Page 109 of Hate to Love You

“Did you ever think,” she says carefully, “that maybe you’re what’s best for him?”

I stare silently as her words filter through my brain.

Chapter Forty-Three

Natalie

I worry my lower lip between my teeth as I rush across campus. I’ve been dreading my ten o’clock finance class for obvious reasons. I haven’t run into Brody since he left my apartment a few nights ago. After a little more than a month together, his absence from my life has left a huge void that feels impossible to fill.

Just as class is about to get underway, I slip into the room and take a seat in the back row. As I take out my materials, I glance around, searching for Brody. Now that we’re no longer together, I expect everything to morph back to the way it used to be. Which means Kimmie should be parked next to him, chattering away.

My eyes settle on Kimmie, but he’s not there.

It takes a few more minutes to realize that Brody isn’t anywhere in the small lecture hall. But he’s got to show up, right? This is one of his borderline classes. After fifteen minutes slowly trickle by, it becomes apparent that he isn’t going to show up at all.

My dread turns into concern. It’s not like Brody to skip class. I may not have realized it before, but Brody’s grades mean a lot to him. He did really well on the last finance test and was able to raise his grade to a low B, which gives him a little bit of breathing room. We may have broken up, and he might not want to see me, but I have a difficult time believing he would jeopardize getting benched.

As soon as Dr. Miller dismisses us, I fly through the door and out of the building. I slide my phone from my bag and stare at it, wondering if I should reach out and make sure everything’s okay. But I can’t imagine that Brody wants to hear from me. For any reason. So, I reluctantly slide the phone back into my pocket and keep moving.

Zara’s words have been churning in my head since our talk. Did I make the right decision in letting Brody go? Should I have told him about his dad’s visit?

I don’t know.

It may not seem like it, but what I did came from a good place. I want only the best for Brody. If anyone deserves success, it’s him. The last thing I want to do is stand in the way of that.

As I haul ass past the union, trying to decide what my next step is, my eyes get snagged by a familiar face. His presence is so unexpected and out of place on campus that I grind to a halt. I blink, half-wondering if I’m hallucinating. Our gazes stay locked as my dad rises from the bench he’s seated on and gives me a tentative wave in greeting.

I hitch my bag higher on my shoulder and force myself to close the distance between us. I haven’t spoken to Dad since the restaurant incident with his fiancée.

I don’t understand what he’s doing here, of all places.

“Hello, Nat,” he says when I stop a few feet from him.

“Hi.” I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other, wishing there was a way to fill the lengthening silence now stretching between us. I hate that this is what it’s come to.

“Do you have some time for us to talk?” There’s a hopeful note threading its way through his voice.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to lie, to tell him that I’m on my way to a class…but I can’t. As angry as I still am, he’s here. Making an effort. Can I really brush that off?

Maybe hashing things out is exactly what needs to happen. We’ve both had some time to cool down. More than that, I hate that we’re not talking. Before the separation, we were close. The yawning gulf that exists between us is painful.

I nod. “I have a little bit of time.”

His lips lift in relief. Some of the tension seeps from his body as his shoulders relax. “Good. Do you want to go somewhere else or,” he points to the bench he had been occupying, “sit here and talk? I’ll do whatever’s easiest for you.”

I glance around. Tons of people are rushing past us on their way to class or stopping at the union for lunch. This is the last place I want to have a heart-to-heart conversation with Dad. I think we need a little more privacy than this area affords.

I point in the direction I’d been rushing. “There are some tables near Hamlin Hall, at the edge of campus, where we can talk.” I shrug. “It’s more private.”

“Okay, that sounds good,” Dad agrees.

We fall in line with one another and walk in silence. There are no two ways about it—this sucks. Our relationship is no longer easy and effortless the way it used to be. Instead, it’s strained and stifling.

We reach Hamlin Hall, which has a large assortment of tables scattered across the front lawn where students can eat lunch or study. Picking one that’s away from other people, I plunk my bag down on the metal top and take a seat. My dad slides across from me. He fidgets for a few minutes before resting his elbows on the table and threading his fingers tightly together. He stares down at them as if he’s gathering his courage.

If I weren’t so nervous, I’d smile. Guess I’m not the only one with a tell.

“First of all, I want to apologize for what happened at the restaurant,” Dad says, looking me in the eyes. “In hindsight, I realize that inviting Bridgette to have dessert with us and not telling you about it was the wrong way to go about things. It never occurred to me that you might feel ambushed, and I’m sorry for that.”

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