Dare You to Hate Me, page 27
“Probably shouldn’t though.”
The limp lift of his shoulders tells me he doesn’t give a shit either way. “I believe in you, Aiden. I believe you can do great things and go far. I’m sure your family and your girl does too based on what I’ve seen. Having that support system is going to be real important for the next few years.”
I huff out a laugh. “Now you’re on board with me seeing someone if she gives me support?”
He shoots me a look. “The missus nearly bit my head off when she found out I’d gone to see your girl at her work. Won’t be making that mistake again.”
I don’t bother hiding my grin.
He nods toward my bag. “You get everything you need from Rachel? She’s adamant that you have what you need in case you decide to finish off your degree. I know some players choose to go back to school, but I highly doubt it’d be useful to you.”
As much as I want to bring up Matt to him, I know it’d only cause more problems in the long run for everybody involved. So, I keep my lips zipped, tell him Rachel got me everything I need, and then get dismissed.
My drive to the bakery is quiet, and when I see the brunette behind the counter handing a cup to an elderly man, I stop in my tracks. She told me she was going to Elena’s before work but wouldn’t tell me why. When she looks up, there’s a secret smile painted across those bright red lips.
I approach after the last customer walks away with his order and lean across the counter. She stops me before I can steal a kiss, putting her finger against my mouth and pushing me away enough to meet my eyes. “What? Afraid to be seen with me now?”
She thumbs my bottom lip. “You should be afraid to be seen with me. Haven’t you heard? I’m a college dropout.”
Reaching over, I flick a piece of her freshly dyed hair. It’s a little darker than her natural shade, but still beautiful. “I don’t give a shit as long as you’re happy. This looks good on you, by the way. What made you go back?”
She nibbles her lip. “It was time. If I’m going to do what makes me happy, I want a fresh start. No more hiding.”
“The talk with Bea went well then?”
Her eyes go behind the counter briefly before she stands on her toes and presses a kiss to my lips. “Better than good. She told me I can stay as long as I’d like. She’s even giving me some of her old recipes to practice making.”
The woman in question comes out from the back, flour covering her black apron and a big smile on her face. “She’s forgetting the most important part of what I told her.”
Ivy groans.
“I said I couldn’t say no to her running away with you when the time came because she couldn’t do any better if she tried.”
I laugh as Ivy turns to the older woman with her arms crossed over her chest. “I’m not running away with him.”
Bea’s eyes change slightly. “You’re right. I’d say you’ve done enough running in your lifetime. It’s about time you settled, hmm?”
The comment makes me wonder just how long their talk was.
When I get her full attention, I say, “I’m going to Everly’s for a while, then meeting up with Caleb later on. Told him we’d stop by toward closing to get you.”
“You don’t have to—”
I stop her there. “I don’t have to do anything, but I want to. Plus, it’s cold outside, there’s ice everywhere, and you’re insistent on not needing a car.”
Her stance is the same. “I haven’t driven in years and cars are expensive. I don’t need one when I can walk places.”
“Exactly. So, we’re picking you up.”
She glares.
I shrug.
Bea laughs before disappearing into the back again.
“So, do you want your usual?” she asks, shifting gears.
“Is that your way of saying you want half my bagel?”
“Are you going to keep insinuating you only ask for half of one because you knew I’d eat the other?”
All I say is, “The usual please.”
“Fine, but I’m putting real butter on it instead of that nasty olive oil spread you like.” She goes to work doing just that, passing me a coffee a few minutes later, then a bag with half an everything bagel a few minutes after that.
“Was that so hard?” I tease, passing her what I owe.
“I hate you sometimes.”
I lean in again, crowding her space. “I dare you to hate me, Ivy. We both know you don’t. You couldn’t even if you tried.”
Her breath falters at the words I’ve said once before, except now the meaning is completely different.
Because she loves me.
Even if she won’t admit it yet.
Epilogue
Ivy
“You have no idea what’s going on, do you?” the woman with blue streaks in her blonde hair muses. My hands have been curled tightly together as I watch Aiden fly across the field with three opposing players chasing after him and the ball he’s cradling close to his chest.
The smile I offer is shy. “Is it that obvious?”
Her lips tilt upward, causing the blue paint on half her face crinkle. “You’ve looked lost this whole time, and maybe a little nauseous. I was wondering who you were here with since you don’t seem that educated on the game.”
An amused laugh bubbles from me because I have felt like I’m going to be sick whenever Aiden is nearly taken down. “You’d think I’d have it figured out after all the games I’ve been to by now, but you’d be wrong.”
She laughs, holding out her hand. “At least you’re honest. Most women pretend they know what’s going on, but they’re really only here to try getting attention from the players in hopes of going home with one of them. I’m Cassy, by the way.”
“Ivy.” Our eyes turn back to the field when a commotion stirs a few strangled gasps from the people around us.
Cassy sucks in a breath when Aiden jumps over a fallen player who must have failed at taking him out, before twisting around another, barely avoiding a tackle, and diving into the end zone right as the last quarter ends.
“Holy shit,” my seatmate whispers in as much awe as I feel. The referee jogs over and gives the signals to someone before the scoreboard changes to appoint the New York Giants another 6 points. “We won. WE WON!”
The sea of blue and white people around us go wild, jumping up and down and screaming out the number of the newest tight end on the team as he gets up and grabs the ball as other members of the Giants come running over and surround him in celebration.
“They may go to the Super Bowl if they keep this up,” Cassy tells me, screaming over the others still celebrating the victory.
I nod along, trying to see over the crowd. Aiden and the others are walking off the field together, and I know I’ll get a text within minutes of him getting safely back to the locker room to let me know where and when to meet him outside.
“So why are you here?” my seatmate asks as we collect our things.
A sly grin stretches across my face. “I’m hoping to go home with one of the players.”
Her eyes widen and cheeks pinken as her gaze darts to the jersey I’m wearing. It’s brand new, with GRIFFITH printed on the back and 88 on the front. If he got his way, he would have had one custom made that said GRIFFITH’S HANDS OFF, but I told him I’d shred it before anyone saw it on me.
Something flashes over her face after she’s done giving me a once-over. “What’s your last name again?”
All I say before elbowing my way out of the row of seats is, “I didn’t tell you.”
I was supposed to meet Porter here for the game, but he had a last-minute schedule change that made him have to stay on campus. Since the Giants went to Miami to play the Dolphins, it would have worked perfectly with Porter at the University of Miami. Aiden convinced him to accept the full scholarship that covered everything he’d need as long as he played for the Hurricanes while he attended. Mom and Dad wouldn’t have to pay a dime, which is good considering their divorce was finalized last Valentine’s Day. It’s oddly appropriate for the cycle of things my family has done wrong to include a legal separation on the day people are supposed to express love to one another, but for the first time, I see contentment between them instead of resentment whenever I visit.
I follow the directions I’m given via text and find myself in a concrete hallway with a few other significant others I’ve talked with before. Aiden told me I should stick with them but I’m still no better at socializing than I was before, especially after dropping out of college once my first semester was done.
DJ took it the hardest since he had over a year left and wasn’t planning on going into the draft. He managed to get my phone number before I moved to the New York Metropolitan area after Aiden signed a contract with the Giants and still sends me random messages about his day, including pictures—of food he made, himself giving the puppy dog eyes and telling me he’s lonely, and his grad professor he thinks look like a clone of Snape from Harry Potter.
“Hey, Ivy,” Malissa Melburne greets, bouncing her son in her arms. A diaper bag rests on the ground beside her, and a carrier on the other. As soon as Aiden introduced me as his girlfriend to everyone, the amount of advice on what to wear and what not to, when to get married, and when to have babies started pouring out of the women I barely knew.
Admittedly, that’s the biggest reason I don’t sit with them if I can help it. I wouldn’t have minded being the mute among them as I watched the game and let them think whatever they wanted of me but having the added pressure of when best to move forward with Aiden so it doesn’t impact his season doesn’t help my anxiety any. I’ve gotten better, sought out help, but there are triggers that still make my skin itch with a desire to do something controllable.
And I do.
I call Aiden.
Then I call my therapist.
The apartment we settled into is a spacious three bedroom with a huge kitchen that Aiden told the realtor was non-negotiable. The free time I had after saying goodbye to Lindon was spent learning how to better my baking skills with the help of Aiden’s mother and all the recipe books both she and my own mother got for me. Things have been better with my family, specifically my mother, but it’s still a work in progress. She’ll occasionally send me bakeware items and books using the money she’s earning as a secretary at an architectural firm not far from where I live while she attends college online to get her degree in the focus. Her and Dad both have separate houses a few hours away from each other. Dad sold the store, and the house, to pay back what he’d owed the bank for his failing business and is back working at the old bank he was employed at in central New York.
With the help of Aiden, I’ve managed to earn a little money of my own from blogging about my baking adventures. My following is still minimal, only jumping in views whenever Aiden is involved in the little videos I post online, but it’s enough to cover some of the smaller bills and the therapy sessions I’ve been attending. Once in a while, Mom even joins me. It’s how I finally showed her the scars on my arm and told her the story. My therapist opened the room for the conversation, which ended in both Mom and I crying on the couch while holding each other.
We said we’d try.
And we have.
“How’s the baby?” I ask, wiggling my fingers at the little boy staring at me with his thumb in his mouth. He raises a hand and waves back, making me smile.
“He’s good. Teething like crazy.” She pecks his head and adjusts him. “Have you and Aiden thought about—”
“Oh, cut the girl some slack,” another one of the wives says. It’s the oldest one of us, who’s shut down the women more than once on my behalf. For that reason, Penny is my favorite. “I know you would have waited to have Prince, but things happen. Let them live their lives.”
Malissa grumbles under her breath, focusing back on her son and nobody else.
I give Penny a grateful smile which she returns. “Nick loved those turnovers you sent over. I had to remind him that he had to save at least one for me.”
Blushing, I shift from one foot to the other. “I can make more. I’ve thought about adding something different this time.”
A woman a few feet down says, “You should try them with peaches.”
“Peaches?” Penny remarks, scrunching her face.
“It’s Don’s favorite.”
Baking for Aiden’ team now is no different than it was nearly two years ago in Lindon. I still get requests, and I still do the best I can do to accommodate. They challenge me to change up traditional recipes with my own styles, which helps me in the long run when I decide they’re good enough to post about on my blog.
Once the guys emerge, everyone goes their separate ways. Aiden walks over to me and drops an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him for a tight hug. “Good game,” I tell him.
“You say that every time.”
I peer up at him grinning. “Because I think they’re all good. Say ‘thank you, Ivy.’”
“Thank you, Ivy,” he obeys, rolling his eyes. When he hooks the same arm around my waist and walks me out toward the corridor that leads to where the players park, he asks, “Did anyone ask about us again?”
Apparently the guys are no different with him, saying most players don’t stay with anyone as long as we have without making a commitment by now, but like me, he brushes it off.
“Malissa asked if I was going to pop out one of your babies anytime soon.” He snorts at my choice of words. “Don’t get me wrong, the act itself is definitely fun now that you know what do with your dick, but I’m not ready for—”
“I’ve always known what to do with my dick,” he refutes, eyeing me defensively even though he knows I’m teasing when I shoot him a wink. “And you never seem to mind when you’re screaming my name and cumming on my cock almost every night.”
One of the stadium workers overhears and hides a laugh with a loud cleared throat as we pass him, making me smack Aiden’s chest. “You did that on purpose.”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “Maybe.”
Once we’re settled in his new Ford truck, with tinted windows to hide us from the cameras that like to harass us on occasion, I see him turning to me as he presses the start button. “We might not be ready to be parents, but we could make other decisions.”
My hand falters on the seatbelt. “Like what?”
“Open the glove box.”
Eyes darting in front of me, I hesitate only a moment before doing as he says, and I see a black box.
“Aiden…” My voice cracks as I brush my fingers over the square box before taking it out.
He puts the truck in drive and pulls out of the parking lot. “I’m not good with pretty words, Ivy. I tried thinking about how to do this in a romantic way, but we’ve never really been like that. This is more us.”
“Are you… Is this what I think it is?” I’m afraid to lift the lid and see what’s inside even though I already know.
We stop at the end of the lot where traffic passes by us. It’s then he looks over, one hand gripping the steering wheel while the other reaches over and lifts the lid for me. “Let’s get married.”
Oh my God.
“Be my wife?” he asks, eyes combing over me as I stare at him in shock. Eventually, I manage to glance down at the beautiful gold ring that has a single diamond in the middle. It’s not flashy or too fancy. It’s simple. It’s me.
“Let’s get married,” he says again, this time more casually as the truck moves forward into the road. “And then maybe down the line you can pop out one or two of my kids when things are less crazy.”
“One or two kids?” I squeak.
A shoulder lifts. “Or three.”
“Three!” We’ve never talked about kids, but that hasn’t meant I haven’t thought about it. Before coming back into his life, I never thought I’d ever be a mom. But once we made things official all of a sudden I saw my future—a wedding, a house, and children. I saw it all for the first time.
All with Aiden right beside me.
“Is that a yes?”
“Is the three children negotiable?” I blurt, causing him to chuckle. “I mean, what’d my vagina ever do to you?”
A twinkle forms in those blue eyes as they give me a brief look. “It’s done plenty for me, and hopefully will do plenty more. We can talk about the number of kids we’ll have later. Right now, I need an answer. Out of your head, Underwood. Yes or no?”
I let out a quick breath.
He wants to marry me.
He wants to have kids with me.
The single word response is the easiest one I’ve ever said. “Yes.” I pick the ring out of its carrier and study it closer before slipping it onto my finger and shaking my head in awe of the piece of jewelry that looks like it’s meant to be there. “But we’re not having three kids. Two.”
He pauses for a moment. “Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
I smile to myself as I touch the ring. “I know I’ve said it before, but I love you. You gave me back my life, Aiden.”
The truck slows in traffic. “You did that yourself, Ivy. Never forget it.”
Our hands find each other, linking between us on the seat. One of his fingers settles on the ring as if he wants to make sure this is real.
Ivy Ann Griffith.
I laugh to myself.
Maybe I always knew it’d end like this.
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Acknowledgments
Writing about self-harm has been something I’ve wanted to do for a long time now but struggled to find the right story to portray it. Dare You to Hate Me actually started as a short story I was supposed to write for an anthology focusing on the topic, but it turned into so much more once I opened up to the characters.
