The Boy I Hate

by Taylor Sullivan

  Present day

  By the time they stopped at their next hotel, they’d been on the road for thirteen hours straight. She could hardly see, hardly walk, and Tristan looked much the same.

  Like before, they went to their separate rooms right next door to one another, where Samantha sent a text to check in with Steven, then took a shower and laid out her things for the next morning.

  She was about to climb into bed when a soft tap at her motel door made her heart lurch to her throat. She thought about ignoring it, but it came again, followed by Tristan’s deep voice. “Samantha, it’s me. Are you still awake?”

  She hadn’t turned out the lights yet, so pretending she was already asleep was out of the question. She climbed out of bed, straightened her large t-shirt over her breasts, and opened the door. “Did you need something?” she asked.

  He was wearing the same gray sweats he had on that morning, though now he wore a tank top, cut low on the sides to reveal his arms. He was gripping his skull so hard it looked painful, as he tilted his head in apology. “Sorry to bother you, but I have one hell of a headache. I was wondering if you had any aspirin?”

  He looked so pathetic, she immediately opened the door wider, gesturing for him to come inside. “Yeah, I think I do, let me go check.”

  He walked in and closed the door behind him, where she waved him toward the bed and told him to sit down.

  “How long have you had it?” she asked, digging through her toiletry bag, looking for anything that would help.

  “A few hours…though it keeps getting worse.”

  She paused holding a small bottle of lotion, realizing she’d been sitting beside him in the car and hadn’t noticed. He’d been suffering silently and hadn’t said anything. She found a small bottle of Motrin in the bottom of her makeup bag, filled a glass with water, and brought them over to him.

  “Here, take this,” she said, placing two pills in his hand and waiting for him to take the water.

  He placed them on his tongue, threw his head back, and finished the whole glass. But he didn’t move, only sat there, his eyes still closed as though he was in immense pain.

  She sat down on the bed beside him, feeling helpless and not knowing what else to do.

  He cupped his forehead as though willing it to stop pounding. “Sorry to bombard you like this. I’ll leave in a second—”

  “Stay as long as you need,” she interrupted. Her voice nervous—even to her own ears, but he didn’t seem to notice. He just sat there with his eyes closed, and eventually the crease in his forehead began to soften.

  The sight of it made her relax. Why seeing him in pain bothered her so much she wasn’t sure, but she was anxious for him to start feeling better. She glanced down at the quilted bedspread, finding a loose thread and began wrapping it around her finger. “Honestly, I’m surprised by how not tired I am,” she muttered. Which was the truth. She’d been exhausted just the moment before, but now she had adrenaline pumping through her veins.

  He grinned a little, the action softening his features and making her smile. He nodded then, tilting his head a little to the side. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” She asked.

  “This.”

  He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t ask him to. She looked up again, finding his eyes still closed, and a couple day’s worth of stubble on his cheeks. Though now his hair was damp, and she knew he must have taken a shower. She couldn’t pull her eyes away. They drifted over his perfect arms, to the scar on his right shoulder, where she could see it much better than she had the night before. The room was so quiet you could hear crickets chirping in the background, even the wind whistling softly outside. It was so relaxing she couldn’t keep her mind from wandering—to the night Renee and her family had left on a sudden road trip to visit Tristan. It was three years ago, yet the scar was so pink it almost looked fresh.

  When she looked up again, Tristan’s eyes were on hers. She bit her inner cheek and turned in the opposite direction. “Sorry, I just don’t remember you having that scar last time I saw you.”

  “That’s okay,” he said, and she turned once again to face him. His hand was now on his shoulder, cupping the scar in his palm.

  “Does it still hurt?”

  He shook his head, “Nah. Not really.”

  She pulled her leg up to the bed and began playing with the thread again. “How did it happen?” She was surprised she wanted to know so badly. Surprised that after all these years, she’d healed enough to care.

  “Let’s see…” He looked up to the ceiling, as if thinking about the memory. “It was the end of fall semester my junior year. We were on the road in Colorado and it was raining. I remember calling the play, lining up on the field, calling for the snap of the ball, and that’s about it. The next thing I remember was waking up in the dark hospital room. My arm was in some kind of traction device, and I had tubes coming out of everywhere.”

  He glanced over at her and shrugged. “That was the last time I played for Texas U. I lost my scholarship, had to start over.”

  Her brow furrowed, and she glanced down to his shoulder again, but now her chest was tight, and she had to clear her throat to hold back tears. “How did you manage? Having something you loved ripped away from you like that?”

  He met her eyes, almost as though the question shocked him. “It was easier for me than it was for my dad, let’s put it that way.”

  She closed her eyes briefly, because his answer hit way too close to home. Tristan was the pride and joy of his father… just as she was for her parents, being the only child. Personal failures felt much less personal, and so much heavier because of letting them down. She swallowed back emotion but nodded.

  They were both quite a good while, before he glanced down at her iPod that lay in the middle of the bed. He hesitated for only a moment before picking it up and turning toward her. “What are you listening to?”

  It was the first time he’d shown any interest in her books, and she pulled in a deep sigh before answering. “Nothing you’d be interested in.”

  “Try me.”

  She plucked the iPod from his hand and placed it on the nightstand. “The Princess Bride.”

  A grin teased at his lips. “A fairy tale.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, I like fairy tales.”

  She grinned. “Oh yeah, what’s your favorite?”

  He leaned back on his elbows and looked up the the ceiling. “Hmmm…I would have to say, Beauty and the Beast.”

  “Really?” She bit her lower lip and wrinkled her nose with disbelief.

  “Yeah, it’s relatable.”

  “Why, because you’re the beauty?”

  He frowned, shaking his head as he rose to his feet. He handed her the empty glass. “The opposite actually.”

  She tilted her head, but remained quiet.

  He turned toward the door, before she could recover enough to respond, but glanced back over his shoulder, almost as an afterthought. “Thank you for the Motrin. I feel much better.”

  She stood up, realizing she didn’t really want him to go. But she followed him to the door, where he quickly exited, but turned one last time around.

  “See you in the morning, Samantha.”

  She nodded, leaning her head against the doorframe. “See ya.”

  It was past four in the afternoon when they stopped for gas in Chippewa, Nebraska. The weather was cold and foggy, but a small cafe was just across the road, promising the best split pea soup in town. Samantha climbed out of the Mustang, trying to shake the tingles from her legs where they’d fallen asleep, but it wasn’t quite working. She found herself holding onto the side of the car to catch her balance.

  Even though she still had enough snacks to keep a small football team satisfied for a weekend, she was excited for the excuse to get out of the car for a while. To warm her body from the inside out with a hot cup of soup.

  Tristan got out of the car and stre
tched his arms above his head—which lifted his hoodie just enough to make his stomach visible. “I’ll fill up,” he yawned. “Why don’t you go get us a table?”

  Samantha raised her eyes, hoping he hadn’t caught her staring. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.” She grabbed hold of her bag from the front seat, then proceeded to limp-walk on pins and needles across the street.

  They’d been on the road for over six hours. Six hours of talking about nothing—and about all the things that had been going on in their lives over the past few years. She never thought she’d have five words to say to Tristan after their night together, yet talking to him now came remarkably easy. He listened, which surprised her. Really listened, in a way that reminded her of Renee. She liked that. Liked how he made what she was saying important enough to pay attention to.

  She pushed open the door to the cafe, where a large chalkboard told her to seat herself. A glance around the restaurant revealed a bar with classic red and chrome bar stools, and booths that had mini jukeboxes in the middle of each one.

  Opting for a booth, she settled herself into the closest one that had a nice view of the street. A server pushed through the double doors a moment later and came over to say hello. Her hair was red, done up in a style that reminded Samantha of I Love Lucy, and her pink pinafore only added to the ensemble. She was young and pretty though, and had a sweetness about her that made Samantha smile.

  “Howdy,” the girl said, as she leaned against the booth. “Welcome to Peggy’s Cafe. Best split pea soup in Chippewa.”

  Samantha smiled, knowing this was the only restaurant in Chippewa, but she kept that bit of info to herself. “Thank you. It’s nice to be off the road and stretching my legs for a bit.”

  The server grinned, set two menus on the table and tilted her head. “I’m guessing you folks aren’t from ’round here.”

  Samantha opened her menu, perplexed by the fact the server knew she wasn’t alone and glanced over all the full color images of sandwiches, soups and salads. “California,” she answered.

  “Ooooh… I’ve been there once. To Malibu. I’d give my right tit just to go back for a weekend and get out of this cold.” She sighed and took her tablet from the pocket. “Where y’all headed? You and that hot piece of somethin’ you have ’cross the street.”

  Samantha glanced out the window, slightly shocked by the girl’s choice of words, and found Tristan in the parking lot. He was the only person she could have been talking about, and Samantha nearly choked at the realization. “Are you talking about Tristan?” she asked, turning quickly around.

  “Well I ain’t talkin’ ’bout Jesus, sweetheart. ’Course I’m talking about him, though I have to admit, I am right jealous.”

  “Oh. Well, no need to be jealous. He’s not mine.” She adjusted in her seat then glanced back at the menu. “We’re only driving together.”

  “Bullshit.” The server coughed, then sat quickly sat in the seat across from her. “I mean, I don’t mean to pry—and my lady bits just tingled at the possibility of him being single, but no man looks at a woman like that, without somethin’ goin’ on.”

  Samantha followed the girl’s line of vision, and found Tristan standing at the gas pump, filling the Mustang with fuel—and looking directly at her.

  She turned away.

  “See.” The girl laughed. But her eyebrows rose as though she’d proven her point.

  Samantha shook her head, resisting the urge to look again. “What kind of cheese do you use on your sandwiches?” she asked instead, hoping the change in subject wouldn’t go unnoticed.

  “Wisconsin cheddar,” the server answered quickly, without skipping a beat. “So what’s your story? If he’s not yours, why are you driving alone together all the way from Cali?”

  Samantha cleared her throat, tempted to call the manager and complain about this nosey server, but for some reason she felt the need to set her straight. “My best friend is getting married,” she stated. “That hot piece of something is her brother.”

  The girl raised her brows in an all-knowing sort of way and laughed. “Well shoot! This trip gets juicier and juicer.”

  Samantha slapping the menu down to the table. “No. It’s not like that. I have a boyfriend.”

  “Ho-le-shit!” the girl called. “And he let you drive cross country with him?”

  Samantha frowned. “He trusts me.”

  The server scoffed. “Trust only takes you so far—”

  Samantha had enough. She looked the server dead in the eye, taking a deep breath before speaking. “Can we have two coffees please? With cream?”

  The girl must have taken the hint, because she cleared her throat, narrowing her eyes as she stood from the table. She straightened her pinafore, picked up her tablet from where she had laid it on the table, then scribbled down a few notes. “Anything else?” she asked begrudgingly.

  “No,” Samantha uttered. “That will be all.”

  But as soon as the server walked through the double doors to the back room, Samantha found herself looking for Tristan again through the window. He was still standing at the pump talking on the phone, his other hand in his pocket, and his eyes were locked right on her. He waved, sending goose bumps and tingles loose throughout her entire body. She glanced back at the menu again, realizing she hadn’t felt this way in six years. Not since she was sixteen years old, and she sat too close to her best friend’s brother.

  God save her soul.

  14

  Chapter Fourteen

  Six years earlier

  Familiar faces filled the downstairs great room in the Montgomerys’ home. Just like they had nearly every other weekend before Tristan went off to college. It was like a reunion of sorts. The past year’s senior football team, now mixed with new faces. Some from Samantha’s class, and some the year ahead, all laughing, and flirting, and messing around.

  Samantha sat at the bar with Renee and a boy from their biology class. But all she could think about was how Tristan had stared at her all throughout dinner. Not really stared, but she caught him looking a time or two. When she was buttering her roll, she caught him. And again, when she’d glanced up to look for the saltshaker. Honestly, it sent tiny butterflies loose all throughout her belly. But at the same time, it made her think about their kiss. The kiss she still hadn’t told Renee about.

  The kiss that had the potential to ruin their friendship.

  She tried to push the thoughts away, but the more time she spent, the more it became impossible. In fact, she found herself watching him now. Witnessing the cocky grin as he passed one of his teammates and headed for the garage.

  Her heart began to thud in her chest. Because now was her chance. To talk to him. To make sure everything was cool, so he would never say anything to Renee. As she swiveled in her chair, her heart felt like it was about to explode, but she stood up and pushed through the crowd of people as quickly as she could. She raked her teeth over her bottom lip, heading for the hall with sweaty hands. She wiped them over her jeans, then reached for the garage door. It came swinging toward her, nearly knocking her flat. She stumbled backward, almost knocking against the wall behind her, but Tristan caught her by the wrist. He yanked her forward, his other hand catching her at the waist to hold her steady—and his bright blue eyes bore into hers.

  Her heart stopped beating.

  Not because of the fear of a fall, or because they were alone for the first time since their kiss. It was because of the way he held her. His hand touching the sliver of skin between her shirt and jeans. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, so large in comparison to her own. It was almost as if they were dancing.

  She licked her lips, knowing she should pull away, but she couldn’t. By now, she was more experienced than she had been last summer. Having been kissed and touched more times than she could count…but it was different with Tristan. She couldn’t help but notice that. Like a sort of electric current pulsing under her skin and making her all senses wake up. She didn’t
want it to end. She craved it. Like a drug so addictive it scared the crap out of her.

  She opened her mouth to speak, to say what she came to say, but all the words were stuck at the back of her throat. It was as though her body was holding them captive, knowing that if it let them out, this moment would end. So she stood there, the silence almost like a bandage, clouding the memory of him pressing that girl against the table. Healing all the hurts she’d denied for so long.

  Someone called her name from afar, and she looked up in time to see Steven round the corner from the living room.

  “Oh hey,” he said. But his expression instantly changed. From happy to surprised, then confused.

  Samantha stepped away, tucking her hair behind her ear with nervous fingers. “I um—was just going to get a drink,” she gestured a hand to Tristan, knocking into one of Mrs. Montgomery’s vases on the table. She paused to take a breath, straightening the vase before it fell, thankful for the excuse to look at anything beside the two men in front of her.

  “You remember Renee’s brother?” Samantha asked, after too much silence. “He’s visiting from college.”

  Steven held out his hand to Tristan, completely oblivious and composed—as though he hadn’t been witness to their compromising position a moment earlier. “Steven Mathers,” he said. “Samantha’s boyfriend.” They shook hands, then Steven looked down to Tristan’s walking boot and frowned. “I think I remember you from West Valley. Quarterback, right?”

  Tristan glanced over at Samantha, but only for a second. “Yeah, I think I remember you.”

  Steven nodded, backing away, and grabbed hold of Samantha’s hand. Not hard, but in a way that showed possession. “You’re visiting?” he asked, drawing out the last word with a note of suspicion.

  “Yep. Just for the weekend.”

  Samantha searched for something to say, anything at all that would make things any less awkward, but she couldn’t think of anything. Because all she could think about was how a brief touch from Tristan had sent heat through her whole body, but now, holding Steven’s hand, all she felt was the slight perspiration that glued their hands together.