P s i hate you, p.1
P.S. I Hate You, page 1
P.S. I Hate You
A High School Bully Romance
Jane Anthony
Jane Anthony Author
P.S. I Hate You
Copyright © Jane Anthony 2022
All rights reserved
Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without proper written permission from the author.
Editing by:
Jenny Sims, Editing4Indies
Cover Design:
Kate Farlow, Y'all. That Graphic
Contents
Dedication
Playlist
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
Epilogue
P.S. Lose My Number
Acknowledgements
Books By Jane Anthony
About the Author
Find Jane Online
For…
Anyone who dates a walking red flag and thinks, “I can change him.”
This one’s for you.
Playlist
“Rich” by Maren Morris
“I Feel A Sin Comin’ On” by Pistol Annies
“Little Do You Know” by Alex & Sierra
“Foolish Games” by Jewel
“Broken” by Seether/Amy Lee
“I Hate Everything About You” by Three Days Grace
“Stay” by Black Stone Cherry
“Never Again” by Breaking Benjamin
“Push” by Matchbox Twenty
“Blurry” by Puddle of Mudd
“Puzzle Pieces” by Framing Hanley
“I Hate Myself for Loving You” by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts
“The Reason” by Hoobastank
“Better Than Me” by Hinder
“Scars” by Papa Roach
“Animal” by Prick
“Alive” by Adelitas Way
“In This life” by Jet Black Stare
“I Drive Your Truck” by Lee Brice
Chapter one
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Austin–Bergstrom International Airport. Where the local time is three o’clock, and the temperature is ninety-six degrees.”
The captain’s muffled baritone warbles through the cabin as the plane comes to a complete stop. I stare out the window, my back aching in the cramped seat. People start checking around for their personal belongings, but I sit tight. Most of my personal belongings are in a warehouse somewhere, tagged and bagged for evidence. I left New Jersey with a single suitcase full of clothes, a duffel bag slung over my arm, and a passport full of places I’ll never see again.
“On behalf of EconoAir and the entire crew, I’d like to thank you for joining us on this trip. We are looking forward to seeing you on board again in the near future.”
Everyone shuffles toward the door as the flight attendants stand by, but not me. I’m in no hurry. When the last person deplanes, I slowly get to my feet and reach into the overhead bin.
“Thank you! Enjoy your stay!” The flight attendant offers a warm smile as I pass. For all she knows, I’m taking a vacation—a long weekend in the Lone Star State—but in reality, I’m going home.
Thirty days ago, that home was somewhere else.
East Coast heiress Ellie Cartwright. Daughter to the Queen of Crypto. My mother built an empire with the hope that someday I’d be sitting atop her golden throne. As a result, I led a charmed life. My sweet sixteen was spent on a yacht off the coast of Greece. Less than two years later, I’m flying economy to East Bumblefuck, Texas, to move in with my mother’s childhood best friend, who I’ve never met.
We lost everything.
Then I lost her.
Suitcases spin on the carousel in various colors, shapes, and sizes. I watch them go round, plucked by their owners and carried away to God knows where. The classic monogram pattern eventually comes into view. I reach for the bag and pull it free with a grunt. Armed with all my worldly possessions, I wander through the buzzing airport to find the exit.
A blast of fiery heat smacks me in the face. I reach into my duffel to find my sunglasses, but the sound of my name carries on the burning breeze. The sign comes into view first. A neon poster with the word Ellie printed in marker.
My gaze travels to the person holding it next. He doesn’t appear much older than me. A dark swath of hair tumbles over his forehead, his chiseled jaw dappled with day-old growth. A cotton tee clings to his broad chest, but it’s the look in his sapphire eyes that draws me in. A hard stare carved from stone. It breaks me down, leaving me exposed on the second worst day of my life.
“I’m Ellie. Wow, it’s hot!”
“Figures,” he grumbles and turns to leave.
“Aren’t you going to help with my bags?”
“Oh, where are my manners?” He turns back with an evil grin, exposing his straight white teeth. When he extends his hand, I start to sling my bag off my shoulder, but he just laughs. The malicious sound resonates in his chest like thunder. "My name’s Jace, not your fucking servant. Carry your own damn bags.”
The force of his ire makes me jerk my head back. I stare dumbfounded as he spins on his heel and begins walking away.
What side of hell did I walk into? Because this sure as shit isn't what I expected. Whoever hurt this asshole did a good fucking job.
He stops at a rusty old pickup truck and pulls open the passenger door but doesn’t wait. It hangs open as he rounds the hood and climbs inside.
With my heart in my throat, I wheel my luggage to the truck and peer inside the dusty cab. “Um. Where should I put them?”
He thumbs over his shoulder. “Throw them in the back.”
My mouth opens and shuts as I contemplate his ridiculous statement. “This is a Louis Vuitton bag. It probably cost more than the truck that’s transporting it, and you want me to just throw it in the back?”
He narrows his gaze. “Listen, princess. You’re not in New York anymore. You have ten seconds to haul ass and get in, or I leave without you. Choice is yours. I honestly don’t give a shit either way.”
I don't know what I expected when I stepped off that plane, but this? This was not it. I hoped I could leave people like him in the past and start over. The nasty comments and rude remarks. I feel like I'm living in my own personal hell, no matter where I go.
I cross my arms over my chest, jutting my hip. “Will you at least help me get it in the truck?”
With an incensed eye roll, he jumps down from the cab and wrenches the handle on the tailgate. It lowers with a squeal. He grabs my suitcase as if it weighs nothing and hurls it in the back. A small gasp escapes me as he chucks my belongings as if they mean nothing. Maybe they don't to him, but to me? That bag is all I have left. Now it’s sitting on the burning metal, the beautiful leather as beaten and bruised as my pride. Without a word, he slams the tailgate back up, then jumps into the driver’s seat.
I pull myself into the passenger side and settle in. The cab smells of stale smoke and sweat regardless of the scented tree swinging from the rearview. He lights a cigarette before pulling away. I offer a sidelong glance, waving my hand. “Do you have to do that in the truck?”
He pinches the filter between his teeth and warbles around it. “You could walk.”
Rolling the window down, I turn toward the fresh air, but I’m greeted with nothing but sweltering heat. I let out a frustrated groan. “Can you at least turn on the A/C?”
A slight grin curls around his cigarette. “In case you haven’t noticed, this ain’t no Mercedes.”
“How do you live in this inferno of a state without air con?”
He rests his elbow on the sill, holding his hand out the window. “Sorry we don’t live somewhere that better suits your needs.”
"Are you this hateful in actual life, or is it just me that brings the douchebag out of you? You don't even know me."
A puff of smoke wafts toward me. The wicked glare he chucks in my direction could kill me dead a hundred times over. "I don't need to know you, nor do I care to. I had one job, and I'm doing it."
I don't know who pissed in this guy's Cheerios this morning, but I really hope everyone around here isn't this much of an asshole.
He cuts the wheel hard. I slide down the bench seat, almost tumbling into his lap as he flicks the cigarette butt into the street. "Where did you get your driver's license? You have got to be the worst driver in the history of all drivers. I'll make sure to write a letter to whoever hired you to leave a scathing review."
“You gonna leave me a negative mark on Yelp, princess?” The words string from his lips in a slow drawl, his tongue extending the S like a snake.
“Stop call ing me that. My name is Ellie.”
“Like I care.”
I bite my tongue to keep from lashing out. I can’t believe I thought this jerk was good looking. For a split second, I thought maybe moving to Texas wasn’t the worst thing that could happen—then he spoke.
For the rest of the ride, I stare out the window. The long stretch of monotonous highway turns to modest homes and dilapidated buildings. The farther we go, the worse it seems. My stomach twists as he pulls onto an unpaved road. Trees line our passage, then open to a clearing where a quaint, well-kept home sits by itself.
A cloud of dirt kicks up from the tires when they come to a sudden halt. I punt the door open with my foot and jump out, thrilled to be free from the confines of his smoke-infested truck. A woman I can only assume is Cindy emerges through the worn screen door. She smiles when she sees me. “Ellie Cartwright, you made it!”
“I did,” I reply with a forced grin. While the situation isn’t ideal, I’m grateful that Cindy stepped up when no one else did. The second the news about my mother hit the airwaves, people scattered like rats in the subway. It’s true what they say—when you’re on top of the world, everyone wants to party with you, but the eventual landslide brings you to the bottom alone.
“Let me look at you.” She brings her clasped hands to her mouth, beaming as she looks me over. “You are even more beautiful than your pictures. Come here.” She scoops me in her arms as if we’ve known each other forever. “I’m sorry about your mom. She was a good, good person.”
The lilt in her accent has a calming effect on my viciously beating heart. It’s been a while since I’ve heard someone refer to my mother as a good person. I know she’s done some terrible things, but underneath that insatiable drive to succeed was the gentle, caring woman who kissed my boo-boos and sang me to sleep at night. That’s the Sarah Cartwright I know, and the one I want to remember.
The slam of a car door steals my attention. I look up, surprised to find Jace rounding the truck. Is he actually getting my bags from the back?
No. He stomps past us and pushes his way into the house. “Don’t mind him. He’s in a mood,” Cindy says with a dismissive wave.
My eyes widen. “You know him?”
Another bright smile rolls along her lips. “That’s my son.”
A sour taste sits on my tongue. I press my trembling hands to my stomach and swallow down the vile flavor of my humiliation.
He’s not an Uber driver.
He lives here.
With me.
Shit.
I rock back on my heels as Cindy takes both my hands in hers. “Come on. I’ll show you to your room.”
The shaded porch is a nice reprieve from the boiling sun, but the inside of the house feels like a sauna. I take in my surroundings as she gives me the tour. A cozy living room greets us upon entry. Beyond that, the kitchen flows into a small dining area with a beautifully carved wooden table. I touch the smooth dark finish as we pass. “Isn’t that lovely? My husband made me that as a wedding gift.”
“He made this?” I ask with a rising voice. Where I come from, people pay out the nose for quality furniture like this. The idea that some guy randomly made it in his garage is insane to me. Why would such a skilled carpenter allow his family to live in such squalor?
“Yep. He did a lot around here. God rest his soul.” She lays her hand on her chest, pausing for just a moment before turning toward a narrow hallway. Well, don’t I feel like a jerk? I had no idea her husband died. They obviously don’t have a lot of money, yet here she is taking in strays aka me. I offer a silent apology as she ducks through a doorway to the right. “Your room is this way.”
An involuntary scowl wrinkles my nose, but I force my expression to fall neutral. A bed and a dresser are about all that fit in the compact space. My gaze scans the graying walls and threadbare linens.
“I know it’s not much,” Cindy adds in an apologetic tone.
But Jace’s voice rumbles through the doorway seconds before he comes into view. He leans on the doorframe, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “If the princess, here, doesn’t like it, she can go sleep in the garage.”
“Shoosh!” Cindy scolds. “She is the daughter of my oldest friend, and I will not take any sass from you.”
He snorts. “Oldest friend. Right. When’s the last time you heard from her?”
Cindy lifts her arm and points down the hall. “Out. If you ain’t got nothin’ nice to say, go on.” Jace rolls his eyes and pushes off the wooden frame, but Cindy calls after him. “Dinner’s at seven. You best have dropped that attitude before sittin’ down at my table.” Her light eyes twinkle as she turns back toward me. “That boy is gonna be the death of me, I swear.”
A cold chill slithers down my arms. I warm it with my palms and search the room. “If this is going to be a problem, I’m sure I can find somewhere else to go.”
She steps forward and rests her hands over mine. “Don’t let Jace scare you off. He talks loud, but he’s a big ole pussycat. I’m glad you’re here. Wish it were under better circumstances, but that’s life, I guess,” she says with a shrug.
Her weathered skin crinkles like soft leather. I try to imagine Cindy and my mom raising Cain on dirt Texas roads together, but I can’t. The idea that Sarah Cartwright would even be friends with someone like Cindy Wilder is peculiar in its own right. Had I not received a card from her every year on my birthday, I would have assumed she was a liar. Someone trying to gain access to me for whatever money I may have left or secrets I could give them. Yet while we never met face-to-face, Cindy was always in the background.
She may have been the only real friend my mother had.
“I took the night off so we could all have a nice dinner together and get acquainted. But for now, I’ll let you settle in. If you need anything, just let me know.”
“Thank you, Cindy. I really appreciate your kindness.”
With another grin, she disappears through the doorway.
Alone, the tears I’ve been holding breach the surface of my lashes. I’ve been strong until now, holding my head high to honor my mother’s legacy. But in the silence of my room, the emotion rolls down my cheeks. I want to be grateful, and for the most part I am, but I can’t shake the unfairness sitting on my heart. I am paying the price of my mother’s greed.
***
The savory scent of roasted chicken pulls me from my room. My stomach growls. It’s been far too long since I’ve had an actual meal. My mother’s death and the details surrounding it have left me with little to no appetite, but the smells coming from Cindy’s kitchen have me sniffing out food like a bloodhound.
I should probably offer Cindy some help while she prepares dinner anyway. It’s the least I could do after how kind she’s been. But the sound of Jace’s laughter stops me short. It’s deep and rich, yet light in tone. Afraid to disturb the moment, I duck in the doorway and watch.
Cindy stands at the stove while Jace leans against the counter with his palms braced on the edge. Seeing the way he looks at his mother, you’d never guess he was the same asshole who picked me up from the airport just hours before. An easy smile stretches his lips in a way that lights him up from within.
Cindy catches me spying from the hall. “You’re up!” she announces. “I wasn’t gonna wake you till dinner was ready.”
When I open my mouth to reply, a sudden string of curses pull from her mouth. She spins on her heel, holding the edge of her hand. The sight of blood dripping from her fingers makes me woozy, but Jace jumps to attention and takes her in his arms.
I stand like a stone as he runs her wound under water. “You’re gonna need stitches.”
“I’m fine,” she argues, but Jace’s dark brows pull together.
He blots it with a paper towel. “We should have it looked at just in case.”
“I ain’t shellin’ out no doctor bill for a little cut. I’ll live. I promise.”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “At least let me finish choppin’ the vegetables, okay?”
She rests her opposite hand on his cheek as if to say I love you without words. My chest tightens. Watching the way he cares for Cindy melts away my earlier fear. Maybe Jace isn’t as bad as I initially thought. Perhaps he really was just in a bad mood. “I can help.”
