Hate to Love You - Chapter 64: Chapter 64

Hannah
When I woke up the next morning, Tristan was gone, but this time he left a note saying he'd be back again tonight. I think I reread that note a hundred times throughout the day—not just because I missed him, but because I was still trying to wrap my head around us being a couple.
During the day, communication was a challenge with my broken phone so I had no way of talking to him. On the bright side, my mother tolerated Bailey enough to let her call using my mom's phone to talk to me. While Bailey chatted, I typed messages, though I couldn't tell her much, knowing my mom would definitely read them. Bailey understood without needing an explanation and promised to visit soon.
My mother had me drinking gallons of ginger tea. I was starting to hate the taste, but even I had to admit that it helped with the inflammation. Most of the time I was in my room watching something on my laptop, only interrupted when my mother brought more tea. Jace was back at school, so I only saw him in the evenings when he came to bug me. He did that sibling thing where he'd randomly walk into my room, stare at me, hang around, or turn and leave. We even had a couple of movie nights together. Doctor's orders weren't about to turn my home life into a living hell.
Besides that, I was left waiting for Tristan. It was hard to keep the anticipation at bay every night when I counted the minutes until he'd be here. I made sure not to take any of my meds before his visits, wanting to be fully present when I was with him. This time, though, I laid out a notebook and pen, just in case I needed to write something down.
One night, Tristan decided to explore my room — all the while asking me yes-or-no questions about everything. It was fun lying on my side, watching as he examined each item with care. Sometimes his observations shocked me — like when he found my old childhood teddy bear and remarked on how clean and intact it was, nearly perfect. And then he correctly guessed that it was because of my mom, who never let me get any of my toys dirty or broken. My dolls were in the same pristine condition.
He added that his sister's dolls weren't as lucky — all of them had been brutally killed off by the time she was a teenager. Some by decapitation, some because they were too ugly to keep existing and required a Viking funeral. Their parents weren't too happy with them when they accidentally set the trash bin on fire during one of these send-offs.
It made me feel vulnerable on a level I hadn't before, but I liked it. I loved how curious he was about my life, even the sadder parts. There was a lot to unpack, a lot I hadn't even begun to work through, but I promised myself that I would tell him everything eventually — even the things I'd rather forget or had forgotten.
We had the rest of our lives for that, right?
Inevitably, he'd climb into bed with me, pressing close because it was only a twin bed, but neither of us complained. We usually slept tangled together, one of my legs always thrown over him. That didn't mean I never missed his giant bed, or at the very least, my own. There was just something about a big bed and a man who knew what to do in it.
Sometimes I'd write questions in the notebook, and he'd patiently answer all of them. Other times, he'd kiss and touch me, but they were innocent touches, and the kisses never escalated into anything else because he didn't want to risk hurting me. While I missed the sex, and being petted every night wasn't helping things, I found myself enjoying just listening to him talk.
Before, it had been rare for him to open up about his trauma, but now, he answered everything I asked with honesty. Sometimes, I could sense his reluctance, but he pushed through, determined to keep his promise to be open with me.
He spoke about his team and the struggles he faced with them, about his insecurities and fears. And he went into even more detail about his stalker — describing every encounter and how she harassed him for months before the incident. He even opened up about his parents, giving me glimpses into their relationship and how it shaped him.
Half a week into our nightly sleepovers, I was lying on my back, legs draped over his bent knees as he lay on his side, curled around me. I could feel him breathing against me, and it made me feel aware of him in a way I'd never felt with anyone else. Who knew that the sound of Tristan's breathing would become my favorite sound? No, wait — his laugh was my favorite. But I also liked when he sang. And his sex noises...
I smiled to myself — shaking my head slightly to clear the wandering thoughts.
Lifting my pen to the paper, I wrote the final question that had been plaguing me since I found out about her:
What happened to her? Aren't you ever worried she'll come back?
He read the words and went silent, his expression shifting to something more somber. Then, he kissed my forehead and said simply, "No. She won't be coming back."
I frowned at his vague answer, wanting to understand how he could be so certain. The woman he'd described seemed dangerous, and by my logic, there was no reason she wouldn't return.
"She died three months after. She had an inoperable brain tumor."
My eyes rounded and I quickly turned my head to meet his gaze. She was dead?
It took a few long seconds for the information to sink in, but it started to make sense. When I thought about Tristan's past behavior, he'd acted way too reckless and careless to be worried about her return. Sure, he'd been wary about the messages, but even then, he believed me when I said it was just an overzealous fan.
He continued, Her parents sent an email through my lawyer to tell me what happened. In the three months after she tried to..." He paused, pulling me closer. "I hardly slept, I couldn't concentrate, couldn't eat — and when I did sleep, I was woken up by fucked-up nightmares. I hid it well from others — moving into my new place alone helped — but I was barely functioning."
His hand found its usual resting spot on my stomach, slipping under my shirt. "But when I got that email, all I felt was relief. I think I took my first deep breath right then, and it was like this weight had been lifted off my shoulders. But it never fully went away. I stopped drinking because a part of me blamed the alcohol. And I stopped the excess partying because maybe I shouldn't have been so out of control in the first place. I know better now, but back then, I was operating from a place of fear."
I placed my hand on his, a small comforting gesture that I knew he appreciated because he turned his hand over and interlaced our fingers, stroking my skin with his thumb.
"I felt like the biggest piece of shit after being relieved by the news of her death, but as twisted as it sounds, things did get easier. I threw myself into football, thinking that if I could just focus on my future, I could bury the past. If I could just achieve all my goals, I would live up to the name Tristan Beckett — because to be Tristan Beckett is to be perfect. But being that guy isn't all it's cracked up to be." He chuckled dryly. "To live up to that name, I couldn't afford to show any weaknesses. No slacking off. There was no more room for fear... love."
I listened, my heart aching for him. I wondered if he still felt disconnected from his name. No, not his name — because Tristan Beckett was just another role he played, an identity that ultimately provided him with a safety net. I wondered if he still felt that disconnect from himself.
"And for a while, it worked. But you were right. I was prolonging the inevitable by not dealing with my shit. I thought I was getting past it, but I was just feeding into coping mechanisms." He sighed, lifting his hand from mine to brush his hair back from his face with his fingers.
"The first girl I, for lack of better words — fucked, was after a game with one of our rivals, and we'd won. I was riding the high when she first approached and touched me. I actively had to stop myself from ripping her hand off me. All I could feel was her, and that pissed me off. But I needed the release, and I needed to replace those memories, so I pushed through the disgust. It was never about the women. The next girl was easier to be with, and so was the next."
Maybe some girls wouldn't want to hear about their partner's past like this,but I only felt proud of the self-reflection he was doing. This was the Tristan I wanted — the man I could see in my future. He might've seen it as a weakness, but I only saw his strength, and it left me in awe. It was these parts of him that gave me every reason to keep fighting for this.
Because this could end in heartbreak again, and I knew that it would hurt so much more. In some ways, breaking up with Tristan had been easier than Dylan, but that was because I was a different person when Tristan and I broke up.
Dylan had been the image of freedom I'd desperately held onto — just a naive girl's dream of a white knight coming to save her. Back then, he was my entire reason for being, as dumb as that sounds now. I no longer needed a man to give me purpose, but in some ways, Tristan felt like more. I hadn't had any expectations when we started this, but we'd become so much more.
One thing I regretted was transferring some of my bad habits from my relationship with Dylan to Tristan — like not speaking up about my internal struggles. I tended to keep those parts of myself hidden from my partners because I was terrified they'd hate or reject them. I promised to break those habits and share my heart with Tristan, just as he'd been doing with me.
So, each night, I wrote my questions, and he whispered his answers. Inevitably, I would get tired first and his voice would lull me to sleep. I barely registered when he would tidy up, tucking the sketchpad and pen away, and ensuring the blankets were snug around us before wrapping his arms around me and joining me in sleep. Then he'd wake up at an ungodly hour and leave, just as quietly as he'd arrived.
I knew he never woke me up because I liked my sleep, but it still made me feel guilty knowing he drove two hours every night to see me, stayed only a couple of hours, and then left early for another two-hour drive back. He continued to blow my mind with his thoughtfulness, all the while raising my standards from the abysmal levels Dylan had left them at.
While he was gone during the day, I had a lot to think about. I still missed him, but my mind wandered to other things... like Topeka and what it was going to be like.
I'd built my entire life at Dale — it had become my refuge, the place where I found healing and purpose after Dylan. When he was still a student here, I never had to worry about running into him because his classes were on the other side of campus — not that he ever went to any of them.
When he graduated, everything became even better. The library became my sanctuary, and I had been lucky with my professors. They were all experts in their fields, and it was really convenient having people I truly respected available for help at any time. A couple of them had even been sad to learn of my departure.
And while things still weren't the best in my communal house, I dreaded the thought of having to go through all of that again with new people and new places.
The thought of starting over with new people and new places felt overwhelming. But all of these musings came to a head on the third day of my confinement, when Jace was eating Fruit Loops while I forced down plain yogurt for my throat. We were sitting at the kitchen table when he asked, "Why do you even have to leave in the first place? Can't you do that stuff here?"
I didn't have an answer for him.
Was it because my advisor said I should? Was it because I couldn't complete my internship here? No, that wasn't true. I had options here too. I had purposely chosen Kansas because it was closer to home, but why was I fixating on somewhere close to home when what I really wanted was to be home? Jace was right — why did I have to leave?
It wasn't to find my independence. I gained that when I left home for the second time. I had no burning desire to meet new people or make new friends, I was a hermit content with the ones I already had. So, really, why was I leaving?
That question stayed with me. My mind ran through many different scenarios, first picturing what it would be like to leave, and then picturing what it would be like if I stayed. I'd have Tristan for a few more months. Sure, he'd eventually get drafted but that was only early next year. We'd still have a couple of months together. Ultimately, I wouldn't be staying for a man, but rather my intent to continue my studies here. Though, I couldn't lie — he certainly made the decision easier.
When I made up my mind, the first thing I did was email my advisor to find out if I could even stay. It might have been too late to change my mind. Worst case, I could reapply to Dale — though I knew Ms Harold would make it an easier process than that.
While I waited for a response, I checked my inbox for any updates from Beth's mom, Noel, but still nothing. The silence from the police and Beth herself only added to my frustration. I was at a loss for what to do, and the solution was evading me.
Sighing, I took a sip of my ginger tea, the warmth soothing my throat. Setting the cup aside, I got up and walked over to my mirror. And then, slowly and meticulously, I peeled off the bandages around my neck.
It wasn't as tender as before, and the bruise had faded from its vivid purple hue to a mottled yellow. Just then, Jace kicked open the door and walked in, stopping when he saw what I was doing.
"Should you be doing that?" he asked, stepping further into my room to get a better look, acting like I was some kind of circus monkey.
I shrugged, poking at the yellow blotches. "I don't know. But it's itching like crazy, and I really want a proper shower. Besides, I'm feeling much better today. It only hurts if I press down on it."
Oh — and I could talk again.
My voice was still raspy and strained, and I couldn't shout or speak for long stretches, but it was progress. I hadn't mentioned anything to Tristan, though. I was waiting until I could hold a proper conversation with him — which would be tonight, after his game.
Despite my insisting that he stay home and get some rest, or at least go to the afterparty with his team, he wouldn't budge, citing he had a limited amount of time with me.I still hadn't told him I was staying because I was waiting for Ms. Harold's final confirmation.
Jace sidled up next to me, our eyes meeting in the mirror. "Well... at least it's not bad enough that you have to wear a bag over your head when Tristan visits."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "You should wear a bag regardless. I'm tired of being subjected to your face every day — it's not very feng shui." Tilting my head to the side, I assessed the rest of the damage.
He frowned. "It's not very what?"
I smirked. "I win. You can't ask me to explain my insults."
"That's cheating! You can't just drop gibberish, and act like you've won when I get confused. I demand a rematch, and no fake words this time!"
I smiled at my reflection in the mirror. I felt a lot more calm and at peace now that I knew I would be staying close to the people I loved, especially Jace. I wouldn't lie and say I hadn't been dreading leaving him to deal with our parents and life alone. He was my baby brother, and no matter how much of a little shit he was, I would always be there for him.