Page 131 of The Way I Hate Him
When I look up at him, he says, “I don’t know how to move on from here, how to patch things up between us, and I’m sure as hell not making any promises, but there’s one thing I know for damn sure. I’ll do anything for my sisters, just like they’ll do anything for me.”
“So . . . do you want to be friends or something?” I ask awkwardly.
He lifts his drink to his lips. “Not sure if we could ever get there again, but I can work on not wanting to punch your face in whenever I see you.”
“Fair,” I say and then take a sip of my drink as well. “For what it’s worth, I was telling the truth. I never made a move on Samantha . . . ever. I know I was going through a rough time when it all happened, but there’s one thing I can stand by, and that’s not fucking over my friends.”
He stares at his drink and says, “I think I can believe that. Abel said the same thing, but you know how it is. You believe something for so long, it’s going to take a second to process.”
“Yeah, I get it.”
He meets my eyes. “But I’m going to work on it.”
“I appreciate that.”
He stands from the chair and sets his drink on the coffee table. “Okay, I need to get out of here and pick up Mac before practice.”
I follow him to the door. “What you’re doing, taking care of MacKenzie, it’s really admirable, Ry.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He pulls my front door open, but before leaving, he turns back to me and says, “Not sure what’s going on with Hattie, but I’ll tell you this, you fuck her over, you hurt her, and I won’t have one single problem having a repeat of yesterday. Understood?”
I nod.
And with that, he takes off.
What do I make of that? Is he suggesting he’d be okay with me pursuing Hattie?
After the crap we’ve been through—after I’ve pushed her away several times—wouldsheeven want that? Me? I have my doubts. I’ve missed her, but I’m fairly certain I brought that on myself.
* * *
I pace my bedroom,staring at my phone.
It’s been a week since I’ve spoken or seen Hattie, and now I’m starting to lose my mind.
I wanted to give her space, some time to come to terms with how I acted, but now that it’s been a week, I’m in panic mode. At the very least, I want to have a chance to speak with her and explain myself. To convince her I’m not the barbarian she saw. That I didn’t hold out on telling her about the letter to keep her from connecting with her sister.
That’s why I’m staring at my phone, trying to figure out how to text her.
I quit my pacing and read over my text one more time.
Hayes:Hey, Hattie. I know it’s been a week since we last spoke, but I just wanted to reiterate how sorry I am. I’d love to see you or at least talk to you.
It reads a little desperate, but then again, that’s exactly how I feel, so why mask it?
Not fucking caring at this moment, I send the text, and then I wait.
I take a seat on my bed, watching, waiting, and when the text says it’s been read, I feel my chest expand with hope, but with every second that goes by, I find that hope slipping away.
And after what feels like an hour with still no response, I realize, maybe . . . maybe she just doesn’t want to talk to me, and that, fuck, that hurts.
* * *
“Areyou sure you don’t want to go out for a walk?” I ask my grandma, who’s sitting in her chair, staring out the window.
The moment I walked into her room, I realized how stuffy it was and opened the window for her. She was happy to see me, but also distracted. She can’t stop looking outside, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. I came here for a distraction, but she’s barely talking to me.
“I can’t walk, remember? I’m dying.”
