Hate to Love You - Chapter 52: Chapter 52

Tristan
Okay, so maybe I was the coward this time.
But how did you face the woman your drunken idiot-self had spilled every-fucking-thing to? You didn't — that's how.
Instead, you woke up with a bucket full of regret and you got the hell out of dodge — because you just knew she wasn't going to look at you the same again. Not my finest moment, I'll admit, but I didn't know if I'd be able to stand that look of pity I knew I'd be greeted with. It took so long for that look to leave my own fucking mother's face — I don't think I'd be able to handle it on Hannah's too. So I moved as quietly as possible and packed my stuff up while she slept, every noise making me freeze like a naughty kid. And then I left feeling like the biggest asshole on the planet.
Afterward, I threw myself into work with the guys, helping to dismantle the bigger structures and haul the heavy equipment to where it needed to go. It provided a much-needed distraction, especially as I sweated out my hangover alongside my teammates, most of whom were in the same sorry state as me.
By the time I had to return to the tent, I was sweating balls. Deciding to just get it over with, I made my way back, exchanging nods with those who waved as I passed by. When I got there, Hannah was standing next to Bailey, shaking her head as her best friend bent over and dry heaved, reaching out to pat her back and pull her hair out of her face.
Unable to help it, my eyes devoured every inch of her. Today, she wore a light pink hoodie that hung loosely over her body, reaching mid-thigh, paired with sleek black pants. Her hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, and knowing how she looked underneath it all — what she tasted like — only made not going to her more painful.
I couldn't remember ever being this drawn to another girl. The more I had her, the greedier I became for more. It took a lot of self-control and reigning myself in to be around Hannah — and I wasn't always successful. That alone told me just how dangerous she was.
Sensing my gaze, she lifted her head, her piercing blue eyes locking onto mine and stabbing me right through the heart. With that soul-piercing gaze came a rush of emotions I had never felt before, yet had become all too familiar in the past couple of weeks. If her eyes stabbed my heart, the things she made me feel shredded it to pieces.
I'd always imagined settling down with one girl and fully committing to her, but that vision was meant for much later in life, not now. Would I even make a good boyfriend right now? My pride wanted to say yes. I knew I would never betray or cheat on Hannah, especially given her past. Not to mention, my entire family would disown me — my mother, in particular, would subject me to her infamous silent treatment for at least a decade.
No. I knew once I had Hannah, there was no way I'd be able to let her go. That was precisely why I felt I couldn't have her.
But that was if we went the serious route — the one that led to a committed relationship with the potential for a future together. The alternative, the path I was determined to take, promised a lucrative career in the NFL, an endless parade of women, and no responsibilities beyond my work and health. That had been the dream, but why wasn't it as appealing anymore? Why did it suddenly seem like I was trading the chance to build a life with Hannah for a future of loneliness and emptiness?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Why was this decision so damned difficult?
"Oh, look who finally decided to show his face around here. I was about to suggest we file a missing person's report," Bailey sniped, looking extra sick and grumpy this morning as she straightened up.
Arching a brow, I said, "Hold the amber alert, I was just helping the guys disassemble everything, and now everything's ready for pickup. I take it you're more than ready to leave?"
"This has been fun, but I need to give my liver a chance to recover, so yeah — I'm ready. Let's get this show on the road." With a decisive clap of her hands, Bailey made a beeline for my car, leaving Hannah and me in an awkward silence.
She wouldn't even fucking look at me.
Instead, her gaze followed her best friend the entire time, like I wasn't even there, and she stayed quiet when usually, she'd step forward and kiss me — say something sassy or affectionate, maybe throw in a fun little insult. She probably wouldn't touch or look at me because I reminded her of used, broken goods.
I knew I never should have said a fucking thing.
"Are you ready to go?" I asked, my tone clipped as my mood took even more of a dip.
Finally, her eyes met mine again, and what I saw in them made me go cold inside... nothing. There was nothing reflected in those depths, no smile, no warmth. Not even anger or revulsion.
"I am. My bags are next to the car," was all she said.
My jaw clenched as I forced myself to nod, "Okay. Let's go then."
She didn't respond, simply trailing behind me as we made our way to the car. With each step, a numbness settled in my chest, spreading through my body until I felt nothing but the hardness of the ground beneath me and the faint touch of sunlight on my skin — but I couldn't feel its warmth anymore.
°•°•°•°
Hannah
Waking up in the tent, alone and empty of all his things, had been the last straw.
The things I'd felt in those moments — overwhelming fear, panic, heartbreak — had been a form of PTSD all on its own. It had certainly been a precursor to the hurt I could face if I allowed this to continue.
For long minutes, I sat in that tent, silent tears streaming down my cheeks as I bit my bottom lip, desperate to stifle any sound. I couldn't move, terrified that even a small action would send me spiraling into a breakdown.
You're okay. You're okay. You're okay.
That mantra became my lifeline, repeating in my mind until it drowned out all the unwanted thoughts. I kept telling myself I would deal with everything else when I got home and was alone — I just needed to hold it together a little longer.
It wasn't until I left the tent and saw his truck, with his belongings piled in the back, that I finally allowed myself to breathe. But the relief burned. I was certain that I never wanted to feel that way again, regardless of my feelings towards him. So I'd come to a decision as I'd packed my things, hands trembling until I forced them to stop.
I couldn't fix him. It wasn't my job to fix him. As the reality of my decision settled in, I knew I was done. Done with the pain, done with this fucked up situation, and done with him.
Sometimes, I thought he cared about me enough to want to change, but then he would do something like this, and it made me feel crazy for even thinking I held any importance in his life. I understood that he had a lot of trauma he needed to process and overcome — but he wasn't trying to. His response to everything was to deny, downplay, ignore, and push away.
I'd known from the beginning that this was how it was going to turn out. It was why I didn't want this sort of arrangement in the first place. But with his charm, his smile, and his genuine goodness — he'd convinced me to abandon my principles and any safety net I'd put in place, just for the chance to have him all to myself. Sure, I liked the sex, but I didn't need it. I wanted him more than I wanted his body, and it hurt to know the opposite was true for him.
I chanced a glance at him from my side in the passenger seat as we drove back home. His attention was on the road, arm resting on the open window, wind tousling his dark hair — a picturesque image. The direct sun rays seemed to pierce right through his emerald eyes from the side, illuminating them in a green glow. I could also see the light scattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose and cheeks; you never noticed them unless you were really close because of his natural tan. And then there was that beauty spot under his eyebrow that I had kissed so much, I was surprised I had not kissed it away.
I would miss all of these little details.
Feeling my focus on him, he looked at me, eyes meeting mine directly. Yet, when presented with his familiar face, I couldn't bring myself to muster a smile. Instead, I turned away, leaning my head against the glass window, and closed my eyes. After all, I hadn't gotten much sleep last night.
°•°•°•°
"Here you go." Tristan passed Bailey her bags.
"Thanks," she mumbled, still groggy from the nap she'd taken in the back seat.
Parked in front of my communal house, we retrieved our belongings from Tristan's car. Surveying the closed curtains and the empty driveway, I assumed no one else was home yet, and I hoped it stayed that way for a while. The prospect of having the house to myself after Bailey's departure felt like a lifeline — I knew I was going to need it.
When Tristan handed me my belongings, I accepted them with a brief nod and word of gratitude, still avoiding his eyes. He stayed silent, his gaze remaining fixed on me, and his expression inscrutable.
The tension between us was palpable, and Bailey, sensing it, coughed awkwardly. "I think I'm gonna head inside — I need the bathroom."
She gave me a meaningful look as she took the keys from me, obviously urging me to talk to him. I had shared some details about last night's events with her, though I skirted around the specifics. She insisted I needed to talk things out, and reluctantly, I agreed. I had promised to do so after the weekend, and now the time had come.
"Thank you for letting me bring her with. It meant a lot to me," I finally addressed Tristan, forcing myself to meet his gaze head-on.
He nodded, giving me a warm smile. "I'm glad she could be with you when I wasn't able to. She's also pretty cool. I can tell she really cares about you."
"She does. I know I'll never have to doubt her love for me."
His eyes roamed my face, searching for something before he said, "I have to go — I'll see you later, yeah?"
When he went to kiss me, I pulled back, raising a hand to create distance between us. Shaking my head, I mumbled, "I don't think that's a good idea."
He froze, wariness creeping onto his face. "What do you mean?"
Taking a deep breath for strength, I continued, "I can't do this anymore. I think we should end things."
The words felt like ash on my tongue, twisting and turning as they left my lips, but they were out there now, hanging heavy in the air — I couldn't take them back.
Hold it together. Hold it together. Just a little longer.
"What?"
"I'm sorry, Tristan," I croaked, my voice barely above a whisper.
I watched his demeanor shift — the warmth drained from his features, replaced by a cold glare directed squarely at me. "Is it because I told you what happened to me? What, am I just some dumb asshole that fucked around and got what he deserved?"
His accusation hit me like a physical blow, leaving me speechless and reeling. "I would never think that of you. Why would you say such a thing?"
"Because you're acting like this. And you want to end things. What the fuck am I supposed to think?"
As I moved toward him, instinctively wanting to comfort him, he recoiled, evading my touch. The rejection stung, but I knew I had forfeited the right to comfort him when I made the decision to end our relationship. I let my arms fall to my sides, swallowing against the lump lodged in my throat.
"Tristan — you're the victim. How could anyone fault you for what happened?"
"I'm not a victim," he snarled, fixing me with a cold, warning glare.
He thought I ran from my problems — well, he denied his, and that was way worse. He was clearly ashamed, too afraid to show the parts of himself he considered ugly because the world and everyone around him had taught him to hide them.
I pressed my lips together. "You're right — you're a survivor. One who hasn't dealt with any of his issues. Your past has a chokehold on you, and your solution is to ignore it."
He exhaled sharply, feigning amusement, and leaned against his car with crossed arms. "There you go with the assumptions again. Please, keep going — let's hear what you've come up with this time."
His mocking smile dared me to continue, and I felt my fists clench, the only sign that his words had struck a nerve.
"Fine, I will." I lifted my chin defiantly. "You know what your problem is, Tristan? You're scared. What happened to you has scarred you so deeply that you've let it consume you, define you. You're so terrified of making what you think is another mistake, of losing control again, that you've done everything you can to avoid it."
Tristan's gaze remained locked on mine, his expression shifting from feigned amusement to a simmering intensity.
"And you know what? It's not just you who's affected by this. It's everyone around you. The pressure is suffocating, and you've convinced yourself that you need to meet those unattainable standards. You've built a prison for yourself, and it's heartbreaking to witness. But nobody's perfect. Not you, not me, not anyone." I paused, heart racing. "And you've convinced yourself that having a girlfriend is just another responsibility, another role to play, another standard to meet. It's like you've decided you can't have a personal life because you're too busy maintaining this facade of perfection for everyone else."
He stood there, unmoving. A muscle was ticking in his jaw as he angrily replied, "You call me scared? Look at yourself, Hannah. You're the one who's always running scared — like right now. You've got your ex's ghost haunting you every step of the way, and instead of facing it, you're pointing out my shortcomings." A bitter laugh escaped him. "And as for having a girlfriend, I'm not afraid of responsibility. I just refuse to believe that a relationship can fix everything. So don't you dare stand there and lecture me about fear and responsibility. You don't know the first fucking thing about what it means to confront your demons."
Tristan's words struck like a relentless barrage of blows, each one landing with the force of a sledgehammer on my already bruised heart. The initial shock gave way to a numbing ache, spreading through me like wildfire as his cruel retorts echoed in my ears over and over again.
For a moment, silence hung heavy between us, broken only by the sound of my uneven breaths.
"Then I guess it's a good thing this is over," I finally said.
I saw the regret flash across his face as he pushed away from his truck, moving towards me with his hand outstretched, but it was too late. He'd said his piece and I'd said mine, so what more was there to say? Nothing. Simple as that.
"Hanna—"
"You should go," I interrupted, picking up my bags while trying to ignore my shaking hands. I used them to block him off.
Not yet. Not yet. Keep it together.
"Fuck, I didn't mean any—"
"Yes, you did." I took a deep breath. "We're done, Tristan. I really mean it this time. You can't give me what I want, and I'm clearly not what you need. You'll find another girl to entertain you. I have no doubt about it."
His gaze pierced through me, leaving painful, stinging cuts, but I held my ground, letting him see the finality in my eyes. I wanted him to understand that he wouldn't change my mind. It must have registered because he finally relented, his hand dropping to his side in defeat.
"Okay. If that's what you want," he conceded, his voice heavy with resignation.
"It is." A stuttering breath escaped me, and I prayed he didn't notice. "Goodbye, Tristan."
A pained expression crossed his face, and he closed his eyes briefly, as if the sight of me was too much to bear. "Goodbye, Hannah."
Taking my bags with me, I turned to walk up the path to the front door. I didn't dare look back at him, my gaze fixed on the ground as I walked. My fingers were clenched so tightly around the straps of my bag that my knuckles turned white, and it took a conscious effort to breathe normally.
The porch creaked as I stepped onto it, but I paid no mind to it. My gaze was focused on the closed door in front of me. I just needed to keep it together until I got safely behind it.
My breath caught in my throat as I heard the car door slam shut, the sound echoing in the empty space between us. The silence that followed was deafening, punctuated only by the faint hum of his car engine as he started it up.
But still, I didn't turn around. It was only when I got to the door, my hand trembling as I reached for the handle, that the first chink in my armor appeared. A single tear spilled, so full it dripped down my cheek and onto the floor immediately.
Just a little further.
With a shaky breath, I pushed open the door and stepped inside, my heart heavy with the weight of what had just happened, what I had let go of. I knew it was for the best, and knew that I needed to protect myself from any further hurt.
With an aching heart, I pushed the door shut, and the weight of it all crashed down on me. Collapsing with my back against the closed door, I felt the sobs rise within me, each one tearing through my chest like a knife. The tears flowed freely now, and the sound of my heartbreak echoed in the confined space.