If I Could Hate You

Chapter 8: What the Rain Left

The first thing I registered was warmth. Not from the heating, though the apartment was comfortably heated, but from the weight of Sophia beside me.

I stayed still, careful not to shift too much. Her breathing was steady, her face relaxed in a way I rarely saw. Even in moments of quiet, Sophia carried herself with a deliberate precision, as if every word and movement had to be measured. Now, in the early light filtering through the curtains, she looked unguarded.

It struck me how rare this was.

I had told myself for years that letting anyone in would be a mistake, that she would not want to see the parts of me that had nothing to do with charm or control. But last night had not been about control. It had been about not letting her freeze in that damn apartment. It had been about something smaller and stranger — not wanting her to feel alone.

I was halfway through convincing myself not to move when her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She stirred, frowning slightly before opening her eyes.

“Morning,” I said quietly.

Her gaze flickered over me, cautious but not cold. “Morning.”

The phone buzzed again. She reached for it, sitting up slightly. I watched her expression change as she read the message.

“What is it?” I asked.

Her reply was delayed. “The foundation’s main storage unit. The one by the docks. A section of the roof collapsed in the storm last night.”

I sat up fully. “How bad?”

“They do not know yet. They need me there.” She swung her legs out of bed and stood, already reaching for her bag.

“It is still dangerous out there,” I said, getting up after her. “The roads are flooded in half the city.”

“I cannot wait for the weather to clear. There are supplies in that unit that need to be moved before they are ruined.”

There was no arguing with the tone she used. She was not asking for advice. She had already decided.

“Then I am coming with you,” I said.

“You do not need to—”

“Yes, I do,” I cut in, echoing her own words from yesterday. “You will not get far in this weather without help.”

She hesitated, clearly weighing whether it was worth refusing me. Finally, she gave a short nod. “Fine. But we leave in ten minutes.”

We dressed quickly, and soon we were back in the car, the rain lighter now but the streets still slick and scattered with debris. The wind had eased, but every so often a gust would rattle the frame.

Sophia kept her gaze forward, her jaw set.

“Do you know how bad the damage is?” I asked.

“They said the collapse was partial. It started over the east section. That is where we keep the crates of medical kits and water purifiers. If those get wet, they are useless.”

I glanced at her. “You really believe in this work.”

“I do not just believe in it. It is necessary.” Her voice was firm, but there was a flicker of something softer beneath it.

By the time we reached the docks, the air smelled of salt and wet concrete. The storage unit stood in a row of similar buildings, its metal siding dented in several places from the storm. A small group of volunteers was gathered outside, speaking urgently.

The moment Sophia stepped out of the car, they turned toward her. She moved into their circle without hesitation, her posture radiating authority. I followed, staying just close enough to hear.

“The east section took the worst of it,” one of the men said. “The roof panels gave way around three this morning. We managed to cover some of the crates with tarps, but the rain came in fast.”

Sophia’s expression was sharp. “We start moving the intact supplies to the north section immediately. Anything already wet, we set aside and document for replacement. Michael, you can help with the heavier crates.”

I did not argue. The work was steady and exhausting, the damp air chilling my hands and arms as I carried crate after crate. Sophia moved quickly, directing people, checking labels, and even lifting some of the smaller boxes herself despite my suggestion to let someone else handle it.

Two hours later, the worst of the damage had been contained. We stood inside the north section, catching our breath. Her hair was damp from the mist in the air, strands clinging to her cheeks.

“You could have stayed in the car,” she said without looking at me.

“And miss watching you outwork half your volunteers? Not a chance.”

Her mouth twitched, almost a smile. “You do not know when to keep your distance.”

I stepped closer, my voice low. “And you do not know when to let someone in.”

Her gaze met mine then, and for a moment the noise around us faded. There was no storm, no volunteers, no ruined crates. Just her, standing close enough that I could see the fine droplets of rain on her skin.

The sound of someone calling her name broke the moment. A volunteer approached with a clipboard. “We found a few more damaged boxes in the west corner. Need you to sign off on disposal.”

She nodded, turning away. I followed her outside as the volunteers began loading the damaged supplies onto a truck.

By the time we left, the rain had stopped entirely, though the sky was still heavy with clouds.

In the car, she was quiet. I let the silence stretch for a while before speaking.

“You do not have to do all of this alone.”

She looked out the window. “I am not alone. I have a team.”

“That is not what I meant.”

She turned her head slightly, just enough for me to catch her expression. “If I start depending on someone, and they leave, it will be worse than doing it all myself.”

I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “What makes you so sure I would leave?”

“Because people do. Because you have before.”

The words landed between us, heavier than the air outside. I wanted to tell her she was wrong, that whatever had happened in the past did not have to decide the future. But she was already looking away again, retreating behind that familiar wall.

We reached her apartment building, where the power had been restored. She unbuckled her seatbelt, pausing before opening the door.

“Thank you for today,” she said quietly.

It was not much, but it was more than I had expected.

As she stepped out, I realized something — the storm had not been the most dangerous part of the last twenty four hours. It was this. Letting her close enough to see what I wanted, and risking that she might never want it back.