Page 44 of He Hate Me

“Just want to talk,” he breathes into the nape of my neck. His breath is warm and mint scented. My skin heats. I’m starting to love the feel of his hand on my neck.

“You were being such a dick this morning.”

“Don’t want them to think we like each other, do we?”

“Do we like each other?” I tease.

He chuckles, honest to goodness. Can’t remember hearing that sound before. Most of the time he’s either grim or angry. It’s a welcome change.

I sit upright, dislodging his hand, and make a dash towards the edge of the bed. He jumps for me. It’s really awkward because we’re both tangled in the covers, but I’m no match for him physically. He throws himself on top of me, heavy thighs weighing down my legs. I struggle, trying to throw him off, but I have no luck. The only effect is the shifting of our positions until I’m on my back and he’s smiling down at me. He looks like a wolf who’s cornered a lamb. Are you still prey if you want to be caught?

“Get off me, you jackass.” He’s got me pinned to the bed, his features sharp and feral. I push against him, and he flexes his muscles, showing his strength.

“Seriously,” I hiss, “get off me. I don’t want to get caught.”

“Chill,” he says. “I just want to talk.”

“That makes even less sense with you on top of me.”

His focus shifts to my lips, his eyes growing heavy-lidded. His head lowers, his mouth getting closer and closer to mine. I hold my breath, my lips parting in anticipation of his touch.

But then he laughs and levers himself up. The blue, agate marbles beneath his brows mock me. I regard him warily as I sit up, easing away from him. I don’t get too far before he grabs my ankle.

I plop on my butt, now truly confused. What is he doing?

He’s sitting cross-legged, holding me by the foot. We square off as much as you can square off in your pajamas among mounds of fluffy white bedding.

“I found something downstairs I want to show you.”

He produces a messenger bag and pulls out a photo album. It smells a little musty, which isn’t surprising if it’s been in the basement for a while. It’s a wedding album with the words Lindsey and Sean on the front. Inside are photos of a white couple in their twenties. They both have dark hair—hers brown and his black like Brandon’s. I can see both their features in Brandon. He’s tall like his father and has the same general build, but the unblemished skin and striking features are all mom.

“They look so happy,” I say, then I realize how that must sound since Brandon’s dad left them.

“I think they were,” Brandon says, “at least back then. I like to imagine this is the real them, loving each other. They had me out of love.”

“Of course they did,” I say because I know that’s what he needs to hear. It must be a terrible feeling to wonder whether you were loved and wanted by both your parents.

“I don’t remember them being together. I was so young when he left. But look how he’s looking at her. It’s like he thinks she hung the moon. I just don’t understand what could have happened to make him leave.”

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t your fault.” I squeeze his hand to comfort him, and he squeezes back.

“After my dad left, we moved in here.”

“I didn’t know that. How’d that happen?”

“My mom was working for Devin and when she couldn’t afford to keep her place, he told her she could take the servant’s quarters.”

“That little room?”

“It was free, and housekeepers don’t really get paid very much. Devin was actually cool. He taught me how to read, played ball with me. I don’t mean he was like a surrogate dad or anything, but he paid more attention to me than my real dad.”

“So what happened? You don’t seem to like him now.”

“He fired my mom, that’s what happened. I woke up one morning and went into her room and she was slurring her words and stuff. I asked him to take her to the doctor and he said she’d be fine in a bit. And she was later in the day, but the problem kept coming back. She broke some household items, and he fired her. After ten years, she’s out on her ass. We ended up in a homeless shelter.”

I can’t believe that’s the whole story.

“But he did become your guardian, though. That has to count for something.”