The Boy I Hate

by Taylor Sullivan

  “Is that piece yours?” he asked. His voice low and eloquent. He looked to be in his sixties, elegantly dressed, with a kind face.

  Samantha glanced back to the sculpture near the dance floor and nodded her head. Light was bouncing off the tiny leaves and a few people had gathered around to examine it. “Yes,” she answered, trying to move around him again.

  He stepped in front of her, eyeing her up and down curiously. He held out his hand in introduction. “My name is Henry Covington. I own a gallery downtown.”

  She swallowed quickly, glancing up into his face in a daze.

  He adjusted his stance, then took a sip of his dark drink and tilted his head. “Pieces like yours are exactly what I’ve been looking for, miss…?”

  The wind left her lungs and she forgot how to speak—everything. Even her own name. This had been the darkest day of her entire life, and now this man stood in front of her, offering her a candle of hope. Tears brimmed her eyes and she looked down to her feet.

  A woman with dark, silvery curls came to stand by his side and took hold of his arm.

  “Dear, this is the young artist who made the sculpture,” he said, lowering his head to whisper in her ear like Samantha wasn’t right in front of them. They held a conversation about the detail, the artistry, and Samantha finally found her voice again.

  “Samantha Smiles,” she cut in, holding out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

  The older woman took her offered fingers, squeezing them softly. “It’s stunning, dear.” she confessed, “Simply stunning.”

  Her husband placed a card into Samantha’s palm, then curled her fingers around the sharp edges. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Smiles. Please call me, I’d love to chat.” He patted the top of her closed hand and turned to his wife. “I do look forward to your phone call, but if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to dance with my wife.” He then nodded his head once more and escorted Mrs. Covington to the dance floor.

  Samantha returned quickly to the table, unable to process anything but goodbyes as she tucked the card away in her clutch.

  She walked down the long hall to her room with her head held high, praying to God that Tristan had heard her, that maybe he was waiting for her at her room, but the closer she got, the more it became clear that he wasn’t.

  She entered the dark room alone, where she slipped off her gown, letting it land as a puddle of fabric onto the floor. She crawled into bed with pins still in her hair and let the tears flow. Tomorrow she would go back to LA, she promised, and try to forget about the man who took her heart while she wasn’t paying attention. But tonight, she would allow herself to grieve. She would cry until her mouth went dry, until all her tears were spent, and hopefully when it was over, her heart wouldn’t hurt quite so badly.

  31

  Chapter Thirty-one

  The next afternoon Samantha ran the business card over and over again against her palm. She’d called Mr. Covington early that morning, and he was flying to Los Angeles the next week to look at her collection—he wanted all of it. Every single piece, purchased unseen, simply because he liked her style.

  It was surreal. To realize life could change so quickly. That love could enter, then be ripped away in the blink of an eye. That a career at rock bottom could flourish, simply by being in the right place at the right time.

  She fastened the card back away in her wallet, then added the last of her belongings in her overstuffed suitcase. She’d already called the front desk to check out of the room, but glanced around it one last time. The curtains were drawn open, revealing the beautiful day ahead of her, and the empty suite she had to leave behind. But she was leaving behind so much—she was leaving Tristan, who still was nowhere to be found. And a best friend, who she wasn’t sure she’d see for a long time.

  She wanted to stop by Tristan’s door one last time to see if he was there, but pride wouldn’t allow her to chase him anymore. Like Mark said, the ball was in his court now. What she needed to say was said last night. She loved him. Unconditionally. It was up to him what he did with the information.

  She grabbed her backpack from the top of the desk, and slung it over one shoulder before setting her keycard on the dresser and heading out of the room. She took the elevator all the way to the garage floor, where she could continue on past the valet and out into the city streets. But when she got there, Tristan was propped against the side of his Mustang in one of the stalls. She swallowed hard, wanting to ignore his aviator shielded face, and his feet crossed at the ankles, but her eyes instantly filled with tears. Even though she told herself she wasn’t going to cry for him anymore. Even though she thought every drop of tears had been shed last night.

  She tried to rush past him, not wanting him to see her in this condition, but he stepped in front of her, blocking her exit.

  He pulled his glasses from his face, revealing tired, dark circles. “Can I talk to you?” he asked, emotion turning his voice to gravel.

  She looked up at him, swallowing hard as she gripped onto her backpack for dear life. “Now? Now you want to talk to me? I’ve called you a thousand times. I stood up there in front of all of those people—”

  “I know—”

  She turned on her heels, feeling emotion try to consume her. Her heart was beating wildly, trampled by a thousand horses, and she needed to get away.

  He stepped in front of her again. “I was scared! Dammit, will you listen to me?”

  She froze, because she’d never heard him yell before. Or seen him look so tortured. Tears brimmed his eyes, and he used the backs of his hands to brush them away. “I was shitty to you; I know that. I was vulnerable, and instead of letting you in, I closed you out.” He was visibly struggling to keep himself together, and she almost wanted to take him in her arms, but she couldn’t. She needed to hear what he was going to say.

  “To my father,” he began, “vulnerably was sign of weakness. When I cried he told me I was soft, when I fell he told me to get up. It was part of being a man. I learned at an early age to give him what he wanted, and in return he was proud of me. I still can’t figure out if I played so hard because I loved the game or because he did, but when my football career ended, he lost interest. I couldn’t even persuade him to come to his own daughter’s wedding.”

  Samantha’s heart throbbed in her chest. She ached to hold him, to argue that his father had been so very wrong, but she stayed silent and allowed him to continue.

  “When I gave people what they wanted, they were happy, but no matter how hard I tried, how hard I played the game, at some point I couldn’t hold the ball any longer. When I found out about my father’s infidelity, I stopped trying. I was gruff, and I said what I wanted, and I scared people off. I tried it with you, but for some reason you’ve always looked at me differently. You see me, even through all the walls I put up around myself.” He stepped closer. “It scared the crap out of me.”

  He looked into her eyes, not hiding his emotion, but struggling to control it. “When I saw you with Steven, with his arms around you, it was the last thing I could take. All these insecurities started pouring out of me. He’d had you for six years; I’d been with you for only a few days. Eventually I would drop the ball and you’d see me. Maybe not then, maybe not tomorrow, but some day. So I convinced myself that choosing to walk away earlier wouldn’t hurt as much as later. That you’d be better off with someone else.”

  Samantha struggled to stand, tears running down her cheeks. “Tristan—”

  He widened his stance, clenching his jaw. “Let me finish.”

  She searched his stormy eyes, waiting for him to speak.

  “Last night I left the wedding and sat in my room with a bottle of whisky. I started thinking about everything. About my father, my family. And I realized I was being a coward. That I was letting everything with my dad control me again. Because of all that happened, I was pushing you away.”

  He hesitated, biting his lip as though searching for the right words.


  “But time stops when I’m with you too,” he said, finding her eyes again. “It stopped when I was with you all those years ago, and it did again the moment you got into my car in Los Angeles. And I realized if I pushed you away I’d be giving up the best thing that has ever happened to me, because of fear.”

  He glanced down to their joined hands, then back up again before continuing. “I’m in love with you, Samantha. I love the way you challenge me, I love your mind, I love the way you look at me, I love your body and soul. I don’t know where this road will lead us, but I’m not ready to get off. I’ve had more fun with you in the past week than I’ve ever had in my life, and I want a do over. Every single moment of it.” The tiniest hopeful twinkle glittered in his eyes and he gave her hand a squeeze. “Let’s get in my car, forget about our past, not worry about the future, and just drive. Wherever the road leads us. You and me, just us.”

  Her eyes overflowed with tears, and she glanced over at the Mustang filled with luggage and pillows and a large bag filled with chips.

  “Say yes,” he whispered. “Say yes, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret it.”

  She walked into his embrace, where he squeezed her so tight she felt her bones crack. When she threw her arms around his neck, he hoisted her up, cradling her against his chest.

  She kissed his lips, sobbed against them, her whole body shaking with emotion. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”

  Epilogue

  One year later

  It was early morning when Samantha opened her eyes for the first time, letting in only a fraction of light before quickly snapping them shut again. She still had a headache, and her throat felt like a tractor had tilled back and forth over the tender flesh. The windows were open, and wafting in from the bakery below was the scent of fresh baked bread.

  She smiled, even though the action caused shards of glass to scrape down her neck. She couldn’t help it. Even though she was sicker than a dog, she was still happier than she’d been in a long time. She was in Paris for the first time in her life—with the man she loved more than anything in the world. The Devil had knocked on her door, bringing strep throat with him, but nothing could get her down these days. She had everything she ever wanted. A man who not only adored her, but who had become her travel companion and best friend.

  She heard the click-screech of their front door opening, then rolled to her side to see Tristan walk into the room with the bags he’d collected at market. He sat on the side of the bed and pressed his lips to her forehead before setting them down beside her on the mattress. “No fever. How are you feeling?”

  “Better,” she croaked. “What did you bring me?”

  He furrowed his brow and opened the bag. “Well let’s see…” He pulled out three bottles of juices, ranging from red to orange. “I wasn’t sure which one you’d like, so I got orange, passion fruit, and I’m not sure what this one is.” He grinned. “She tried to tell me, but…”

  Samantha grinned, propping herself up to kiss his nose. “Thank you. You’re the sweetest.”

  “Ahhh… But that’s not all.” He stuck his hand in the bag and pulled out a Styrofoam cup and a loaf of crusty bread. “It’s only bone broth, but I thought if you were hungry—”

  Her eyes began to water, and he stopped talking, setting the broth on the table to move closer. “Are you okay? Is it your throat?”

  “No,” she said shaking her head. “It’s you.” She wiped at the corner of her eye and hugged him. Gripping his body to hers with all the strength she could muster. “How did I get so lucky? How is it possible I found someone to love me this much?”

  He hugged her back, all his muscles tightening around her at once. “I’m the lucky one.”

  Eventually they sat side-by-side, tearing off pieces of the delicious bread and soaking them up in the warm broth as they watched a movie. It wasn’t the ideal thing to do on vacation in Paris, but they still had three weeks left, and she couldn’t think of anything else she’d rather be doing.

  When the movie was over, she peeled herself from the mound of blankets and took a shower. She washed her hair for the first time in a couple of days, and when she got out, she felt practically like a new woman. Clean, fed, loved.

  She found Tristan over by the window, looking out at their spectacular view of the city. Her hair was tied up in a towel, and she wore one of his threadbare old t-shirts that smelled just like him. She walked toward him, because even a year later, she still craved to be near him. She set her hand on his shoulder, and rested her face against his muscular back. “Do you know what today is?” she whispered.

  “No. What?”

  “Your sister’s one year anniversary.” She moved to his side, and he draped his arm around her shoulders pulling her closer. “Do you think it’s a good time to call?”

  He smiled down at her, then moved the short distance to the table to fetch his phone. “Let’s find out.”

  “Hello,” Renee answered on the first thing. She was on speakerphone, held in Samantha’s palm as they looked out the window.

  “Hey Ren.” Samantha smiled. “Your brother and I just wanted to call and wish you a happy anniversary.”

  Renee laughed. “You’re in Paris on vacation and remembered my anniversary? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

  Tristan took the phone from Samantha and started laughing “Samantha’s sick, so we’re just hanging out, waiting for her to get better.”

  “Aww… Well that sucks. I thought she sounded different.”

  Samantha grinned, and Tristan handed her the phone again. He then moved behind her, and began massaging her lower back with firm fingers. “Could be worse,” she said softly.

  The two friends then went on to chat about the normal things. Work, life, and all the strange things only a best friend would care about. But before long, Phin could be heard in the background, and Renee was getting off the phone.

  “Well, we’re about to go out to dinner, and I can’t find my shoes. I’ll tell Phin you called, and I’ll expect a whole rundown of your trip when you get home.”

  “Sounds good,” Samantha whispered.

  They all said their goodbyes, and then Samantha turned around, to rest her cheek on Tristan’s chest.

  He hugged her tightly, peppering kisses along the side of her neck, “Do you know what else today is?” he whispered.

  She only grinned, feeling herself getting turned on even in her state of weakness. “What?” she asked.

  He kissed her again. “The anniversary of the day you first told me you loved me.”

  She turned around, tears brimming her eyes in surprise. “It is, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “The best day of my entire life.”

  She tilted her head, squinting up at him. “The best? Because I remember that day, and it felt more like a slow, endless torture.”

  He brushed his knuckles over her cheek and looked into her eyes, as if the realization still pained him. Very much. He then lowered his hands to the small of her back and closed his eyes for a moment. “It was torture for me, too.” He took a deep breath, then opened his eyes allowing her to see all the emotion that lived inside of him. “I watched you walk out of the reception that night, thinking it was the last time I’d ever see you, and it—” But he shook his head, unable to continue, as though he didn’t want to relive the pain. He dropped his chin down to the crevice of her neck, as though he needed her closer, needed her as much as she needed him.

  “Alone in my room that night, I realized a few things. That I trusted you completely.” He kissed her collarbone, and she could feel him shudder beneath her fingers “I also realized that if I was going to love you, I needed to allow myself to fall. Without a net, without a mask, because if I was going to be with you, you were the type of woman who deserved everything.”

  She wiped the corners of her eyes, but then he took her hands in his, needing to say more.

  “It wasn’t until you almost walked out of
my life that I knew I had to take the risk, that I had to push away what I’d always been taught, and go with what I felt in my gut. To go after what I wanted.” He moved closer, his lips hovering over hers, breathing the same breaths, breathing the same air. “Because somewhere in the darkest moments, beauty lives. Waiting for you to take hold of it and run. I didn’t sleep at all that night. I went to the hotel lobby and bought every flavor of chips I could find.” He kissed her lips then, though only barely. “It was the best day of my life, because it was the day I decided to go after you.”

  Sobs were jolting from her body, and she couldn’t take it any longer. She gripped him to her chest, hugging him harder than she thought possible. “I love you, Tristan Montgomery. I love you so much.”

  “And I love you, Samantha Elizabeth Smiles.” He then carried her to their bed, where she convinced him to make love to her even though she was sick. Because try as he may, the Devil could bring sickness, but he could never prevent them from loving each other. Even without a net to catch them.

  THE END

  Acknowledgments

  I want to give thanks to my family and friends, especially my husband. Without whose love and support none of this would be possible.

  To my editor Bree, who goes above and beyond on a daily basis! I can’t thank you enough. Your support, and constant willingness to help is priceless.

  To my author friends, who are always there to listen to me talk about my fictional troubles, and help me sort things out in my head. I love you!

  About the Author

  Taylor is mom of three young (or not so young) children she loves more than life. She runs them around endlessly, hoping she looks presentable enough to be out in public, and day dreams about fictional characters. Maybe she's crazy, or maybe she craves the barbie games she played as a little girl a little too much, but that's where her stories are born. It's where they blossom, and grow, and eventually breath life on the page of her stories.