by L. M. Reid
Hard to Hate
The Hard to Love Series
By L.M. Reid
Published by Scarlet Lantern Publishing
Copyright © 2020 by
L.M. Reid & Scarlet Lantern Publishing
All rights reserved.
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.
This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language.
Table of Contents
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
Other Titles by L.M. Reid
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Other Titles by
The Hard to Love Series
Hard to Trust
1
Chloe
The aroma from the flowers is strong. It’s also nauseating. My stomach churns as I stand in the doorway, the scent wafting past me again. I decide in this moment that I hate flowers. If I never smell one again it will be too soon. Because flowers, they don’t hold a smell of beauty. Not anymore at least. They smell of death and loss, hurt and pain.
The rose-colored casket is surrounded by expansive floral arrangements. The same arrangements that are making me feel as though my empty stomach is going to revolt on me and attempt to empty the contents it doesn’t hold.
I rest my hand on my stomach trying to urge it to settle down. A warmth rushes over me, and I can feel myself start to perspire. Closing my eyes, I take in a deep breath, but it only makes the smell of the flowers hit me again, and harder this time. I turn and run to the bathroom pushing my way into the first stall and dropping to my knees. My head hangs over the toilet, and while I desperately try to empty the contents of my stomach in an attempt to ease the ache, nothing comes up. I gag and spit, tears streaming down my face. Reality hits and everything I had been trying to hold together comes undone.
A week ago, I wasn’t like this. A week ago, life was perfect.
A week ago, Sierra was still here.
Now she’s not.
It’s her body in that casket. The one that I can’t approach and refuse to look at. The flowers that are making me sick, they’re for her. A celebration of her life. A sign of condolence. Whichever way you look at it, she’s still gone, and that is the only part that is sticking with me.
The hugs, the condolences, the “I’m sorry’s.” All are well intentioned, but none do a damn thing to make me feel better. If anything, they only serve as a constant reminder that she’s gone. My sister, my best friend. She’s dead. Her life taken by some unknown asshole who ran her down and then drove away like a fucking coward. Sierra’s gone and whoever killed her, they’re still out there.
Fury, pain, frustration – that’s only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the emotions I’m feeling today. The ones that I’ve felt every single day since the police showed up at my dorm room, the one Sierra and I shared.
The people Sierra was with that night, her friends, the ones that were able to get out of the way before that car could barrel right over them, gave the police my information. I was the only link to her they could think of.
When the officer told me what happened, I refused to believe him. I called him a liar; told him he was mistaken. I shoved him out of the door desperate to escape the reality he was presenting me. Then he handed me her wallet, filled with her ID, credit cards, and phone that was never charged.
All strength left my body. My limbs felt like Jell-O as I sank to the floor sobbing. The officer asked if there was someone he could call. My mind instantly went to my parents. There was no way I was going to let him call them. No, it had to come from me.
I picked up the phone and dialed the phone number that had been ingrained in my brain since I was five.
The moment I heard my father’s voice come through the line, I burst into tears again.
Desperation and concern filled his voice as he begged me to tell him what was wrong. I told him that there was an accident, that Sierra was hurt. Then all I heard was a hysterical cry escape my mother and my heart broke all over again.
It was apparent just by looking at Officer Garcia that the critical injuries Sierra sustained meant there was a good chance she wasn’t going to recover from them. They drove me to the hospital where I waited to hear the fate of my sister’s life, Officer Garcia never leaving my side until my parents arrived, despite the fact that his shift has long past ended. I need to thank him for that, I remind myself.
I continue to sit on the disgusting bathroom floor. I can’t seem to make myself move though. Every ounce of strength I had managed to muster over the last week is gone. Without permission, my body has finally succumbed to the sadness and it overtakes every fiber of my being. I feel empty and alone. And angry. So, fucking angry.
The nauseating feeling in my stomach finally settles and I manage to make it to my feet. Resting my body against the stall, I take a few breaths before I exit. On wobbly legs, I make my way to the sink to splash water on my face and rinse the taste of bile out of my mouth.
My hands rest on the counter as I look up into the mirror. My eyes are puffy, my face pale. I barely recognize the person looking back at me. I’m a broken mess; nothing more than the shell of a woman I was just a week ago. I resolve that this is the new me, because without Sierra, I can’t ever imagine feeling better than this again.
There’s a buzz on the other side of the door. People chattering and milling around, coming to pay their respects. As much as I want to stay hidden in here and not have to see the look of pity in their well-intentioned condolences, my parents need me.
Grabbing a tissue from the holder, I blot away the mascara streaks the tears left. My nose is still a cherry red from crying, but I look almost normal after I reapply my lipstick. I straighten my black dress. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. I push out the last breath with an extra force. In with the good, out with the bad. Yeah, right.
On unsteady feet, I finally make my way into the room. My mother is seated in front of the casket. Even from the back of the room, I can hear her sobs. As I make my way to her, I smile and graciously accept the condolences of those that I pass. When I finally reach her, I kneel next to her and take her hands in mine.
“Is there anything I ca
n get you, Mom?” I ask.
Taking care of my parents is the only way I have been able to cope these past few days. As long as I’m taking care of my mom, tending to her needs, I don’t have to think about my own pain. Help her heal to help myself.
It’s not as selfish as it sounds. She’s my mother, I love her and I would do anything to help her. The fact that doing so helps me is not lost on me though. In fact, it’s a blessing and has made me an even more dutiful daughter. I’ll do whatever it takes to ease this ache and to not think about how empty I feel.
I sit at my mother’s side, my father on the other, as people stop before us to give us their deepest sympathies. My dad, Mr. Strong, trying to be cordial to everyone while keeping his emotions at bay. I know better though. I can see the pain in his eyes, the devastation that he feels. Like me though, he holds it in for the sake of my mother.
This whole day has been torture. My eyes keep glancing to the watch on my left wrist. The second hand seemingly unmoving as though time is standing still. On approximately the millionth check of my watch, time has finally unfrozen.
Two hours.
Two hours left to endure this endless torture. Two hours left to stare at the casket that holds my sister. Or rather, what’s left of her. Her body is there, but she’s gone. She was gone the minute that asshole driver hit her despite the efforts of the medical professionals who tried so desperately to save her.
“How are you holding up?” Nat asks.
“I’m fine,” I tell her, even though I know she can see through my bullshit. She hands me a glass of water.
“I know you think you have to be strong for your parents, but you can lean on me, you know that, right?”
“Not today. Today, I need to hold it together. Tomorrow, I can fall apart.”
She nods in understanding even though she doesn’t have a clue. Not really. She’s trying so hard to be supportive though, and I appreciate it, I really do. But the only thing she’s ever lost is her cell phone. She doesn’t understand, she can’t.
Still, like a true friend, she’s been by my side each and every day.
“Maybe we could do something special tomorrow, something to honor Sierra?” she suggests.
Isn’t that what today is, though? We are honoring her now. Tomorrow I get to try to put this all behind me, right? I can move on without this guilt eating at me?
“Maybe.”
“If you will all please take a seat,” Father Mike says over the hum of the crowd.
Music begins to play causing another round of tears for my mother who is clutching her Kleenex to her chest. Father Mike is speaking, and while I assume that his words are comforting someone, they aren’t doing a damn thing for me. Every fiber of my being is hurt and angry and filled with a vengeance that I can’t describe. Whoever did this, they’re still out there. They’re still living their life. And she can’t anymore.
When the service is finally over, people begin to parade in front of the casket, past my parents and me, offering yet another round of condolences. Each and every person expressing how sorry they are with pity in their eyes. I don’t want their sympathy or their pity. I just want my sister back. I just want this to all be a bad dream because that’s exactly what it feels like. I am in a fucking nightmare that I can’t wake up from. It’s a gut wrenching and awful loop that I’m stuck in: the police on the doorstep telling me about the accident, the doctor’s saying that she wasn’t going to make it, the funeral arrangements. And now, the funeral. It’s a never-ending cycle of misery.
2
Chloe
“Are you sure you’re ready to go back?” my dad asks.
It’s not a question of wanting to go back. No, the real question is do I want to stay here and have the constant reminder of Sierra everywhere I look? Hell, no.
Between the bar and home, everywhere I turn is something else that reminds me of Sierra. Something that brings back one memory or another. The plants that still remain from her service three months ago serve as a shrine in her honor in my parents’ home.
So, no, I’m not really ready to go back to school or to have to focus on something other than my sadness. But, it sure as hell beats living in this house.
Starting tomorrow, I will be rooming with my friend Nat. Sierra would have graduated last semester and Nat and I decided that we had wanted to spend our last year together. The original plan had been for Nat to move into my dorm room with me, the one Sierra and I had shared. But, after everything that happened with Sierra, I couldn’t bear go back there. Much like I can’t bear to stay home any longer. I am desperate to escape the memories. Instead, I’m moving into Nat’s room with her. A room that is clear across campus and where I have no memories of Sierra.
I plaster a smile on my face. “I’m sure, Dad. I’m looking forward to it.”
It’s a lie. Both the smile and the line that I feed him. What I really want to do, what I’ve done for that past three months, is hide in bed and never come out.
But, as Nat so kindly keeps reminding me, that isn’t what Sierra would want for me. She’s right, and I know that. I’m just not there yet. Whatever the stages if grief may be, I seem to be stuck in the one that has me wallowing in sadness and self-pity unwilling and unable to move on.
My dad still looks unsure, but he gives in anyway. “Okay, then. I’ll get the car loaded up.”
There is one thing I need to do before I leave. “Thanks, Daddy.” I press a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be back in a little while.”
With the spare key in my pocket, I head out the door and straight to Andy’s Place, the bar and grill that my parents own and run. Before that it was his dad’s bar and so on and so on. To me though, it’s more than just the local watering hole. It’s my home away from home. If I wasn’t at home or school, I was here. We all were.
I slide the key into the lock and go inside.
It’s not the first time I’ve been here since Sierra’s death. Every time I walk through the door though, I feel close to her without feeling overwhelmed by her presence.
I sit on the corner barstool, the spot where Sierra and I always did our homework, gossiped about boys, and shared our secrets. The dance floor off to the left is where we choreographed cheers and dances to perform for our parents. We spent countless hours behind the bar, making kiddie cocktails and pretending to take orders from our dolls. Then, last summer, we tended bar. I mean really tended bar.
The corner of my mouth curves into a smile thinking about our first night tending bar and Sierra deciding that she was just as good as Tom Cruise in Cocktail. She flipped a bottle in the air, certain she could catch it. She may have been certain, but the bump on her head told the world that she was wrong. It didn’t faze her though, she just tried again. That time she got a slightly better result. She still didn’t catch the bottle, but it didn’t hit her in the head either.
“God, Si, how the hell did this happen?” I ask the question out loud.
She should have graduated in May. She should be starting her life. Instead, her body is rotting in a casket buried in the ground. The sadness I felt surrounding her impending graduation, and the fact that she was going to be moving on without me all seems so silly now. She didn’t just move on, she completely abandoned me. Albeit, through no fault of her own. She was just having a good time, celebrating all of the hard work she had done. Until someone took all of it away from her.
Yes, I would be going off to school this year alone anyone, but still I miss her. I miss us packing together, driving to school, spending our first night drinking and eating an entire tube of cookie dough.
The memories wash over me, and for the first time since she died, I don’t try to push them out. I let them hit me, one by one. I smile as the tears fall; every memory so bittersweet. I feel like I’m losing my mind – one memory making me happy, the next debilitating me. The emotions are hitting me hard and quick in a rapid succession until I end up curled in a ball on the floor.
The grief passes an
d the anger takes over. I silently curse anyone and anything that may have led to Sierra being taken away from me. Fuck them. Fuck each and every one of them – God, the guy who hit her. She didn’t deserve to die. I don’t deserve to have to live without my sister. Eventually the anger subsides enough to allow me to pull myself together. The release gives me a sense of peace that I haven’t felt in a long time.
I needed to let that out. Now, I need to move on.
Palms on the floor, I shove myself up to a standing position and move behind the bar. The top shelf tequila my father hides for special occasions makes its way into my hands and onto the bar. Two shot glasses flank either side of it. I fill each glass then take one in my hand and raise it.
“To you Si, the best sister a girl could ask for. I love you and I miss you.” I take the shot then pick up the second glass. “And I promise to live my life, for the both of us.”
***
Four hours later I walk into my new dorm room and straight into Nat’s welcoming arms. She holds me tightly for a moment before pulling back with a smile. She reaches behind her and hands me a gift bag.
“What’s this?” I ask. She nods, urging me to open it.
When I do, there is an instant smile on my face.
“I know it’s not the same but…”
I pull out the bottle of tequila and the tube of cookie dough.
“It’s perfect,” I tell her.
3
Chloe
“Why are you dressed like that?” Nat asks as she walks into the dorm room we share.
Giving myself a once over in the mirror, I reply, “I’m going out.”
“You have class tomorrow,” she reminds me.