P.S. I Hate You

by Winter Renshaw

I half-chuckle. He’s too fucking polite to take seriously.

  “It’s just that, you’ve been working so hard at … evolving … and I’d hate to see you take ten steps backward,” he says. “In my experience, people like Hunter aren’t worth your energy.”

  Leaning back, I crack the window and pull in a lungful of crisp fall air. As much as I would love nothing more than to inflict a world of pain onto that scheming asshole, he isn’t worth the trouble.

  “Take me home,” I say, resting my head against the cool glass and closing my eyes.

  When I get home, the sky is dark, my apartment is dark, and my world is dark. Taking a seat in the living room, I stare out the window, toward a city that contains the only thing in the world that I want which happens to be the only thing in the world I don’t have.

  At least for now.

  My eyes focus on the handprint centered on the glass, a remnant of last night when I fucked her against the window.

  Just thinking about that night, I can almost feel her soft skin under my palms, can almost smell her sweet arousal. What I wouldn’t give to feel her warmth, see her smile, hear her laugh, feel her warmth as she climbs over top of me in bed.

  Closing my eyes, I force myself to pass out, and if I’m lucky enough, maybe I’ll see her in my dreams. For now, it’s the only place I can go to be with her again.

  I’m almost gone when there’s a knock at my door.

  My heart jumps into my throat, and I rise from my spot, smoothing my shirt and gathering my composure as I head to the door. Every fiber of my body wants to believe it’s her on the other side, that she’s finally come to her senses and convinced herself to forgive me—whether or not I deserve it.

  Only the person standing on the other side of the door is the last person I want to see in this moment.

  “Keir, hi.” My brother, Ronan, whom I haven’t seen in years, stands before me. His hands rest casually in his jeans pockets and his identical blue eyes search mine.

  “Couldn’t have called?” I don’t try to hide my annoyance, exhaling hard through my nose and staring past him.

  “You changed your number,” he says. “Remember?”

  Yawning, I shrug. “Right. I did change my number, didn’t I? I’m thinking there was probably good reason for that, too.”

  “I’d like to talk,” he says. “If you have a moment.”

  “I don’t.”

  His mouth twists into a smirk. He doesn’t take me seriously. Typical Ronan, refusing to take ‘no’ for an answer, even from his own brother. Fortunately, I’m not drinking the Ronan Montgomery Kool-Aid. Never have, never will.

  “Keir, please,” he says, his expression fading and his brows meeting. His mouth forms a hard line.

  “Why should I give you any of my time?” I ask.

  “Because it’s important,” he says, turning to his side and extending his arm. A moment later, he pulls Camille close. Apparently, she’d been standing there the entire time. “Because we came all this way to talk.”

  The two of them exchange looks, like they’re reading each other’s fucking thoughts, and I groan. They’re sickeningly perfect for each other, and maybe deep down, a part of me has resented him for finding true happiness, for having the courage to forge a path Montgomery men have never known before, for not being a slave to his legacy.

  I’m falling apart on the inside, unable to recognize my own thoughts, and that means he’s lucky. I’ll let him in. But only because I don’t have the energy to hurl dig after dig in their direction right now.

  Swinging the door wide, I step aside and let them enter the very apartment I once almost fucked Camille in. It’s different now, having undergone a renovation earlier this year, but she doesn’t seem the least bit fazed about being here. In fact, she strides toward my living room like a woman on a mission.

  Ronan takes the spot next to her on the sofa, interlacing his hand in hers.

  I don’t sit.

  I don’t want to give them the impression that I’m getting comfortable in anticipation of a leisurely visit.

  Resting my hands on my hips, I peer down my nose at the two of them until my brother’s wife finally pulls in a deep breath and meets my hard stare.

  “I just wanted to apologize, Keir, for what my memoir did to your family.” Her shoulders sag as she breathes in, as if her apologize instantly removed. “At the time, it seemed like the right thing to do. Emotions were running high. I … I won’t make any more excuses. The fact is, I’m sorry that this family hasn’t spoken in years.”

  Ronan squeezes her hand, giving her a reassuring nod before returning his gaze to me. “Love makes you do crazy things, things you never thought you’d do in a million years. And when you find someone you really love, you do everything in your power to be together. Even if you hurt other people in the process. The way you behaved—and the way Mom behaved—is still inexcusable. But for us to air that dirty laundry the way we did … let’s just say, it hasn’t sat well with us over the years.”

  All this talk of “we” and “us” makes me want to roll my eyes. It’s like they’re one fucking person, sharing the same brain, the same heart, the same soul.

  And yet, I’d do anything to have that with Rowan.

  “Don’t apologize, Camille.” I exhale, finally taking a seat and resting my face in my hands. I deserved every word she wrote, all of it true. “It’s in the past.”

  I owe her an apology as well, but I won’t be tactless and piggyback on hers. I’ll wait for another moment and give her a proper one, the kind she deserves.

  “Anyway,” Ronan says, clearing this throat and looking at his love again. “One of the reasons we decided to come here was because we want your nephew to know his cool, rebellious uncle Keir.”

  My brows lift and my gaze drops to her stomach. I’m not sure how I missed it before but there it is.

  A baby bump.

  My heart skips, which is odd.

  I’ve never cared much for babies, for runny noses, poopy diapers, and screaming, uncontrollable monsters.

  But this … this is family.

  “Jesus. Guys.” I run my hand through my hair, and it’s as if the pent up anger and resentment I’ve bottled all these years has suddenly taken a back seat to this moment. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, Keir.” Camille places a palm over her belly and offers a warm smile. “If you two will excuse me for a moment …”

  She rises, showing herself down the hall until she finds the spare bath.

  It’s just my brother and me. Alone. First time in years.

  We lock eyes from across the living room, both of us seated with our elbows on our knees, hunched over. We’re mirrored. And though I’ve never admitted it, I’ve missed him all this time. It’s been rough not having someone to talk to you can relate to the insanity that comes with being a Montgomery.

  Clasping my hands together and rubbing my palms, I lift my brows and ask, “No regrets?”

  He doesn’t hesitate for a second. “No regrets.”

  I nod.

  “You ever think about leaving here? Embracing life outside the spotlight? Meeting a nice girl and settling down?” he asks with a slight chuckle in his tone.

  Exhaling, I say, “Never thought about leaving town, but I did meet a nice girl.”

  His brows rise. “No shit?”

  “No shit.” I lean back, sinking into my leather chair and peering toward the wall of glass overlooking the city. She’s out there somewhere. And it kills me not to be with her, to not know what she’s doing this very moment, if she’s missing me, thinking about me.

  “I’d love to meet her,” Ronan says.

  My stare redirects toward him. “And you will. Eventually.”

  I don’t elaborate. And maybe my declaration is more for my benefit.

  I refuse to believe it’s over, that I’ll never see Rowan again.

  “Was going to ask you,” Ronan says, clearing his throat. “Think you could arrange a meeti
ng with Mom and Dad? We’d like to talk to them too.”

  “Of course.”

  The click of Camille’s heels from the hallway pulls our attention away. “We should probably head to the hotel. It’s been a long day. Keir, thank you for being so … gracious … about this.”

  I rise, showing the two of them out, watching the way Ronan’s hand rests gently on the small of her back. He’s protective of her. And now that she’s carrying his child, she’s his entire world.

  He’s lucky.

  And I never thought I’d say that about him.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Keir

  “No Rowan today?” My mother’s forehead is creased.

  “No. No Rowan today.” I smooth my tie before taking a seat on a velvet sofa in the Oval Office. My father sits at his desk, finishing up a phone call with the ambassador to China.

  “Everything … okay with the two of you?” She lifts a brow. I know where she’s going with this.

  “Not at the moment, no.”

  Taking a seat across from me, she crosses her legs at the ankle and removes her glasses, pinching the bridge of her nose.

  “Your strategist really wanted you to appear grounded,” she says. “A nice girl, a nice Aldridge girl, would’ve sealed that for you.”

  “Don’t you think that whole notion is a bit … old-fashioned? It’s twenty-seventeen. It’s perfectly acceptable for a single man to run for a senatorial seat.”

  “Right. Yes. But you’re not just any single man, Keir. You’re a single man with a bit of a reputation,” she reminds me, as if I wasn’t aware.

  “All I need to do is attend a few charity galas and kiss a few babies. They’ll forget all about my checkered past.”

  My mother’s mouth curls into a knowing smile, as if she thinks I’m being cute. “Oh, Keir. So much to learn.”

  “Anyway, I didn’t come here to discuss the campaign,” I say when my phone vibrates with a text. It’s Ronan. They’re outside the doors waiting.

  She half-laughs. “Okay, then.”

  Rising, I stride toward the double doors to my father’s office and show my brother and his wife in.

  My mother nearly turns white.

  My father ends his call.

  Ronan’s arm is hooked around Camille’s lower back, and her body is wrapped in a form-fitting sheath dress, her belly taking center stage.

  You could hear a pin drop.

  I can’t help but smirk.

  This is exactly how I expected this to go.

  “Ronan,” my father breaks the silence with his deep bellow. “Son.”

  Mom keeps her distance, gripping the sofa like it’s some kind of life raft.

  “We weren’t expecting you,” Dad adds, walking around his desk and making his way across the long room. Out of all of us, Camille’s memoir least affected him. I don’t even think he held a grudge, at least not for long. And if he did, it was only ever for show, to appease my mom.

  He never said it, but I know Ronan’s departure from his life hit him hard.

  They were close. At least, as close as a father and son could be in our family. I think he always saw himself in Ronan, more so than in me.

  Dad turns to Camille, his eyes lowering to her round belly then back to her crystalline gaze. “This … this is quite a surprise. Pleasant, of course, but still a surprise.”

  Ronan and Camille both smile, and she rubs her stomach.

  “It’s a boy,” she says sweetly. “We’re due in four months.”

  “We’re due on your birthday, Mom,” Ronan says, though he doesn’t smile. He senses her tepid reception.

  Mom offers a lukewarm smile, and I can almost read her thoughts. In her mind, I’m sure she’s stewing over the fact that the baby will be “half American royalty and half hooker.”

  “We don’t want him born into a world where he’ll never meet his father’s side of the family,” Camille says, glancing up at her husband. “Having this baby … has sort of put things into perspective for us.”

  “It’s time to piece this family back together,” Ronan adds.

  My mother finally rises from the sofa, her expression softening for the first time in ages, and she makes her way toward Camille, her hand outstretched. “May I?”

  Camille nods. “Absolutely, of course.”

  Mom places her hand on Camille’s stomach, and for a split second, I almost think I see Busy Montgomery’s eyes glass over. But the moment she lets go, she straightens her posture and returns to her stoic demeanor.

  “I think we can discuss how to move forward,” Mom says. “Yes. That would be very nice. Thank you, Ronan, for initiating this. We weren’t exactly sure where we stood with the two of you so we kept our distance.”

  “This was all Camille’s planning,” Ronan says, glancing down at her with a proud half-smile.

  Mom looks toward Camille once more, examining her almost. “Is that so?”

  She nods. “Yes. I’d love to speak to you one-on-one if I could? When you have a chance?”

  “Absolutely.” Mom squints before smiling, as if being cordial is taking a bit of effort, but at least she’s trying. “So it’s a boy, you said?”

  She nods. “Bennett Ronan Montgomery.”

  “Maybe he’ll carry on our legacy one of these days. A Montgomery president from every generation. Could you imagine?” My mother clasps her hands together as if the idea gives her nothing but sheer delight, and then she glances to me. “But first, we’ve got to kick off Keir’s career. Perhaps the two of you would like to help with that?”

  Ronan and Camille seem taken aback by her suggestion, and I get it. The two of them have chosen a life outside DC, a life that doesn’t involve schmoozing and campaigning and smiling until your cheeks freeze in that position.

  “We can talk,” Ronan says. “But no promises.”

  Watching the two of them, so content and at peace, makes me realize long-term career in politics, one that leads straight to the White House, is no place to raise a family. I could never be the kind of father I want to be—the kind of father I never had—if my focus and attention are on the well-being and prosperity of the United States of America and not on the well-being and emotional prosperity of my own family.

  “I’ve got a meeting across town,” I lie, checking my phone. Four missed calls. Three texts. None of them from Rowan. “Some contributor.”

  I’ve left her alone all week, giving her space, hoping my absence might make her heart grow fonder, or at least come around enough to consider talking to me.

  Showing myself out and leaving my parents to catch up with Ronan, I drag in a lungful of White House air and dial her number.

  The line rings.

  My heart races.

  But she doesn’t answer.

  Chapter Forty

  Rowan

  My phone lights on my desk at the exact moment my boss knocks at my office door. I silence the call and flip the phone over, screen-side down.

  “Spencer,” I say, now that he’s given me the all clear to call him by his first name. “Hi.”

  He takes the empty seat on the other side of my desk, and he doesn’t smile, though I’m learning he doesn’t tend to smile a lot in general. He’s very serious most of the time, his sense of humor dryer than the Sahara. But he’s nice and passionate about the work we do here.

  I suppose that’s all that matters.

  “Just wanted to let you know, I’m impressed with the work you’ve done this week.” His lips flatten, as if he’s about to drop some kind of bombshell on me. I’m waiting for him to add a disclaimer to his compliment.

  “Thank you.”

  “Anyway, I wasn’t planning on sending you out until next month, but Kathryn’s been sick all week, and I need a second set of hands when I check on our Detroit contract. You up for it?”

  “Really? Um. Yeah. Of course.” I nod, hiding my shock and hoping he sees my enthusiasm as genuine. I wasn’t expecting to leave town so soon, but I welc
ome this.

  It’s going to be a relief, a reprieve.

  Maybe now, for the first time all week, out of sight will equal out of mind.

  I need to get him out of my mind.

  It’s the only way I’ll be able to forget him, to forget what we had, and to forget that what we had wasn’t even real.

  I haven’t seen Keir all week and yet everywhere I go, there he is.

  Not in the literal sense.

  It’s like a PR campaign threw up all over the city. With Baltimore being so close to DC and several Maryland residents commuting to the city for work, his campaign seems to be bleeding in this direction.

  His face is on billboards. His name in headlines. His pictures in the news.

  I can’t escape him.

  “Anyway, we leave tomorrow evening,” Spencer says on his way out. “I’ll have my assistant put Kathryn’s ticket in your name and give you all the details.”

  “Perfect.”

  I leave work that evening and catch the Metro to Hannah’s dorm in Georgetown. When I arrive, her goth roommate, Willow, answers the door sans-black lipstick for the first time since I’ve known her.

  The place smells like sandalwood incense with a hint of marijuana. It’s a good thing our parents are too busy to come visit. My mother would lose her shit if she knew they were footing the bill for all of this.

  Willow leaves for the cafeteria, and I sprawl out on Hannah’s extra-long bed, kicking my heels off for the first time all day. Pressing my cheek against her cool pillow, I ramble on about my new job, the upcoming trip to Detroit, the weather, Adeline being back in town, our mother’s impending book tour … anything but Keir.

  I already talked her ear off into the wee hours of the morning Sunday night.

  There’s nothing more I can say.

  “Why are you being so boring?” Hannah makes a face. “The weather? Rowan, seriously? You never talk about the weather. What are we, eighty-seven?”

  “I’m allowed to talk about the weather. It’s fall and it’s beautiful outside.”

  My sister rolls her eyes. “Maybe we should talk about what’s really on your mind.”