Almost Wrong

**I’ve always hated Hunter Altman. **

I hated him at first sight, in my teens, when my mother met his worthless father.

I hated when Bill moved in with us, dragging Hunter like bad baggage.

I hated when Mom and Bill made it official, turning the delinquent a-hole in the next room into my brand-new stepbrother.

**I hated when I fell for Hunter, and Hunter fell for me. **

It killed me when he left us behind, shed like dead skin on his way to the top. And now that Hunter is a hotshot music producer on every magazine cover, I hate him even more.

I hate his money. I hate his fancy toys. I hate that he thinks he owns me … or worse, that he OWES me.

I hate that he’s back. That he’s soiled our ghetto with his pristine suit, his fancy black limousine.

My heart hurts, I hate him so much. And it scares me that my heart might keep loving him in the end, beneath it all.