Hate to Love You - Chapter 57: Chapter 57

Tristan
"I'm here to meet my parents. They should already have a table," I said to the hostess, who was bent over the podium at the restaurant's entrance.
She looked up, and her dark blue eyes widened when she saw me standing in front of her. A faint blush covered her cheeks as her gaze traveled down the length of my body before she quickly straightened and cleared her throat, gripping the sides of the podium like her life depended on it.
"Good morning," she greeted nervously, glancing down at the reservation list. "Do you know their table number?"
I tucked my hands into my pockets, looking past her to scan the dining area. "No, but I'll recognize them when I see them."
She nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Alright, sir — follow me then."
Sir. I couldn't help but hear Hannah's laughter echoing in my ears. She'd probably milk that word for all it was worth, teasing me relentlessly until I toppled her onto the nearest available surface and kissed her senseless.
A sharp pang stabbed at my chest, stealing the air from my lungs and momentarily halting my steps. I had to force myself to shake it off and keep walking.
As I trailed behind the nervous girl who kept glancing back to make sure I was following her. My mind, however, was already back with Hannah. I wondered if she was awake yet, angry or relieved that I'd left. I mulled over whether to head back to her place after lunch with my parents, but something told me it might not be the best idea. I kinda got the impression that I'd caught her at a weak moment last night. Not to mention, she'd told me that last night was a one-time deal.
"Do you see them?"
The hostess's voice snapped me out of my musings, and I realized we'd arrived at the main dining area. Searching the room, I found my parents sitting on the open balcony. My Dad, towering over everyone else, sat quietly while Mom animatedly talked his ears off.
Today, my mother's dark hair was loose, hanging down her back in thick waves, a stark contrast against the white shirt with poofy sleeves that she wore. Despite being a mom of three — having my sister when she was nineteen, followed by my brother at twenty-two, and then me at twenty-four — she looked as youthful as ever, thanks to our family's active lifestyle.
I didn't need to point them out because my mom had already spotted me, waving enthusiastically as she stood up from her chair with a bright smile. Dad turned to follow her gaze, frowning as his eyes landed on me. I could feel the disapproval from across the room, and I knew it was because of my disappearing act last night and my fashionably late entrance this morning. Probably because of my game last night too.
Weaving through the tables, I noticed a few heads turning my way. No shocker there — I was pretty recognizable around these parts, even to the locals. I just hoped nobody decided to try and stop me for a quick chat or to ask for anything because I was not feeling up to it. But thankfully, no one tried anything.
Facing me again, the girl announced, "I'll be back. I just need to get you a menu. Do you need anything else in the meantime?"
I caught the hopeful glimmer in her eyes and shook my head. "I'm good, thanks."
As I approached the table, my mother reached out with both arms and I went to her immediately, wrapping my arms around her and squeezing tight.
"There's my very-late, very-handsome baby boy," My mother laughed, patting my back. "We thought you were never going to get here."
"Hey, Ma," I mumbled, burying myself in her embrace and soaking in her familiar presence. Closing my eyes, I let out a breath, feeling some of the tension leave my body.
"Hello, darling," she greeted, trying to pull back to get a good look at me. But I didn't let go just yet. This was my mother, I hadn't seen her in weeks and my life felt like it was falling to shit — so I held onto her for a little while longer. She didn't say anything about my unusual behavior and just patted my back in quiet understanding.
Because we were in the middle of a restaurant and I was acutely aware of the eyes on us, I finally let go and stepped back to look at my dad.
"Hey, Dad." I gave him a nod as a greeting.
"Son." He returned my nod before gesturing at the third chair at the table. "Sit down, we have a lot to discuss this mornin'."
I groaned inwardly but didn't argue. I settled into the chair, spreading my legs out to get comfortable.
Once Mom sat back down, she shot Dad a warning look before turning her attention to me. "What your father means is we just want to catch up. How have you been? You look like you've lost some weight. Have you been eating enough? You don't seem like your usual self."
I winced at the concern in her voice, guilt prickling at me. "I'm okay, Ma. It's just been a rough week."
My dad arched an eyebrow at that, cutting straight to the point. "Is that why you missed our dinner with Coach Morey last night?"
I sighed, leaning back into my chair. "Something came up — I wasn't trying to avoid the dinner. What'd I miss? Anything important?"
"Your future, son," he replied, folding his arms and fixing me with a serious look. "Clark also mentioned somethin' has been botherin' you all week. Want to tell us what's goin' on?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Patrick. Stop the interrogation," my mom interrupted with an eye roll. She turned to me with a softer expression. "Tristan, your father's just worried. We both are. You look a lot better than yesterday, but I'm still not convinced you're okay, especially after that hug. You know you can talk to us about anything, right?"
I knew that. I knew my dad wanted what was best for me, and that if I spoke up, he'd support me. So why couldn't I bring myself to say anything?
Mustering up a smile, I dodged their concerns. "Don't sweat it, it's just some stuff with the team. I've got it handled."
My mom didn't look convinced, her brows knitting together like she wanted to press further, but just then, the hostess from earlier reappeared, and I silently thanked her for the interruption.
"Here's your menu," she said, sounding more confident this time as she handed it to me rather than just dropping it on the table. I could've sworn her hair looked different too.
"Thanks," I acknowledged, taking it from her and setting it down. But she lingered, clearly waiting for something. Irritation flared, but I forced a polite smile. "I'll need a few more minutes."
Her cheeks flushed, and she backed off. "Of course, pardon me, sir." And then she scurried away, clearly a little embarrassed.
"I wonder what happened to our previous waiter," my mom mused, sipping her water.
My dad just watched me with an unreadable expression.
Trying to shift the conversation, I asked about their recent trip to Italy, and my mom launched into a detailed account. I gave it my best shot, but I found myself zoning out after a while. My gaze remained fixed on her, but I heard nothing — my mind was elsewhere.
"Tristan?"
I snapped back to attention, finding her frowning at me. "Yeah?"
"Are you even listening to anything I'm telling you?"
"Sorry, Ma," I answered sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck. "Got lost in thought. Do you want to repeat what you were saying?"
She pursed her lips, and my dad covered her hand with his. "Violet, he hasn't been listenin' since you started. He's distracted by somethin' else."
I opened my mouth to defend myself, but his pointed stare silenced me.
"Is it a girl?" he asked bluntly.
It probably didn't help my case when I tensed as soon as he asked the question. I held his stare, my fist curling into a ball on the tablecloth.
"Why are you asking me that?"
Dad's lips curved into a knowing smile. "I know you better than you think. And I know when you've lost interest in everythin' else — it's because you have somethin' else currently holdin' all your interest."
Mom's eyes widened as she looked between us. "Is your dad right? Is there a girl?"
My first instinct was to lie, to brush it off — but I just couldn't bring myself to deny Hannah's existence. What did it matter, anyway? We weren't together.
"And if there was?"
"Wait, really? Why did you never tell us about her?" My mom's voice carried a hint of hurt.
"Because it's complicated. And because I knew Dad wouldn't be happy about it," I retorted.
"I'm not happy about it. And you know exactly why," Dad cut in.
Right. Because when my dad was in college, on a sports scholarship that forbade him from working, he met my mother after accidentally hitting her with a ball on the campus lawn. And because us Beckett men have a weakness for women with an attitude, he did everything he could to have her.
One thing led to another, and my sister was on the way before either of them were ready. And Texas wasn't so great about abortions...
So, faced with the choice of staying another year to pursue the draft or dropping out to support his new family, my dad chose the latter. Being a man raised old school on a Texan ranch, he left school, started a construction business with my granddad, and made sure my mom finished her degree and pursued her dream of becoming an interior designer. Over time, my brother was born, then me. Now, with all of us out of the house, they were taking a well-earned break, traveling while they were still young enough to enjoy it.
However, despite achieving success, my father had given up on his dreams, and while I don't think he regretted having us, I do think he regretted having us so soon. As a result, my upbringing was shadowed by his words of caution — to be safe, to be disciplined. And after that night, it only cemented his words in my brain, deepened that fear to the point where I sought to control it, rather than let it control me. But now Hannah had me doubting everything. It felt like my entire foundation was beginning to crumble beneath my feet.
One thing was for certain. This hopelessness was making me angry, and I was reaching my breaking point.
I glared at my dad. "What's so wrong about having a girlfriend? What's so wrong about choosing to spend time with someone I like — who makes me laugh, and who makes me happy? For the past two years, I've been stuck in this endless cycle, pretending to be something I'm not, running on autopilot, just to fit into this image that everyone has of me. But with her, it's different. When I'm with her, I can finally just be me. I can be imperfect, and flawed, and she accepts me for who I am. She's like a breath of fresh air."
Both my parents stayed silent as I spoke, simply listening and waiting for me to finish.
"Is she a distraction? Hell yeah. But she's a distraction I need. I don't want to be thinking about football 24/7. And when I'm having a bad day, she's there. I think about her all the time because she's so goddamn perfect. And despite all that, I play just fine. Maybe even better because I want to impress her. Because I feel good when I'm with her."
I took a breath, my chest tight. "And I've been trying to stay away from her, but I can't. I'm so fucking miserable when I'm not with her. I am tired of you pushing your mistakes and your regrets onto me. Is football really more important to you than my happiness?" My heart pounded as I finished, my breath coming faster.
What the absolute fuck was wrong with me? How did I ever think I could live without her?
She was my person. My friend, my confidante, my world. And the chaotic peace inside of me told me what I'd been so in denial about — I couldn't carry on without her.
And she was right — I wasn't okay, and my current pace was anything but sustainable. The cracks were already starting to show, and if I didn't sort out my shit soon, I'd crumble to pieces. I didn't know where to start, but I knew it needed to happen right away. Especially if I wanted her to take me back.
Maybe I'd start by letting myself let go of the ropes a little and not feel guilty about it — the guys had already shown me that they wanted to help, I just had to be better at letting them. But that was easier said than done. I couldn't slack off either — my future still demanded everything I had. I just didn't have to face it alone anymore.
And then there was the issue of my public image. Sure, it was essential for my career, but did I have to be that guy all the time? It was exhausting, trying to maintain that facade day in and day out. Even with my closest friends, the dynamics were skewed — I was their captain, after all.
At that moment, though, the only thing I was sure of was that I wasn't letting her go. We'd figure this out, even if it meant doing the long-distance thing. Anything was fine as long as I had her. But I couldn't expect her to keep dealing with all my issues. I wanted to give her the best version of myself. It was obvious now — I needed help.
I needed a lot of things. I needed her, I needed to have a serious conversation with her because... I loved her.
I was an idiot.
I loved her.
"I'm in love with her." I tested the words out loud, tasting them and liking how sweet they sounded. It freaked me out, but in the best way possible.
"Well, that was quite..." My mom blinked and looked at my dad, who was watching me with an intense expression.
The weight of what I'd just confessed hit me — and there was no taking it back. I gripped the arms of the chair and muttered, "Shit," and stood up.
"I need to go," I announced, and moved to leave, but my dad's voice stopped me.
"Sit down."
"Dad—"
"We aren't done talking. You've said your piece, now let us say ours."
"Darling, you haven't eaten yet," my mom added, gently imploring me to stay.
I glanced over at the exit, my path to Hannah — and sighed. I'd already bailed on them once, and they were leaving after this. And truth be told, we needed to have a serious conversation too. Reluctantly, I sank back into my chair, earning a pleased smile from my mom.
With one final glance at the door, I looked at my dad. My mom placed her hand over his, and they intertwined their fingers.
My dad spoke first. "It was never about football — it's always been about you. When we dropped you off for your first day on campus, and a woman with large..." he cleared his throat, avoiding my mother's gaze. "When she walked past and winked at you, you laughed and said college was going to be a lot of fun. I knew then that you weren't going to take things too seriously. I just hoped you'd find the balance between focusing on the game and enjoying yourself. And for the most part, you did."
He leaned forward, pride shining in his eyes.
"Because you love the game. It runs through your veins, maybe even more than it did for me. I see it on your face when you're out there. You own that field. Did I want you to waste that talent? No. But did I ever put that above your happiness? Never," he said, his tone unwavering. "I let you have your fun, but I regretted not putting my foot down sooner when you were forced to pay the ultimate price. I didn't blame you, because how could I? You didn't know any better. I blamed myself for not teaching you better, for not protecting you. And as a result, I was forced to watch my son fight for his life in a hospital bed." My mother squeezed his hand, looking down as she remembered that time.
"I was angry. I wanted to see that girl and her family suffer for what she did to you, but your mother convinced me to ask you what you wanted. And when I spoke to you, you asked me to make it go away. So that's what I did. We listened to the lawyer's advice, and I made sure you were shielded from as much of it as possible."
I clenched my teeth, looking away. "I didn't know that. I can't remember too much from that night, and the stuff I do remember..."
"Sweetie," My mother's other hand reached across the table, finding my fist and stroking my knuckles with her thumb. "We didn't know you needed help. You seemed fine after, better even. We thought you'd chosen to move on. You were calmer, taking football more seriously. You were so happy."
My father jerked his head in agreement. "You weren't relying on just your talent anymore. You were working harder, and that earned you the captaincy. I chose to push you harder because I thought you were ready to take this more seriously." He sighed. "You can have a girlfriend, Tristan, but only if you're serious about her. I want to know that you aren't wasting your time or risking your future over some temporary obsession. I want you to be able to look me in the eyes and tell me she's the one you intend to marry before you tell me you love her."
I felt a certainty I hadn't felt in so long deep in my chest, where it wouldn't leave, and I gave my dad a firm nod. "She's it for me."
"You're still young," he warned.
"I'm older than you were when you met Mom. Did you choose wrong?" I challenged.
Mom laughed, taking another sip of her water.
My dad chuckled, shaking his head. "Fair enough. But heed my warning, boy — I'll kick your ass if you're wrong about her. I don't need you wasting mine or your mother's time. You know better than to bring home a girl you aren't serious about."
"Trust me, you'll understand when you meet her." I grinned, excited at the thought.
Setting down her glass, my mom smiled at me warmly. "I think it's time you finally tell us everything, darling. But first — what's her name? I'm dying to know."
Despite the frustration of not being with Hannah right now, I felt lighter than I had in years. Smiling, I began to tell them all about the woman I loved.