Hate to Love You - Chapter 49: Chapter 49

Hannah
"Let's settle this like real men - Rock, Paper, Scissors!" Tristan shouted, pointing an unsteady finger directly at the behemoth, who, as I'd come to find out, was named Adam.
Over the course of the night, the two of them had formed an unlikely friendship, forged through countless rounds of drinking games and challenging each other to all kinds of ridiculous dares. Despite both drowning in alcohol, Adam's size granted him a tad more semblance of sobriety, leaving him a lot more composed than Tristan - who was doing a remarkable Jack Sparrow impression as he staggered and swayed where he stood.
I'd abandoned any hope of reining him in ages ago. I don't know why I even tried in the first place. Making Tristan do something he didn't want to was fucking impossible.
And he was an escape artist. When I turned my attention away from him for even a second, he'd vanish. The last time he'd disappeared, I'd found him perched on Adam's shoulders, talking in a terrible French accent while trying to control him like the rat from Ratatouille. Their laughter echoed as if they'd stumbled upon the greatest joke ever. It was... quite a sight.
Bailey wasn't any better. It took ten minutes of gentle convincing to get her to release her grip on the grass because she was convinced she might be thrown off the Earth due to its rapid spinning. Then, I had to intervene when she started undressing because, according to her, it was "too hot". She was currently passed out in her tent, cuddling an empty bottle of tequila. I don't know what happened to Jared, but she drunkenly told me he was a piece of shit and wouldn't - or couldn't tell me anymore.
It was hard to find a sober person at the festival. Since it was the last day, and just past midnight, folks were beyond tipsy and gearing up to make some seriously bad choices. It wasn't hard to find people either dancing, tripping out, fucking, or passed out. I was one of the few who managed to stay sober. Sure, I'd had a drink or two, but they'd worn off ages ago.
I came across this girl who'd drowned herself in way too many vodka cranberries and ended up having to stick two fingers down her throat to get her to throw up. And then I made sure she drank some water and ate a few bites of a hotdog. Tate was a lot less patient than I was - when some guy thought it was a brilliant idea to down an entire bottle of cheap whisky, nearly putting himself in a coma, Tate landed one solid punch to the guy's stomach. He proceeded to projectile vomit all over a group of dancing girls. The aftermath triggered a chain reaction, and now, that area was a no-go zone. The lingering stench was enough to keep people away.
Which led me to the present - fatigue and irritation clung to me like a second skin. And I really wanted a proper shower. The camping-style portable one we were using was nothing more than a glorified drizzle, and the cold water made things worse.
Not to mention, my mental state mirrored my physical exhaustion, and I just wanted to go home, curl up in my bed, and talk to no one. Maybe then, I could gather my thoughts, and carve out a moment to simply breathe. The emotional rollercoaster and the unrelenting demands of this weekend were draining me and I felt close to empty.
"Who wants to do body shots?!" A naked man ran past me, his pale hairy ass an eyesore.
It seemed like I wasn't going to get that rest anytime soon.
"How are you holding up?" A voice asked from behind me.
I turned my head to see Tate walking up to me, holding an unopened soda can. I offered him a tired smile and accepted the cool drink he offered. The two of us had formed an unlikely partnership as we tried to stop things from getting too crazy - like sober-buddies. Tate, I quickly learned, was a genuinely easygoing guy who had zero tolerance for anyone's bullshit. It increased my respect for him tenfold.
"I'm okay - just ready for the night to be over." As I sipped the fizzy soda, my eyes scanned the sea of intoxicated festival-goers. "How does anyone expect to be able to drive home tomorrow morning? They're all going to be nursing hangovers from hell."
He chuckled. "Experience. For many of them, this ain't their first rodeo."
I nodded in agreement, taking another sip. My attention shifted to Tristan, who was laughing at something one of his friends said, head thrown back as his deep rumbling laugh reached even my ears. He wobbled and had to right himself as he nearly fell onto his back.
"Including Tristan?" I asked, my gaze fixed on him.
Tate remained quiet for a moment, studying Tristan until he finally spoke, "This isn't his first rodeo, no. Back when he was a freshman and staying in the football house with the rest of the guys, a lot of his nights were like this. But that's the football house for you. There's a reason a lot of us leave - and why some stay."
"But he stopped all of that stuff when he left, right? He told me he doesn't drink."
I began to wonder if it was to avoid developing a problem. Was he a recovering alcoholic? If so, was he risking all his progress by drinking tonight?
Tate looked down at me, a hint of something indiscernible in his dark eyes. "Yeah. He did. Moved out and went cold turkey on the drinking."
"So why is he acting like this now?" I asked, frustration lacing my voice.
He shrugged. "It's hard to say what's going on inside that thick head of his."
I bit my lip, guilt tightening around my chest. "Do you think it's because of me?"
He shook his head, his tone gentle but firm. "Even if you're part of it, you're not the only reason. Don't blame yourself. This was his choice at the end of the day."
"What other reasons could there be?"
He sighed, adjusting his stance and crossing his arms. "Tristan's dealing with a ton of pressure right now - from everyone, including his family. He has to be the perfect athlete, the perfect captain, the perfect son. He holds himself to everyone's impossible standards and somehow meets them, but everyone has a limit. Maybe he's hit his - but these lessons, you can only learn them by going through them."
He was... right.
The realization hit me hard - I didn't really understand Tristan as much as I thought. I'd always seen Tristan as strong, confident, and easygoing, but I was starting to realize how much of that was just a surface act - but beneath that facade, I realized I knew nothing of value. Sure, I could list his likes and dislikes, his habits, his many skills... but I couldn't tell you what any of his true thoughts were, or any of his deepest fears and insecurities. The pressure he faced was evident, but the real toll it took on him remained a mystery. I knew everything... and nothing.
Tate's words forced me to reevaluate everything, and I released a soft breath, running my hands over my face. It became apparent that Tristan was a pro at crafting an image that resonated with others while keeping his real self hidden. He was pushing himself to the brink, trying to fit into everyone else's mold of perfection, and it was taking a toll on us, on me. It dawned on me that unless he changed his approach, and shifted his perspectives and expectations... we had no future.
Suddenly, warm breath ghosted my ear, and strong arms wrapped around me from behind. "There's my girl."
The familiar blend of men's shampoo, soap, and his distinct scent - a dark, spicy aroma that made my nipples bead - surrounded me in a warm blanket. Pulled back into his firm yet warm chest, he pressed an affectionate kiss to the side of my head. Then, lowering his head, he playfully showered my neck with kisses. When I squirmed, ticklish, he tilted my head towards him and claimed my lips in a quick kiss. Beside us, Tate groaned.
I pulled back, wrinkling my nose at the smell and taste of alcohol. "Tristan, I'm talking to Tate right now."
He blinked, noticing his best friend for the first time and flashing him a goofy yet adorable grin. "Oh, hey man. Didn't see you there."
"No, you didn't. Your mind was clearly elsewhere. I'll leave you two to it." Tate chuckled, the sound resonating through his chest as he turned to leave.
"See you later, Mitchell," Tristan grinned, pulling me tighter against him.
"Don't bet on it, Beckett. Have a good night, Hannah," Tate called as he walked off.
"You too!" I shouted after him, ignoring Tristan as he nuzzled into my hair. But I could feel his half-hard dick pressing into my back, and I let out an exasperated sigh. "You're crazy if you think I'm going to sleep with you right now. You can barely stand."
"Good thing I don't need to stand to get the job done. Still mad at me?" he asked, resting his cheek against my temple.
"I'm not mad, I'm..." disappointed. "I just don't want you getting hurt."
He sighed. "I'm fine. It was only a nosebleed. I get them sometimes - it's part of being an athlete."
Internally, frustration simmered, but what could I say? His excuse was weak and he was being an idiot. Sensing my disapproval lingering in the air, he groaned.
"Come on, babe. I'm just having some fun. I wasn't going to let myself get seriously hurt." His hand slipped under my shirt, gliding up my stomach.
I grabbed his wrist before he could go any further. "News flash: you did get hurt. You were looking for a fight - I saw it in your eyes. In that moment, you didn't care if you got hurt, and you didn't care about the consequences. You were reckless." I reached for his face behind me and flicked his forehead, making him wince.
"You're being really mean today," he grumbled, rubbing his forehead.
"You know I'm right."
He recovered quickly, burrowing his face in the crook between my neck and shoulder. "Of course you are," he crooned, "You're always right. Can I kiss you now?"
"No."
He twirled me around so I was facing him. Naturally, my palms came to rest on his rib cage as I tilted my head back to regard him with furrowed brows. He just gave me a lazy, drunken grin and leaned forward to kiss the tip of my nose.
"Have I told you how fucking beautiful you look today?" He murmured as he ducked down to trail soft kisses along my jawline.
His words, paired with the sensation of his lips on my skin, were working, distracting me from my irritation. I couldn't help it - when he gave me that wicked grin and said things like that... it made me stupidly weak.
I rolled my eyes but couldn't hide my smile. "Pick another day to work your charm on me. I'm a mess right now."
"A hot mess," he whispered against my skin, his kisses traveling up my neck to the sensitive spot behind my ear. "So fucking hot it drives me insane."
"You're biased because I'm sleeping with you." I tilted my head to give him better access, struggling to keep my eyes open as a smile teased the corner of my lips.
"No way." He shook his head, hands roaming my back with strategic caresses. "Have you seen your ass in a pair of jean shorts? I just wanna take a bite out of it."
Of course, he immediately grabbed my ass, squeezing as he bit down on my neck, making me gasp. To soothe the ache, he sucked and licked the abused skin. This was quickly heading in a dangerous direction. I pressed my hands against his chest, pushing him back a bit. He straightened up, gazing down at me with a lazy, half-lidded look.
"Are you even in any state to be doing this?" My hand raised and my thumb brushed the bruise beneath his eye. "Does it hurt?"
"Babe, I could be dying and I'd still want to fuck you. Don't worry about me."
I gave him a warning look for that comment. "But are you in pain?"
"Yes." He reached for my wrists and drew my hands away from his cheeks, pulling them down until they pressed against the solid erection pressed against me. "Right here. Hurts so bad."
This idiot.
I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "You're ridiculous."
Then, he shut one eye and gave me a squinty look.
"What are you doing? Does your eye hurt?" I asked, worried.
"No, no. I just can't focus on you when I have both eyes open. I keep seeing your twin... and I'm pretty sure you don't have a twin. I also can't feel my eyes. Is that normal?"
I couldn't help it - I laughed.
Tristan's face lit up when he heard me, his drunken grin widening. Growing self-conscious, I couldn't help the small blush that colored my cheeks.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Because I like it when you laugh," he said simply, pulling me closer. "It feels like when I score a touchdown - like I earned it."
My heart thumped painfully in my chest. He didn't get to say things like that. It wasn't fair.
Covering my pain with a small laugh, I replied, "If this is your attempt at getting laid tonight, then let me stop you right there. You are way too drunk to do anything."
The challenge of my declaration registered in his brain, and a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes as he squeezed my ass again.
"Wanna bet?"