27. I Hate/Love You
I HATE/LOVE YOU
CUTTER
“Don’t say that.” Panic passes over her face, her doe eyes wide and frightened.
She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, the blanket half hanging to the floor covered in clothes.
The blinds block out all daylight, the room illuminated in a dingy orange glow, highlighting the bruises on her face.
In a pair of panties and a baggy shirt, she’s never looked more stunning. I ache to be inside her.
“I should have said it years ago,” I confess, putting it out there, raw, bare.
Life is too short. Michael could have killed her. Desolation settles over me at the thought. The soft pounding in my skull as the alcohol wears off drums in sync with my pulse. The words are out there, and I’m sure as fuck not taking them back. Resolution tightens my fists.
Fuck Claire. Fuck Pres. Fuck not being good enough. I’ll work hard to be the man she deserves. Callan knows what it’s like to fall for someone you shouldn’t, and he gives zero fucks about it. He’ll understand. I’ll make him.
“You’re married,” she bites out through gritted teeth, her breath hitching, eyes gleaming.
“I don’t fucking want to be. Not to her,” I admit out loud to her for the first time.
There are a million reasons I shouldn’t be declaring my love for her.
Nothing has changed about the situation except for me.
Seeing her so broken by my actions destroyed something inside me…
my anger and regret have been festering like a volcano waiting to erupt.
I’m so lonely without her it’s becoming unbearable, and my heart aches so much, I struggle to breathe some days.
“You weren’t saying that last night when you painted her in cum.” She winces and picks up Keg, who’s trying to curl into her lap, placing him on the floor.
Grimacing, I clear my throat. “That was a mistake.” A big one. I couldn’t even go back to the room and face her after I let her suck my dick. That’s why I fell asleep on the kitchen counter. But this isn’t about Claire or Wheels or fucking Michael. It’s about us.
Laughing on a choked sob, she shakes her head, sending her hair bouncing around her face. “You’re unbelievable.”
My chest cracks. “Do you love me?” I ask desperately. I can’t remember the last time I felt this vulnerable, this sure.
She rubs her temples and doesn’t speak. The silence is so loud, it suffocates the air from the room.
“You can’t be saying this!” she finally yells, throwing her hands up.
I revel in the heat of her anger, taking it all in, allowing its intensity to etch itself into my memory so I’ll never forget how alive she makes me feel. If it was over, there wouldn’t be this much passion—this much pain. I’d fucking die for her and vice versa.
Dropping to my knees before her, I dip my head, resting my forehead on her thighs, and clutch her hips with both hands. “If you tell me you don’t love me and mean it, I’ll go,” I mumble. “Do you love me?” I ask once more.
“No.” It’s barely a whisper but it buries itself into me, settling in my chest, compressing. A surge of panic flares inside me. My heart kicks against my ribcage, trying to escape. I fucked up. I lost her.
“I hate you,” she breathes out, placing her hands on my head.
Peace washes over me, air unfurling from my lungs. Those three words unwind the noose around my neck, releasing all the tension inside me. She fucking loves me.
Pulling me up to face her, small palms grasping my cheeks, she looks down at me, worry lines creasing her brow. “But you can’t come to my bed until it’s real. No more sneaking around and lying to everyone. It has to be real.” Determination slashes across her features.
I have to tell her everything. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”
Her body stiffens, and her skin pales. “Just say it.” She releases my face, dropping her hands to the bed fisting her duvet.
My lips open, and so does her bedroom door, silencing me.
Fuck .
“Dad?” Kitty frowns.
Pres’s simmering rage causes the vein in his neck to pulse. Dark slits narrow down on me on my knees at Kitty’s feet. “Am I interrupting something?” His tone holds a deadly note I take as a warning.
Getting to my feet, I exhale a heavy breath. “I’ll come back later, okay?” I tell Kit.
“I actually came for you,” Pres says, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder for me to follow him into the hallway. Kitty shadows, standing at the threshold, wrapping her arms around her middle.
“Go lie down, Kitty,” he tells her.
Her head swivels toward me, her eyes landing on mine. I nod, reassuring her everything is okay. I don’t know if it is true. I do know if he hits me, I don’t want her to see it or to try to stop it from happening.
The moment she closes the door, Pres nods for me to walk down the hall. When I get ten feet away, he slams into my back, forcing me against the wall, pushing my arm up my back. I don’t fight him or move. “What the hell was that, boy?”
“I love her,” I confess.
“I don’t give a fuck. You made your fucking bed. Now you have to lie in it,” he growls in my ear, spittle hitting my cheek. Releasing me, he swipes his hand across his mouth. “You ain’t making my kid your side piece. Do you want everyone thinking she’s a club slut giving it up to married brothers?”
“I’ll kill anyone who talks about her,” I declare, flexing my arm to loosen the knot he caused.
Stabbing a finger in my direction, nostrils flaring, he says, “It’s more important than ever you keep your wife sweet right now. Did you notice she greeted Michael by name? What the fuck was that about?” I hadn’t. I was too busy watching Kitty.
“I’ll find out.”
“You fucking better—or I will.” He sidesteps around me and disappears in the opposite direction. Pulling out my phone, I send a text to Claire.
Me: Where are you?
Claire: At mom’s getting Rocco. Why?
Me: We need to talk. Meet me at your house.
Claire: Our house, Liam.
Me: Be there in an hour.
Claire: Fine.
Pulling up Kitty’s number, I type out a quick message and leave.
Me: Everything is fine. He wanted to talk to me about business. I’ll see you tonight. Get some rest.
Claire’s home looms like a menacing enemy, taunting me with its cold blue walls as I pull up and kill the bike’s engine.
This oppressive place has never brought me solace or comfort, only contempt and loathing.
I may pay for it, but it’s never been mine.
The club is where I live. Kitty is my home.
If it hadn’t been for Rocco, I never would have put down roots with Claire.
She chose this craftsman style, whereas I prefer a rancher house.
Kicking down the stand, I swing my leg clear and punch my feet into the concrete, surveying the manicured lawn with flowers arranged in circular beds. I know it’s not me gardening, and it sure as fuck isn’t Claire.
A neighbor across the street glares at me, clinging to her kid’s shoulders, afraid to let go, like I’m going to snatch him and strap him to my bike or something. “Afternoon.” I salute, and she hurries him inside.
“Our house” my ass.
Flicking through my keys, I walk up the couple steps to the front door and push the key in the lock, letting myself inside.
A vanilla scent hits me in the face, irritating the back of my throat before I even get the door shut.
The floorboards flex under my weight as I walk through the hallway and into the living room.
Bleak white walls decorated with pictures of fashion icons and cityscapes give the place an impersonal touch.
Looking around for a place to sit, I decide I’m better off standing.
You’d never know a kid lived here. Every piece of furniture is cream and immaculate, not a cushion out of place.
Striding through to the kitchen, I pull open the fridge and grimace. Fruit juice and lettuce fill every shelf. The sound of a car pulling up draws my eyes to the window as Claire pulls into the drive next to my bike. She climbs out and waltzes up to the house.
Her heels announce her entry, clicking across the wood floors. “Liam?”
“In here,” I call out, leaning my ass against the countertop.
Dumping her purse on the island opposite me, she unwinds a flowery scarf from her neck and brushes her hands down the front of her shirt.
“Where’s Rocco?” I ask, frowning.
“You said we needed to talk. I thought it would be better to do it without him here.” Going to the fridge, she pulls out a bottle of water and hands it to me.
“Water?” I scoff.
“I don’t keep beer in the house.”
“You need to put some real food in the fridge,” I inform her.
“That is real food. We like it, and you’re never here, so…” She quirks a brow.
“Rocco needs more than one food group.”
“Are you here to lecture me on what I feed our son or is there something else you needed to talk to me about?”
“No. I came to talk to you about a couple things.”
“What are they?” She looks tired. Bags sit under her eyes, and she’s not wearing as much makeup as usual.
“This morning at the club, why did you address Michael by name?”
“Address him? Why are you talking like that?” She purses her lips.
“Like what? Fucking English? Just answer the damn question.” I push off the counter and stand to my full height, bearing down on her.
Hitching a shoulder, she turns away and pulls a clip from her hair, shaking her head and running her fingers through it. “I was startled to see him. It just came out.”
“Do you know him personally?” My tone is ice-cold. I watch her closely, scrutinizing her response.
“What?” She balks, spinning to face me. Placing a hand on her chest, she shakes her head. “No, of course not. What are you accusing me of?”
Loosening my posture, I relax back against the counter. “Calm the fuck down. I was just asking a question.” Anyone would think she’s done something criminal and is about to face a firing squad. She’s not fooling anyone.
“Do you want to tell me what all that was about this morning?” She fidgets with her hands nervously.
“It was nothing to worry about.” I uncap the water and take a swig, my mouth dry as fuck from last night’s binge drinking. A dull headache sits over my eyes.
“Didn’t seem like nothing. Michael was bleeding, and that man was missing a hand.” She covers her mouth as if it revolts her to the point of puking. I’m not buying it.
“Like I said, it’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“So, is that all?” She tilts her head, looking me up and down like I’m a snack.
“I don’t want to do this shit anymore.” I flick a finger between her and me, taking another drink of the water.
Startled, she blinks rapidly. “What shit?”
“This facade—our marriage.”
“What about last night?” she chokes out, seriously affronted. Am I living in a different universe to her? Last night was fucking horrible. I left her naked and humiliated. I’m not proud of any of it.
“That was a mistake—and we both know it. There’s never been an attraction here for me,” I admit, placing the bottle down. “And you only want to fuck me because it’s convenient.”
“Fuck you!” she retorts, eyes narrowed and claws out. “Your dick didn’t struggle to get hard so you can’t find me that repulsive.”
“You’re putting words in my mouth. I didn’t say you were repulsive. But my dick didn’t struggle because I was thinking about someone else.” It’s harsh, but it’s the truth.
Her features morph into a rage-filled expression. “How dare you say that to me.” Charging toward me, she raises a hand but stops her movement, thinking better of it when I glare at her, daring her to make that mistake. She gulps, her arms dropping to her sides. A tear leaks down her cheek.
“I gave you four years,” I tell her. This can’t be that much of a surprise. Did she really think we could go on living like this? That our empty marriage would be enough for forever.
“What changed?” She sniffs and swallows.
“What?”
“Between then and now, what’s changed?” Crossing her arms, she lifts a brow. “You agreed to marry me. There were reasons you weren’t with her. Have those gone away?”
“No,” I punch out. Claire’s always known, despite pretending she didn’t. She doesn’t need me to confirm it’s Kitty.
“Then don’t do this,” she pleads, gripping the front of my cut.
“I can’t keep doing this to her—to me—to you. Don’t you want to find someone who will give you what you need?”
“I love you,” she whines.
“Don’t fucking lie. It’s pathetic.” I shrug her off me, and she looks away.
Exhaling harshly, she snaps, “What about Rocco?”
“I’ll always take care of our son.”
“And Jericho? What will he think of this?”
“Claire”—I grab her wrist, forcing her to turn and look at me—“this is happening.”
“He’ll see me as expendable if you leave me,” she pleads.
“It’s been four years. You’ve proven yourself. He won’t touch you, I promise.”
Dropping her eyes to my hand clutching her wrist, she places her hand over it. “Can you give us tomorrow?”
“What’s tomorrow?”
“The family cookout at the club. Rocco is really looking forward to it. Let us have tomorrow as a family,” she begs.
Staring into her tear-blurred eyes, I shrug, releasing her arm and exhaling a frustrated breath. “Fine. What’s one more day?”
“Okay.” She wipes her face with the palms of her hands. “I’ll see you then.” Grabbing her purse, she leaves me standing in the kitchen watching her pull out of the driveway through the window.
Unease settles in my chest. That was too easy.