Hate to Love You - Chapter 55: Chapter 55

Closing my locker with a heavy sigh, I pushed my damp hair from my face.
We'd won.
Not that I had contributed anything to that win. This time my teammates did all the heavy lifting. I was benched and replaced by Owen, our backup quarterback. Yeah, I was the one who made the call to switch out, but it still stung and left a foul taste in my mouth, like a bitter reminder of failure.
Coach Morey had stayed quiet as we watched the game unfold, giving no indication that he'd noticed my presence beside him. When the final whistle blew and the team erupted into celebrations, he turned to me, and said, "No one can operate at a hundred percent all the time. We all go through rough patches, but it's about how you deal with them that's the true test. You made the right call with Owen today."
And then he walked away, leaving me to consider what he meant by that. I was struck by his approval — I'd been certain he was gonna give me an ass-chewing for my crappy performance in the first half of the game, not to mention my overall conduct in the past week.
Because this last week had been hell.
The lack of sleep was taking its toll and it was messing with my game. It reached a point where I had no choice but to step back and let the team carry on without me. Tate, my co-captain, stepped up to shoulder some of my responsibilities and refused to take no for an answer.
At first, it pissed me off — the shift in our dynamic made me resist at every turn. But exhaustion had a way of draining the fight from you, and I begrudgingly relented. It was only then that I could acknowledge the burden that had been lifted from my shoulders. Well, only to be replaced by the weight of my guilt over feeling like I was letting them down by not contributing my part to the team.
For the first time in a long time, I felt completely lost.
The locker room buzzed with post-game chatter, but none of it reached me as I gathered my stuff, mentally bracing myself for the upcoming encounter with my parents — especially my dad. They'd been watching from the VIP seats, no doubt taking note of my shaky first-half performance and my absence in the second. The thought of facing them, particularly my dad's inevitable critique, was the last thing I wanted right now. But I couldn't avoid them after they'd driven two hours to watch me play.
Shaking off the weight of my thoughts, I turned to leave. As I moved towards the exit, Alex, piped up.
"Hey, Captain, you coming to the after-party? It's at Diego's." He waggled his eyebrows, a playful grin on his face.
Before I could respond, Ryan chimed in. "Yeah, man, we gotta celebrate the win properly!"
Joey Flinnigan interjected, laughing. "Nah, he doesn't know why we're celebrating. He was too busy keeping the bench warm."
The room fell silent as the whole team turned their heads to glare at him. A few guys piped up, telling him to shut up. Matthew, still tying his laces, fixed Joey with a hard stare. "Enough, man. Show some respect."
Tate, standing next to him as he changed his shirt, looked at Joey sternly. "Tristan's the captain for a reason. If you have something to say, we're always open to listening to your complaints, but until you can learn some respect, shut the fuck up."
Joey's face went red, and I could visibly see his defenses rise as he tried to downplay his comment, brushing it off by saying, "It was just a joke, guys."
I appreciated the support from my boys, but I had no desire to stick around and deal with this shit right now.
"Thanks, guys, but I'm gonna pass on the party tonight. I promised my folks dinner," I explained, grateful for the excuse to smoothly slip out of the festivities as I ignored Joey.
Just as I reached the door, Tate called after me. "Beckett, hold up. I need to talk to you."
Fuck. He was going to give me a pep talk, wasn't he?
I was definitely not in the mood for it, but out of respect for him, I waited as he joined me, and together we exited the locker room. The hallway, lined with portraits and group photos of Dale's celebrated athletes, including me, felt eerily quiet and foreign tonight. For a guy accustomed to the addicting rush of adrenaline that came with a game, this bone-deep exhaustion was a new experience. Even during our past losses, I had managed to keep my team focused, staying level-headed through the chaos.
The thought of inventing an excuse to bail on my parents crossed my mind again, but I didn't want to add more guilt to the pile I was already carrying. I was tired of feeling like I was letting everyone down.
Besides, any remorse I felt for letting my team down paled in comparison to the guilt I felt over hurting Hannah. That guilt settled deep in my chest, refusing to budge.
Once we were out of earshot, Tate's words cut through the air like a blade. "I saw Hannah today."
Oh, yeah — this was definitely a pep talk. But despite that, my heart jerked painfully and the question slipped out before I could stop it. "Is she okay?"
I wondered if she was broken up over me, considering she was the one who had ended things. I had known our separation was coming, but I had been trying to delay the inevitable — so I couldn't help but feel somewhat cheated out of the remaining time we should have had together. It was selfish, but she made me want to be selfish. Being with her had a strange way of quieting the voices in my head, the ones that were constantly reminding me that I wasn't doing enough and that I was on the verge of making a mistake that would cost me everything.
"She was arguing with someone — a man," Tate continued. "Do you remember the Freshmen Groomer?"
Tension coiled in my neck and shoulders at the mention of that asshole's nickname.
"I was on my way to the Football Stadium and saw her near the library with him. I watched him get a little handsy with her."
My insides turned to ice and I stopped in my tracks. He touched her?
Seeing the look on my face, he assured me, "She's okay. I stepped in pretty quickly and made sure he left her alone and didn't follow her. Just thought you should know."
Forcing myself to maintain composure, I reached out and clasped Tate's shoulder in silent appreciation. The blood roaring in my ears drowned out any words that threatened to escape. With a quick nod, I turned on my heel and headed toward my car.
°•°•°•°
I wasn't thinking straight when I pounded on Hannah's front door. The need to ensure she was okay eclipsed any trace of rational thought, and I operated purely on instinct.
The drive to her house had been a blur, my mind fixated on Tate's brief account of the altercation. The thought that someone could harm her — that she had been left scared and traumatized — ignited a deep-seated fury within me, one I rarely allowed myself to feel.
But right now, I just needed to make sure she was alright, or at the very least — assess the damage and inflict worse on that asshat. It would be the price he paid for touching her.
As seconds stretched into minutes, my patience frayed, and I was seconds away from banging on the door again when the lock clicked and it finally opened. Instead of Hannah, Joanna stood there, her expression a mixture of exasperation and disapproval.
"Knocking politely seems to have eluded your upbringing," she remarked dryly.
"Is Hannah home?" I asked, my eyes scanning the interior for any sign of her.
Jolene hesitated, her expression guarded. "She is... but I don't think she wants to see anyone right now."
"I don't care. I need to see her."
"Even though she might not want anything to do with you?"
I finally looked back down at her. Her blatant disapproval was clear in the tight set of her crossed arms and the frown directed my way. And because she was a woman, she had that disapproving gaze down to an art form — I felt like the biggest asshole under it. I couldn't blame her; I deserved it, but at this moment, I didn't give a fuck what she thought about me. I opened my mouth to argue, but paused. At this point, I was in too deep — I'd look like an even bigger asshole if I called her by the wrong name.
"Look, ma'am—"
Her jaw dropped. "Ma'am?"
"Sir?"
She sighed, stepping aside to let me in. "Just come in already. You can try to talk to her, but I get the impression she wants to be left alone. And no offense, but I think you're the last person she wants to see right now."
Ouch. But she wasn't telling me anything I hadn't already told myself. Not wanting to push my luck any further, I nodded in thanks and hurried up the stairs to Hannah's room. As I reached her door, my fist poised to knock, I hesitated.
This could be a really bad idea, but not seeing her wasn't an option.
Taking a deep breath, I knocked, calm this time. I waited for a response, however, silence was my only answer. But because I knew her, I knew she'd have her headphones on, so I pushed open the door and looked inside.
Just as I thought, Hannah was seated with her knees tucked against her chest, heels perched on the edge of her chair as she listened to music while her fingers danced over her keyboard. Strands of dark blonde hair had escaped her loose bun, framing her face in a chaotic yet sexy mess. She wore a tight tank top paired with thick sweatpants, the fabric stretching over her curled form. I remembered that shirt — it had a Bolognese sauce stain from the Italian takeout we'd ordered one night. I could also remember peeling it off her as she straddled me on my couch.
I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't for her to be this okay. Instead of sadness, she radiated a composed, almost serene energy that sharply contrasted the storm of emotions raging inside me. There was no visible distress over what happened, or even over my absence.
Yet, I felt torn. Part of me wanted to go to her and touch her to confirm she was real — because I fucking missed her and not having her in my life had been eating away at me — but another part worried about what might happen if I did. Would I be able to let go?
Before I could settle on a plan of action, she finally sensed my presence and turned her head to meet my gaze. A hitch in her breath and a full-body jerk betrayed her surprise, but she recovered, pulling off her headphones and regarding me with wary eyes.
"What are you doing here, Tristan?"
"Tate told me what happened."
She stared at me in silent contemplation before her gaze returned to her work and she spat out, "Tate? More likeTattletale." After a brief pause, she met my eyes again. "I'm fine. You don't have to check up on me — I'm a big girl."
"He also said that fucker got a little rough with you." I grit my teeth, scanning her for any signs of injury.
She shook her head, scoffing. "You're making it sound worse than it was — he just grabbed my wrist."
Letting the door close behind me, I was next to her in two strides, reaching for her wrists. "Let me see."
As I held her arms under the light, trying to discern which one he'd manhandled, she attempted to pull away. "Stop it, I said I'm fine. It's nothing."
But I noticed the faint blotches of discoloration where his fingers had squeezed hard enough to leave their mark. Gripping her arm gently but firmly, I met her gaze, my expression hardening with anger. "This isn't nothing, babe."
But her gaze was on the spot where my hand cradled her wrist, my thumb unconsciously rubbing her pulse as if I could erase the offending marks. Suddenly, I became acutely aware of how close we were — so close I could smell the familiar scent of strawberries and vanilla from her shampoo, and it nearly brought me to my knees. The sensation of her soft skin beneath my fingertips was a dangerous temptation.
Reluctantly, I released her and stepped back, putting as much distance between us as possible before I lost the battle against my own will. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have touched you."
The words made her flinch, slicing through my conscience. She cleared her throat and looked down at her desk, hiding her face from me again. "Like I said, it'll heal. You still shouldn't be here."
"I couldn't stay away, not after I heard what happened."
She chuckled wryly. "Right, I remember what you said — you're here because you think I can't handle Dylan."
"That's not what I said."
"But it's what you meant."
"Tate had to step in because he grabbed you," I countered.
Her eyes narrowed into a glare. "No, Tate stepped in before I lost my patience. I don't like hitting or hurting people, but I'd have no problem punching Dylan in the face. He should consider himself lucky Tate intervened. Despite what you think, I've come a long way."
I already knew she was strong, perhaps stronger than I had realized. I had always known she could handle herself. If I were being totally honest with myself, I also knew the real reason I was here — this was my first chance to see her with a justifiable excuse.
"So, you're really okay?"
It was a loaded question, and we both knew it.
Her glare fell and she looked down, picking at some lint on her sweatpants as she purposefully chose to take the question at face value. "I'm getting there. I won't lie, it really was a shock to see him again, but this time, I could see through him. Before, I might have crumbled, but I didn't. When he tried his old tricks on me, I stood my ground. He hasn't really changed, but I feel like a whole new person — I'm not the naive girl he used to know."
I regarded her for a few long seconds before finally letting out a tired smile, allowing the tension to ease from my shoulders. "No... you're not."
Now that the anger had mostly dissipated, and the mere sight of her brought a sense of ease I hadn't felt all week, the exhaustion I had been ignoring began to weigh down on me. I leaned back against the wall for support and slowly sank to the floor, my ass settling on the cool surface as I settled down with a sigh. Resting my head against the wall, I draped my forearms over my bent knees, taking a moment to simply breathe. My eyes slid shut of their own accord.
"Are you okay?" The concern in her voice brought a small smile to my lips.
"Not really... I haven't had a decent night's sleep all week. And I'm supposed to be having dinner with my parents right now." I groaned internally at the reminder.
I briefly considered reaching for my phone to shoot them a message but then I remembered I left it in my car. "They'll be fine," I muttered, speaking mostly to myself. "It's only seven, and they have a hotel. I'll have breakfast with them tomorrow morning and come up with my excuse then."
She fell silent, and in that span of silence, I nearly drifted off. My eyes only snapped open when she spoke again.
"Why haven't you been sleeping?"
"Do you really have to ask?"
Her soft laughter filled the air, a soothing melody that always made me smile. "Let me guess — you feel responsible for breaking my heart?"
"I thought I should, but it seems not. You look pretty fine to me." And maybe that stung a little. Scratch that — it hurt like hell.
She tilted her head, surveying my face with a gaze that always saw too much. So I let her see it, let her see the ugly, selfish, greedy, wounded parts of me that I usually tried to hide. I let her see the pain and exhaustion twisted inside me. I didn't have the strength or the will to shield it from her anymore. I had nothing to lose.
"I have to be. I have things to do — a future to focus on... like you."
I let out a small, amused huff. "So you've chosen where you're going?"
"Yes."
I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the answer. "Where?"
"Topeka."
And there it was. The final nail in our coffin. The closest NFL team was in Missouri, and they weren't exactly in the market for a quarterback. Considering I was one of the top prospects, I was more likely to be picked by teams looking for a franchise quarterback.
"Fucking hell," I muttered, letting out a weary breath.
I heard her small answering sigh and then the creak of her chair as she stood up. The sudden movement prompted me to open my eyes because I was scared she'd leave or make me leave, and this moment would be over. But instead of doing any of that, she typed a few things on her keyboard before closing her laptop and switching off her desk lamp, leaving only the soft glow of her bedside lamp. Her footsteps were barely audible as she made her way towards me, her every move captivating my attention.
Lifting my head from the wall, I watched her crouch down in front of me, gently pressing her knees against the floor before settling back on her haunches. She was so close I could touch her if I wanted to, but I didn't want to risk upsetting her, so I clenched my fists and remained as still as possible.
"You look tired," she murmured.
My eyes drooped as she reached up to brush my now-dry hair from my face. Her fingers traced lightly over my forehead and combed through my hair, an oddly soothing gesture.
"I am."
"And you need a haircut."
"You like it like this," I said, leaning into her touch, unable to help myself.
I was cursing myself a second later when she pulled her hand back, resigning myself to the loss of her warmth. She was probably going to kick me out now. Or so I thought, but her next words caught me off guard.
"Do you want to sleep here tonight?" she asked, her voice laced with uncertainty.
My brows shot up, and my eyes went from hooded to alert in an instant. "Are you serious?"
She nodded, standing up. "Just sleep and only tonight. I'm also really tired, so maybe I'm not thinking straight, but do you want to stay?"
I was ready to take whatever she offered. And just sleep sounded good — it sounded really good. And having her next to me would be even better. "Okay. I'd like that."
"Do you need to use the bathroom or anything? I've already done all of my business — I just needed to finish up a few things on my last assignment before I submitted it, and then I was going to head to bed."
"I'm good. I showered just before I came here," I replied, pushing myself up from the floor.
In a heartbeat, I was on my feet, towering over her. Our eyes held as I reached for my nape and quickly pulled my shirt off. With a flick of my wrist, I undid the button and zipper of my pants, letting them fall to the floor, leaving me in just my boxer briefs. Her eyes widened as she followed my movements, eventually landing on my crotch and freezing. Even in the dim light, I caught her swallow before she looked away and stepped back.
Without another word, she turned around and walked to her bed, crawling onto it until she reached her side. As she pulled down the blankets and slipped under them, I couldn't help but admire the graceful curve of her back and where it led, though that part was sufficiently covered. Cocooning herself under the covers, she pulled them up to her chin before turning away from me. Smirking at her back, I followed suit, sliding in behind her. Before settling down, I reached over to switch off the light, plunging us into darkness. She remained quiet as I lay on my back, staring into the abyss.
It felt strange to be lying next to her and not touching her.
For a while, we lay in silence, the tension in the room palpable — a heavy weight that neither of us knew how to address, and it kept me from falling asleep. After what felt like an eternity, I muttered, "Fuck this."
Without waiting for a response, I pushed myself off the bed, the sudden movement gaining her attention. The rustle of blankets signaled her curiosity as she turned to look back at me. Lifting the blankets, I slid under them and scooted close, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back against my chest.
She fit perfectly.
"Is this okay?" I whispered into her neck.
She didn't reply, but I felt her shift closer to me, her body pressing against mine in silent affirmation. With her familiar form in my embrace and her comforting scent enveloping me, I finally let myself relax, the pressure melting away as sleep began to claim me.