The Boy I Hate(11)
“Are you okay?”
She didn’t answer. She glanced in the direction of the cabin, barely able to see the light of the front porch. She couldn’t believe she’d come out here. That she’d convinced herself it would be okay, even though the voice in her head had been screaming for her not to do it.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, bracing his arms on either side of the branch to pull himself up to sit beside her, making the whole thing shake under his weight.
They were both silent, his eyes fixated on the open water before he spoke again. “Why would you come out here when you don’t know how to swim?”
She clenched her jaw, unable to share the answer that sprung to her mind. Because she was curious. Because she liked the way she felt when he was close to her. “I asked you how deep it was. I trusted you.”
His head tilted slightly to the side and he looked at her. “Why? You don’t even know me.”
He was throwing her words back in her face and she didn’t like it. “’Cause I’m an idiot!” she yelled. She began scooting down the branch, determined to get away from him by any means possible. To get back to the shore, to her best friend, even by the most humiliating way she could think of.
But he lowered himself to the water, blocking her off on the other side. “Where are you going?”
“Back to the cabin. Far away from you.”
“Why? Because of that?” He gestured to the spot where she’d nearly drowned. “Why do you hate me so much, Samantha? You’ve hated me for as long as I can remember, and I don’t know why. What did I ever do to you?”
She stopped moving, too shocked by what he was asking to even look at him. It was true; she’d hated him forever, but the fact that he’d noticed made her heart hurt a little inside. She didn’t know what to say. “I—”
But he stopped her. “You know what, I don’t want to know.” He reached out to tuck the last bits of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, Sam. I really am. If I—” But he stopped, as if not allowing the words to leave his tongue. He looked back up at her, his expression somber and dark. “Forgive me?”
Present day
BOOM BOOM BOOM
Samantha startled out of sleep, the sounds of banging reverberating through the walls and floor. She threw her feet off the side of the couch and sat forward to turn off the television. The pounding came once again. BOOM BOOM BOOM.
The front door.
“Hang on,” she shouted. “I’ll be there in a second!” She grabbed her cell phone off the coffee table, and realized it had been almost an hour since she’d gotten off the phone with Renee. Tristan Montgomery was on the other side of that door, and she had no idea how long he’d been out there.
She pushed hard against the couch, forcing herself to stand, then walked over to the entertainment center to check her reflection in the television screen. “Oh God,” she whispered, taking in the long strands of hair stuck to her face and smoothing them behind her ears. This was the first time she’d seen Tristan in six years, and a red imprint of her couch cushion was etched into her cheek. No. She shook her head at her reflection. It wasn’t the first time. She’d seen him a handful of other times as well. In passing, when he came home for visits from college…but he never seemed to notice her. Never again after that night.
When she finally opened the door a minute later, unsure if he’d left because he was so quiet, she found him resting in the stairwell, his back against the wall, laughing into the receiver of his cell phone. He stood there so casually, it seemed as though he did this every day, as though he hadn’t just been beating down her front door with his bare fists.
“Yeah, I got it.” He smiled. But not to Samantha—he was speaking to whomever was on the phone. “Talk to you later.”
When he finally turned around, he placed his cell phone in his back pocket. “I thought I was going to have to break the door down.” He lifted his shoulders. “Either that or you changed your mind.”
He brushed past her, not waiting for an invitation before stepping into her apartment. “I have to piss. Where’s your bathroom?”
She made a face at his choice of words, but decided quickly against making a comment, and turned swiftly toward the hall. For the next three days, she was stuck with him. Three thousand miles, and she was determined not set off on the wrong foot. “It’s down the hall.”
She wrapped her arms around her belly and walked in the opposite direction toward the window. This was a bad idea, she could feel it in her bones. Renee had said he’d changed, but she thought in a good way. If anything, he was worse! Gruff, callous, entitled. Though maybe a bit rougher. His jeans were a weathered blue, roughed up in the way that was fashionable these days, and his shirt was gray, form fitting, and indicated that he still had the body he was known for in high school. But now he had a scruffy shadow of a beard that matched his messy surfer-boy style.