The Boy I Hate

by Taylor Sullivan

  He placed his hand on her hip, wrapping his fingers around her lower back and exerting pressure. As though he needed her just as much as she needed him. As though he’d given up on resisting her and the gravity that pulled them together.

  She lifted her chin, knowing it was wrong, but knowing she couldn’t stop it. Whatever was between them was stronger than her will. Stronger than her conscious. But as their lips touched for the briefest moment, a set of dull headlights began to shine in the distance. As though a higher being had rushed in to save her from herself.

  Tristan turned around, clearing his throat as if he himself had been caught in the same spell. He took his phone out of his pocket and waved it overhead. “Hey!” he yelled. “Hey! Over here!”

  A moment later, down the long flat road, came a beat up old van with a million stickers on the windows. The door opened, and a woman with a large pregnant belly hopped down to the road. She rested her hands on her lower back, exaggerating the ripe, swollen shape, and shined a bright flashlight over their faces, blinding them.

  “Now what in the devil’s name are you two doin’ all the way out here?”

  16

  Chapter Sixteen

  Present Day

  The woman’s name was Patty. They learned that soon enough. After a short game of twenty questions that Samantha wasn’t sure they won, and an interrogation of Tristan about how they ended up in this predicament, she agreed to take them back to her house where they could find warmth and sleep.

  “It’s a good thing I stumbled upon you two.” She nodded. “I’m afraid the closest payphone is over a hundred miles away and we don’t have a cell tower yet. They say it’s coming, but I’m not holding my breath.”

  She waited for them to gather their things, while Samantha and Tristan thanked her profusely for her generosity. There were two sleeping toddlers snoring away in the back seat, though Patty looked to be no more than twenty-five. It was odd—seeing someone so close to her own age with a growing family. One the woman seemed proud and protective of.

  Tristan took their bags from the trunk, while Samantha gathered her purse and tried to recover from their almost kiss. She wished she knew what he was thinking. Wished she could rewind the last ten minutes and have more self-control.

  Samantha approached the oversized van a moment later, where Tristan helped her into the front seat and handed her the seat belt.

  “We’ll be okay,” he whispered in her ear. “I promise.”

  She knew he was talking about the car, about being stranded right before the wedding, although she couldn’t help but wonder if he was talking about more. She took the seat belt from his hand, thankful for the darkness so he couldn’t read all insecurities on her face. Right now they were out there for everyone to see, and she couldn’t put them away, because for the first time in six years, she began to question what she was doing with her life. With Steven. If she could feel so much for a man she hadn’t seen in half a decade, how could she even think about a future with Steven?

  Tristan moved away a moment later, allowing her the space to breathe. The Jackson Five’s “ABC” was playing on the radio, and Samantha turned to look out the window. Tristan climbed into the back seat, putting their backpacks to the floor, and settling himself between the two car seats. He seemed oddly comfortable there, even though his broad shoulders hardly fit. But he was always like that. Always comfortable. Never complaining—so unlike Steven.

  Steven. She couldn’t help but cringe at the thought of him. He was honest, hardworking, and didn’t deserve this. He was meeting her in NY on Friday, and this needed to stop. Whatever this was, whether curiosity, or an unfulfilled girlhood fantasy, it would end here. She wouldn’t risk their relationship. She wouldn’t risk her heart.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to force all the emotions from her body. But the fact was, a simple touch from Tristan caused lightning bolts to shoot through her limbs. A simple touch from Tristan made her ache for more. A touch from Tristan wasn’t easily forgotten.

  The road ahead became dark and twisty, making Samantha’s stomach roll with nausea. Either that or from the speed at which Patty navigated the narrow path so easily. Patty’s large belly was pressed against the steering wheel, and her eyes were focused on the path ahead, but neither stopped her from talking.

  “Ya’ll are lucky,” she said to Samantha, glancing over from the corner of her eye. “Really lucky.”

  She clucked her tongue, then turned down the radio and continued to ramble. “I don’t normally come out this way so late at night. It’s only because Mr. Miller had a heart attack last week, and I had to check on the cattle. That’s the only reason.”

  Samantha nodded her head, though Patty must have noticed her increased discomfort, because she quickly slowed the van.

  “What brings you ’round these parts anyway?” she asked, almost as a distraction technique.

  Samantha swallowed, hoping the action would calm her stomach. “My best friend is getting married,” she answered. “We’re on our way to New York.”

  “Yeah?” Patty grinned. “Are you the maid of honor?”

  “Yes. Though I haven’t seen the dress yet.” She smiled.

  “I bet you’d look beautiful,” Patty said softly. Then she glanced in the rearview mirror to look at Tristan. “Don’t you agree?”

  He didn’t hesitate a second. “Stunning.”

  Samantha looked down to her feet, realizing that, just like everyone else, Patty thought they were a couple. She didn’t blame her, given the scene she’d pulled up upon. Samantha would have thought the same thing.

  They continued talking. About everything and nothing. About the town. The people who lived there, and when they finally turned off a bend, Samantha’s stomach had settled quite a bit. “I should have gone out hours ago,” Patty confessed. “I’m ashamed to admit I got caught up in one of my shows again. The new season of Felicity was delivered this morning, and I plain lost track of myself.” She glanced over again, seeming pleased by Samantha’s condition, and gave her a nod of approval. “That happens a lot when Trevor’s gone.”

  “Is Trevor your husband?” Samantha asked.

  “Yes.” Patty agreed, rubbing slow circles on the top of her belly. “He got me a seventy-two inch TV for Mother’s Day. I told him it was a guilty conscience for leavin’ so much, but really, it was the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received.” Her smile was sleepy, but her eyes were bright and filled with tears when she looked over again. “You’re lucky to have a man to warm your bed at night.”

  They pulled into the driveway of a small white home, and Patty threw the van into park. “Well this is it,” she said quietly. “Home, sweet home.”

  Samantha wanted to correct her about her and Tristan, but decided clarification would only bring more questions, so she remained silent. She glanced out the window of the van—to the horseshoe-shaped driveway lined with little lights to illuminate the cobblestone path. Patty popped open the door and unfastened her seat belt. “Well, I best get these little ones to bed.”

  She yawned before hopping down from the cab, then slid open the back door and began unfastening her babies, one at a time, as they slept peacefully in the back seat. She took one out, then the other, holding them on each side like huge sacks of flour. But Tristan stopped in front of her and held out his arms. She looked up, surprised by the offer of help. But then she nodded, hesitating for only a moment before handing over a child.

  The small toddler nestled his blond head into the top of Tristan’s shoulder, wiping his nose back and forth a few times before falling back asleep. Samantha smiled watching them. Tristan was so big and strong, but seeing him with a baby curled up on his shoulder, he looked like he couldn’t hurt a butterfly.

  She took a deep breath of the cool country air, then gathered the rest of their belongings and followed in after them.

  She’d never seen Tristan with a baby before, and for some reason the image rocked her. She knew she wanted children, but
the sight of Tristan cradling a small child in his arms caused a physical reaction to stir low in her belly. One she’d been repressing for a long time. That sort of primal longing she’d always heard her mother talking about. That ache deep inside for a family of her own. She told herself she was being silly and her reaction was still the effects of the car ride, but she knew it was more than that. Because in all her childhood daydreams, all the games she played with Renee as a girl, she always imagined herself like Patty. With a round pregnant belly and a baby on each arm. It was only since Steven her dreams had changed. With his goals for his career and ideas of success, he wanted one. One child. Not three or four. He was realistic, always took her wild eccentric dreams and reminded her of reality. Starting a family in their late thirties was the goal. When he was sure to have good medical care, stability, and a home.

  She walked in through the open door of Patty’s home a moment later, finding it cozy and warm, and Tristan and Patty both standing in the living room by a wood burning stove. True to Patty’s word, a seventy-two inch television sat front and center. It was odd seeing such an extravagant appliance in the middle of what was otherwise a modest dwelling, but after knowing Patty for no more than an hour, Samantha would have expected nothing less.

  Patty put her keys on the kitchen counter, hitched her baby high on her shoulder and looked over to Tristan. “There are pillows and blankets in the hallway closet. You all help yourselves. Given how cold it is tonight, I don’t expect you two will mind a good cuddle.”

  The baby slipped a fraction of an inch as Patty yawned. But she hitched him back up again and continued down the hall. “I’m going to have to excuse myself from hostess duties tonight. These babies have downright tuckered me out.” She then lifted her chin to Tristan, then turned slightly to indicate he should follow her.

  “This here’s the potty.” She stopped again, pointing to a door to her right. “Take a shower if you like. Towels are in with the pillows.” At the end of the hall, she took the sleeping toddler from Tristan’s arms and closed the door behind her.

  Tristan stood there a second, rolling his shoulders backward as though he’d been relieved from a large weight and emotion rushed to Samantha’s face and throat.

  She turned around, surprised by the panic that surged inside her. She wasn’t sure what caused it, but right now she felt unsteady—being alone with Tristan, seeing a young mom so prideful and happy with her family. Her simple home. The last thing she needed was to be alone with Tristan. It was the last thing she needed.

  There was only one couch.

  She wrapped her arms around her belly at the realization and took a deep breath. The couch was large, but not big enough. She unzipped her jacket—Tristan’s Jacket—feeling odd that she still wore it and draped it across one of the chairs. Somehow, he was slipping through all her walls, one by one, and she no idea how to bring them back up again.

  She picked up her bag off the cushion and began fishing in the pocket for her cell phone. She needed to call Steven, to tell him where they were, that she was okay, but again, there were no bars. Tristan was right behind her, and she could feel him moving closer. “You don’t happen to have a signal do you?” she asked.

  He shook his head slowly, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

  She stuffed her cell back in her bag and zipped it shut. “Figures,” she mumbled. She threw her bag on the couch and moved to the kitchen window “It’s pretty here.” Her voice was broken, but she needed to say something so the silence didn’t kill her. It was agony. Torture. Because all she wanted was to know what he was thinking.

  He nodded, then rested his hip on the counter beside her.

  You have a boyfriend. He loves you. You love him.

  She flipped around, bracing her hands on the counter, trying to hold herself steady, but it wasn’t working. Her heart was pounding so hard her legs became weak—she didn’t want to do this. “We should go to bed. We have a big day in the morning,” she whispered. But he didn’t move from his spot.

  “Are we going to talk about it?” he asked, his voice gentle.

  She pushed off the counter like a snake had just bitten her. “No. Let’s not talk about it.” She shook her head. “Let’s forget about it.” She wrapped her arms around her body, realizing she sounded ridiculous. But it was too late. “I’m not going to climb into bed with you, Tristan.”

  He smiled, having to cover his mouth to prevent a laugh. “I didn’t say you were.”

  She rubbed both hands over her face and took a deep breath. “There’s only one couch.”

  “I’ll take the floor,” he said softly.

  They were both quiet for a moment, and she could feel tears threatening behind her eyelids. “I have a boyfriend.”

  “I know.”

  She turned toward the hallway. There was a sort of charge holding her back, keeping her from running, but this time her conscious won the battle. “I’m going to go take a shower,” she whispered. “Do you need anything in there before I go?”

  “No.”

  She nodded, wishing she could see his expression. To know what he was thinking… but she couldn’t look back. If she did, she wasn’t sure she could resist throwing herself into his arms.

  “I’m sorry about what I said in the restaurant. It’s not true.” She forced her hands to her sides, took her large bag off the couch, and went to the bathroom. Pulling in a shuddery breath, she turned the faucet on in the shower, and let herself cry. What was happening to her? She wasn’t sure, but something was changing. Or maybe her doubts about Steven had been there the whole time and she wouldn’t allow herself to feel them. It was as though the wool had been ripped from her eyes, allowing her to see how bright the world was. How many shades of color she’d been missing. And it had taken Tristan to allow her to see them.

  17

  Chapter Seventeen

  Next morning, Patty drove them to meet the mechanic in the middle of the next town. It was smaller than she’d expected, though still quaint and lively for being so early in the morning. People were out on each corner, strolling from flower shop to antique stores too many to count—and bars—she counted at least three as they drove in from the main road.

  Patty dropped them off at the corner, where she kept the car running so her babies wouldn’t fret. “Tell Bob that I sent you,” she said. “He’s a good mechanic and won’t send you a on goose chase if he knows you’re with me.” She then gave them each a brief hug, and hopped back into her van without lingering. “Look me up if you ever come back this way. I’ve downright enjoyed your company.”

  They both grinned, then grabbed the rest of their belongings from the back of her van before slapping it shut and sending her on her way.

  The auto shop was old fashioned, with stacks of tires along the whole fence line. They entered through the back, where Tristan’s Mustang was already on lifts in the middle of the garage. A man in denim coveralls was poking around in a tool chest, and looked up when they entered the building. As he walked toward them, he wiped his hands on what used to be a red rag. “I’m guessing this beauty is yours?” he said, around a mouthful of tobacco. “Haven’t seen a ’67 since I went to a car show in two-thousand.” He reached his hand out to Tristan and gave it a firm shake. “My name’s Bob.”

  “Tristan.” Tristan replied, then glanced up to his car above their heads. “I’m hoping you know what’s wrong with her?”

  “Well,” the man said, clearing his throat. “Thing is, there’s some good news and some bad news.” He looked to Samantha, nodding his head in hello. “Good news is, it’s only a bad radiator cap.” He turned back to Tristan. “Bad news is, the nearest I can get one is a two towns over.” He spread his legs wide and shoved his hands into the back pockets of his coveralls. “I’ve already sent one of my guys to get it, but I’m afraid I won’t have the car ready ’til morning.”

  Tristan ran a hand through his hair and cringed. “Shit. Are you sure? We’re on our way to a wedding—�
�

  Bob shook his head, cutting him off. “I’m afraid so. I wish there was more I could do. But truth is, y’all are lucky I found one even that close.” He then looked at Samantha. “I can see you’re disappointed ma’am, and it hurts my heart. But there’s a great bed and breakfast just across the road. People come from all over to stay there. Tell them Bob sent you, and they’ll give you a discount on your stay”

  Samantha smiled, then turned to Tristan. “Well, I guess that settles it then. We’re staying the night in Colton, Iowa.” She was trying to make the best of the situation, to lower the pressure she could see stiffening Tristan’s shoulders, but he wasn’t really paying attention. He was looking at his cell phone, deep in thought, and there was an odd expression on his face.

  He finally excused himself, holding up one finger before walking out of the garage.

  Samantha looked down to the ground, to the oil-stained floor, as a weird uncomfortable feeling grew in her stomach. She finally looked back up, thanked Bob for his recommendation of the B&B, then walked in the opposite direction from Tristan, wanting to give him privacy. She sat on the curb in front of the shop, kicked her legs out in front of her, and dug through her purse looking for her cell.

  Three notifications waited on her phone. Two of which were from Steven. She punched in her pass code, and began playing the messages.

  “Hey babe, I need to talk to you. Call me as soon as you can?”

  “Samantha, I really have to talk to you. Call me when you get this, okay?”

  Her brows furrowed, and she frowned. What did he need to talk to her about?

  The last message was from Renee.

  “Hey Sam! Are you and Tris killing each other, yet? This is taking forever, and I’m not even in the car! Call me when you can. Love you! Bye!”

  Samantha closed her eyes, leaning back on the pavement to let the sun warm her face. “This is almost over. You’ll see Steven in a couple of days, and everything will go back to normal.”