Hate to Love You - Chapter 48: Chapter 48

Tristan
Hannah's blue eyes widened as they locked onto me.
"Tristan?" she murmured, looking completely caught off guard.
Any other time, I might have savored this new expression of hers, teased her about it while anticipating her snappy reply — but right now I needed to know what she was talking about. Despite my intention to pull back, all I could feel was an internal gut wrench at the thought of Hannah leaving. It felt like I'd really lose her if she left and that made my heart squeeze painfully with fear. I almost objected out of sheer fucking instinct.
"Answer me, Hannah. What do you mean you might be leaving soon?" And where the hell was she going?
The question seemed to snap her out of her daze. Her expression shifted — guilt and panic flitted across her face. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
J... Juniper cleared her throat. "I should probably get back to the others. I think Matthew's calling me," she announced, but neither of us paid attention as she left.
"It's been so long since we saw each other. I... missed you?" Hannah grimaced, like even she knew how weak her attempt to change the subject was.
"Stop dodging the question."
She folded her arms, shooting me an irritated glare before eventually relenting with a sigh of defeat. "I'm doing my internship this year, and depending on where I end up, I might have to transfer. That could mean moving to another state. It's a pretty long-term commitment, so there's a chance I'll finish my final year there," she explained, her gaze dropping to the ground. "And my best choice is looking like it's in Washington, D.C. Well, I have two other choices I like, but they're still across state lines."
Fuck. We really had no chance now, huh? I let out a short, humorless laugh. Fuck me if this wasn't a sign.
Looking back at her, I asked, "How long?"
"How long?"
"How long until you leave?"
She winced. "Still a while. Well — a little while. A week. A couple of days... five days... That might be it."
Her words hit me like a punch to the chest, nearly knocking me over from the impact. Five days? Just five days before she had to leave? Was she ever going to tell me? Did I even deserve to know? Or was it simply luck that I found out now?
Logically, I should've been relieved. It would solve some of the problems that had been eating at me. We had agreed this thing between us was temporary. It wasn't like we were in love — hell, I couldn't be in love with someone I'd only known for two months. Those sorts of feelings took time to develop, didn't they?
"I don't actually know when I'm leaving," she added quickly. "That's just the deadline to reply. I still have to sign a bunch of contracts, begin the transfer process, tell my parents..." She trailed off, looking extra sheepish.
Suppressing the immediate sense of relief and the dark satisfaction that flickered at the thought of her potentially staying longer, I knew it wouldn't change the inevitable outcome. We would have still needed to part ways before I entered the draft.
All I knew was that I was nowhere near done with her. She was still the only woman on my mind — the only one I got hard for. I was pretty sure I was obsessed with her and her body. I was also determined to learn and taste every inch of it... even if some areas would take a little bit of convincing and multiple orgasms. So I'd use this time to get my fill of Hannah. And I'd make damn sure to use every moment left to satisfy that obsession.
"Okay," I said, nodding and relaxing my posture.
She blinked, expecting more. "Okay? That's it?"
I could see my words hurt her, and that realization made me feel like the biggest asshole on the planet. The hardest hit I'd ever taken on the field hurt less than the expression on her face right now. I liked her fire, her anger — not this, but it felt inevitable at this point.
"What else is there to say? Nothing's changed." I forced a smile, but the words tasted bitter as I said them. "You don't want a relationship, and I can't have one. We agreed this was temporary, didn't we?"
She looked away, her expression a mix of hurt and retreat. I despised myself in that moment more than I ever had before. I wanted to kiss her until she forgot all of this, until we were back to normal and I could take her back to the tent because, fuck, I craved her like a madman and I wanted my next fix. I was selfish enough that I wanted to leave a deep enough mark that she'd never be able to forget me. Because this whole thing wasn't as simple as I was making it out to be. I just didn't want to admit it.
She quickly composed herself, giving me a tight smile. "Right. That was the agreement. Nothing's changed," she echoed, taking a deep breath before glancing back at the group. "Looks like the whole team's back — we should join them. They always need their Captain, after all."
With that, she walked away, never meeting my gaze as she rejoined the group, giving everyone a friendly smile and laughing at something Bailey said. She looked normal and happy. She looked like Hannah. But she felt different. That wall I fucking hated was back, and it was all my fault.
I raked a hand through my hair, my jaw clenched hard enough to hurt, before following suit and returning to the group, avoiding looking in Hannah's direction at all costs. I resumed my usual demeanor, plastering on my signature grin and grabbing Alex in a chokehold, ruffling the wild blonde mop he was so proud of. He struggled and laughed and tried to knock me to the ground. And then Ryan slapped Alex's ass so hard, we were all sure he'd broken skin as he howled.
After reprimanding Ryan and telling Alex to quit acting like a baby, I spoke to a couple of other guys. I was back to joking around, keeping up appearances — but my mind wasn't really there. One of the hockey team's players offered me a beer. I hesitated for a moment, staring at the bottle extended to me. This time, instead of turning down his offer, I accepted it, raising it to my lips.
I tried to push away memories of how the alcohol and bile in my mouth had tasted that night. The sensations of hands everywhere, my world spinning uncontrollably, and my body refusing to obey me. The grit of the ground as I struggled to crawl out of there without passing out.
I felt Tate watching me, his eyebrow raised in silent question. I knew what he was thinking. Tate was one of the few that knew what happened to me. After that incident, everyone in my life had advised me to keep it quiet, knowing it could severely impact my career if fans and the media learned about it and associated me solely with that incident.
But I was fine now — I was in control. I wasn't even going to let myself feel guilty over what my dad had reminded me of. It was just one weekend and I really needed a drink. I'd handle everything else afterward.
I hated the feeling in my gut as I tipped my bottle at him, giving him a careless grin and taking a gulp of that familiar yet forgotten taste. Despite the twinge of discomfort in my gut, it tasted good.
°•°•°•°
Hannah
Tristan was drunk.
Like, really drunk.
Like — stupid enough to challenge one of the athletes on the wrestling team to a wrestling match, and then proceeding to get his ass handed to him — kind of drunk. And all of his responsible friends were busy with other things, like the barbecue and bonfire. Even Bailey had disappeared with Jared, both of them nowhere to be found.
Tristan was a big guy, but the other guy looked like he benched mountains and ate ten dozen raw eggs before 6 AM. I couldn't help but wince every time the giant gorilla man picked him up and threw him. The teams and surrounding crowds roared with laughter, all of them watching with rapt attention, some of them even placing bets. A good couple of them had bet in favor of the Titan. I gave up on hoping they'd help their Captain when they cheered as Goliath took him to the ground, sitting on top of him and likely crushing him.
I'm pretty sure I'd die if that guy sat on me.
To his credit, Tristan was all smiles and laughs about it. But judging from the way he was stumbling and grinning, that was most probably because he couldn't feel it. He also wouldn't listen to any reason, so I was forced to just watch him get beat up with my arms crossed and a frown directed straight at him. It was very evident that I was unhappy with this whole situation.
I couldn't help it — he was such a man-child sometimes.
A drunk Tristan was even more like himself but cranked up to the max. He was constantly cracking jokes, had more energy than a toddler on Redbull, and was even more reckless than usual — hence the smackdown. Everyone was loving it. Except me. He seemed off — this wasn't like him and I wasn't sure if I liked it. Especially because he'd told me he didn't drink. So why was he drinking now?
"Ooooh," the crowd all groaned as Tristan took an elbow to the face.
It was audible and immediately followed by a gush of blood from his nose. He laughed, teeth bared and bloody as he lifted his hand to his nose and pinched it. He was on his knees, hair a sweaty mess, face dripping blood as he grinned maniacally up at The Rock impersonator. And it looked like he was about to ask for more.
Gasping, I ran to him, before he got himself into any more trouble. Everyone was drunk and no one was thinking straight anymore. If Tristan got seriously hurt during a drunken brawl, it could ruin his career. He was being so fucking stupid right now. I quickly got between the two men, holding out a hand toward each of them.
"This is over. Both of you are done," I said, leveling them both with a look that warned them I wasn't joking.
The big guy just smirked, nodding as he stepped back. Tristan was still on his knees, groaning as blood poured out of his nose and down his chin and neck. He squinted past the pain, trying to see who I was.
"Hannah? Wha are yoo doin' here?"
Oh God, please don't let his nose be broken.
Crouching down to his level, I yanked his hand away from his nose and forced him to tip his head forward by fisting his hair and pushing his head down. He groaned but didn't resist, instead, he spat a bloody glob of spit between his knees and coughed. Blood sprayed everywhere. Looking back at the swarms of disappointed audience members, I pointed at a girl who wore a plaid cloth tied around her waist. Beneath it, she wore a pink skirt, so she'd be fine without it.
"Can I borrow that, please?" I asked, giving her a small smile. "I need something to stop the bleeding."
"Oh, of course. Here you go." She passed it to me and I bundled it before lifting it to Tristan's face.
But seeing all of the blood, I pursed my lips. I turned back to everyone watching us and raised my voice, "Anyone have any water I could use?"
Before I could say anything more, a bottle was handed to me. Unscrewing the top, I pointed the nozzle at Tristan's face and squeezed. The spray hit him right in the face, making him jerk back at the sudden cold waterboarding, but it cleared a lot of the blood. Yanking him by the hair again, I proceeded to wipe away the rest of the blood, and then I firmly pressed the bloody cloth to his nose.
He winced. "You bein' rough 'cause you're mad at me?"
His words were slightly slurred, and matching bruises were beginning to develop under his eyes. Despite his wrecked state, there was something oddly beautiful about the way he looked up at me with his green eyes, pouting as if that would make me forgive him. It made me feel a little guilty. Because I was the reason he was doing this. But I was still pissed, so I tugged his hair harder, drawing a low moan from him.
Thankfully, his nose wasn't broken and the bleeding had already clotted. He was still going to need a change of clothes, some water and Tylenol, and a new brain — because his current one wasn't working.
"I'm being rough because that seems to be your thing," I muttered angrily. "I can't believe how you're acting right now." I wasn't sure whether I was more pissed at him or worried, but the sight of him on the ground, disoriented and bloody, made my stomach churn.
Tristan's head lolled a little, his bloody face breaking into a crooked grin despite everything. "Wasn't that bad," he slurred, his eyes were still glossy from the alcohol. "I almost had him."
"Right. You almost had him," I shot back, sarcasm dripping from my words. "Was that when he sat on you or when he tossed you through the air like a sack of potatoes? You told me you didn't drink. What changed?"
He shrugged, blinking slowly. "Just felt like it."
I stared at him for a moment, disappointment coursing through me. He still wasn't being honest with me. "Well, if you play stupid games, then you'll win stupid prizes. I sure hope you're proud of the black eyes you've earned yourself tomorrow morning."