Page 136 of Dear Love, I Hate You (Easton High)

“Are you crazy? What the hell are you doing here?” I scold him. “You should be at practice, getting ready for the game on Friday.” I grip his forearm, attempting to drag his six-foot-three ass out the door.

If he leaves now, he can still make it.

He doesn’t move an inch, cemented in place.

“Xav, you can’t be here. You—”

“Wrong.” He shuts me up. “Here is the only fucking place I should be.” His voice is husky, tired, but his resolve is an impenetrable fortress. I know from his tone that he’s made up his mind, and there’s no changing it.

Shaking my head, I tug on his hand. “You have to go back. What about the scout coming to the gam—”

I don’t get the chance to finish lecturing him before he’s yanking on my hand and trapping me into his arms. I stop breathing instantly. I could barely breathe when he was just standing in front of me, so a hug?

I’d like white lilies at my funeral, thank you.

He smells infuriatingly good, and I sag into his embrace without realizing it. It’s just a hug, but fuck, I could get used to this. I could get used to him, and it scares me shitless. He doesn’t speak for long seconds, just hugging the hell out of me with his nose buried in the crook of my neck. His deep breathing prickles my skin, and shivers shoot down my spine like electricity.

There, in his arms, I finally feel them. All the emotions I’ve been repressing since I found our confessions hung to every locker in school. They claw their way back to the surface, ghosting my heart’s desperate protests.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Vee, I…” Xavier whispers, his face nestled in my hair. “All the shit people are saying, the Facebook group, I… I can’t fucking live with myself.”

“It’s fine,” I lie, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip as a last resort not to cry. Truth is, no one is suspecting him, thanks to his unattainable guy persona. There wasn’t even one mention of Xavier’s name in the group. No one at Easton would ever dream of taking a jab at the Stallions’ star player.

It’s me people are targeting, me that people are tearing apart. My denial seems to trigger him because he draws back before taking my face with both hands, his grip almost bruising.

He presses his forehead to mine.

“Don’t lie to me, Harper,” he rasps.

With that said, I break down. Fifty bucks to any girl who can keep her walls up with Xavier’s eyes piercing through her soul. Tears coat my cheeks, and I let it all in.

“Whore.”

“Backstabbing bitch.”

“Slut.”

“No wonder he killed himself.”

They’re right.

They’re all right.

“Who would do s

uch a thing?” I crumble, eyes brimming with tears, and Xavier winces, the same way he did when he first saw me cry at school two days prior. He leads me back into his embrace, holding me closer.

Tighter.

“I don’t know yet,” he admits, never letting go. “But I’m going to find out. I promise, Vee. I’m going to make the son of a bitch pay, okay?”

I sniffle in response, bunching up the fabric of his hoodie between my fingers.

“Okay?” Xav urges.

“Okay,” I barely say.

Takes me a few minutes to get the waterworks under control and peel my body off his. I’d stay there my whole life if he let me.