Page 137 of Hate Me Like You Mean It

I could explain.

I knew exactly what I needed to say to fix this. I’d rehearsed the lines over and over in my head, but all I could think in that moment, while the bitterness of my betrayal dug its claws deeper into my brother’s expression, was that this had been a mistake.

The thick fleece of my sweater was sucking every morsel of stifling heat out of the air and trapping it against my flesh. I needed to breathe, cool down, think of a way out of this that didn’t end with me losing someone I loved.

“Wait, I can… gimme a second. It’s so hot.” I released Dominic’s hand so I could tug the sweater off before it cooked me alive, only vaguely aware that the damp T-shirt I had on underneath was lifting with it.

The collective intake of sharp breaths made me freeze. I ripped off the fleece, trying to see what had caused the reaction, right as I felt Dominic’s knuckles graze my stomach and yank my shirt back down.

The potent alarm in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. You could actually see the color drain from his face as my family gaped at the two of us, wearing near-identical expressions of horror.

Oh no. Oh nonononononononono.

I clutched the sweater to my stomach, even though it was far, far too late. This morning, during another one of our games, Dominic had grabbed one of the markers I’d later used to sketch out our plans, gotten on his knees, and drawn three arrows over my stomach.

All three were pointing downward. And annotated with the following:

Insert cocks here.

No permission needed.

Property of Dominic Crawford.

Judging from the way he tensed and nudged me to the left, Dominic saw it coming before my brother even moved. So tellme why, instead of ducking or stepping out of the fucking way, he just stood there and allowed it to happen.

We were granted one last moment of stillness.

Before Adrien’s fist connected with his jaw.

“No permission needed?NO PERMISSION NEEDED?” He had Dominic by the collar, shoved up against the back of a cherry-colored minivan in the blink of an eye. “My little sister, motherfucker? You drew that shit on mylittle sister? Are you that fucked in the fucking head?”

“Adrien, stop!” My heart was hammering, my internal alarms blaring as the entire focus of my existence zeroed in on the singular point of contact between the two men. “Let him go! I told you I can explain!”

Dad gripped his shoulders and tried to pull him back, but Adrien barely budged.

The second worst part of this waking nightmare was Dominic’s blatant refusal to defend himself. His arms were limp at his sides, his face frustratingly blank. Almost like he thought he deserved it.

“Adrien, it was all consensual! Let him go!” This time, when I pulled at his sleeve, he did move. He didn’t take his eyes off Dominic, but he moved.

Ria had intervened, gently tugging at his arm and cooing something soothing up at him, guiding him back to her.

He let go.

“Holy shit, you okay? Let me see.” I lodged myself between them and gently grabbed Dominic’s face to assess the damage. He winced, and it felt like a punch to the gut.

I was going to kill my brother.

My hands curled into fists as they dropped to my sides. I whipped around, my teeth bared. “Were you raised in a goddamn barn? What the fuck do you think?—”

“Alice.”

I shrugged Dominic off. “Let me finish.”

“Alice. Just stop. Please.” It was the soft, unexpected plea in his tone that got me. My jaw locked, my body putting up the barest fight as he pulled me back.

“You feel any better? Did it work?” Dominic asked. There was no sarcasm or condescension in his voice. The question was sincere. “Do you want to get another one in? Maybe two? Can’t think of a better place to do it.” He flicked his head toward the hospital as Gampy shooed off a curious passerby who was holding his phone like he wasn’t sure whether he should start filming.

“Donothit him again,” I warned. There was a screeching in my left ear, and I couldn’t tell whether it was a distant siren or just my head. I took a deep breath. “Listen, I get that what you went through was really,reallyrough. I get it. No one is denying that being torn to shreds by the media is?—”