Hate to Love You - Chapter 56: Chapter 56

Tristan
I woke up feeling more rested than I had in... fuck, years probably. No dreams, no tossing and turning — just solid, deep sleep.
My arms instinctively tightened around the woman in my arms, and I buried my face in her hair, breathing her in. She always smelled so good. Despite everything between us, being here felt right, natural even. I wasn't sure how I'd find the strength to walk away again.
Knowing I had to let her go made me pull her even closer, greedily soaking her in while I still had the chance. And then for one agonizing moment, I let myself imagine waking up like this every morning — to her, for the rest of my life, and the hunger for that to be real nearly crippled me.
So I quickly pushed those thoughts aside, knowing they would continue to gnaw at me later. This was a one-time thing, and I had to accept that. She had her dreams, just like I did. And as much as it pained me, I couldn't ask her to stay, not when I understood the importance of a dream.
Or at least, I used to. Lately, mine had started to lose its shine. Football wasn't going so well, and the pressure to keep performing, to not let everyone down, was starting to crush me. I didn't know how to shake the feeling, didn't know how to fix things.
Maybe I was just stressed, but the once exhilarating rush of the game had been replaced by dread, a fear of failure that followed me everywhere.
And yet, even with all that weight on me, I couldn't imagine doing anything else. Football was all I knew, the only thing I'd ever wanted. The thought of walking away from the game that had defined me for so long filled me with a sense of emptiness — a void I didn't know how to fill. I was an athlete through and through, so the thought of sitting at a desk or pursuing a different career path felt foreign and wrong.
Still, I felt like I was reaching a breaking point. Deep down, I knew something had to give, but I had no idea where to start. No, I didn't know how to start. And the thought of admitting that I was struggling made me sick to my stomach.
She was right about one thing though — my past still had a hold on me. I hated thinking about it, hated how out of control and helpless it made me feel. I especially hated the fear it made me relive.
I thought I was making progress, getting better, when I stopped partying and drinking. But after that festival weekend, I realized none of that was the real issue.
I should have known Hannah would force me to confront those aspects of myself, and at first, it pissed me off. Even I knew I got defensive and shut off when anyone tried to help. And that was exactly what Hannah did — because at her core, Hannah was a good person, someone who cared deeply about the people in her life. Beneath her prickly exterior was a heart bigger than anyone realized.
She tried to help me and I pushed her away, ultimately losing her in the process.
Maybe my past would always have a chokehold on me — a part of me believed it always would. I couldn't see myself ever forgetting what happened, and how could I heal from it if I could still remember all the nauseating details, all the things I'd felt in those moments? I didn't know what to do anymore. I was drowning, but too stubborn to ask for help. And the one thing I wanted more than anything else, I couldn't have.
My body tensed as I realized what I had just admitted to myself.
Reluctantly, I released her from my arms and sat up, running a hand through my hair as I tried to make sense of it all. Did that mean I wanted her more than football? Did I have to choose? But I'd already made that choice, and she was leaving.
Rubbing at the ache in my chest, I frowned. I hated this feeling, and something told me it was only going to get worse when she was gone.
Sighing, I glanced at the clock.
"Shit," I hissed, tossing back the blankets and swinging my legs out of bed.
It was nearly ten, and I bet my parents were blowing up my phone at this very moment. Rising from the bed, I grabbed my clothes from the floor and dressed quickly. As I pulled my shirt on, yanking on the hem to straighten it out, I looked back at Hannah. I regretted leaving without a word, but I couldn't bring myself to disturb her peaceful sleep.
I already knew this wasn't going to be the last time I saw her. I'd see her again, even if it was only to say goodbye.
With one last glance back, I quietly left the room, closing the door softly behind me.
°•°•°•°
Hannah
I was sitting on the kitchen counter, busy eating a bowl of cereal while I waited for my toast to pop. I was feeling refreshed after last night, but that didn't surprise me. There was something about being completely enveloped in Tristan's warmth that always guaranteed a good night's sleep.
I'd woken up late to an empty bed. I tried to squash the disappointment at him leaving without a word, again, telling myself it was for the best. He'd probably just gone to meet his parents.
As it was, last night had been a mistake. I shouldn't have let him stay. All I was doing was torturing myself in the process. But despite my better judgment, I'd seen the state he was in — and I'd been powerless to ignore it. I could never turn him away when he looked so defeated. But last night would be the last time — I wouldn't put myself through that again.
The sound of the front door opening snapped me out of my thoughts, drawing my attention to the entranceway. Amanda walked by, and for a second, our eyes met. Her face hardened, and she quickly looked away, rushing upstairs. A moment later, I heard Jenny's voice, then Amanda's muffled response before the slam of her bedroom door echoed through the house.
Jenny's footsteps carried down the rest of the stairs and she walked into the kitchen, pausing when she saw me. "Oh hey, Han."
I tipped my spoon at her in greeting, chewing.
She made her way to the fridge to grab a bottle of water, shooting curious glances in my direction. At first, I couldn't figure out why she was looking at me so weirdly — and then I realized she was curious about what happened with Tristan. She was an early riser, so she had to have been awake when Tristan left — whenever that was, which meant she likely knew he'd stayed the night.
I swallowed and then smirked to myself, quickly covering it up with my spoon. "Beautiful morning, isn't it?"
Taking another bite, I noted her growing frustration with amusement.
"Uh, yes," she replied, her tone slightly off. "It is a rather nice morning, especially for this time of year."
I nodded, agreeing. "Right. It's Thanksgiving in two weeks. I'm sure you're looking forward to spending the day with Matthew's family."
She bit her lip. "I am."
We lapsed into an awkward silence, her gaze boring into me as I ate, searching for any subtle hints without directly asking. I let her stew in that discomfort for a few more long seconds, enjoying the sight of her fidgeting and shuffling from foot to foot.
"Can I help you?" I finally asked, scooping up some milk and slurping it obnoxiously.
Jenny threw her hands up, exasperated. "You obviously know why I'm here. I've been trying to get you to spill for months, and you keep only giving me these juicy little tidbits. Now he's stayed the night, and I need to know... are you two back together? Come on, I'm dying here. We're friends — I feel like we're at a stage where we can tell each other these things."
Were we? I usually hated when people pried into my business. But Jenny wasn't just anyone — she was a friend, one who'd shown herself to be nothing but supportive and accepting. And maybe she could give me some valuable advice. I was tired of trying to analyze Tristan's every word and action on my own, just to try and figure out what he was thinking.
After a moment of contemplation, I replied, "For the record, we were never really together, just sort of in a... situationship. And yeah, last night he stayed over, but nothing happened. Just sleep. He left before I woke up, and he hasn't messaged or anything since. That's pretty much the extent of it. Sorry if it's not as exciting as you thought."
Her expression dropped, a mix of surprise and disappointment. "Really? He seemed pretty concerned about you last night, even banged on our door like a maniac, I thought for sure he was going to finally get his butt in gear."
Sighing, I said, "It's not that he doesn't care. He does. But that's not enough."
"Do you think he's just afraid to commit?" she asked.
I shrugged, setting my empty bowl down and facing her. "It's more complicated than that. Tristan has a lot of baggage he hasn't dealt with. Even if distance wasn't going to be an issue, I don't know if we'd work. We avoid the hard conversations unless I push him or when he's drunk. I understand that I give him a break from all the things bothering him, but we can't just coast on the easy, fun stuff, right?"
"Right," she agreed, her expression softening. "A healthy relationship isn't just the fun stuff."
"Exactly," I replied, grateful for her understanding. "I want the kind of relationship I've never had. I want a relationship where we can grow and overcome difficulties together. I've had some old insecurities resurface because of him, and I need him to be open and honest with me. But I don't want to force him I need him to come to me on his own. I want him to try. That's it — just try."
Jenny nodded and came to stand beside me, leaning against the counter. "Have you told him this? Like, really told him what you want?"
I opened my mouth to say yes, but paused. Had I? I'd told him what I didn't want... wasn't that the same?
"Sort of," I admitted.
Seeing the expression on my face, she gave me a knowing look. "Let me offer you some advice as someone who's navigated a similar relationship with a football player and is now dating said player — you need to communicate very clearly what you want with them or they will never get the hint. I know you want him to come to all of these realizations on his own, and he might for some things, but he's not going to know everything you're thinking. Maybe it's all those knocks to the head, but they are remarkably good at missing the obvious."
I chuckled, though her words sank in. "You're probably right, but not communicating isn't our only problem. He also doesn't want a relationship because he doesn't want a distraction."
She huffed, shaking her head. "Men. I swear they all operate on the same wavelength — always using the same excuses. Matthew was no different. You want to know why? Because I was always the one chasing after him, giving him exactly what he wanted. Remember that piercing? It ended up being a blessing in disguise. It forced me to stop giving him what he wanted. I was too embarrassed to tell him the truth, so I kept making excuses to avoid seeing him, and I was definitely not having sex with him. Suddenly, he was the one chasing after me, asking me to be his girlfriend."
"I think he just panicked and realized he was about to fumble a pretty great woman."
She put a hand on her heart. "Awe. Thank you. If it's any consolation, I think Tristan will live with the regret of losing you for the rest of his life. Let's just hope he doesn't name any of his future kids after you."
If I was drinking anything, I would have spat it out. "Damn. That's dark. I didn't think you had it in you."
She grinned, about to reply when a loud, persistent banging on the front door interrupted us. We exchanged a glance, eyebrows raised.
"Speak of the devil. Do you think that's him?" She asked, eyes wide with mirth.
The banging persisted and a flash of annoyance washed over me. "Your guess is as good as mine. Do you think if we ignore him, he'll get the hint? Or do you think all those knocks to the head have rendered him completely brain-dead?"
She laughed again. "Want me to answer for you?"
I considered her offer. It was tempting to let her handle it, but I knew it wasn't her responsibility to deal with. "Nah, I've got this."
With a sigh, I hopped off the counter and headed toward the door, frowning at the loud, relentless pounding. If this was Tristan, he was about to get an earful. He could've just texted like a normal person.
"Who the fuck is that?" Molly called, sounding irritated, as she appeared at the top of the stairs. A second later, I heard another door open, presumably Amanda as she was the only other one home. Instead of answering, I reached up to unlatch the chain and turned the handle, swinging the door open.
"Are you insa—" The words caught in my throat as I saw the tear-streaked face standing there.
"Beth?"
Before I could say anything else, she lunged at me.