The Boy I Hate(38)

He grinned and came toward her, hobbling forward before pulling her into a hug. “Normal’s overrated,” he stated. He threw his arm over her shoulder and looked toward Samantha.

She tried to keep herself under control, taking deep breaths and smoothing her hair behind her ears. Renee told him about her upcoming performance. About the scouts, and New York, and her big role in The Nutcracker. There was actually a smile in her voice as she spoke to him, as though she had missed him as much as her mom did. And Tristan—he listened to all of it. Saying how proud he was, how he’d come back to watch her no matter what the cost.

He told them all about his injury, about it being one of the many trade-offs for being the quarterback of a team. But when the conversation dwindled, he leaned against the counter and glanced between Samantha and Renee. “Any parties tonight?” he asked.

It was the first he’d spoken to her since he’d gotten there, and for some reason she couldn’t answer. Cotton had filled her throat, making it impossible to speak. Renee eyed her with an odd expression, then elbowed Tristan in the rips. “Like I want my big brother tagging along with me,” she scoffed.

He only laughed, as if her elbow had gone unnoticed—but then he moved toward her, like a cat about to pounce. “Oh yeah?” he asked. “You don’t want your big brother tagging along?” He took her head under his arm and started rubbing his knuckles back and forth against her skull. “What’s the big secret, Nay? What are you doing that you don’t want your brother seeing?”

“Tristan!” She screamed, punching in him the gut while laughing at the same time. They circled each other, gripped together in some sort of double headlock move, until Mrs. Montgomery finally had enough.

“Tristan, let her go!” she shouted.

But Samantha only stood there, watching her best friend play fight with her big brother—in a way she’d never seen before.

They both finally stopped, pulling quickly apart, though Tristan had to ruffle Renee’s hair before letting her go. “Good to know you can defend yourself, sis.” He laughed.

“Good to see college hasn’t made you grow up.”

He winked at her, grinning ear to ear. “Never.”

Renee’s mom leaned against the counter, watching her two almost grown children banter like politicians, but there were tears in her eyes. “You kids aren’t going anywhere tonight!” she stated. “I just got you back, and we’re going out to dinner to celebrate. Now go get ready!” she ordered. “Your dad’s working late again; you kids aren’t leaving me alone.”

She turned to Samantha, her voice softening a bit more. “Call your parents, dear. See if you can join us.”

Samantha only shook her head, tucked her hair behind her ear, and looked down to her feet. “No, I really couldn’t—I don’t want to intrude.”

“Nonsense, dear.” Mrs. Montgomery said, then picked up the phone and started dialing. “I’ll call them. You go get ready.”

Samantha swallowed, unable to look Tristan in the eyes as she passed him in the hall. She followed Renee up the stairs, her back straight as she started climbing. She told herself not to look back, even though she desperately wanted to. To see if he was watching her. To see if five months without seeing her was enough to erase their past. To erase the one night she thought about daily. And she didn’t stop until she entered Renee’s room and closed the door, realizing that for some reason, her heart hurt worse seeing him now than it had the night they came home from the lake.





13





Chapter Thirteen





Present day



By the time they stopped at their next hotel, they’d been on the road for thirteen hours straight. She could hardly see, hardly walk, and Tristan looked much the same.

Like before, they went to their separate rooms right next door to one another, where Samantha sent a text to check in with Steven, then took a shower and laid out her things for the next morning.

She was about to climb into bed when a soft tap at her motel door made her heart lurch to her throat. She thought about ignoring it, but it came again, followed by Tristan’s deep voice. “Samantha, it’s me. Are you still awake?”

She hadn’t turned out the lights yet, so pretending she was already asleep was out of the question. She climbed out of bed, straightened her large t-shirt over her breasts, and opened the door. “Did you need something?” she asked.

He was wearing the same gray sweats he had on that morning, though now he wore a tank top, cut low on the sides to reveal his arms. He was gripping his skull so hard it looked painful, as he tilted his head in apology. “Sorry to bother you, but I have one hell of a headache. I was wondering if you had any aspirin?”