Page 36 of Please Hate Me

“Mhm.” She smiled. “It seems like you haven’t had love in a long time.”

… Sophia wanted to love me? Even after I destroyed her kitchen? After I left them without so much as a goodbye? Why couldn’t Sophia see that loving me was a bad idea?

“Let us love you, nothing serious,” she assured, as if love was a casual thing. “Just spend time with the boys and I, maybe have sex if things feel right. No pressure at all.”

Saying ‘no pressure’ to someone always had the opposite effect, didn’t she know that? Still, even with everything going on around me, I liked the idea of being near Sophia… just notdating.

“Can we take it slow?” I didn’t realize how tense Sophia was until her shoulders fell with a breath. Her smile was gentle as she nodded. Without the pressure to be romantically involved, I could be okay. But, with that resolved, a new question filled my mind:

Why was my involvement with them so important to Seb?

Chapter 11

Sebastian

Most of the time, I loved my job. It was an eternal game of cat and mouse, and Ialwayswon. The chase kept me from getting bored, which was number one on the list of things I hated. But as the soft leather seats of my SUV molded into my back, I wasn’t content with my choice of occupation for two reasons.

One: I had been spending far too much time in “holy” areas. To call church a waste of time would be a vast understatement of how mind-numbing the whole ordeal truly was. I had always heard that Catholicism was the worst branch of Christianity, and based on the services my family forced me to attend as a child, I was inclined to agree. But that was before I began staking out every church in a ninety-five-mile radius of Hartwood, Maine. Protestant, Methodist, Baptist, Lutheran, Seventh-Day Adventist, Unitarian Universalist, and even more denominations that I couldn’t be bothered to remember. Each and every one was nothing but bullshit. How was I supposed to find a cult when every single sermon was meant to brainwash the congregation?

Two: my duties were dragging me away from Mason. For years, I had dreamed about making her mine. I always knew it was only a matter of time until we were together, but she viewed the situation differently. I was never her type. I was too young, and we just didn’t have similar goals. She was dating my brother, and it would make things awkward. Blah, blah, blah. All of those things were easily remedied. Mason liked men who towered over her, ones who looked like they could protect her, so I spent my free time in the gym to compensate for my genetic shortcomings. I waited years to become experienced enough for her, and for her life goals to morph into ones I could go along with.

Before my brother got her expelled from high school, Mason wanted to be an elementary school music teacher. I told her that was a waste of money—college was expensive, and teaching wasn’t a lucrative career. She didn’t like that response. Then, after she moved, she became preoccupied with stardom.

Truthfully, I had no idea what her endgame was with the whole celebrity scheme. Mason never wanted to be famous, so I was shocked when she began making headlines. Of course, it was no surprise that she’d captured the hearts of millions, but I was baffled that she would choose that kind of life. Then, just when she’d reached the height of her career, a positive pregnancy test turned her world on its head. Her attention shifted away from personal goals, and toward finding a provider for herself and her child. I was perfectly suited to play that role.

But there was one major issue.

I stared into the parking lot as an orange Toyota Tundra pulled in. The massive truck came to a shuddering stop and out stepped the new bane of my existence: Cameron. He exited the truck in a cassock, and my gaze narrowed. An outside observer might confuse my hatred for this man with simple jealousy... but that was absolutely not the case. To call me jealous would imply that I believed this man could take what was rightfully mine.

No, I was more upset that he had the gall to get my girlfriend pregnant and not even attempt to make it right by her. If I had gotten Mason pregnant, I would have been at her every beck and call. Under no circumstances would I leave her too sick to function.

And that was exactly why I wanted Mason to join his relationship. He needed to take responsibility for what he’d done, and I needed to keep an eye on him.

It didn’t make sense—most people would try to gain something from this whole situation. Even if he didn’t care for her romantically, there was a monetary incentive that could easily be exploited. I had seen Mason’s bank statements; if Cameron could rope her into paying child support, he would never have to work again. Of course, that plan would go against his so-called Christian values. But, shouldn’t those same values direct him to be there for his biological daughter? He had no problem living with Lucian’s accidental spawn. Why was Mason’s child any different?

The behemoth smiled and waved at someone before heading up the large marble steps in front of Saint Samael’s nondenominational church. A herd of mindless sheep followed him, each dressed in pastels. Many of them seemed overly chipper, even giddy—odd behavior for people entering a place of worship.

This was the biggest red flag when it came to Cameron: he fit the profile for the cult’s false prophet almost perfectly. He was abnormally tall, and Sophia often described him as a gentle giant. Multiple survivors of the first Sons of Christ cult used these exact words to describe their God—a “gentle giant” with fiery red curls and a powerful voice. Approximately twenty years had passed since then, so the prophet should now be in his late thirties. Judging by the crow’s feet and smile lines on Cameron’s face, he should be around that age.

The only thing that didn’t make sense was that god-awful drawl. Quebec was a French-speaking province. With that in mind, his accent should sound at least somewhat similar to Mason’s. It would have been easy to assume he was faking the drawl, but if he was, it was very convincing. Not only was it as thick as molasses, it was also even. There was no ebbing and flowing of his pronunciations, which infuriated me. Everything else aligned perfectly, but that goddamned twang threw me for a loop.

“Fuck.” I grumbled, hitting the top of my steering wheel.

As my hands made contact with the wheel, I realized I’d been ignoring a tingle in my fingers. I wasn’t mad at the case; I needed to smoke. I reached over and unlatched my glove box, searching for my white-and-green pack of cancer sticks.

When we first started dating, Mason asked me to quit. She blamed it on a concern for my health, but I wasn’t convinced that was the whole truth. James Albright was a heavy smoker, and I suspected the smell reminded her of her dad. With that in mind, I tried. There wasn’t anything in the world I wouldn’t do for Mason. She was not only the love of my life, but the mother of my child. Even if Lavender wasn’t mine by blood, I had been there for everything. I flew to Lyon to be with Mason while she took the pregnancy test and stayed for her first prenatal appointment. Fuck, I even took my lock screen photo directly from Mason’s last sonogram.

My love for my girls ran through my veins, and that was exactly why I couldn’t quit tobacco. At the first signs of withdrawal, it was too easy for me to lose my temper. I couldn’t subject Mason to that.

I placed the paper filter between my lips and sparked my lighter. The heat of the flame kissed my nose as I inhaled. Once the cigarette was lit, I tossed the pack onto my passenger seat and exited the car, heading toward the church.

The air in Saint Samael’s was so heavy with incense that it was hard to breathe. I cleared my throat and held my shoulders high, determined to fit in with the witless masses eagerly filling the pews. As I drew nearer to the sanctuary, my ears were assaulted with a surprisingly well-played organ hymn. I knew who was sitting at that obnoxious instrument; he was my brother, after all.

Lucian’s shoulders were slack, and his unethically long hair was pulled into a low bun. I swear, that man wasted more money on shampoo than he ever did on drugs. An ill-fitting black button-down covered most of his tattoos, but I could see one black vine covering the top of his hand and snaking down his fingers. Between his slim physique, his long eyelashes, and his sharp features, he looked almost androgynous.

I was better than him in every way, shape, and form: I was taller, more muscular, well-groomed, and successful. Still, part of me regretted permitting Mason to pursue him. Despite his many shortcomings, Lucian might have been capable of stealing Mason from me, if he tried hard enough.

Every phone call with Mason, she asked about him: Was he okay? What was he up to? Did he need anything? She asked about Sophia too, but with Lucian it was insistent. While I’d answer honestly about Sophia, I always told her I didn’t know when it came to Lucian.

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