grandfather and sister?”

  She bit her lip. In all the other stuff they’d discussed, she’d almost forgotten about John and Eve. “Not your sister. Tell her we’re cool.” She believed Eve was remorseful. There was no need to have another stressful discussion, especially if it was going to drag up totally false stories about their parents.

  He accepted that response with a single nod. “My grandfather, though?” When she hesitated, he pressed. “He’s getting old, Livvy. I don’t want to lay that on you, but I don’t know how much longer he has.”

  Her stomach sank. “Is he sick?”

  “No, nothing urgent.” Nicholas grimaced. “Still. You never know. I’ll beg you to do it, if that’s what it takes.”

  She opened and closed her hands in her lap. For Nicholas to beg? That was indeed serious. “I came here to make peace with my family. That’s it. I didn’t ask for all this.”

  “I know.” He traced his fingers over the steering wheel. The fingers he’d had inside her. “I’m sorry. I don’t like bothering you, believe me.”

  “It’s not a bother to see John. It’s painful.”

  “I get that.” He didn’t say anything more.

  She sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Thank you. Let me know either way.”

  She opened her door, the interior light coming on. “I guess, I’ll, um, talk to you soon then?” The words felt weird in her mouth. It had been so long since they’d parted ways with actual goodbyes and the expectation of seeing each other again.

  He rested his palm on her arm and she stopped. “Can I—”

  She waited for him to finish but then he only shook his head and removed his hand. Her skin felt a little colder. “Never mind. Yes, we’ll talk soon.”

  Were they supposed to kiss? Hug? She gave him an awkward wave and what she imagined was a pretty close human imitation of the gritted teeth emoji and exited the car.

  She was supremely conscious of his vehicle idling behind her as she walked into the cul-de-sac. He wouldn’t leave until she got to her mother’s house. She tried to view the neighborhood through his eyes—it was solidly middle- to upper-class, but the four-bedroom brick home she was walking toward was a far cry from the estate where she had grown up.

  She tucked her fingers into her jacket pocket, brushing velvet softness. While Nicholas had been distracted on the phone, she’d stuck the roses he’d brought her into an empty glass of water. She couldn’t have brought them home without serious questions.

  That hadn’t stopped her from foolishly tucking a few petals in her pocket, though. She removed her hand and tugged her jacket tighter around her body. All her nerve endings felt tingly and too sensitive, as they always did after an encounter with Nicholas. Something was off, though, and it took her a second to realize what it was.

  She didn’t feel terrible.

  That repetitive cycle of pleasure and pain. Where was the pain? Where was the aching inside of her, threatening to swallow her whole?

  There was worry, yes, but she was calm. Why was that? Could it have been the talking when usually they were silent? The sense of making some sort of non-physical connection with him? The range of emotions he’d displayed? His vulnerability when he confessed he was nervous about a woman going down on him?

  She mulled over the idea of oral sex therapy as an as-yet-undiscovered area of psychology as she skirted the motorcycle parked at the curb. Her aunt had complained the neighbors were letting their guests park willy-nilly in front of their home. She’d tell Maile about the hog in the morning.

  She mounted the steps of the porch and waved at Nicholas. His headlights flashed and he drove away.

  Livvy almost had her key in the door when a creak had her straightening, body going alert. A large shadow separated from the rickety chair on the porch, and she took a step back.

  The shadow spoke. “It’s me, Livs.”

  “Me, who—?” Realization struck, and she took another step back, this time out of shock. No one called her Livs except . . . “Jackson?” she whispered.

  The hulking man stepped into the thin circle of light cast by the porch lamp. She and Jackson shared the same eyes and lips, but o
therwise, no one would know they were siblings, let alone twins. Both her brothers had always been large-framed, taking after their father’s side of the family.

  In the ten years since she’d seen him, Jackson’s face had grown leaner, more sculpted, his cheekbones high and slashing, his thick brows lowering over piercing eyes. He’d turned his solid frame into muscles packed on top of muscles, his large forearms and biceps revealed by the white T-shirt he wore in defiance of the fall chill.

  “Jackson,” she said again. Then she burst into tears.

  She and Jackson had been like two peas in a pod, sharing a room until they were eleven, though the house they’d grown up in had had plenty of space. She liked chatter and noise; he’d been a silent, shy kid. Her father used to joke they made up for each other’s weaknesses. Together, they were one perfect individual.

  The first time they’d been apart had been when Jackson was arrested for the fire. That had kicked off a decade of separation.

  She and Jackson had never been physically affectionate—like her mother, Jackson shied away from overt displays of fondness. But nothing could have stopped her from throwing herself at her brother. She tried to wrap her arms around his neck, but even in heels, on her tiptoes, he was far too tall.

  She spoke against his chest, “Pick me up,” but it came out more like “Schmoop rump.”

  “Uh, what?”

  “Pick me up!”

  A resigned sigh came from deep in his belly, but he did as she asked, lifting her so she could properly cling to him.

  A big hand awkwardly patted her back. “Please stop.”

  She ignored the pleading in that rough voice. “Don’t tear-shame me. I can cry if I want. I haven’t seen you in forever.” Not since the charges had been dropped. He’d left town sometime that night, with only a terse note for her, a duffel of clothes, and the money Maile had given him.

  She’d left a couple days later, unable to find a reason to stick around in a place that no longer seemed like hers.

  The patting turned more frenzied. “How long is this gonna last?”

  “As long as I want, asshole,” she snarled between sobs. “Deal with it.”

  Another sigh. “Livs, you know I’m not good at this.”

  He never had been, bless him. She inhaled, struggling to stop. A few ragged breaths later, her tears eased enough for her to speak. “No, I don’t know that. I don’t know anything.” She twisted her head. A flash of black peeked out from under his T-shirt sleeve. Her tears turned to indignation, and she shoved herself away from him. “Except I see you got some tattoos. From someone who obviously wasn’t me.” Like a wife discovering lipstick on her husband’s collar, she jerked his shirt up and studied the half-sleeve there with a sneer. Her outrage melted into sharp nostalgia. Jackson had incorporated Hawaiian designs, reminiscent of the single tattoo their father had had on his arm. Whenever she’d asked her dad about it, he’d laughed and rolled his eyes, telling her it was a remnant of his wild youth.

  She sniffed and lifted Jackson’s other sleeve to find something written on his inner bicep. Damn it, too bad she couldn’t read Japanese. “This is ridiculous. You went to some strangers somewhere for our people’s heritage?”

  “Since when are you an expert on our people?”

  She wasn’t. Her father had been estranged from and never met his extended family in Hawaii, and her mother had only ever made half-hearted efforts to teach her kids about their Japanese side.

  But still. “I know how to do research.”

  “I got this one in Tokyo and the other one in Maui. I think that was better than you hitting up Wikipedia.”

  She nudged him into the moonlight and peered closer at the lettering. “Some nice line work,” she admitted grudgingly. “I could do better, of course, but it’s not terrible. What does it say?”

  “Google it.”

  She glared up at him. She and Jackson might have been close, but he was still a brother, with all the annoying traits that came along with that. She smacked his arm. “You want to permanently alter your body? You come to me from now on. No one else.”

  He rubbed his arm where she had hit him, though she imagined her hand stung more than his hard flesh. “Yeah, yeah.”

  She took another step back, and silence fell between them as they studied each other, cataloguing the differences ten years could make. His hair was shorter now, his face roughly hewn and matured from his baby roundness. There was an odd sense of deep familiarity that came with seeing someone you’d spent twenty years with, but the strangeness of meeting someone after a decade who had lived a life that was so remote, she had no idea what it had even consisted of.

  They’d emailed occasionally and talked on the phone at least once a year, either around their birthday or the holidays, so they’d had a vague idea of where the other one was, but that was it. While she’d stuck to the States, Jackson had backpacked the world, doing God knows what. When she would ask if he had a job or enough money, he’d only tell her vaguely he was doing fine, and then change the subject.

  He was the first to speak. “Still a pipsqueak, I see.”

  Her inhalation was shaky. “Still big and mean, I see.”

  His full lips curled. “Hey, Livs.”

  “Jackson.” She shoved her hands in her pockets, unsure of what to do with them now that she was done grabbing him. She fingered the rose petals, their smoothness calming her. “I’m surprised to see you.”

  “I know.”

  “What . . .” She trailed off, uncertain what to say. There were a million questions she wanted to ask, and a million ways for him to dodge her.

  A trickle of anger undercut her joy at seeing him. It surprised her, that anger, but she supposed she’d been carrying it around for a while. “Fuck you, Jackson. How could you not come home for Paul’s funeral?” Oh, she tried to keep the tinge of bitterness and judgment out of her tone, but she feared she failed.

  Yeah, that anger and resentment was real. It didn’t matter what Paul and Jackson’s relationship had been at the time of their brother’s death. Hell, Paul had been estranged from her like whoa. She’d still wept when she learned he’d died alone and cold on a hiking trail, had rushed home to put her arm around Sadia.

  Jackson nodded, not a trace of surprise on his broad face. “So, we’re leading with that, huh?”

  “Yeah. We’re leading with that.”

  “I couldn’t come then.”

  “Was someone stopping you?”

  He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “A few guards. I might have been in a jail cell in Paris.”

  The anger vanished. She stared at him in shock, every fear she’d had about her brother rushing back. He’d always been so good. A little surly and quiet, yes, but he’d walked the straight and narrow far more than she ever had.

  Being accused of arson had pushed him over the edge, it seemed. Dear Lord, had he spent the past few years bumming the world and getting tossed into jail cells? “For what?”

  “It was nothing.”

  “It was something, if you were in a foreign jail.”

  “I had to pay a fine. No big deal. But, yeah, I missed the funeral.” He walked away and sat down on the porch steps, linking his hands between his legs. “How was it?”

  She wanted to grab his arm and snuggle close to him, force him to love and hold her, but she’d already pushed her luck. She didn’t want to shove him right off the porch onto an international flight.

  Tentatively, she sat on the step, with a good amount of distance between them. “It was a funeral. Pretty small.” Most of the friends Paul had were ones he’d made after she’d left town. He’d cut ties with most everyone they’d grown up with. Not surprising, since most of them were also either friends or employees of Nicholas. Sometimes both.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t come.”

  She deflated, all of her resentment gone. “I guess you had a good reason. I wasn’t any closer to Paul than you were, at the end there. But he was still o
ur brother.” It was easy when you were estranged from someone to always focus on their weaknesses, but Paul had been a pretty decent big brother before life had come between them. Stubborn and sometimes annoying, but protective and loving too.

  “Yeah. I know.” Jackson cleared his throat. “I should have contacted you after, at least.”

  “And Sadia.”

  He looked out over the yard. Livvy wondered if he was comparing it to their old home, where they’d been surrounded by woods. Here, the houses were close enough she could see Carol’s television on in the living room next door. “Did her family come to the service?”

  “Yes.” Sadia’s parents had left early, but her sisters had hovered around her.

  “Good. That’s good.” He rubbed his nose. “I got your e-mail about Mom.”

  “I assumed.” She’d worded the e-mail carefully, laying out the facts only. She figured Jackson had the right to know about their mom, but as angry as she’d been over him not coming home for Paul, she hadn’t been ready to guilt him into rushing home for their mom.

  It had been her decision to come here. Jackson could make his own decisions.

  He rolled his big shoulders, like he was trying to get rid of an annoyance. “I was in the state anyway. Thought I could at least check on you.” His eyes cut to hers. “How’s Mom?”

  “Not bad. She’s getting around with the walker now. A physical therapist comes a few times a week. She’ll be walking with a cane soon, probably.”

  “Thought only fragile old people broke their hips.”

  “She’s not young anymore, Jackson. And it can happen to anyone who takes a nasty fall and has a touch of osteoporosis. Luckily, Aunt Maile was able to get help for her immediately.”

  Jackson’s smile was faint. “Aunt Maile. She still a chatterbox?”

  “Who isn’t a chatterbox to you?” Livvy grinned, though. “Yeah. Still hoarding yarn. She helps Mom a lot, especially when I’m at work.”

  “You’re working here too?”

  “Part-time. At Gabe’s shop.”