Hate You, Henley: An Enemies To Lovers Sports Romance (Brooks University Book 3)

by Hannah Gray

  I want to say, Probably shoved up your ass. But that wouldn’t be very “sisterly.” So, instead, I smile harder until my cheeks can’t take it.

  Why did I get defensive when she said they sucked? I mean, why do I care if they win or lose?

  In my mind, it felt like a direct attack on Weston. And call me crazy, but … I won’t stand for it. I might be a bitch to him, but I’ll be damned if anyone else can be.

  Pot, meet my friend Kettle.

  I stand up, looking around at any of my sorority sisters who isn’t Claire. “I’m going to the concession stand. Anyone want anything?”

  “I’ll take a popcorn,” Mary says, digging in her pocket for money. “And a Diet Coke.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Layla stands. “That way, you don’t have to carry so much by yourself. I have to tinkle anyway.”

  “Tinkle?” I laugh. “You’re so proper.”

  We make our way down the stairs to find an obnoxiously long line. But I want food bad enough that I wouldn’t care if it was a mile long. I’d probably still stand in it.

  While we wait, Layla runs to the restroom, and I pull my phone out of my pocket to check my messages. Much to my surprise, I find a few from Dane. It’s not unusual for us to talk. We don’t hate each other. We’re just … awkward now. And I think we both found that the best way to deal with our problems is to avoid each other. Avoidance is always the answer. Right?

  Dane: Big bro is getting his ass handed to him out there. What the hell is going on with him?

  Me: I’m surprised you don’t have a game tonight.

  Dane: Tomorrow. But seriously, Hen, I don’t get it. We’re supposed to be scared of this team? LOL. We could whoop their asses.

  I never even thought about the fact that Weston’s and Dane’s teams will eventually face off. I don’t think Weston has told a soul he has a brother, never mind a twin brother. Imagine Weston’s teammates’ shock when they take their helmets off and—bam!—two freaking Westons.

  To me, after knowing them both my entire life, there are a lot of things about them that make them different. Both are insanely handsome. Dane’s a super flirt. He jokes around almost all the time. He keeps his hair buzzed. Weston’s is just long enough that if I wanted, I could run my fingers through it and give it a little tug.

  I want … I want …

  Weston has a sense of humor, but he also takes life more seriously than his brother does. He carries himself with confidence that is certainly on the edge of cockiness. But even I’ll admit, it’s hot.

  Me: Dane … you’re twins. So, why must you call him big bro?

  Dane: He came out first. That makes him older. He’s my grumpy, old fuck of a brother. Anyway, back to the game. Why are they sucking so bad? I’m watching it online. Fucking painful.

  Me: No idea. It seems like the team isn’t on the same page.

  Dane: I can see that, Einstein. But was there a fight between teammates or something? Why are they letting their quarterback get sacked? Weston and that Knox Carter kid are carrying the entire team.

  Dane: And they aren’t doing a stellar job either.

  Dane: Not like I care. Just curious.

  I know Dane cares. He can pretend like he doesn’t because he and his brother haven’t talked in over a year. But … he cares. I’m the reason why they don’t communicate anymore. And that right there makes me feel horrible about myself.

  Me: Dude, how would I know? If your brother speaks to me, it’s just to basically tell me I’m a bitch or to get under my skin.

  Dane: So, you two aren’t … you know, again?

  Me: When were we ever … you know … to begin with?

  Dane: Guess you got a point there. I just thought y’all would have figured your shit out by now.

  Me: Nothing to figure out, man. Too much damage has been done now. On both ends.

  He doesn’t answer, and I feel a twang of guilt in the pit of my stomach.

  Dane was in love with me when we had sex. He told me after. And a part of me worries that he still is. I don’t know. I feel like I broke the friendships I had with both of them while ripping them apart at the same time. All in one big, sloppy situation.

  I’m a crap person. Go ahead and think it. I already know it.

  After Dane and I hooked up, I cried. And I’m not talking about later on, when I got in the privacy of my own home. I’m talking about the second he … finished.

  Gross.

  Then, he apologized. Making it worse. We both knew it was wrong. Not to mention, uncomfortable and weird. Yet, after, he still admitted that he’d had feelings for me for a long time. But he knew Weston thought of me as his best friend and was possibly in love with me too.

  What we did, it wasn’t right.

  I didn’t say anything when he admitted he had feelings. I couldn’t. Because I didn’t feel the same way back, and I think he knew it. Even now, after all we’ve been through together, he knows my heart was never for the taking. It always belonged to Weston.

  Correction: belongs to Weston.

  Just as Layla walks back toward me, another message comes through from Dane.

  Dane: Be safe tonight. I know there will be parties after the game. Use that pretty head of yours. You aren’t in Gray anymore.

  Wow, he sounds exactly like his brother.

  Me: Maybe if I click my heels together, I will be. Have a good night, Daney-Waney.

  Tucking my phone into my pocket, I’m thankful as hell that I’m finally next in line to order my crap. Any longer, and I would have missed the start of the second half. And I have a feeling the boys are about to turn this around and prove that the skeptics shouldn’t doubt them again.

  If I know Weston, he won’t go down without a fight.

  Everyone cheers as the game ends. Just as I predicted, they made one hell of a comeback. When they came onto the field after halftime, they weren’t even the same team.

  Cole Storms led them out of the tunnel with his head held high, and every single player on his team fell in line. They were damn near flawless.

  I’ve heard chatter of a party at a football player’s house. We planned to go to a party the hockey players were throwing, but with the football team’s win, everyone seems to be shifting to going there instead. A football party obviously means Weston will be there. But … what can I do, avoid him for the next four years of my college career? Besides, I have to see him at the fundraiser on Sunday. Might as well get used to the idea of him always being around.

  He’ll be busy doing interviews and all that crap anyway. So, he won’t be at the party right away. Which means, if I’m lucky … he won’t ruin my buzz this time. By the time he gets there, it’ll be too late for him to try to be the fun police. The fun will have already begun.

  And Weston Wade will be shit out of luck in ruining my good time.

  eleven

  Weston

  I finish up my last and final interview. I’m thankful as hell for that because I’m exhausted, and talking to another vulture who’s circling for information would probably put me over the edge.

  By now, the party is probably in full swing. And hard to fucking tell what Henley the she-devil is doing right about now. But soon, I’ll be finding out.

  And likely putting a stop to whatever it is.

  Climbing inside my truck, I see Cole and Knox heading toward me. Cole tries to hide his grin over the fact we won our first game. Not Knox though. He smirks and struts like he’s on cloud nine. Not an ounce of shame or modesty on his face.

  “Who run the world?!” Knox calls to us, his duffel slung over his shoulder.

  We both freeze and look at him in absolute confusion.

  “What the fuck are you even talking about, man?” Cole shakes his head.

  Knox frowns and looks at me, but I shrug.

  “Yeah … I don’t get it either. Sorry, bub.”

  “You’re supposed to say guys.” He looks at us in disbelief. “You know, how Beyoncé’s always singing that chic
ks run the world?”

  “No,” Cole and I say in unison.

  “Never mind,” he grumbles. “You suck.”

  “I’m going to that party at the football house.” I tip my chin at them. “Meet me there?”

  Cole gripes something. He’s not too keen on parties. Or people for that matter. Especially now that he’s got an old flame who showed up at Brooks, driving him batshit crazy.

  Putting the truck in drive, I take off and head toward the party, glancing at the clock. Interviews took long. Too long. Henley has had an hour and a half by now to party it up. She could have downed a lot of fucking shots in that amount of time. There’s no telling what I might find. Which is why I wanted to bring my own truck tonight to begin with. Because I’ll likely need to drag her ass home or throw her over my shoulder and cause a scene to get her out of there.

  Rescue mission number one million under-fucking-way.

  I push through the front door. Taking in all of the sweaty bodies grinding on each other. The smell of weed and beer assaults my nostrils, and I immediately feel girls’ fingers digging into my arms as I walk by.

  Shrugging them off and ignoring the guys trying to congratulate me, I keep walking until I eventually see her. There she is, lying on the fucking couch. Her dirty-blonde hair is a mess, covering her face. The sight instantly makes my stomach turn.

  Does she not understand how dangerous it is to pass out at a college party?

  I look around, seeing scumbags watching her, no doubt wondering what they could get away with. She’s fucked up. She likely wouldn’t put up much of a fight if they tried to take her home. The thought makes me sick to my stomach.

  Why does she do this shit to herself?

  Last year in Gray, she’d pull dumb shit like this. Only, suddenly, Dane was her knight in shining armor. What a fucking joke that was. Half the time, he was more fucked up than she was. He was her demise. And she’ll likely be mine.

  So many parties, I’d drag her out of there, and she’d kick her feet and smack me. He’d run behind us, pounding his chest like he was some big, tough guy and she was his fucking property.

  Bullshit. It’s all bullshit.

  Blowing out a breath, I start toward her, daring anyone to step in my way or try to stop me. Nobody here is stupid enough to do that. I’m on the football team. As pathetic as it is, we’re practically untouchable at Brooks University. Not that I think we should be. We’re no better than anyone else. Sure, we can throw a ball and block some bodies, but half the guys on the team don’t have shit for grades.

  I kneel down and brush her hair out of her eyes. “Henley, wake up.” I run my hand over her head.

  She mumbles something, but it doesn’t make any fucking sense.

  I can’t let everyone in here stare at her like she’s a fucking display of awful artwork. She’s a pain in my ass, but deep down, even I know she doesn’t deserve that. Even if she does bring it upon herself.

  Scooping her up, I see one of her sorority sisters rushing over. Her hair perfectly curled, her clothes perfectly pressed. Nothing like the way Henley looks tonight with her wild waves and Def Leppard shirt.

  “This can’t keep happening,” the sorority princess says, shaking her head. “We have rules. She isn’t following them.”

  Henley slurs something inaudible and snuggles into my chest. For a moment, it’s just like old times. Except she wasn’t a complete fucking train wreck back then.

  I look from her to the girl in front of me. She looks uptight as hell. And she’s likely had one drink, if that. Henley doesn’t belong with her or the others like her. Not right now anyway.

  “I’ll get her home.” I start to walk past her, but her hand touches my arm, stopping me.

  “I’m going to call a meeting tomorrow. I don’t think …” She pauses, looking regretful. “This just isn’t working. We recognize she’s a legacy because of her mom. But this isn’t a good look for us. I feel bad … I like Henley. But—”

  “Do what you have to do,” I cut her off. “I don’t give a fuck about any of that. I’m taking her home. With me.” And with that, I’m gone.

  None of those girls care about her well-being. They only care about their rules and regulations. Image and shit like that.

  For over a year, I have watched her ruin herself and become someone I don’t recognize. Still, I can’t let her go. I tell myself it’s because of our family ties, but I know it’s more than that. Even so, enough is enough.

  Once I put her in my truck, I walk around to the other side and climb in. Leaning my head back against the headrest, I blow out a breath.

  She moves around softly, somewhere in between being blacked out and being awake.

  “I’m getting really tired of saving your ass all the time, Henley,” I say. Meaning every word.

  She’s going down and taking me with her.

  “Then, stop,” she barely whispers, never opening her eyes.

  I didn’t expect her to even hear me. And I sure as shit didn’t think she’d respond. Her words—just two tiny, insignificant words—rip my heart of stone into a million pieces.

  I grind my back teeth in frustration. “Then, stop.” Like it’s that fucking easy.

  “I can’t.” I lean across her and grab the seat belt, clicking it into place. My lips hover only inches from her skin.

  She smells like strawberries, and I breathe her in. Making me wish so fucking much that things were different than they are.

  My head hangs. “Don’t you see? I wish like hell I could. I wish I could be doing anything besides saving you.” I rest my chin on her shoulder. “Because saving you, Henley … it’s fucking exhausting.”

  Everyone thinks she’s as tough as nails. That’s how she wants to be seen. In reality, she’s broken. She’s broken, and I need to come to grips with the fact that maybe I can’t fucking fix her. That maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t want to be fixed.

  Or doesn’t want me to be the one who saves her.

  Maybe if I knew what broke her in the first place, I could help. But she won’t talk to me. She won’t talk to anyone. Well, besides Dane. Which fucking blows.

  “If you won’t tell me what happened to make you change, I can’t help you.”

  She’s quiet for a bit, and I start to pull away, but she stops me by holding on to my arm. “You can’t help me, West,” her voice croaks into the darkness. “Nobody can.”

  “How do you know I can’t help you? We’ve been helping each other since we were kids. Why is it any different now?” I softly press my forehead to hers. “At least let me fucking try.”

  “Because those problems weren’t shit back then. That’s why.” She releases me, pulling back. “Just take me home.”

  Aggravated, I pull away from her and start my truck. “Seeing as they want to kick your ass out for being like this”—I wave my hand at her—“I guess you have to stay with me.”

  I grit my teeth at the idea of dealing with her any more tonight. She gives me nothing. No matter how hard I try.

  She gives me absolutely zero, yet here I am, walking through hell to try to save her. And she doesn’t even give a fuck.

  It’s a curse to love someone this much. To love someone so deeply that you can’t pull yourself away from them. Even if that’s what they want. I can’t think straight. She drives me completely mad, but I can’t bring myself to walk away.

  I love her. I’ll love her until the day that I die. No questions asked. No second-guessing it. But I also hate her too. And I don’t give a fuck if someone wants to say it’s impossible to feel both things. Because I do.

  Henley

  Want to know what drowning feels like? Well, it feels like you’re stuck, unable to come to the surface, stuck in this weird in-between place where you’re dangling on the edge of death. But you just stay there. Not moving. Not fighting back.

  I see people who care. I hear the emotion in their voices. My mom, my dad, my friends. Weston. I acknowledge the sadness in their eyes when
they realize what I am. A lost cause. Gone. Finished. Stick a fork in me, I’m freaking done.

  Even Weston, pain in my ass as he might be, he cares. He cares way too damn much.

  And I don’t deserve it. As much as I want to let him in, I can’t. Because the second he knows the truth, he’ll never look at me the same. And I wouldn’t blame him. I can’t look at myself the same either. Hell, I can barely stand to look at myself at all.

  As he points his truck toward his dorm, I pray his roommates aren’t home. Not because I’m drunk. Because, honestly, I don’t care who sees me in this state of mind. I stopped caring about that a long time ago. But because I don’t feel like meeting them tonight. And I’m sure Weston would be embarrassed to introduce me.

  My brain might feel fuzzy from the liquor, but I’m still very much aware of what’s going on. Perhaps the Adderall I took before tonight’s party is helping me concentrate. Truthfully, the thought of being kicked out of my sorority should make me want to cry, but instead, it makes me want to laugh. Some college kids would see that as being the end of their lives. Me? That’s the least of my concerns.

  So, no, I don’t care if his roommates see me shit-faced. I care that they see me with Weston and feel the need to ask me one billion questions about it. Weston Wade is not my friend. Not anymore at least.

  My head aches, and the cab of the truck starts to spin. My stomach does that weird thing when it flips and flops, and I feel really freaking sick. “Pull … over.”

  He groans in annoyance but pulls next to the sidewalk.

  Fumbling with the door, I push it open, and I start to fall out. Not even caring how hard I’m about to hit because all I can focus on is the fact that I’m about to throw up. And I’m just thankful to not do it inside of Weston’s truck.

  Strong arms catch me before the impact. Just like they always do. I have no idea how he got out of the truck so damn fast. But I shouldn’t be surprised. All he does is make sure I don’t fall down on my face. He’s been doing it since we were babies.