The Boy I Hate
Page 14
She sat up again, straightening her back as she dialed Steven’s number. It went straight to voice mail, and she began to leave a message.
“Hey babe,” she began. “You’re probably working, but I wanted to call while I had reception.” She blew out a breath and looked back over her shoulder to the garage. “We ran into some car trouble, unfortunately. It seems we’ll be delayed about a day.” She paused for a moment, her eyes focused on nothingness. “Call me when you can.” She hung up the phone without even saying goodbye.
When she looked up, Tristan was standing above her. His sunglasses were covering his eyes, but the tension couldn’t be hidden from his face. “I guess we should go get some rooms?”
She pushed herself from the pavement, but Tristan grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her up the rest of the way. His grip was firm and strong, yet sent goose bumps to cover the length of her body in a second. “Everything okay?” she asked, searching his face for answers.
He nodded, but immediately looked away. “Yeah. You?” he asked, meeting her eyes once again.
“Yeah,” she whispered. He still looked upset, and all she wanted to do was yank the glasses off his nose and demand that he tell her what was wrong. Why he’d suddenly changed from the easy-going Tristan she’d always known him to be, to this. But in these few short days she’d become closer to him than she was comfortable with. Closer to him than was healthy. She needed to keep her distance, to keep her walls up and not let them fall. “I guess you’re right. We should go get some rooms.”
They both stepped off the curb separately, keeping distance between them as they walked toward the bed and breakfast.
True to the mechanic’s word, the bed and breakfast was stunning. Samantha was sure it had once been an old Victorian home. Brick walls, a castle-like roofline, and shutters on every window. But there was a large pool in the center of the courtyard that was modern and sleek, and looked exhilarating. Lush foliage surrounded the property, offering privacy, yet the building sat in the center of town, not even a half block away from the public.
They followed the intricate stone path past the magnolia tree scattered with huge white blossoms, then to the gold sign that took them to the front office.
A pretty blond woman waited at the counter and looked up as soon as they entered the building. “Welcome to the Gumtree Mansion. How can I help you today?”
Tristan took his wallet from his back pocket and braced his forearm on the counter. “Two rooms please,” he said, but his voice betrayed his exhaustion.
“Oh…” The woman’s brows furrowed and she began clicking at her computer. “Let me see…” She clicked a few more times, her frown growing deeper and more intense. “That’s what I thought.” She looked up, glancing from Tristan to Samantha. “I’m afraid I only have one room for tonight.”
Tristan looked over his shoulder to Samantha, where she violently shook her head. She couldn’t stay the night with him. Not after their too close moment the night before. Not alone.
He turned back to the woman and put his wallet back in his pocket “That’s okay, we’ll go somewhere else.”
He pushed off the counter to leave, but before they could exit the building, a high-pitched squeak caused him to turn around.
“Sir!” the young woman yelped. “We’re the only hotel in town. Anything else is over a hundred miles away. ”
Tristan closed his eyes, ran his hands through his hair and dropped to a squat. Like the whole world had become too heavy for him to bear.
Samantha’s heart lurched in her throat and she stepped forward. “You know, one room will be fine.” She turned toward Tristan, nodding. “It will be fine.” She walked closer, wanting nothing more than to pull him to his feet. “I was being silly. It will be fine.”
He rose to his feet, the crease in his forehead softening a bit, but he pulled out his wallet again and placed his card on the counter. Samantha shook her head, opening her purse to pay. “I’ll get it,” she muttered. But he ignored her and shoved the card farther on the counter toward the receptionist. “It’s one room, Samantha.”
She swallowed hard, because as silly as this was, she could see he needed this. To feel like he was in control. Like he was taking care of the situation. Like he was somehow fixing things. She nodded once, then turned around and allowed him to pay. When her cell began vibrating in her pocket, she walked toward the door to the courtyard. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”
She pushed through the glass doors and walked a good distance over to the magnolia tree by the pool “Hello?” she answered softly.
“Hey!” Steven said. “Finally. God, it’s been hard to get ahold of you. I got your message. Are you okay? You need anything?”
Samantha let her back rest on the smooth bark, lolling her head back and taking in the peaceful yard around her. “We’re fine. It’s only the radiator cap. Can you believe it? I had no idea such a thing was so important.”
Steven laughed in response. “Me either, honestly.”
She nodded, set her bag on the ground, and turned to face the pool. It was completely empty, so peaceful.
“Other than that, are things going okay?”
She took a step forward, a tightness in her belly growing with each second. “Yeah. How are things with you? How’s the new gig?”
There was a smile in his voice. “Busy…” He went on to tell her about his boss, about working until eight at night, and how he’d already lost five pounds. But then he cleared his throat, and she realized there was something he needed to say.
“I’ve actually been trying to get hold of you for a while now,” he said. His voice lowering before he spoke again. “They’re sending me to San Francisco this weekend. I won’t be able to make it to the wedding.”
Samantha’s knees went weak, and she grabbed hold of the bench in front of her to hold herself steady. “What do you mean? Can’t you get out of it?”
“Sam, I’m not going to tell them I can’t go. It’s a huge opportunity.”
“But the wedding has been planned for months!”
“I know, but when your boss needs you for a favor, you do it. The fact he wanted me there is a big deal.
She closed her eyes, thinking about all the times Renee had warned her about this. About him always putting work and his dreams before her. “What about me? What about what I want, what I need?”
“Samantha, don’t blow this out of proportion—”
“What? You’re acting like I’m being ridiculous, but I told you about this six months ago.”
“I know, but plans change. This is a really important step in my career, Sam. I’m sorry it means I’m going to have to let you down, but I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
Before she could open her mouth to respond, he muffled the phone. “My boss is coming. We’ll talk when you get home.”
He was gone. Leaving her with tears rolling down her cheeks. Tears of rejection and anger. Of confusion, frustration, and embarrassment. She looked down to her phone and opened up a text:
Samantha: No need to talk. We’re over. I’m done.
She closed her eyes, her body trembling. She meant every word of it. With every fiber of her being. Every drop of blood, sweat, and tears she’d put into their relationship. She was done. She put her phone in her back pocket, then turned around to see Tristan watching. Standing in the path that led straight to her. His legs were braced apart, his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his jeans. “You okay?”
He looked concerned, beautiful, and so completely dangerous she didn’t know what to do. She let out a sob, wiping over her face with her hand. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Samantha…” He stepped closer.
But she shook her head, stopping him. “We broke up.” She cried. “He’s not coming.”
He stepped closer still, ignoring her wishes.
She heaved out a heavy breath. “Aren’t you going to say I told you so?”
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
“No!” She shouted, looking him in the eye. “Everything in my life is falling apart, and I don’t want to hear any bullshit responses like I’m sorry.”
He stepped toward her, holding out his arms, offering her comfort.
She stepped backward, emotion causing her own throat to choke her. “I should have never agreed to this. I should have just said no.” She was throwing his words back in his face, wanting to push him away. He was scary, and he was Renee’s brother, and she didn’t know if she could resist him when he looked at her like that. She took another step backward, just as Tristan lunged to grab her—but it was too late.
“Samantha!” he shouted.
But she’d already hit the water, and was sinking to the bottom of the pool. She let herself fall. Allowing the cool water to lift her hair and make her feel lighter than she had in months. There was a large splash above her, and soon Tristan’s arms were wrapped around her waist, holding her body, forcing her back to the surface. She didn’t want to go, she didn’t want his arms around her, she didn’t want any of it! She pushed at his arms, kicking her legs as hard as she could.
“Let me go!”
“Samantha, stop!”
“Let me go!”
But he didn’t answer. He kept swimming with her over to the side of the pool until they both reached the shallow end. He put her down, her clothes and hair plastered to her face and body.
“Why wouldn’t you let me go?” She sobbed.
“Because.”
“Why?” she demanded.
“Because you can’t swim!”
She suddenly stopped. Heaving as though all the oxygen had been expelled from her lungs. Because she could swim. She’d learned her junior year of high school. Right after the summer she’d spent with Tristan. “You remember.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact. That was the only way his statement made any sense.
He was quiet a moment, but he grabbed her cheek as though trying to force her to look at him. “Samantha—”
“No!” she shouted again, pushing him away “You remember. Don’t you?”
He only nodded, but his eyes never faltered.
“Everything?” she questioned.
“Yes.”
She wiped over her face, over tears, and hurt, and anger. She brushed her hair back behind her ears and began walking toward the steps. “I’m going to our room to change. Then I’m going to get drunk. Don’t wait up for me.”
“Samantha—”
“Don’t wait up.” But before she stepped into the lobby to grab a key, she turned around and looked at him one last time. “And I know how to swim now, you asshole.”
18
Chapter Eighteen
It was nearly dusk when Tristan opened the back door of the bar and walked into the room. Samantha had already been drinking for hours, albeit slowly, because her heart wasn’t quite in it. She sat at the long oak counter, passing her rum and coke back and forth between her fingers. The ice had melted long ago, causing a gradient separation between soda and water, where her eyes were focused now, tired, puffy, and empty.
He sat down next to her, two seats away, and braced his forearms on the counter to order a drink. “Whiskey and water, please,” he said to the bartender, though he didn’t even acknowledge she was there.
The bartender passed the drink along the bar a moment later, and Tristan picked it up. Samantha couldn’t help but look up at him. He looked tired, maybe even more than herself. As if he’d raked his hands through his hair a hundred times, as if he’d walked a thousand miles, and right away she knew it was because of her. When she told him not to wait up, she’d meant it. She’d meant every word. But as the time went by, as her mind began to calm enough to process it all, she realized she’d been unfair.
What happened between them had happened when they were young. When she was a naive teenage girl, and he a boy too big for his britches. It was unfair to punish him for that now. To hold him captive for a crime he committed when he was eighteen.
Yet it surprised her how much the wound still stung. How learning that he still remembered was almost more painful than thinking he’d forgotten.
Tristan leaned back in his seat, still not acknowledging her, and began watching the Giants game on TV. She had no doubt he’d come to check on her, yet he hadn’t even said hello.
“My phone died,” she said as a way of breaking the ice. “It was in my pocket when I fell into the pool.”
Tristan nodded, but still didn’t look over. “I figured as much.”
She smoothed her loose hair behind ears, then took a small sip of her drink. The alcohol loosened her insides, but her outside was still hard and tense. “How did you find me?” she asked, both curious and apprehensive.
He looked up, meeting her eyes for the first time since he got there. “This is the fifth bar I’ve been to.”
She cringed, looking down toward her drink again. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
He shrugged, his voice a deep and hollow. “Well you did.”
She placed her elbows on the bar and began rubbing slow circles at her temples with her fingers. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you, and I’m sorry, but it seems my whole world is falling in around me. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
He turned in his seat, just a little, and took another sip of whiskey. “Do you want to talk about it?”
At first she shook her head, but then she thought better of it and nodded. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the fact that she felt so utterly alone, but she needed someone to talk to. Someone to care about all that she’d been through.
“You know,” she began. “Out of all the people I could imagine myself talking to about my problems with, it was never you.” She laughed. “No offense.”
He shrugged slightly before meeting her eyes. “None taken.” But his brows furrowed, and he nodded his head, indicating she should begin.
She tore the corner of her cocktail napkin, not knowing at all where to start. To confess about how Renee moving away had rocked her off her axis. Or the fact that seeing him after all these years made her question every minute of her six year long relationship? She decided to start with something a little less intimidating.
“I had a gallery opening last month,” she began. “One I’ve been planning for my entire life.” She glanced up, finding his expression attentive, his eyes boring into hers. “It was a total flop. I sold nothing at all.” She placed her feet on the rung of her stool, while trying to make sense of it all. “The thing is, people have been telling me my whole life that art wasn’t something people succeeded at. That I would struggle. That I wouldn’t make ends meet. But I was stubborn. So sure of myself until that moment—with my name in lights above my head, watching all those people pass by without stopping—That I realized how true it all was.”
She took a large gulp of her drink, hoping to push down the emotion that seemed to be climbing up her throat inch by inch. “The sad part is it took me this long to discover I’m wasting my time. To realize I’ve wasted so many years of my life on a stupid dream.”
His voice cut in, deep and firm, making her heart jump. “Does it make you happy?”
She looked at him, searching his light blue eyes as tears brimmed in her own. She’d never been asked that question before. Never by a single soul before him. “No. It makes me frustrated, and angry, and…”
&nbs
p; He turned to face her, setting his booted feet firmly on the ground. “Forget about the money. Forget about the gallery opening. Does your art make you happy?”
She looked into his eyes, wiping at the corner of her nose with her cocktail napkin. “Yes. Yes, it makes me happy,” she whispered.
“Then it’s worth it.”
She pulled in a shaky breath, her heart pounding in a way she hadn’t felt in years. She didn’t know what made him come find her, or what spurred his sudden interest in her happiness, but she couldn’t help her own curiosity. “What makes you happy, Tristan?”
The corner of his mouth lifted and he looked down to his feet. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Her chest heaved and she took another sip of her drink. “Try me.”
He looked up then, his eyes crystal clear and sparkling despite the dim lights above the bar. “You do, Sammie Smiles.” He reached out to wipe a tear that glistened on the bottom of her cheek. “Seeing you again has made me happier than I’ve been in a long time.”
She didn’t know what to say, but her heart was pounding so hard she knew she wouldn’t be able find words. Because she realized in that moment that he made her happy, too. This trip had been crazy, and emotional, and a complete disaster at times, but she’d never had more fun in her whole life. She planted her feet firmly on the rail of her barstool, trying with all her might to keep her world from spinning.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her chin quivering. “I’m sorry I said all those things. I didn’t mean them. I didn’t mean any of it.”
His finger brushed over her lips, shushing her. He eased himself off the barstool, took a couple of twenties out of his wallet, and tossed them in the direction of the bartender. “Let’s go. Let’s get out of here and get some sleep.”
She swallowed, wishing desperately that the feeling suddenly rolling in her belly was caused from too much alcohol. But it wasn’t. That feeling came from falling for a man—maybe for the first real time in her adult life. A feeling of wanting him so desperately her heart ached with it.