Make Me Hate You(36)

“I need to break them in,” she said, as if it were obvious. “You ever break in a pair of high heels before? Trust me, it’s torture, and I don’t want to be tortured on my wedding day.”

“No, you’re saving that for the poor vendors, apparently,” Oliver chimed in.

She pouted, giving him a look that made me want to run and pull her into my arms. Her bottom lip was protruded, eyes big and watery. “They won’t budge. I tried everything. But they… we won’t have Mackie’s Donuts at our wedding.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Oliver said, wrapping her in a hug just as she hid her face from our view. Tyler and I exchanged a knowing smile, and then we joined in on the hug, wrapping our arms around the two of them.

“We’ll figure something out,” he assured her.

“But I want Mackie’s Donut Truck,” she mumbled in the middle of the group hug.

He chuckled, kissing her hair as we all released her. “Trust me, okay? There will be donuts at our wedding, and they will be delicious. I promise.”

She sniffed, but smiled. “Alright.”

And in the next breath, she was back in business mode.

She called out to her parents, who were in charge of driving down to the Cape to meet with the planner and go over the last-minute décor requests and day-of itinerary. They were just going to stay out there, since we’d be joining them in a couple of days anyway.

Then, she pointed at me and Tyler, making us promise to make it the best damn playlist of songs to ever exist at a wedding. Once we saluted her, she had her arm looped through Oliver’s and was tugging him out the front door. And then it was just me and Tyler in the foyer, him with his hands in the pockets of his shorts, and me hiding a swimsuit under my dress.

“I’ll drive,” I said.

I was already turning toward the front door when he cocked a brow. “Drive?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“We’re supposed to work on the playlist.”

“And we will,” I said, opening the door and holding it for him. “But I think we need some inspiration, some good vibes to make the right decisions. So, we’re getting out of the house.” I gestured to the world outside. “Look how beautiful it is today. Sunny, breezy, a few clouds… don’t you think it’d be nice to work outside?”

Tyler hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “We could sit by the pool.”

At that, I huffed, leaning over to snatch his wrist in my hand and tug him out the door. “Just come on.”

That earned me a chuckle, and I felt that vibration all the way through my ribcage and to the very core of who I was.

That dark, monstrous core.

I shook off the thought, climbing into the driver side of his mom’s Cadillac. And once Tyler was in the passenger seat, I threw the car in drive and steered us toward a road I hadn’t driven down in years with my heart racing in my chest.

A warning, or a rally cry?

I could never be sure.





At the end of a hidden back road where an old abandoned lake house sat, there was a giant dock and a rope swing hanging from the limb of a tree. It was our favorite, secret place to go as kids — mine, Morgan’s, and Tyler’s — and I took a risk in assuming that that old house would still be here, still be abandoned, and that the dock would still be standing.

But it was.

It was a quiet part of the lake, a little enclave without a neighboring house in sight, and the lake was mirror-like, perfect for kayaking or canoeing or paddle boarding or — my favorite — skipping rocks.

Tyler had spent most of the ride quiet, with his arms crossed over his chest like he was annoyed, or bored, or inconvenienced, or maybe all three at once. But when he realized the turns I was taking, the path I was leading us on, he glanced over at me with a curious smile.

“The old house?”

I just smiled, not answering, but he already knew.

When we pulled into the drive, overgrown with weeds and brush, I tossed Tyler the trunks I’d snuck out of his room and told him to change and meet me on the dock. He shook his head on a grin, which I returned as I jumped out of the car and left him to change.

The breeze was strong, cooling the summer sun above and making the trees rustle, the long weeds making images in the lawn as they blew this way and that. I smiled at the familiar feel of summer, at the smell of the dogwood and the sassafras, at the sound of the lake water gently lapping at the shore.

It wasn’t until I stepped foot on the old dock that my stomach tightened with longing. I thought back to those endless summer days spent with Morgan and Tyler, pretending like they were my real family, like I had siblings and parents who loved me and cared for me. How many days had we spent jumping off the dock, or swinging off the rope swing into the lake? How many afternoons had we wasted away talking and listening to music, playing games, teasing each other about teenage things like crushes and puberty? How many nights had we goofed away sneaking into the old house, pretending we saw ghosts or heard voices before running out of there like our tails were on fire — laughing, tumbling into a mess of arms and legs in a heap in the yard.

I was still smiling at the memory when I dropped my bag at the end of the dock, stripping my dress overhead and reaching into the bag for the sunscreen I’d packed. I rubbed a small amount on my face, lathering up my shoulders and arms. I was just starting to spread the block on my chest when I turned to check on Tyler, and there he was, at the other end of the dock, rooted in place with his eyes on me.