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

by Hannah Gray

  “Please,” she begs. “Please don’t say that. I love you. So much.” Tears stream down her beautiful face, and the panic rises in her eyes. “I screwed up. But I would have never done it if I had been in the right state of mind. Or if those girls hadn’t lied. Please, Wes … Weston,” she sobs and attempts to grab my hand, but I hold her wrist downward, away from me.

  “I ne-need you m-more than I’ve ever needed anyone. And I love you more than I ev-even knew was pos-possible. Don’t do this.” She looks down, her lip quivering. “I’m begging you. Please. If you love me at all. You won’t do this to me.” Her lip quivers.

  “Henley …” I release her hand. “I love you. So much that it hurts me.” She listens to my words, taking shaky, long breaths. “But love shouldn’t hurt. It should be easier than the hell this has been.”

  I lean forward, pressing a kiss on her forehead because I can’t fucking help it. This might be the last time I ever get to touch her perfect skin. Or smell the scent of sweet strawberries on her hair.

  Pulling back, I straighten myself up. “I’m going to finish this year out, and then I’m going to transfer. I can’t …” I stand and back away. “I can’t be here. With you. Anymore.”

  “But you promised,” her voice barely whispers as she stands. “You promised you’d never leave.”

  “Then, I guess I lied,” I say. “Good-bye, Henley. Please, try to take care of yourself. I can’t do it for you anymore.”

  And as she collapses to the ground and cries harder, I turn and walk away from her. Doing what I should have done a long time ago.

  thirty

  Henley

  I stay in bed the next morning. Mostly because I can’t for the life of me bring myself to get up. Other than to pee or to get a glass of water. Aside from that, my ass stays in bed. With my curtains closed and only the sound of my fan running. The thought of seeing anybody or talking to people makes my brain hurt. And if I did see anyone, I know I’d be a miserable bitch.

  Unfortunately, this is only an option for another two hours, and then I have practice. But somehow, I think maybe hitting the water and running myself ragged just might help. At the very least, afterward, I’ll be so exhausted that I’ll hopefully fall asleep easier when I get back home.

  It’s over between Weston and me. The look on his face told me that he was done with whatever we’d been doing. And finished with me. It doesn’t feel like the end of a chapter. It feels like the closing of the entire freaking book. And that cripples me with pain.

  Life can be such a dumb bitch sometimes.

  I’ve always known I loved him. Even as a toddler, my whole world revolved around that blue-eyed, brown-haired boy. But having his hands on me and connecting with him on the deepest of levels? I don’t see how I’ll ever come back from it. He’s wrecked me. In the most painful yet beautiful of ways.

  I should have never believed those text messages. I should have communicated with Weston and gotten the truth. Or if only I had just told him how I felt, everything would be different. I wouldn’t have made that awful mistake of losing my virginity to someone I didn’t want as anything other than a friend. I wouldn’t have betrayed the one person I feel like I can’t breathe without.

  I think about those mistakes we make. The ones we do without thinking. It happens when we don’t stop and think about our choices and let all caution fly away in the wind like a darn kite. I’ve realized those moments where I decided to say eff it and do something that was probably a bad idea … aren’t always worth it. Because they’ve cost me my happiness.

  I want to get drunk. High. Stoned. Something, anything, to feel better. But that isn’t an option. I’ve screwed my life up long enough. It’s caused my parents and the ones I love most stress.

  So, instead, I’ll pour every single loving ounce of myself into what I’m good at.

  Swimming.

  And for now, to hell with the rest.

  My lungs burn. Begging me to stop. But the rest of my body, including my mind … is completely numb. And I love it. It beats the alternative.

  The sound of Coach’s whistle stops me just as I’m about to do a flip turn and head back for another length.

  “What the hell are you doing, Hayes?” He pulls his hat off, and his face looks red. “You’re overworking yourself. You’ve done almost double of what I asked you.” He waves his arm out. “Look around. The damn pool is empty. Want to know why?”

  I swallow harshly, already knowing the answer.

  “Because practice has been over for a while now! I got caught up in my office, only to come out to see your ass is still here!” He roughly pulls his hat back on. “I’m all for you pushing yourself, but if you do this, you’re going to get burned out before this season even ends.”

  “Sorry, Coach.” I pull my goggles up and my cap off. “I guess I just … lost track of time. And … what I was doing.”

  “You’re damn right you did,” he huffs. “Are you all right, Hayes?”

  I nod frantically. “I’m good. I just get carried away sometimes.” I grip the edge and jump out of the pool. “I’m fine, I swear. I won’t burn myself out. That isn’t an option.” I decide to tell him the truth. “This sport, it’s all I have. It’s all that I care about anymore.”

  “Then, don’t destroy yourself doing it,” he says bluntly. “Go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  As he walks away, I grab my towel from the bench. I don’t want to go home. I want to swim. I want to swim until I cannot move my limbs. I want to swim until my brain is too tired to think about Weston’s hands and how they felt on my body. I want to swim until I’m too exhausted to miss his kiss or remember the way he looked at me.

  I want to swim until I escape him. And then I want to swim some more.

  But I don’t think it’s possible. I’m in too deep. He’s in my veins, running through me like blood. I can’t outrun him. He’s a part of me now.

  thirty-one

  Weston

  I nurse my beer, the same one I’ve had for the past forty-five minutes and likely my last. My ass has to be up too early tomorrow for anything more than that.

  Aside from one loss, we’ve been unbeatable. And with the chance at the championship closing in, I can’t lose focus now. We’re too close.

  Cole, Knox, and I came to a party tonight at Dex’s place, and even though I didn’t care to come, I also didn’t want to sit at our place alone.

  Per usual, Cole is somewhere around here with Ally. Knox is … well, I don’t dare to guess where that fucker is. Probably trying to crack shitty jokes at people who don’t care.

  It’s been a month since I last saw Henley. A month since I told her I was done. And I think I deserve a medal because I haven’t once reached out since. But I’ll admit, I do often come to these parties just to make sure she isn’t blackout drunk in a corner or a vacant room. Sometimes, I walk through the house. It’s pathetic. But I don’t really give a fuck.

  I went home to visit my parents a few weeks ago and saw her car in her parents’ driveway. As much as I wanted to see her walk by, just to see how she looked, I was thankful she didn’t.

  Thanksgiving is this week, and since before I was born, our parents have celebrated it together. This year, I’m sure, will be no different. Part of me doesn’t want to go home and risk sitting across from her, looking at her sexy, pouty lips and wanting to kiss them. But my mom has already asked three times if I’m coming, and I really love my mom.

  If Dane comes, it will be the first time I’ve seen him since after the game. I’ll be cordial to him for our parents, but I’m not about to play a game of pickup football or bond over a fucking movie with him after dinner, like we used to do. Fuck no.

  Dark blonde hair catches my eye. I can see the back of her head, but she’s wearing a baggy hoodie that covers her ass. Still, I think it’s Henley. And when a sleazy-looking guy who seems to be whacked out on drugs comes up and pulls her against him—hard and aggressively—and grips her ass through t
he fabric, I lose my mind.

  A few large strides, and I’m there. “Back the fuck up,” I growl at the guy and grab Henley by the waist. “Now.”

  When the girl whirls around and looks up at me with her own set of bloodshot eyes, I step back. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I thought … I thought you were someone else.”

  She looks like a lunatic and smiles, sending a shiver up my spine from the pure insanity written on her face.

  The guy steps to me, smirking. “It’s okay, man. I’ll share.” He pulls the girl against him. “We’re into that. Do you have anything to make it more fun?”

  “No,” I say through gritted teeth and turn and walk away.

  Finding Knox, I tip my chin up. “I’m out, man. I’m tired. I’m going the fuck home.”

  His forehead creases. “I’ll go with you, bud. I don’t give a fuck about being here.” He snorts. “And Cole already took off with Allycat. Let’s go get some Mickey D’s. I’m staaaving.” He says starving without including the letter R.

  “Fuck, what happened to steak dinner?” I clasp his shoulder. “I still owe you one.”

  “Dude, it’s eleven at night. No fucking steak places are open.” He grins. “Mick Dick’s though? They are always open. And the French fries are always warm and delicious. And you can buy me a sundae too. Extra hot fudge.” He pats his stomach. “I’m a growing boy.”

  “All right, fine. Let’s roll.” I cock my head toward the door. “It’d better have hot fudge and caramel though. Them fuckers are stingy with that shit.”

  “Brother, Mick Dick’s will hook you up, no worries.” He claps my shoulder. “I’ll meet you outside in five, just gotta take care of something real quick.”

  “You probably only need thirty seconds then.” I laugh. “If that.”

  “Har-har. So funny.” He flicks me off. “See you in five, dick.”

  I head toward the door, relaxing a little after my weird fucking encounter. Still disturbed from the state those two lunatics were in and the fact that I actually thought that nutjob was my Henley.

  I mean, Henley’s a little nutty at times. That’s for sure. But that girl couldn’t hold a candle to Henley. She was completely insane. And it was sad and haunting to see. Then again, I guess that’s what drugs do. They ruin you.

  My mother warned me about that.

  “Going so soon?” Cam says, stepping in front of me. “Running off to that piece of ass, are you?”

  “Get the fuck out of my face, Cam,” I growl. “Don’t have time for your shit.”

  “Oh, I think you do.” He steps closer. “I think you’ve got nothing but time these days, my friend.”

  “I don’t know, man. Your mom’s been keeping me pretty fucking busy.” I shake my head and rub my hands together. “And, man, isn’t she a screamer.”

  “Oh … good one,” he says sarcastically. “Nah, I don’t think so. And like I said … I think you’ve got nothing but time on your hands.”

  “And why is that?” I try to steady my breathing. Not wanting to let this prick know how much he’s getting under my skin.

  “Well, that pretty thing isn’t around to keep you busy anymore. Is she?” He smirks, his eyes dancing with mirth. “After all, I would know.”

  “Would you now?” My entire body tenses. Even my eyes feel like they are swelling out of my head in anger. “Good for you.”

  “Yeah …” He dips his face closer to my ear. “It is good. Real good. And sweet.” He pulls back, a satisfied smirk on his face. “So. Fucking. Sweet.”

  My fist connects with his face before I can stop it, sending him backward. But he’s no pansy, and he’s instantly back up, ready to fight.

  “I’ll fuck you up so bad that you won’t play hockey again, asshole,” I growl.

  He starts to say something when Knox jumps between us. “Dude, what the fuck are you guys doing?!”

  “He’s running his mouth, so he needs to be taught a lesson,” I say, pointing to Cam. “I’m going to fuck you up.”

  “Fuck that. I’ll teach you a lesson, pussy,” Cam’s best friend, O’Brien, says, stepping next to him, puffing up his chest. “You talk a big game, Wade. Let’s see you back it up.”

  “What’s that?” I smirk at him. “What did you say?”

  “I said, I’ll teach you a lesson, you fucking pussy.”

  “Oh … I couldn’t hear you.” I shrug. “With Cam’s dick in your mouth and all that. Spit that thing out, so I can hear you talk, bitch boy.”

  His nostrils flare, and his eyes widen.

  But before he can throw a punch, Knox grips his throat, shoving him against the wall. “Cut the fucking shit, toolbag. I’m in no mood to deal with your ass tonight.”

  O’Brien tries to fight him, but Knox is too pissed off, so it’s no use.

  “Knock it the fuck off, you little fucking bitch. You know I’ll end you right now. We have a football season on the line. We’re not about to mess it up over your dumbasses.”

  When he doesn’t answer, Knox grips tighter. “Did you fucking hear what I said?”

  Eventually, he gives a small nod, and Knox releases him, sending him to the ground. O’Brien is by no means a small guy. But he’s absolutely hammered. Which played in Knox’s favor. And even though Knox is a chill guy, he has a temper. And when he gets mad, he has the strength of a thousand men.

  As I walk by, I shove Cam backward. “Don’t fuck with me again. It won’t be good if you do.”

  He says nothing. Just watches me with narrowed eyes, his chest heaving like my own. It’s obvious he has a problem with me because of Henley.

  I turn and point to him. “And if you know what’s good for you, stay the fuck away from Henley.”

  “You don’t own her,” he says coolly. “She can do what she wants.”

  His words enrage me. Obviously, they are hanging out, and that fucking sucks. But I let her go. I don’t own her anymore. Still, I don’t like it. Not one bit.

  Now, I have to look at her at Thanksgiving. Wondering if he’s had his hands on her luscious, perfect body. I have to look at her lips and wonder if he’s kissed them. And then I have to look at Dane and know he’s done all of those things.

  Fucking awesome.

  Henley

  “Have a good day off tomorrow, kids.” Coach holds the door for us as we all make our way outside. “See you all Friday. Don’t be hungover.”

  “Do most people get hammered on Thanksgiving?” Layla scrunches her nose. “This is not something I’ve heard of before.”

  “I don’t know what in the hell you kids do,” he says. “For your sake, I’d sure hope not.”

  I’m last to walk out, and I stop in front of him. “Happy Thanksgiving, Coach. Thank you for everything. Enjoy a day off with your family.”

  His face softens. “You too, Hayes. Go eat some turkey. You’ve been working hard lately. Don’t forget calorie intake. Need calories to swim.”

  I nod. I know his comment is a secret warning. Letting me know he’s noticed my weight loss. It hasn’t been intentional. I’m just never really hungry anymore. I go to class, I swim, I do homework, I sleep. That’s it. Everything else is exhausting.

  I have hung out with Layla a few times, and that’s always something that lifts me up. She’s such a light in the world. I’ve grown to love her.

  “Thanks again for inviting me to Thanksgiving,” she says, getting in the passenger side of my car. “I’m excited for a home-cooked meal.” She turns toward me, dropping her voice low. “And to watch the weirdness that is going to occur at the table.”

  My heart sinks a little for her. I hate that she wasn’t lucky enough to grow up with loving parents, like I was. The past month, I’ve learned a lot about her life. And much of it is actually really sad and unfortunate.

  “Oh, it’ll be weird all right.” I think about how the heck I’m supposed to enjoy my dinner while being stuck at a table between two twin brothers who have both experienced my vajayjay. “And I’m so excited you’re com
ing. My mom will be thrilled! She loves you.”

  “Wait, she doesn’t know?” She smacks my arm. “You didn’t ask if it was okay?!”

  “I told her I couldn’t make it because of swim. I wanted to surprise her. It’ll mean so much.” I see the panic on her face. “Trust me, she’ll be excited. She told me weeks ago to bring you before I told her I couldn’t make it.”

  “But how will she know how much to make? What if there isn’t enough? I don’t want to be eating someone else’s turkey.”

  “Quit freaking out.” I shush her. “My mom makes enough to feed basically the entire neighborhood. Always way too much.” I laugh. “And Weston’s mom … she tries to also bring stuff. But she is an awful cook. Poor thing.”

  “As long as you’re sure.” She still sounds nervous. “I don’t want to impose.”

  “I’m positive. Stop freaking out.”

  “Fiiiine, biotch,” she says and turns the radio on. “Whatevs you say.”

  “Trust, my friend. Trust.” I wink. Trying to act like I’m fine.

  But really, my stomach is in my ass when I think about how uncomfortable my Thanksgiving will be tomorrow. Or how good Weston will look and how much I’ll want to climb him like a pole. Or how delicious he’ll smell.

  Ugh. This is going to be hell.

  thirty-two

  Weston

  “I’m so sad Henley couldn’t make it,” my mom says just as we all sit down. “And all this food? There’s way too much for just us six.” She giggles. “Not like little old Henley would have made a huge difference. Besides on the mashed potatoes and rolls. She can put those down.”

  “And green bean casserole.” I grimace. “Nasty.”

  “I take offense to that, jerk.” My mom glares. “This year, I made it instead of Allison.”

  Allison and I share a look. Whoever did like the casserole most years probably won’t now. My mom can mess up even the simplest recipes. Most things I’d eat and pretend to love because of how much effort she put in. But with green bean casserole, that’s a fuck no. That shit is gross even if a good cook makes it.