The Cruelest Kind of Hate (Riverside Reapers Book 3)

CALISTA

It’s been a week since Teague’s accident on the ice, and thankfully, he made a full recovery. He only had a minor concussion that gave him a few bothersome headaches, but that was the extent of the pain. In fact, he’s super pumped over sustaining his first hockey-related injury. Dear God. Hockey’s a violent sport, right? I’m probably going to see so many more injuries in the future.

The whole week, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what Gage told me. I can’t imagine going through that type of pain. That would be like if I lost Teague…like when I lose my mother. The more I uncover about him, the more he astounds me. He’s so much more than the surface-level jerk I met at the rink.

I feel honored that he trusted me enough to tell me about his brother. And as much as I know that conversation needed to be had between us, I wasn’t ready for the consequences it brought in its wake. We’re closer. So much closer than we’ve ever been, and that terrifies me.

So I do what I always do when I face discomfort: I throw myself into my work, hoping that all my problems will just disappear so I never have to confront them.

Both Gage and I have been busy this week with our own stuff, so it’s given me some space to try and put a name to what I feel when I’m around him.

Spoiler alert: I haven’t. In fact, I think I’ve made myself more confused.

“Incredible work today, guys,” I praise, finishing off our lesson with a group clap like we always do at the end of class.

After only a few years of teaching, it still amazes me how powerful the human body is. How fluid and nimble our limbs can be, how our muscles strengthen under duress, how dancers are able to balance their entire body weight on the balls of their toes.

As the class disperses amongst animated chatter, one of my students jogs over to me, catching me mid-pack.

“Hey, Cali. Can I, uh, ask you for some help on one of the sequences we went over today?”

I glance up to lock eyes with Aeris, the brightest-eyed and most enthusiastic student I’ve ever had, and a shy smile is fleshed out on her face. She’s really come into herself these past few weeks, growing more confident in her movements even when she doesn’t get the steps completely right. And she’s always willing to learn and improve, which is a gift that a lot of dancers don’t always have.

“Of course.” I rise up from my squat and shepherd her over to an unoccupied square of floor. I’ve already taken off my heels, and I’m too exhausted to put them back on.

Aeris, still in her stilettos, starts the sequence from a wide stance with her fists on her hips. “Okay, I know that we do the hip stuff here.” She demonstrates with two one-sided twists of her hips, flinging her arm across her body at the same time.

“Then we do the head roll,” she recalls, coming back to the middle. She rolls her head and pelvis in tandem with one another, whipping her messily secured ponytail around and tapping her hands against her waist to an invisible rhythm.

“And then we go to the floor.”

With parallel feet, she keeps her thighs closed as she descends, finally dropping to the ground and opening her legs, bouncing a few times with the stability that her heels give her.

“But I get lost on how we do that spinny thing and end up with our leg over our head.”

“Gotcha,” I say, nodding. I mirror her position, falling easily into the stretch since my muscles are still lax and warm. “Once you’re here, you’re gonna turn clockwise onto your butt, making sure you use the outside of your thigh to cushion your landing.”

I ease into the spinning motion she was talking about, using the momentum from the spin to turn me all the way back to the front. “Then you swing your weight to the right, letting your left hip come off the ground. When you swing your arm along with it, it’ll help balance you.”

I do as I say, keeping my right arm straight to balance my weight. “And the momentum from this pose will allow you to swing to the other side. You’re gonna fold your left leg underneath you—still landing on the outside of your thigh—and then you’re gonna bring your left side flush against the ground so you can extend your right leg over your head.”

My leg flies up over my head as I point my toes, elongating the line. The top of my thigh brushes my head from years of flexibility training, putting me in a sort of single-legged half-splits.

“Ohhh, that makes a lot of sense,” Aeris muses, observing me with an intent gaze, her brow pinched, and her fist placed against her mouth like the thinker statue.

I abandon the pose, giving my muscles a much-needed rest. “Yep. It’s a lot easier once you break everything down slowly and go step by step.”

“Thank you. So much. For all your help and belief in me.”

Heat swamps my cheeks, probably lifting a cardinal red to my skin. “You’re an incredible dancer, Aeris. You dance with this authenticity that comes from raw emotion. You’re so in tune with every little feeling, good and bad, that it comes across clearly in your movements. That’s something you can’t teach. I’d give anything for that kind of talent.”

“You know, in the beginning, I didn’t think I could do it.” There’s a genuineness that rings true in her tone, and poor Aeris looks like she actually might burst into sobs. “But with your guidance, I feel so much more empowered now. I feel the most confident I’ve ever felt in my body, and I never thought I’d get to that point in my life.”

“That’s what heel dancing is all about—finding your inner power. You did this all on your own, Aeris, and I couldn’t be prouder of you,” I reply, having to somehow suck the happy tears back in.

“Th-that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she hiccups, moisture glazing over her bourbon eyes. “Can I hug you? I’m going to hug you.”

Even though she warned me beforehand, I don’t have any time to brace myself before her arms maul me in a death-gripping hug, causing my voice to mutate into dog chew toy levels of squeakiness.

“No…problem,” I wheeze. This girl’s a pint-sized powerhouse. And wow, she gives some of the best hugs I’ve ever received. Minus the rib crushing part.

She gives me a last little squeeze, and I pat her back in response. I’m not used to someone outside of my inner circle showing me this much kindness.

“Um, I don’t want to freak you out or anything, but I think you have a Peeping Tom,” she whispers, alerting every single mental siren in my brain and making them go off in a hair-raising screech.

Since my back is turned to her line of sight, I whip around and ready my hands in case I have to jab some pervert’s balls, but the only pervert I see is Gage standing by the front desk with some kind of fluffy basket hanging from his hands.

We might’ve had a heart to heart, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to treat him any differently. Banter is what makes our friendship…friendly. If it veers into other territories, I’m doomed.

“Oh, that’s not a Peeping Tom. That’s just the piece of trash I took out earlier that seems to have blown back in,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes at him from across the dance floor. He’s still grinning at me, so either he needs a new contact prescription, or he’s just being his infuriating self.

Speaking of infuriating, that’s exactly what I’ll be when I’m picking out Gage’s scandalous little costume for his end of the bet. I love my brother, but scoring the winning goal of a hockey game seems like something few players achieve during their career.

I’ll never get Gage’s number tattooed on me. Ever. But I will, however, enjoy a raunchy dance performed by the Reapers’ goalie in stilettos and a disturbingly small crop top.

Aeris gets this terrifying aww expression on her face. “I didn’t know you knew Gage.”

“Unfortunately.” I have no idea why he’s just shown up at my studio looking all…lovey dovey…but this is the last place he needs to be. And that’s the last look he needs to have! We’re just two business partners who kiss sometimes. I have to stay focused on my other obligations right now—not skipping into the sunset and living out some fantasy life.

The animosity welting me like an oppressive ray of sun fades to a curious buzz. “Wait a second, how do you know him?”

“He’s my boyfriend’s teammate,” she admits with a bashful smile.

“So he’s definitely not here for you then?”

She shakes her head. “He’s never looked that happy to see me. And he’s definitely never brought me a basket of candy.”

He brought me a basket of candy? Is he clinically insane? Wait a second, of course he is. Why am I even asking myself that?

Aeris nudges me with her elbow. “Oh my God. Are you two…?”

“Nope! Definitely not. I honestly don’t know why he’s here. I’ll just go and get him to leave. Yeah, he’s probably here for another dancer,” I prattle, speed-walking straight over to him without giving Aeris a chance to interrogate me further.

The nerve this man has!

Since there are still plenty of onlookers roaming around the studio, I sink my claws into his arm and yank him into a private section of the building—or I guess less of a private section and more of a glorified janitor’s closet. Once the door snicks shut behind us, I tug on the pull chain of the lightbulb, dousing the small space in light.

“What are you doing here?” I hiss, keeping my voice low even with the added privacy of the closed door.

“Don’t sound too happy to see me,” he drawls with that irresistible, rumbling bass that makes me squeeze my legs together.

“You’re just—you—you’re out in the open!” I gesticulate with my arms wildly.

“This is a free country.”

A warning growl ripples in my throat. “Gage…”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I should’ve called ahead of time, but I needed to come see you.”

“Needed?”

“Wanted…badly. Wanted very badly.”

It used to be so easy to stay mad at him, but now, with his big, verdant eyes staring at me like I’m sunshine in a fucking bottle, I can’t. Gage is the least subtle person about his emotions, and if cartoon love hearts could bulge out of his sockets, they would.

A core-melting smile, a poorly hidden blush, body language that’s not only exceedingly close to me but that’s also more than ready to make up for lost time.

I’m not breaking the law by talking to him. I’m not going to be executed for fraternizing with the enemy. I’m just afraid that if someone sees us together, speculation about Gage’s love life is going to happen—thank you, stupid superstar status of his. And if people start spreading rumors, it’ll push him to want something real even more.

It’s not just about focusing my efforts elsewhere, it’s also about fearing the inevitable. When things get real, that’s when loss does too. I’ve dealt with enough loss for a lifetime.

I don’t want to break his heart. I don’t want him to break my heart.

I don’t mean to sigh so exasperatedly, but it kind of just trickles out of my mouth.

“Hey.” He sweeps me into his big arms, dispelling the racing thoughts from my mind with each inhalation of his forest-thick cologne, and the warmth radiating off his body cocoons me tighter than any fleece blanket I own. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to complicate things. I just…wanted to ask you something.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m the one who overreacted,” I explain, shivering when I feel him press his lips to the crown of my head. I want to bask in that feeling—and I can’t let myself.

I pull away abruptly, masquerading my disappointment with a half-smile. “Gage, you know we’re just friends, right? Friends with benefits. That’s all.”

There’s a minuscule shift in his expression, but it’s so well-modulated that I can’t place the meaning behind it. “Right. No, I know,” he says, turning his attention to the full basket still dangling from his arm. “I wanted to give you something. And ask you something.”

He presents the basket in front of me, and maybe I’m the one who needs a better prescription, because it’s not just candy that sits in the faux black fur. There’s a box of ghost Peeps, a tube of candy corn, pumpkin Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, a cauldron-shaped mug, an autumn-scented candle, a plush bat, and fuzzy, skull-printed socks.

With a staggered breath, a strange feeling manifests in my gut. “Gage, what is all of this?”

“It’s a boo basket,” he answers matter-of-factly.

“A what?”

“You know, a boo basket. It’s, uh, you put things in it and give it to…your friends.”

I squint my eyes at him. “Uh-huh. Really?”

He hooks his finger in the collar of his shirt and pulls. “Yes, ma’am.”

“So you’re gonna give every one of your teammates one of these baskets?” I pry, standing up on my tiptoes to look him dead in the eyes and gain as much intimidating leverage as my five-foot-seven body can manage.

He snorts. “Everyone except for Dilbert.”

“You know, I’m starting to think you and Dilbert have a love-hate relationship going on,” I tease.

Gage grabs my jaw, forcing me to lower to my heels as his gaze broods with a darkness that frightens me as much as it turns me on. “What did I say about having another man’s name in your mouth?”

I call his bluff. “What are you going to do, Gage? You gonna fuck it out of me in a disgusting janitor’s closet?”

His fingers release my jaw, and although darkness still clouds his eyes, his voice has lost the envious compulsion it was under. “No, Cali. Because you deserve so much more than a quickie in a closet.”

My mouth seems to fall open, which is funny because I have nothing to say. See? Just friends isn’t a concept that exists in Gage’s brain. You’re telling me that he’s this friendly with every person in his life?

He sets the basket on the ground, rubbing his hands together and preparing for what looks to be a big speech. I hope it’s not the speech I think it is.

“What I really came over here to ask you is if you’d go to a Halloween party with me,” he finally confesses.

Oh.

“That’s it?” I ask.

“That’s it.”

“Wouldn’t a text have sufficed?”

“Would you have answered?”

Good point, Gage.

I must not be concealing my skepticism well enough because Gage continues with his proposition, looking sweatier and more nervous as he goes on. “We’re throwing a party at the house, and I’d really like for you to come. With me.”

I contemplate my answer, weighing the very unbalanced scales of consequences in my head. Go to the party with Gage, get blackout drunk—or maybe just drunk—and have fun after a shitty and depressing week. Or stay at home with Teague while harrowing images of my hospitalized mother circulate in my mind. Seems like the answer should be obvious.

“Just as friends, though. Right?” I caution.

“Just as friends,” he echoes rather convincingly.

He’s acting…suspicious. I don’t want to regret going, but I also don’t want to regret not going. It’s going to be an unsupervised party with an overflow of alcohol and maybe a handful of illegal substances. What’s the worst that could go wrong?

I slide my hands a bit self-consciously down my dance attire. “I don’t have a costume.”

Gage slaps on an award-winning smirk, catalyzing that unshakable desire in my belly.

“Don’t worry. I’ve already taken care of it.”