Page 74 of The Boy I Hate

She swallowed quickly, glancing up into his face inadaze.

He adjusted his stance, then took a sip of his dark drink and tilted his head. “Pieces like yours are exactly what I’ve been lookingfor,miss…?”

The wind left her lungs and she forgot how to speak—everything. Even her own name. This had been the darkest day of her entire life, and now this man stood in front of her, offering her a candle of hope. Tears brimmed her eyes and she looked down toherfeet.

A woman with dark, silvery curls came to stand by his side and took hold ofhisarm.

“Dear, this is the young artist who made the sculpture,” he said, lowering his head to whisper in her ear like Samantha wasn’t right in front of them. They held a conversation about the detail, the artistry, and Samantha finally found her voiceagain.

“Samantha Smiles,” she cut in, holding out her hand. “It’s nice to meetyouboth.”

The older woman took her offered fingers, squeezing them softly. “It’s stunning, dear.” she confessed, “Simplystunning.”

Her husband placed a card into Samantha’s palm, then curled her fingers around the sharp edges. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Smiles. Please call me, I’d love to chat.” He patted the top of her closed hand and turned to his wife. “I do look forward to your phone call, but if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to dance with my wife.” He then nodded his head once more and escorted Mrs. Covington to the dancefloor.

Samantha returned quickly to the table, unable to process anything but goodbyes as she tucked the card away in herclutch.

She walked down the long hall to her room with her head held high, praying to God that Tristan had heard her, that maybe he was waiting for her at her room, but the closer she got, the more it became clear that hewasn’t.

She entered the dark room alone, where she slipped off her gown, letting it land as a puddle of fabric onto the floor. She crawled into bed with pins still in her hair and let the tears flow. Tomorrow she would go back to LA, she promised, and try to forget about the man who took her heart while she wasn’t paying attention. But tonight, she would allow herself to grieve. She would cry until her mouth went dry, until all her tears were spent, and hopefully when it was over, her heart wouldn’t hurt quite sobadly.

31

ChapterThirty-one

The next afternoonSamantha ran the business card over and over again against her palm. She’d called Mr. Covington early that morning, and he was flying to Los Angeles the next week to look at her collection—he wanted all of it. Every single piece, purchased unseen, simply because he liked herstyle.

It was surreal. To realize life could change so quickly. That love could enter, then be ripped away in the blink of an eye. That a career at rock bottom could flourish, simply by being in the right place at therighttime.

She fastened the card back away in her wallet, then added the last of her belongings in her overstuffed suitcase. She’d already called the front desk to check out of the room, but glanced around it one last time. The curtains were drawn open, revealing the beautiful day ahead of her, and the empty suite she had to leave behind. But she was leaving behind so much—she was leaving Tristan, who still was nowhere to be found. And a best friend, who she wasn’t sure she’d see for alongtime.

She wanted to stop by Tristan’s door one last time to see if he was there, but pride wouldn’t allow her to chase him anymore. Like Mark said, the ball was in his court now. What she needed to say was said last night. She loved him. Unconditionally. It was up to him what he did with theinformation.

She grabbed her backpack from the top of the desk, and slung it over one shoulder before setting her keycard on the dresser and heading out of the room. She took the elevator all the way to the garage floor, where she could continue on past the valet and out into the city streets. But when she got there, Tristan was propped against the side of his Mustang in one of the stalls. She swallowed hard, wanting to ignore his aviator shielded face, and his feet crossed at the ankles, but her eyes instantly filled with tears. Even though she told herself she wasn’t going to cry for him anymore. Even though she thought every drop of tears had been shed lastnight.

She tried to rush past him, not wanting him to see her in this condition, but he stepped in front of her, blockingherexit.

He pulled his glasses from his face, revealing tired, dark circles. “Can I talk to you?” he asked, emotion turning his voice togravel.

She looked up at him, swallowing hard as she gripped onto her backpack for dear life. “Now? Now you want to talk to me? I’ve called you a thousand times. I stood up there in front of all of thosepeople—”

“Iknow—”

She turned on her heels, feeling emotion try to consume her. Her heart was beating wildly, trampled by a thousand horses, and she needed togetaway.

He stepped in front of her again. “I was scared! Dammit, will you listentome?”

She froze, because she’d never heard him yell before. Or seen him look so tortured. Tears brimmed his eyes, and he used the backs of his hands to brush them away. “I was shitty to you; I know that. I was vulnerable, and instead of letting you in, I closed you out.” He was visibly struggling to keep himself together, and she almost wanted to take him in her arms, but she couldn’t. She needed to hear what he was goingtosay.

“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’swedding.”

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 tocontinue.

“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 outofme.”

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 withsomeoneelse.”

Samantha struggled to stand, tears running down her cheeks. “Tristan—”

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