The Boy I Once Hated: Love & Hate Duet

Seventeen years old

I flip the page of my book, pretending to read, when in reality, I can’t stop staring at my mother and Curt on the other side of the porch from under my eyelashes. I lower my head to hide my smile as they continue to send sweet discreet glances to one another, whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears as if they were the only two people on earth. My insides warm, witnessing how acutely in tune they are to each other, even when doing something as trivial as my mother cutting her husband’s hair on a Sunday afternoon.

After all this time together, they still act like they’re on their first date, completely smitten and in awe of how they got to be so lucky to find each other. No matter the hardships we’ve had to overcome, I’ve never questioned the sincerity of their love. It’s as clear as day how devoted they are to one another, and only a blind fool would think otherwise.

My mother is happy.

Truly and unequivocally so.

Just as that fleeting joyful thought crosses my mind, there is a pang in my chest as I recall how that wasn’t always the case. How she suffered at the hands of my cheating father and all the tears she shed over not being able to save her first marriage and keep her little family together. As if her first heartbreak wasn’t enough to cause some serious damage to her heart, then the loser boyfriends who came after my deadbeat father made sure to shatter her already fragile self-esteem. It’s no surprise that most of them didn’t stay long enough for me and Daisy to even remember their names. Not that Mom went out of her way to introduce us to many of them, though. It’s almost as if she already knew that they wouldn’t stick around since none of them wanted to be settled down with a woman who had two young children and was living paycheck to paycheck. To them, Mom came with too much baggage to be worth the trouble. She might have been good for a few laughs and worth a night or two of fun, but that was about it.

It’s a damn miracle Curt came into her life when he did, considering his own broken heart.

Maybe that’s why they were always fated to find each other.

But if that’s the case, what was the point of having them suffer such loss and misery before getting their happily ever after? Was it a test? Was such heartache inserted into their lives just so they wouldn’t take the real thing for granted when they found it?

If I were an expert in the rules of love, then maybe I would venture a guess to answer that question. But since I’m clueless to all matters of the heart, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. I’m just happy they found each other, even if it had to be later in life.

Still, I can’t help wondering what it would have been like if my mom met Curt first before she ever met my father. But just as I imagine that alternative universe, my lips flip into frown. If that had been the case, then maybe I wouldn’t exist, or at least not this version of myself.

Or worse, I would and so would Noah, making him my full-fledged brother.

A sick shiver runs down my spine at the thought.

I couldn’t live in a world where he was my brother.

That would be all sorts of messed up.

Especially considering last weekend’s events when he barged into my room to play his latest game on me. I close my eyes and let another shudder run through my body at the memory of how his breath stalled and his blue eyes darkened with the way my body responded to his forbidden caress.

A brother couldn’t touch me like that.

I’m not sure a stepbrother should touch me like that either.

In fact, I know he shouldn’t have.

But even though sense and logic tell me otherwise, ever since that night, I’ve lied in bed anxiously staring at my bedroom door, trying to manifest Noah walking through it just to punish me again. His brand of wrath is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted, and I, for one, would be totally okay with having seconds.

“Are you getting a chill, Skylar? My sweater is right there if you need it,” Curt says worriedly, successfully pulling me out of my illicit thoughts. He points his chin to his discarded wool sweater hanging on the back of a nearby chair, while my cheeks instantly heat up, as if I was just caught doing something I shouldn’t have.

Wasn’t I, though?

Imagining my stepbrother’s fingers making me come isn’t exactly what I’d call me being on my best behavior.

“Are you getting sick, sweetheart? You look flushed. Come here so I can check your forehead for a fever,” my mother orders, concerned, putting her scissors down in favor of seeing if I’m getting sick.

I am sick, Mom.

Very sick.

Just not in the way you think.

“I’m fine, Mom. Just a cold wind that must have passed,” I lie, unwilling to tell either one of them the truth of why my body can’t stop shivering.

“Put Curt’s sweater on just the same. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

Not wanting to fight her on this, I get off the bench swing to grab Curt’s sweater just to ease her worry. But just as I’m reaching it, the familiar sound of a motor bike approaching stops me in my tracks. My heart pounds in my chest as Noah pulls up our driveaway, his long blond hair flying in the wind, making him look almost ethereal in his rebellion.

“I told that boy a million times to wear a helmet. I swear he doesn’t use one just to spite me,” Curt grumbles under his breath.

“I’m sure that’s not the reason why. You must be patient with him, love,” I hear my mother reply softly. “Or you’ll just end up pushing him away even more.”

“I’ve been nothing but patient, Clara. Something’s got to give. I’m at my wits’ end where Noah’s concerned. Maybe I should let Boyd lock him up and spend a few nights in a jail cell just so he realizes his actions have consequences.”

My mother’s shoulders slump at that remark, but she quickly recovers to put on a bright smile when Noah gets off his bike and starts strutting up the stairs to the porch.

“Hi, Noah. Did you have a nice ride?”

“Hmm,” he mumbles in response to her, preferring to place his sole attention on his father. “What’s all this?”

“What does it look like?” Curt snaps, annoyed, and I don’t miss the light squeeze my mother gives her husband’s shoulder to keep him calm. Curt lets out an exhale and relaxes his tense form. “Clara thought I would benefit from a cut, so she volunteered to do it for me.”

“Isn’t that what barbershops are for? Are we that broke, we can’t afford to let a professional do it for you? Can’t be that expensive,” Noah retorts, leaning against a pillar and crossing his arms over his majestic chest.

A chest that I know holds nothing but strong, hard abs hidden way underneath his black Henley. Abs that he let me fondle with my fingertips just a week ago and have been taunting me ever since.

“How would you know?” Curt chuckles sarcastically, pulling me out of my perverse reverie. “You haven’t cut your hair in years.”

I watch Noah’s face scrunch up, hatred burning in his gaze toward his father.

My mother catches the look, too, and quickly tries to do damage control before Noah says something that will dampen the good mood we’ve enjoyed for the better part of the day.

“If you’d like, I could trim it for you? I’m not a professional like you said, but I’ve cut my girls’ hair all their lives. If you’d let me, I’m sure I could trim yours.”

The hope in my mother’s voice guts me. She’s always trying to climb over Noah’s fortress walls, hoping that one day she’ll be able to live in his heart as he lives in hers. My mother’s love for Curt immediately extended to Noah and she’s been on a futile mission to win him over since she and my stepfather exchanged I dos. It saddens me that Noah is unable to see just how wonderful my mother could be to him if only he gave her half the chance.

“Don’t waste your time, Clara,” Curt grumbles, throwing a disappointed side-eye to his only son.

Just as it pains me to see how dismissive Noah is of my mother, it also pisses me off how Curt never gives him the benefit of the doubt. Sure, he’s an asshole, but Noah is still his son. He should be in his corner as my mom is for me and Daisy. But since the first day we stepped into this house, I have yet to see Curt have Noah’s back on anything.

As if hearing my thoughts, Noah’s lips slant into a roguish smile that tells me he’s up to no good.

I should know, since I’ve been at the receiving end of that smile a million times before.

“You know what? Why not?” Noah’s grin stretches further.

My mom’s face lights up, while Curt’s forehead wrinkles in apprehension, clearly knowing his son as well as I do.

“Take a seat then. Just give me a few minutes to finish up with your father’s hair first.”

“Take as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.” Noah throws her another one of his ominous smiles, making me just as worried with what he’s got up his sleeve as his father is.

Noah starts to walk to a side bench, bypassing me without so much as a hello my way, when I remember why I got up from my seat in the first place.

“What are you doing?” he suddenly asks me, his tone no longer upbeat with mischief when he sees me picking up his father’s sweater to put on.

“I’m cold,” I explain, fully committing to the lie.

But just as the explanation has left my lips, Noah takes off his leather jacket and throws it at me.

“Put that on.”

Since I feel our parents’ curious stare on us, I quickly put on his jacket and walk back to the bench swing, acting as if this is no big deal. As if Noah lending me one of his most prized possessions holds no significance whatsoever.

Nothing to see here, people.

Nope.

Nothing at all.

The fist around my heart tightens as I shove my hands into the jacket’s pockets, feeling warm all over. It takes everything in me not to lower my nose to the lapel just to relish in his scent.

And I called him pathetic.

Sigh.

Noah starts scrolling through his phone, while I watch my mom continue on with her task of cutting her husband’s hair. Whatever tension ensued with Noah’s arrival is now forgotten as both of them start to tease each other, back to their love bubble. Every once in a while, my mother giggles like a lovesick schoolgirl, while Curt chuckles softly, his hands always finding excuses to touch her.

Between being enveloped with the heat of Noah’s jacket and watching my mother’s happiness in full display, my own heart pitter-patters, wondering if that type of love will ever be in the cards for me. But just as I think this, my heart dips into my stomach when my eyes land on the boy sitting across from me.

Like me, Noah is also mesmerized by our parents.

But while their love gives me a sliver of hope for what life has in store for me in the love department, Noah’s cold expression says he feels something different completely.

Resentment.

Pure and unadulterated resentment of their happiness.

My frown is immediate, and all the blissful warmth I had been momentarily spoiled with morphs into something cold and ugly, chilling me to the bone.

“There,” my mom says gleefully, satisfied with her handywork. “Now you look like the man I fell in love with.”

“Glad to hear it. I wouldn’t want to be anyone else.” Curt chuckles, getting up from his seat and placing a tender kiss to her lips.

My mother’s cheeks turn crimson at the small display of affection.

“You’re up, Noah,” my mother says, turning to Noah with a genuine smile once she’s collected herself, but her grin quickly falls to the floor when she sees the same disgusted look on Noah’s face that I do.

She opens her mouth to say something to him, but then is interrupted when her phone decides to ring. My mother is quick to answer the call, making sure to divert her attention off of Noah and stare into the distance, since it’s obvious his glower is unsettling her. When she hangs up the phone, there is a look of relief on her face.

“I’m so sorry, Noah. That was Mrs. Henderson. Seems like Mr. Henderson had a bad fall off their roof and she wants me to come over to have a quick look at him to see if it warrants him going to the hospital.”

“Damn it. I bet the old fool was trying to clean his gutters without me,” Curt adds, shaking his head in dismay. “I’ll drive you. While you check up on him, I’ll clean the gutters, so he’s not tempted to do it by himself again.”

Curt grabs his sweater and pulls it over his head before going inside the house to grab his car keys. But as my mother waits for his return, she stares at me and Noah in a way that I’m not exactly comfortable with.

“You know what? Skylar could cut your hair if you want. She’s done mine plenty of times, so you’re in good hands if you’re still up for it.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I quickly interject, not liking the alternative solution she came up with.

“Nonsense.” My mom grins widely, dismissing my hesitation. “You can do it, Skylar. I know you can.”

“What can Skylar do?” Curt questions absentmindedly when he steps back onto the porch with my mom’s coat in hand.

“I was just saying that Skylar could be the one who gives Noah a little trim if he wants one,” she explains while she lets her husband help her put her coat on.

“Maybe the boy should go to a barber like he said,” Curt adds his two cents, not liking the idea of having me anywhere near his son with sharp objects.

Not that I’m surprised.

Curt and Noah might have a difficult relationship, but no father wants to see his son hurt. He probably thinks I’d cut Noah on purpose. Even I have to admit that the idea is oddly appealing. Especially with how Noah was making my mom feel less than not a second ago. A little nick won’t kill him, but it sure as hell will make him think twice before he acts like a dipshit to my mom again on my watch.

“Actually, I’m up for it if Noah is,” I say a little too eagerly, surprising everyone.

Noah runs his thumb over his lower lip, looking intrigued. He then surprises us all when he offers a clipped nod in consent.

“There. It’s settled,” my mom quips with a pleased smile, stretching her hand out with the pair of scissors to me.

I stand up from my seat and walk over to grab them from her and then turn to Noah, who is still staring at me like he’s trying to unravel what my game plan is.

“Well? Have a seat.” I pat the chair.

He rolls his tongue over his front teeth before standing up and taking the seat in front of me.

“Brilliant,” my mom coos, satisfied with the scene. “We shouldn’t be long, unless, of course, Mr. Henderson’s injuries are more severe than his wife led me to believe. I’ll call you either way, Skylar.”

Noah and I both stay silent as we watch our parents get into the truck and pull out in the direction of the Hendersons’ home.

“So? Are we going to do this or what?” Noah grunts, looking suddenly uncomfortable with sitting helplessly while I have a weapon in my hands.

I lean down to his ear, and smile when a shudder runs through his spine with just my breath fanning his neck.

“So eager,” I mock. “You didn’t look so enthusiastic a few seconds ago.”

He tilts his head to the side, my breath catching in my throat with how close his lips are suddenly next to mine.

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot you know every little thing about me. Even what thoughts run through my head. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself.”

“I know enough.” I frown, straightening up.

“Sure you do.” He smirks, turning his face away from me. “Keep thinking that.”

I square my shoulders and start combing his long hair, trying desperately not to marvel at how soft and silky it feels between my fingers.

“How short of a trim do you want it? An inch? Two?” I ask with as little emotion as I can.

“Cut it all off.”

“What?!” I blurt in outrage, taking a step back, offended he would suggest such a thing as cutting off such beautiful hair. “You’re kidding, right?”

He shakes his head, not looking at me.

“This is a joke. You can’t be serious,” I continue to protest.

“It’s time,” he deadpans, steel resolve in his tone.

I chew on my lower lip, unable to find the right words to say that can persuade him to change his mind even if only for my sanity’s sake.

“Are you sure?” I question after an excruciating pause.

He nods.

I swallow dryly, feeling completely unequipped to do what he wants. I was all prepared to make him squirm a little while I pretended his hair wasn’t safe in my hands, or even hint that if he didn’t sit remotely still that there was a good chance the scissors would slip through my fingers and nick his precious neck, but not once did I ever consider following through with the threat.

And now here he is, giving me permission to cut away a piece of his essence.

Like it’s nothing.

Like his golden halo hasn’t haunted my dreams.

“I don’t think I can do it,” I tell him truthfully.

My very first memory of Noah was of how awestruck I was with his ocean eyes hiding beneath such stunning long hair, and over the years, his glorious mane just grew as wild and untameable as the boy himself.

It’s one of the things that make Noah, Noah.

No matter how much I’ve hated him in the past, I couldn’t be responsible for destroying such a significant part of him. I’d feel like Delilah stealing Samson’s strength away. Noah’s long, luxurious blond locks are part of his identity. Cutting them away might change him somehow, and I’m not sure how I would feel about that.

I’m still struggling with what to do when I feel his arm snake around my waist and pull me closer to his side. I lower my gaze to his and stop breathing. There is such a vulnerability in his gaze, a rawness I’ve only seen once before. In my room, just seconds away before he kissed me.

“I want you to do it. You, Sky.”

With another dry swallow, I offer him a meek nod and try to tap into all the courage I have.

This is his choice.

It’s what he wants.

The least I can do is respect it.

I don’t owe him anything, but my heart says I owe him this much.

When he drops his arm from around my waist, I walk behind him, praying that I don’t fuck this up. With trembling hands, I brush his hair again with a comb and position the scissors right at the base of his neck. I close my eyes and take in a deep breath before opening them up again and performing the first cut. When a quarter of his hair falls to my feet, the corner of my eyes start to sting with unshed tears. I bite into my inner cheek to keep my sobs at bay as I go back to repeat the action. A tear falls down my cheek when another batch of hair falls to the floor, pooling at my feet.

It’s on the second cut that I feel his hands fall back and hold on to my calves as if he needs to be tethered to the ground, too, and not give in to this unexpected feeling of loss that is consuming me and threatening to eat me whole. My body trembles as I grab the last string of long locks. My tears are free-falling now, making my vision too blurry to see straight. I wipe my tears away with my forearm, seeing them drench the sleeve of his leather jacket. I lean into him and take a whiff of his scent, giving me the courage to finish this once and for all. It’s only when I cut the last batch of hair, that I step back and drop the scissors from my hand on a loud thud as if they had been burning me all throughout.

“It’s done. It’s done,” I cry.

When Noah turns around in his chair, that’s when I see that he’s crying too.

“Come here, Sky.”

I don’t question his command; I just throw myself at him, sitting on his lap and cradling my head in the crook of his neck, letting my tears fall on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I sob.

“Shh. It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. It was time. It was time,” he repeats on a loop, rubbing my back soothingly with his hand.

He lets me cry my fill, while I try to comprehend why I’m feeling like this. Like I just forced him to lose a part of himself. A part that he had been desperately trying to keep a hold on to.

“I’m glad it was you,” he whispers in my ear, before tilting my chin up to look at him. “It had to be you.”

“Why?” I croak, licking the tears from my lips.

“Because,” he starts softly, wiping my tears with his thumbs, “it’s just like you said. You might be the only one who truly knows me, Sky. Knows how significant this was to me.”

“Will you tell me why?”

His saddened expression transforms to one of misery.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.” I start to shake my head, not wanting to force him to divulge the reason for such pain.

Noah continues to gently caress my cheeks, his watery eyes killing me from within.

“The last person who cut my hair was my mom,” he explains, softly making my aching heart cry even more for the lost boy in front of me. “She was probably the only person that ever loved me, and I loved her with all my heart. I still do. I always will even if everyone else has forgotten her.” I hiccup on a pained sob as he tightens his hold on me. He gently presses his temple on my forehead, his nose running through the length of mine. “I guess it’s only fitting it was you who cut it off now.”

“Why? Why me?”

He pulls away just an inch to pierce me with the eyes that hold the key to my locked heart. My chest heaves up and down, unable to bring oxygen into my lungs as he stares at me with such intensity that my toes curl. I can see the answer to my question in his eyes. It’s right there for me to grab it and store it safe in my heart. All I have to do is be brave enough to reach out for it. And when his gaze falls to my lips, I wait on bated breath for the kiss that will undoubtedly change my reality forever.

But just as my heart leaps to my throat, ready for him to steal it away from me, we hear a car turn into our driveaway. As quickly as I can, I jump off his lap, just as my sister swings the front door open.

“Dude! You cut your hair!” she exclaims in shock, ignoring the boy who is honking in his Porsche for her.

“Hmm,” Noah mumbles. “Where are you and Derrick heading to?” Noah asks, dismissing her shock and getting up from the torture chair.

“We’re heading into town,” she replies, still eyeing the butchered job I did on him.

“Mind if I tag along? I need to get this sorted.”

“I don’t blame you,” she teases, but then her brow furrows when she sees me shift uncomfortably from left to right. “You want to come, sis?”

I shake my head.

“Okay, then.” She shrugs, bouncing off toward her date.

“I’m going to need that,” Noah says, his voice stern.

It takes me a few minutes to realize he’s staring at the leather jacket I’m still wearing.

“Oh, right,” I stammer, hurriedly taking it off me and feeling instantly cold when I hand it to him.

He grabs his jacket right where my hand is gripping it, my heart doing a stupid backflip when his thumb discreetly brushes my fingers.

“Thank you,” he whispers, making me realize that his gratitude isn’t for having his jacket back.

I lick my lips and nod, too overwhelmed to utter a word.

He turns around and heads toward my sister and Derrick, while my feet remain planted to the spot. I’m unable to move long after they’ve left.

All because it’s at this moment that I’m hit with the stark truth that my subconscious has been desperate to keep hidden away from me.

I’m in love with my stepbrother.

And the worst part…

There is a small part of me that believes he might be in love with me too.