Page 16 of Sweet Hate (If You Dare #1)

AXEL

I f you send photos to a group chat, then it’s not weird for your friends to save them, right?

I mean, some people have the automatic save setting on. Smart people. They don’t have to physically press save and feel like a creeper.

Stretching my legs up onto my desk, I glare at my phone again.

I can usually go hours without looking at my phone, so the number of times I’ve picked it up, tempted to stare at her photos, borders on insanity.

It’s pointless anyway. I don’t need my phone to picture her in that lace dress. It’s burned in my brain. I can picture it crystal clear every time I close my eyes.

Sighing, I close my eyes and bang my head on the back of the chair one, two, three times. Maybe it’ll knock some sense back into me.

Opening one eye, I look at my watch. Eleven p.m. Well, shit. It hasn’t even been half an hour since I last checked the time. The rest of the guys are in the bunk room getting some sleep, which is where I should be instead of hiding in my office losing my mind.

Grabbing my phone again, I open my photos and scroll to my hidden album. Ignoring the one I see in my dreams, I open up the one of her holding cotton candy as big as her head. Her wide smile is infectious, and I catch myself smiling back at the screen. My pretty pink pixie.

I set that one as her contact picture before setting my phone down again. Now, every time she messages me, I’ll get to see it.

Except she never contacts me.

Whose fault is that dickhead?

Dropping my legs to the floor, I lean forward and stare at my cell. If only I could use the Force, Jedi style, to have her contact me…should I text her?

Aren’t you supposed to be avoiding her?

What’s happening to me? I don’t do this. I’m usually the one in control. I make a decision, and I stick to it.

This shit isn’t me.

Hurricane has me on a spin cycle and I don’t know which way is up anymore.

11.08 p.m. Really? Glaring down at my wrist, time appears to have frozen. I crack my neck to try and relieve some of the pressure inside me.

“LT, you should get some rest,” I almost drop my phone in shock. I didn’t even notice Beckett leaning against my door frame with his arms crossed. He looks like he’s been there a while, one eyebrow arched as he stares at me.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to have figured out what—or should I say who—is behind your charmingly sunshiny mood today.” My head snaps up in a scowl.

“Case in point,” he remarks as he pushes off the doorway with a smirk and strolls inside casually, dropping onto the chair opposite my desk, a big shit eating grin stretched across his face.

“So, out with it. Tell Dr. Foxy what’s wrong. ”

“Dr. Foxy? Seriously? ”

“What? I’m testing it out. The ladies seem to like it, which you’d already know if you hadn’t suddenly decided to live like a monk.”

“I’m not living like a monk.”

“No? When was the last time you got laid, Axeman? From where I’m sitting, you’re about ten seconds away from combusting with tension.” I lean back in my chair kicking my legs up on the desk, much to Becketts amusement.

“You’re not fooling anyone, least of all me, bro. So, have you made a move on the bakery hottie yet, or is she fair game?”

My legs slam to the floor with a loud bang. “What the hell did you just say?”

Leaning forward, not intimidated by my tone at all, he steeples his fingers much like a therapist would.

“ Oh, nothing much. I see you’re still in the caveman pining stage. I vote you skip ahead and plow her already so you can remove that stick from your ass.”

“Fox, shut the hell up. There will be no plowing.”

Beckett knows exactly which buttons to push to get a reaction from me. Unlike most of the guys here, he’s seen me at my worst and isn’t afraid to poke the bear till he gets me to crack.

“All jokes aside, man, what’s going on? I knew you fixing up the bakery was a bad idea. All you’ve done is flay open all your old wounds.”

“No shit. Thanks for stating the obvious,” I spit out, prickling with annoyance, not sure what this conversation is even remotely trying to achieve.

“OK , I see how this is.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Verona, listen. And listen hard.”

His tone goes serious enough that I find myself looking up at him. I can see the hard set of his features. Shit, if he’s pulling out his stoic medic persona, I really must be fucked.

“We both know this girl is the only one who’s ever mattered. The one who left you bloodied and empty. You know this too, and yet you still came up with the most harebrained scheme possible to keep her in your orbit.”

“It’s not harebrained. They need help fixing the bakery,” I mumble, looking down at the floor.

“Yeah, OK, but that didn’t have to be you.”

“Yes, it did.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because what?”

“Because I need to know she’s safe, OK?” I stand up, running my hands through my hair, and start pacing the office like a caged lion.

“Ever since she’s come back, she’s all I can think about.

I hate her. I hate myself. I hate what I’ve turned into.

I hate what I’ve turned us into. She fucking clung to Lucas like a spider monkey when she first saw him.

That’s how she used to greet me. Me . Now when I even get her to address me at all, it’s all sassy retorts or straight up dismissal unless it has to do with the bakery.

But I’ll take that. I’ll take anything if I can be near her. See her. Smell her. Know she’s safe.”

I pause sucking in a breath, Beckett’s eyes not leaving mine.

“I made the mess we’re in. It’s all my fault.

If I hadn’t been such a coward, I might still have my best friend.

I might have her smiling at me instead of having to pretend she is from a fucking photo I saved.

I might be able to talk to her, laugh with her, touch her, without feeling like my lungs are caving in from the fear of losing her again. ”

I stop pacing, my pulse hammering and my chest heaving, trying to catch my breath. Slowly looking up at Beckett, I see a small smile on his lips.

“Progress, Axeman. That’s progress.”

I sit back down and hang my head, both thankful and resentful at the fact we’ve had a quiet shift today. I don’t know where all that shit came from.

“So, let’s break it down. Do you actually hate her? ”

He runs his thumb over his lip, watching me intently, and I want to say yes.

I’ve conditioned my mind to think I do. I’ve held onto that belief for over a decade.

But do I? Do I really hate her, or do I hate myself and the impossible position I put us in by agreeing to take her virginity that summer?

By daring her into that closet at our Graduation party in the first place?

I knew she was leaving in a few months. I knew it the entire fucking time.

Her time in Sweet Haven was only ever meant to be temporary. Grams stepped in to raise her when she lost her mom because her dad couldn’t do it alone and they had no one else. She was always going to go home. She idolized her dad. The opportunity to learn from him was all she ever talked about.

I’m the one who fucked it all up. I was the one who changed the rules of our friendship because I wanted more. I wanted her.

I said it would be OK, that nothing would change between us, and I was the stupid prick who went ahead and fell for her anyway. Knowing she’d leave me, I still did it.

And then I chose to keep my dad’s cancer diagnosis from her a few weeks before she was due to leave.

I never told her my entire world was falling apart.

I chose to hold it all inside and pretend there was nothing wrong, using her to hide from my pain because being with her meant at least a part of my world still made sense.

I refused to tell her. If I had, she’d have stayed with me. I didn’t want that—I wanted her to live her dreams. That's all I ever wanted for her.

But when the time came for her to go, and I had to sit there and face not only the reality of not having her in my life but also see my dad’s health declining until he left me too, it was just easier to shut down and hate her for leaving me.

God knows I needed someone to blame, so I blamed her, but she did nothing wrong. She had no idea what I was going through or of my feelings for her. None of it.

I destroyed us. I did this. Not her .

“No. I don’t hate her,” I mutter, my gaze fixed to the floor. My eyes feel heavy, suddenly so fucking tired.

“What do you want from her now?” Beckett asks calmly.

I think about that for a second. After that tirade, I’m not sure what else he wants me to say.

“I want my best friend back.”

“Just as a friend?”

“Yes. Anything else she’d give me would just be a bonus.”

“ Anything else ? So, you do want something more? But how is that going to end any differently when she leaves again? I assume she is leaving?”

“It’s different now. I know her life’s not here anymore.

I know she can’t stay. Every time I’m with her, I turn into a total idiot and find some way to fuck it all up, but while she’s back, even if it’s temporary, I just want us to be like we used to.

Before I went and fucked shit up. I just don’t know how to get us there. ”

Pausing, I think back to those times and can’t help the smile that stretches across my face.

“You know we wouldn’t stop laughing? Morning to night, we would constantly find stupid ways to make each other laugh. Daring each other to do the most ridiculous shit.”

“She sounds like she’s a lot of fun.”

“The best, man; there’s no one else like her. No offense to you or Lucas, you’re the best friends anyone could ask for, but she’s…”

Beckett stands up and claps me on the back.

“It's cool, I get it. Why don’t you just try talking to her? If you keep screwing it up face to face, what about texting her? It’s often easier to communicate that way. Even you can’t fuck that up, surely.”

I grin up at him, feeling lighter than I have since Haven got back to town.

“When did you get so wise?”

“Dr. Foxy, baby!” He grins, shooting me a wink and startling a laugh out of me.

“You’re ridiculous. Get the fuck outta here.”

Beckett flashes me his broadest smile, walking backwards toward the door.

“And he’s back in the game!” He actually fist pumps before thumping his heart. “I got you, bro.” With that, he turns on his heel and disappears.

Shaking my head at his antics, I pick up my phone, turning it over in my hand. Can it really be that simple?