Steven carried on about his grandparents, and how everyone had fallen asleep while watching Downton Abbey. Tristan listened to every word. Laughing at the appropriate times, even nodding and commenting when appropriate, but he never looked at Samantha again.
She grew increasingly nervous, because she had found herself standing beside the only two men she’d ever kissed. But only one knew about the other, and she was determined to keep it that way. Finally, she glanced up and realized too late that she’d been blocking Tristan’s exit.
She moved out of the way, stumbling over a lame apology as Tristan hobbled his way down the hall to join his friends. But before he left, he flashed Steven one of his genuine smiles. The one he gave to everyone, that made girls fall in love with him, and guys want to be his best friend.
That’s when she realized she was just another victim. Another girl caught under the spell of Tristan Montgomery…and she was kidding herself for thinking anything they’d done together meant anything to him. Kidding herself to think whatever they’d done meant enough to tell Renee about.
Samantha went out to the garage, needing air. Steven followed closely behind her, where she found a grape flavored Fanta on the top shelf of the fridge and cracked it open. She took a long sip, contemplating how remarkably unaffected Tristan could be, when she was practically shaking.
She closed her eyes again as Steven wrapped his arms around her from behind. “You okay?”
She focused on the bubbles rushing down her throat from her soda and nodded her head. Because she didn’t trust her voice to speak. Because after all these months of worry, she finally realized she didn’t need to think about Tristan anymore. As far as she could tell, everything she felt that night in the woods was completely one sided. And he wasn’t going to tell a soul.
Present day
Tristan came into the building, bringing the wind and his large, dominating presence with him. He was impossible to ignore, and Samantha found herself looking up, seeing the same face from all those years ago. He began to walk toward her, and for some reason the tiny wild horses ran hard across her chest again. Maybe because of their past, or maybe because of all the things the server had said that Samantha couldn’t quite deny. But there was a part of her that knew it was more than that. More than words or glances. Because being around Tristan again had awakened something vulnerable inside her. Something she’d been repressing for a long time.
He grinned as he came closer, as though he’d missed her during their short separation. He unzipped his coat, letting it drop down his shoulders before draping it across the back of his seat and sliding into the booth.
“Anything sound good?” he asked, reaching out for a menu.
She cleared her throat, still slightly dazed as she nodded her head. “Well, it would be a shame not to try the soup.”
Her voice was barely audible, but he smiled nonetheless. “You’re probably right.”
The server came forward, and set two mugs on the table while eyeing Samantha warily. She didn’t say a word, but the way the girl watched her made Samantha nervous. As though she’d seen Samantha’s reaction to him entering the room. As though she knew everything Samantha was feeling without her saying so.
“Are ya’ll ready to order?” she asked, filling their mugs with piping hot coffee. “Or do you want me to give you another minute?”
Tristan shrugged, lowering his menu to look at Samantha. “I’m ready if you are.”
She took a breath, turning toward the server before nodding her head. She could feel the walls of doubt closing in around her. Doubts about this trip, her relationship, her sanity.
“Can I have half a grilled cheese, and a cup of soup, please? Split pea,” she confirmed, then she rose from her seat without saying another word and excused herself to the bathroom.
Alone in a stall, she fished her phone from the bottom of her bag and called Steven. She needed to hear his voice, to hear him say he missed her, he loved her, anything that would ground her back to the life that seemed to be slipping through her fingers by the second. Steven’s phone rang a half dozen times, then finally rolled to voice mail, making her heart drop.
“Hey babe,” she began, her throat constricting as she thought of words to say. “We’re in Chippewa Nebraska. It’s so cold I can see my breath.” She paused, resting her head on the toilet roll and feeling almost sick. She began to laugh, not hard, but in a way that could easily shift to crying given the opportunity. “I think it may rain before we stop; isn’t that crazy?” She pulled in a breath. “I already miss our sunshine. I miss you.” But as the words crossed her lips, they didn’t quite feel genuine. They didn’t quite feel hers. “Call me.”
She disconnected the call, lowering her head to set her ears between her knees. But all she could think about were the words Tristan used back at her apartment. “I don’t remember much about you, either.”
“Much.” What did that even mean? The more she thought about it, the more impossible it became to ignore. He had to remember something. Maybe not their time in the woods, but something.
When she finally made it back to her seat, their food was already set on the table, and her brow was set with determination to get some answers. She slid into the booth, finding him relaxed and eating his meal, yet looking so perfect, Samantha had to force herself to look away. Her mind was clouded with confusion. So much so, she could hardly see straight. Because two days with Tristan had sent doubts about everything scorching through her veins.
She poured some creamer into her coffee, fetched a spoon from the table and began to stir. “What do you remember about me?” she whispered. She meant for the words to sound confident, like one of the random questions asked around a bonfire. Like the ones they asked each other in the car. But it came out unsure. Almost frightened. Not strong and steady like she’d intended them to.
His brows furrowed and he put down his burger. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know?” She shrugged. “I mean, Renee and I have been best friends for ten years. You can’t possibly remember nothing…”
Her words trailed off, and he pushed himself back in his seat and tilted his head. “Hmm… I remember you always wore two braids.” He paused. “Split right down the middle on either side.” He took a sip of coffee and grinned. “I remember you played the flute.”
She nodded and began organizing the sugar packets, listening. “That was me,” she agreed. “Anything else?”
He only shrugged, narrowing his eyes slightly as he sat forward. “I remember…”
But the way he looked at her made her heart start beating faster. Made her grab her spoon and take her first bite of soup.
“That you and Renee were attached at the hip.”
She took a breath, her lips curving downward. “Yeah,” she agreed. “We sure were.”
But then he did something that surprised her. He leaned forward and asked a question of his own.
“What do you remember about me?” His voice was low, almost suspicious. Which caused her heart to squeeze and run on overdrive.
She glanced down at the table, grabbed a cloth napkin, and unfolded it in her lap before looking up again. “I remember a lot,” she said. “I remember you were popular. I remember you having friends by your side every second.” She looked up into his waiting eyes. “You were the quarterback for the West Valley Panthers.” She licked her lips, everything she wanted to say lingering at the tip of her tongue. “I remember…all the summers we spent up at your family’s cabin. Especially the last one.” She was proud of herself for saying it, but at the same time her chest filled with anxiety as she waited for him to speak.
He took another sip of coffee, his eyes intense as he watched her. As though trying to read her thoughts. She could feel it. The tension accumulating between them. So tight it was as though they were both caught in vice.
He nodded slowly, a slight confirmation causing her nerves to ignite like fireworks inside her.
“The cabin,�
� he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “I did some stupid stuff there.”
Her heart pinched at his statement and she turned to look out the window again. “Yeah.” But what she really wanted to do was cry. “We all did.”
The server came then, breaking up their conversation to check on their meals. “Everything okay over here?” she asked, topping off their mugs with fresh coffee.
But when neither of them spoke, she left for the back room again, and Samantha turned to face him. It was as though all the anger and frustration she’d kept bottled inside came exploding out of her. “I remember a few more things,” she began, her chin held as high as she could manage. “You were a player. A cheater, and someone who cared about nothing but himself.”
He took a long sip of coffee, his expression hardening before her very eyes. It was like a Tristan she’d never seen before. A Tristan she never wanted to see again. He pulled out his wallet and placed a couple of twenties on the table before getting up to leave. “You’re right. That’s exactly who I am. Exactly.”
She cringed, her heart aching because she knew she’d hurt him. She’d meant to, even though he’d done nothing but tell her the truth… Though now she felt like a complete bitch. “Tristan, wait!”
But he didn’t listen. His large legs had already carried him halfway across the restaurant, far away from her and her tongue that had lashed out to hurt.
15
Chapter Fifteen
When they finally got back to the Mustang, Samantha was in a foul mood. Partly because she hadn’t slept in days, but also because she deeply regretted what she’d said. The server had meddled so much, all the memories she’d tried to forget about were rising to the surface. Memories she hadn’t thought about for a long time. Memories she’d buried deep for good reason.
As soon as she buckled herself into her seat, she bent forward to fish her iPod out of her bag and start a new book. It was one she’d listened to at least a thousand times but always found comforting. Like a threadbare old t-shirt, or a bowl of homemade chicken noodle soup. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone—the story about the boy who lived.
She closed her eyes, listening to the voice that had lulled her to sleep on too many occasions to count, and tried to forget about the past. To forget about everything. To not worry about the what-ifs, or the reasons he didn’t remember. But to focus on an epic tale about good vs. evil. About power, and temptation, and growing up.
Before long, a good four chapters into the story, something changed. She felt the car slow, decreasing in speed at a steady rate that caused panic to lurch in her chest. She quickly opened her eyes, sure they hadn’t been on the road long enough to justify stopping, and realized they were pulling off to the side of the road—on a pitch black two-lane highway—in the middle of nowhere. Samantha pulled the ear buds from her ears and straightened. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you’re going to go to the bathroom out there.”
But there was something different about the way they were moving, like something was wrong, and a sinking feeling settled in the bottom of her gut. “We ran out of gas, didn’t we?”
The car rolled to a full stop, and Tristan, who still hadn’t said a word, put it in park. “I filled up less than three hours ago.”
Samantha shoved her iPod back in her purse and swallowed. A cold draft rushed over her face and neck as Tristan got out of the car. She quickly followed after him, wrapped in her red wool blanket. “I can’t believe this! I told you this would happen. I knew we could run out of gas.”
He lifted the hood and propped it open. “For the last time, we didn’t run out of gas!” He pulled his cell from his pocket and flipped on the flashlight. “Something’s wrong. It’s just too dark to see what.”
He turned around to sit against the car, then held his phone up in the air and moved it side to side looking for a signal. “Shit! There’s no service.”
Samantha closed her eyes, not allowing herself to panic. “What are we going to do?”
He zipped his jacket all the way up to his chin, closed the hood, then finally looked at her. “You’re going to get back into the car. I’m going to go try to find help.”
“Like hell I am! I’m coming with you.”
“Sammie.” He closed his eyes, his head lulling back to his shoulders. She knew what he was going to say. That it was too dangerous, that he was big and heroic, that he was going to take care of her like the male chauvinistic ass that he was, but instead, he surprised her by looking up again. She waited for him to speak, to tell her why she couldn’t come, but he said nothing. His blue eyes reached hers, making her feet unstable. He finally shook his head, as though not sure what he was getting himself into, and turned on his heels. “Fine.”
It took only a moment for her to recover, to realize she’d actually won the argument, and to hurry after him. How had she won so easily? Why did Tristan Montgomery keep surprising her at every turn? She wasn’t sure of the answer; all she knew was that her teeth were already chattering and she had left her warm jacket back in the car. “Where are we? How close are we to the next town?”
“Iowa,” he answered. But that was all he said. Because he didn’t know how far they were to the next town. He didn’t know anything at all.
Samantha took her phone from her pocket, and held it up to illuminate their path. “Has this ever happened to you before?” she asked.
“No.”
“Are you sure we’re not out of gas?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
Silence.
“Tristan, how do you know?” A chill ran up her spine, though it wasn’t from the cold this time. It was because of him. He raked his fingers through his hair, giving away his stress, and that made her even more nervous. He was the guy who let everything roll off his shoulders. Who didn’t give a shit. But now—
“Because I know my car,” he finally said.
“Oh God,” she whispered. Only to herself, but that didn’t matter.
He stopped dead in his tracks. Turned around, and looked her dead in the eye. “Do you have a problem?”
She clenched her jaw, telling herself to be quiet, but she couldn’t. “Yeah. Actually, I do.” She lifted her chin, higher than she felt confident, and took a step toward him. “I’m supposed to be at my best friend’s bachelorette party in two days. Two. And you’re giving me the cold shoulder and saying things like, ‘I know my car.’ ”
He laughed under his breath and pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eye sockets. “What do you want me to say, Samantha? What?”
“I don’t know! I want you to give me a real fucking answer!”
He snapped! Picked up a rock, and threw it into the dark forest—so hard that the sound echoed through the secluded night. He took a breath, as though frustrated and out of control, as though he was trying to compose himself enough to face her.
He finally turned around, his jaw tight and clenched, but so much emotion was etched on his face that her eyes immediately went blurry with regret. It was as though a thick blanket smothered the Tristan she’d known all her life. His confidence, his smile, his easy nature. “It’s my fault, is that what you want me to say? That it’s my fucking fault?”
Tears rushed to her nose and throat. She couldn’t bear to see him this way. “No,” she said. “No, that isn’t it at all.”
He gripped his forehead and turned around again. “I should have never agreed to this. I should have said no.”
She froze, her heart thumping. “Agreed to what?” she asked, standing still.
He turned around, squeezed his eyes shut as if not realizing the words had come from his mouth. “Nothing.”
“No.” She wrapped her arms around her belly, not letting it go. “What did you agree to, Tristan?”
He remained silent, giving her all the answer she needed. She looked down to her feet, tears stinging the backs of her eyes. “Renee talked you into this, didn’t she? Yo
u don’t want to be here any more than I do.”
“Samantha—”
But she shook her head, stopping him.
“Look—I’m frustrated, too.” He moved toward her. “But we’re in this together.”
Emotion quickly gathered in her chest, and she clenched her arms at her side. “I know.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She nodded, her chin quivering.
But scared wasn’t the feeling that was cutting her like a knife. It was something else. Something heartbreakingly difficult for her to admit to. Because hearing that he didn’t want to be there sent a chill over her entire body.
He came closer still and draped his heavy jacket around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Samantha.” He tightened the jacket around her shivering body, fastening it at the bottom before zipping it up to her chin. But he didn’t move away. He stayed there a second too long, his thumb by her chin, causing all the air to expel from her lungs.
She looked up to his throat, only inches from her lips. She wanted to kiss it, to wrap her arms around his large body and have him hold her. To hold him. It was so cold she could see her breath. So cold their breaths mingled together, and for some reason, she stepped closer.
She wasn’t sure if it was his warmth that drew her in. The heat that radiated from his muscles and bones. Or if it was the pain in his eyes. It seemed to say a thousand words all on its own. That he was sorry, that he was scared, too. But it wasn’t an average “I’m sorry.” It was a sorry from a man who carried the world on his shoulders—who took the blame for everything, even when it wasn’t his fault. Her mind screamed to move away. To not get too close to the man who had shattered her heart after only one night, to get away before it was too late, but she couldn’t. She craved to be close to him, even though she knew it would bring nothing but pain to too many people.
The Boy I Hate Page 12