I Hate You

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  She sighs and scoots in closer to me, her hands slipping under my shorts and stroking my cock. I groan, arching up off the bed. It’s been three days since I had her, since I was between those legs. We could have had sex, but I hadn’t been in the right headspace, and maybe part of me had needed some distance, to think about the Combine and how screwed up it was.

  But now…after what she said…I need her. I don’t know what love is, but I can show her how I feel.

  I reach for her breast. It’s warm and small and—

  I stiffen.

  “Blazey…”

  “Dani! What the fuck? How did you get in here?” I scramble up on the bed and reach over to turn on the lamp.

  What did I almost…what did I do?

  She blinks at the light and sits up, the covers slipping down to show bare breasts. Her skin reeks of alcohol.

  I look away from her. “Seriously? You’re insane! Who let you in?”

  She laughs. “Came back to party with Dillon and snuck in here to check on you. You looked so sad, all injured, and I wanted to make you feel better.”

  I hobble to standing. “I wasn’t sad. I was asleep! Get your clothes on and get out.”

  “Don’t be like that. I’ve waited forever for this. Come on,” she murmurs, her voice slurring.

  I hop forward to the wall and turn on the overhead light. My heart has slowed down a notch, but I’m anxious to get her ass gone. “You don’t just waltz in here and act like it’s okay to get in my bed. If I’d done that to a girl, it would be serious shit. I’m not into you and I never was. I don’t want anything you have to offer.”

  I brush my gaze over her and see her face has reddened. “You’re a giant dick. I hope that Chi-O dumps your ass.” She eases out of the bed on the other side, nonchalant about the fact that she’s stark naked.

  Fuck me. I shudder and rub my face, dread pooling as I think about explaining this to Charisma.

  30

  I slam my laptop closed and rub my forehead.

  “Get me some cheese,” screeches Vampire Bill from his perch.

  I send him a look. Dream on, buddy, my eyes tell him.

  He seems to get it and glares back. “Get your skinny ass down the road,” he retorts.

  Standing up, I stretch, going over my presentation for tomorrow’s design class. It’s good, and I’m stoked I got it down.

  I throw him a glance. “Maybe I will.”

  He moves his head back and forth as I consider popping in on Blaze. Checking the clock, I see it’s eleven-thirty, probably too late to stop by unannounced. I think back to today. He looked so lost in that bed, worried and frazzled, and when I told him I loved him…

  He didn’t say it back.

  He wouldn’t even look at me.

  I laid myself out there, and he just pretended I never said those words.

  Yet, part of me knows it’s there…right?

  Am I being stupid?

  Am I one of those girls who hang on forever, loving a guy who can’t really commit?

  “I’m going to see him. I need answers,” I tell the bird as I walk to my dresser and grab a pair of white lace underwear then head to the bathroom and take a shower. After putting on yoga pants and a tank top, I snatch a Wildcats jacket out of my closet and shove my arms inside.

  Once I get to his dorm, I’m less sure about seeing him.

  He’s been so distant. I know he’s worried. I am too.

  I knock, but no one answers. Figures. He’s probably asleep, and Dillon is out celebrating.

  The door is unlocked and I ease it open, blinking to acclimate my eyes in the dim light. Low music throbs softly from a speaker as I step into the den. Dillon is laid out on the floor, a girl on either side of him. They’re partially clothed, and I avert my eyes and head down the hall to Blaze’s bedroom

  The door is open, just a little, the light on, telling me he’s up. He hobbles past the opening, talking to someone, and I pause, listening.

  There’s a girl’s voice, but it’s too low to make anything out.

  Apprehension, snakelike, crawls over me, starting at my scalp, tingling as it inches over my face, my chest. My feet are moving closer, the air in my lungs scant as I use my fingers to ease the door open and take a step inside.

  He hasn’t seen me yet, his focus across the room, but Dani has.

  A sly smile curves over her features as she zips up a skirt and wiggles until it’s smoothed down.

  He freezes at the smile on her face then turns and sees me.

  “Charisma! Jesus! This isn’t what it looks like, I swear!” He hobbles over the two steps it takes to get to me, limping on the ankle. “I woke up and she was in my bed. I told her to get the hell out.”

  “I see.” I look away from him to her, and she’s still wearing a smile as she picks up her bra and puts it on, followed by a low-cut cropped sweater. She bends over, grabs a pair of ankle boots, and slips them on her feet. Straightening up, she considers me briefly and weaves on her feet—trashed, I assume, yet she’s able to give me a withering, assessing look, taking in my wet hair before drifting down to the rest of me. “He’s got a big cock, little Chi-O. Perfect in my hands, and so hard. Ask him about that. Good luck taming him.” She flutters her lashes and tosses a strand of hair over her shoulders. She sashays past me to the door, and then she’s gone, every willowy, beautiful inch of her.

  “Charm, for fuck’s sake, don’t believe a goddamn word she says. I thought it was you—”

  “Stop.” I raise my hand and he clams up. Inside, I’m falling apart, but I make my face inscrutable, schooling myself, part of me wanting to chase after Dani and pluck her eyeballs out.

  But I won’t.

  She’s not worth it.

  He gives up on waiting for me, shaking his head and moving closer. “Charm, don’t let your head go to weird places…” He inhales a breath. “Please, believe me!”

  He watches me, his fist to his mouth, as I tilt my head up. His bare, muscular chest heaves under my scrutiny. My gaze traces the lines of his lips, and I think about the way he kisses me, as if he can’t get enough, as if I’m the very center of his world.

  Yet…

  He didn’t come after me last fall. In fact, he went so far as to stick Dani to his side to keep me away.

  He needed distance then.

  And he does now too, still keeping his heart hidden.

  “Your face isn’t right. Charm, stop, just stop thinking that shit! I’m telling you the truth—I woke up and she was there and for half a second, I thought she was you. She’s not the kind of girl I want! I never fucked her last fall and I haven’t tonight—”

  “I believe you. I do,” I say, surprised by the calm in my voice. “I know how girls like her operate. I can see her sneaking in here and crawling into bed with you. You aren’t a liar.”

  He bows his head over me, hands reaching out and cupping my face. “Thank God. Thank God. I thought you were going to freak out.”

  Oh, I am freaking out.

  I pull away from him, my forehead furrowing, the adrenaline finally reaching a point where my head pounds with it.

  I lick my lips, an empty feeling inside me getting bigger, growing until it’s a looming awful monster, until it’s all I have, a black hole in my chest, pushing him out and bringing those insecurities from my past back in, curling around me.

  “You’re upset. What are you thinking?” His words are soft.

  What am I thinking?

  I think about that aching darkness you get when you lose something you love.

  I know there are things you can’t control. I can’t control him. I can’t control what city he ends up in after the draft. I can’t control women who lust and fawn over him. Those are battles I can’t fight because they only tear me down.

  Who wants to live like that?

  At the end of the day, all we really have is trust and faith in the people we choose to love, and I don’t have that. I don’t—no matter what I’ve been tellin
g myself these past few weeks. My faith was thin to begin with, and now…it just brings everything back into focus, sharp with edges that hurt.

  I feel wetness on my cheeks, and I’m startled by it, quickly wiping the tears away.

  He makes a strangled noise and comes toward me, but I take a step back until I’m hanging on to the doorknob, my hand gripping it.

  “Don’t touch me right now, okay?”

  He closes his eyes. “Charm…baby. Don’t leave me. You promised you wouldn’t—”

  “Blaze, please, stop talking.”

  He huffs out a big breath, his lips thinning.

  I’m not sure how long I stand there, just thinking, but neither of us move. I put a hand to my chest, willing my heart to be okay, to slow down, but it doesn’t. It hurts, actually twinges, and I stop an awkward laugh. So it’s true—your heart really does break.

  I take in a deep breath. “Dani…you didn’t sleep with her, and I want to be clear: I believe you. She came in here and you didn’t know.”

  He nods. “I had no clue.”

  “But someday, somewhere, there’ll be another girl—maybe on the road, maybe in whatever city you end up in. You’ll have a girl hanging on you, and she’ll be perfect, and you’ll forget about me, Blaze. Otherwise, why haven’t you told me—” I stop.

  I am not begging him to tell me he loves me. Hell no.

  He leans against the wall to keep his balance. Red colors his cheeks. “You can’t punish me for some future girl I don’t even want!” He blows out a breath, his voice lowering. “Charm, come on. I’m not your pop.”

  I shake my head. “You keep everything inside you locked up so tight, Blaze. I thought I was okay with this thing, as you call it, but I can’t do it anymore.”

  He just stares at me.

  He doesn’t speak.

  He could.

  He could.

  But he chooses not to.

  He swallows and looks away.

  Just like earlier today.

  I sigh. “Just leave me alone, okay? Don’t talk to me. Don’t…do anything.”

  And I leave, marching out his door and past the people on the floor. I shut the front door quietly behind me, and it’s not until I reach my car and crawl inside that the tears really come. I bang my fists on my steering wheel and weep.

  I can’t be the girl who’s always waiting for the guy to figure out what she means to him, all the while knowing he’s out there surrounded by other girls.

  I just can’t.

  I’d rather hurt like this until he’s out of my mind and out of my heart.

  31

  “Next,” calls out the Combine official who’s working at the height station. He tells us all to remove our shoes, socks, and anything that might enhance our height. I remove everything, even the boot. I set it all on a bench and limp back, testing it gingerly. I’m seven days out from my injury, a far cry from the fourteen days the doctor told me I needed to wait before doing any running.

  “Keep moving!” yells a trainer, and I throw him a wave and make my way across the Indianapolis Colts’ stadium floor with several other players, most long shots like me. The number eighty-two is pinned to my chest, the background a bright yellow tag that says, INJURED.

  I’m better than all these guys and I know it. I heave out a breath when it’s my turn to be measured. My hands tap at my leg. I’m frazzled, and it doesn’t help that my ankle feels off without the boot on it. I’ve been the best patient I could be, following all the instructions to the letter.

  My eyes quickly survey the stands, looking for Charisma. She isn’t here, of course, and my chest tightens to the point that I clutch it.

  She left me—even though she knew I wasn’t with Dani. Anger and grief mingle together and brush at me, a familiar emotion I’ve been struggling with since she walked out.

  How can she let us go so easily?

  Don’t think about her. Focus on today.

  “Do you need someone to help you walk up to the machine?” It’s one of the trainers. He watched me remove the boot earlier.

  “I can still walk,” I tell him, my words clipped.

  “Bad luck about the ankle. Heard about it in the break room,” the trainer says.

  “Doesn’t even hurt,” I tell him. It still twinges, though, and I know it’s healing.

  I step up to be measured. “Number eighty-two. Six foot, three and five-eighths inches,” the trainer calls out to someone who types it in to be displayed on a large board, the measurements appearing next to my name.

  I look over and watch a group of NFL scouts scribble notes on their pads.

  Blaze Townsend: tall, well built, but can’t run.

  Whatever.

  I shuffle to the next station with the rest of the group. Frustration swirls inside me as we make our way to the forty-yard dash, the granddaddy of all measurements for wide receivers. Every molecule inside me wants to run, wants to show them that I know I’m the best. You can be short, fat, unable to jump over a mushroom, and have seven fingers on one hand, but if you can run a fast forty, the scouts will notice.

  “You running?” asks Terrance, a wide receiver from Alabama who I’ve gotten to know over the last two days of the Combine. He’s putting his shoes back on. I realize I left mine back at the bench, my thoughts scattered. Won’t need them anyway.

  “Injured,” I tell him. “Just gonna sit in the waiting area now and watch.”

  He frowns, probably looking at my face. “Man, that sucks. All I care about is getting on that board and seeing how fast I am.”

  I compose my face slowly, working it into the semblance of a good-luck smile. “Break a leg, Alabama.”

  He walks up to the track and I take a seat, my rage rushing fast and furious when I see that Archer has already run and is listed as the eighth fastest overall.

  Terrance does the dash then walks back up to the bench to take a breath.

  “Shit, 4.47. I ran better on campus last week.” He shakes his head and sits down.

  The rest of the group finishes in unimpressive fashion, and I beat back the emotions jammed in my throat. I could have beat all of them.

  “Time for us to move on,” says the trainer.

  “I still haven’t run, sir.” The words are out before I can think.

  He gives me a squinty-eyed look. “Thought you were skipping this station.” His eyes flick over my injured leg and then down to my ankle. The boot is still on the bench near the height station, but I refuse to look at it.

  What if…what if I ignored the injury?

  I weigh the options in my head in two seconds flat.

  If I don’t do this now, the NFL is never going to happen.

  I’ve been pushing myself for four years, and I’m going to let one injury slow me down?

  FTS. Fuck that shit.

  “I wanna run.”

  He frowns. “You don’t have any shoes. You left them back at the last station.”

  I look over at Terrance. “What size do you wear?”

  “Fourteens.” He takes a hard look at my face, gives me a lopsided grin. After a beat, he takes them off and offers them up.

  “Close enough. Thanks, man.”

  I squeeze my feet into Terrance’s shoes and lace them up. They’re tight but fine. I do some stretches, rubbing my calves and ankles.

  “Show us what you got, Townsend!” yells one of the other guys in our group. The yelling gets other people’s attention, and I feel a few eyes looking at us. I shake it off, running in place in quick steps, getting my heart rate up. I see Archer craning his neck toward me from a huddle of defensive players, and I toss my hand up and give him a wave. I’ll show him.

  The trainer leads me to the line. “Get set there and start whenever you’re ready. Your time will be measured by laser from the moment you start until you cross the line at the end of the track. Got it? No second chances.” His eyebrow cocks as his eyes brush over my foot. “Don’t hurt yourself, son.”

  I stretch mor
e, getting the jitters out and warming up my muscles. I bounce on the turf in the weird shoes. Shit, this is insane.

  With my feet flat on the ground and sweaty hands planted in front of me, I get set.

  This is it, my one shot. “Lose Yourself” by Eminem goes through my head.

  Prove you’re better.

  Be worthy.

  Because I am. I am. I’m not the piece of shit my parents said I was.

  Charisma slips back into my head. I think about how she’s always believed in my talent, even when I didn’t believe in us. That first night in Cadillac’s, she didn’t walk out the door until she told me she was happy for me.

  She’s scared, just like me, but she loves me—a poor trailer park kid from Mississippi.

  “Run when you’re ready, Townsend,” the trainer calls out from a few feet away.

  Everything in the stadium zooms in until it’s just me, heart pounding, and I use it, focusing on the yards in front of me.

  Adrenaline courses through my body.

  One shot, one shot.

  I take off.

  Everything’s a blur as I put one foot in front of the other and streak down the short forty-yard course. I hear yelling but don’t care if they’re cheering me on or hoping for me to fail. This is my moment. If it goes to hell, I’ll pay the consequences.

  I cross the line, jog to a stop, and turn to see the time as it’s posted on the board.

  4.34 seconds. Fast—so goddamn fast.

  Pride ripples through me. Shit. My ankle throbs, but I know it’s good. It’s going to be fine.

  I tilt my head up and close my eyes.

  Charisma, Charisma, Charisma. Where are you, baby? I need you so much.

  I’m not listening to the guys cheering and slapping me on the back. I’m not even looking at the scouts on the sidelines.

  I picture her in my head, those lips, those eyes I drown in, and I feel lighter than I have in….years.

  I’ve been saying football is the one thing I can’t live without, but it’s a lie.

  She is. It’s her.

  She’s been there the entire time, even when she had her rules, and I’ve got to be what she needs—because existing without her is not an option. And love? It’s just a word. It’s a pretty word that scrambles my head and makes me scared. Hell, maybe it makes lots of people afraid. Terrified of getting hurt, of being left behind, of giving a part of yourself to someone while knowing they have the power to change your whole world.