The Boy I Hate(90)

“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?”