Page 21 of Playing Hard to Hate

GRIFFIN

PRESENT

Tatum yawned, her green eyes shutting for a moment as she leaned her head against the comfy back cushion of the couch.

Concerned, I quickly finished putting in our order for pizza at the closest pizza spot to her place before turning to give her my attention again.

I needed to think of a way to distract her.

Otherwise, in pure Tatum style, she’d dwell on what happened tonight.

And after what she’d just gone through, it was the last thing she needed.

“Still prefer ham instead of bacon on your Hawaiian, right?” I asked her. I guessed it was a little too late to ask her in case her tastes had changed, considering I’d already put the order in, but I could always cancel it and put another one in.

There wasn’t much I wouldn’t do to make her happy right now. I just needed to get her through tonight.

She opened her tired eyes, her gaze roaming over my face, something akin to nostalgia lingering in them. “You remembered?”

I roughly cleared my throat, suddenly overcome with sadness. I didn’t want her to see it, though. She didn’t need my feelings right now on top of everything else. “Tatum, I may have been a world-class jerk, but I never forgot a single thing about you.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, like she didn’t know what to do with what I’d just told her.

And I couldn’t really expect her to believe me.

I mean, I had turned my back on her because I couldn’t hide what I felt for her anymore.

If I’d continued being her friend, I would have screwed everything up, and we would have lost each other anyway.

Every single day I’d spent in her presence had pushed me closer and closer to blurting out my feelings for her.

And she didn’t reciprocate them. She’d made that clear.

It was easier to pretend I hated her. That I couldn’t stand being in her presence. It was easier to taunt her for the things I adored about her. Always struggling with locks? How in tune to her emotions she was? I loved those things. They made her unique.

They made her Tatum. My Tatum.

She roughly cleared her throat and grabbed the TV remote, pressing play on the movie, like she needed something to distract her from the turn our conversation had taken.

I didn’t say another word, not wanting to push her too much, too soon.

She needed time to cope. A mere couple of hours ago, she’d thought she was going to die.

I thought she was going to die. I had the terrible visual of holding her limp body in my hands and never getting the chance to apologize for all my mistakes.

The movie was just beginning to get good when a knock sounded on her door. She moved to get up, but I waved at her to remain sitting as I stood to my feet. “I’ve got it, kitten,” I told her as I strode to the door.

When I opened it, a young girl was standing there, probably around eighteen or nineteen. She was holding the pizza and breadsticks I’d ordered. She beamed at me, her eyes lighting up. “Oh my god! You’re Griffin Silver!” she squealed.

I grunted. I hated this about being a pro. It’d been bad in college, but now that I was in the big league, it was all the time. “Pizza?” I asked.

She flushed. “Oh. Right.” She quickly handed the boxes to me. “Can I get an autograph for my little brother?” she asked, batting her eyelashes at me.

“Sure, just give me a minute,” I told her, trying to keep a hint of enthusiasm in my tone.

The fans were important, but today they just felt invasive.

Tonight had been insane. I wasn’t in the mood to pretend to be excited about signing a fucking napkin for her little brother.

I wasn’t in the mood for anything, but I took the burning hot pizza box from her hands, told her to wait outside, and strode through the small condo.

I left it on the granite counter and then grabbed a bounty napkin.

“You have a Sharpie?” I asked Tate, who was watching curiously.

“Top drawer on the left,” she said, and I quickly grabbed the black Sharpie, squiggled my signature, and then dumped it back.

The girl was still waiting at the door and beamed when I reappeared with the signed napkin.

“Oh, thank you! You have no idea how much this means to me. It’s his birthday tomorrow, and I couldn’t afford to get him anything, but this will be priceless.

” Happiness oozed off her, and I felt bad for being reluctant.

I handed her a $50 for the pizza. “Keep the change,” I told her, and she blinked back tears.

“You aren’t what I expected from a pro athlete. Thank you for being so kind.”

I closed the door and headed back to the living room to a very curious Tate.

“Plates?” I asked her when she sat up straighter, her rumbling stomach audible to my ears, even from where I was standing on the opposite side of the coffee table.

That pretty blush I loved stained her pale cheeks right after, finally giving her some color.

She’d been pale all evening, and I was growing increasingly worried about her.

“Cabinet above the Keurig,” she told me as she followed me into the kitchen and opened the pizza box. “Thank you for ordering food,” she said as I headed for the plates.

I smiled at her over my shoulder, enjoying the way her pupils dilated the tiniest bit, and her sweet mouth parted. God, I couldn’t wait to kiss her again.

I grabbed two plates from the cabinet she directed me to and handed them to her before stopping at the fridge. “Need another drink?” I called as I opened the fridge, grabbing a beer for myself.

“Water,” she called back, holding two plates with two giant slices of pizza on them. “Thanks.”

I headed into the living room with a beer and a bottle of water.

After unscrewing her lid—because I knew she struggled with opening anything—I set her water in front of her before placing a breadstick and her own dipping sauce on her plate.

If she still had the same tendencies she did when we were kids, she’d need a whole cup of marinara sauce to herself.

I used to tease her about it all the time. A fond smile touched my lips at the memory.

“What are you smiling about?” she asked after she chewed her first bite of pizza.

I chuckled. “How much marinara sauce you used to eat,” I told her honestly.

She shrugged. “I like marinara sauce.” Surprising me, she stuck her tongue out at me. I barked out a laugh. I’d missed this side of her so much. “Don’t judge my eating habits.”

I flashed her a smirk. “Never.”

I was dozing off, the second movie Tate put on boring me half to death, when Tatum’s scream echoed throughout the condo. I bolted to my feet at the same moment she jerked awake, sobs tearing from her throat, tears streaking down her cheeks as they poured from her haunted, green eyes.

The look in them left my soul feeling vacant. Tonight would haunt her for a long time to come.

“Tate, I’m here,” I rasped as I settled back down on the couch. Immediately, I drew her into my arms and gently rocked her from side to side, peppering kisses on her damp cheeks and her forehead. “Breathe. It’s going to be okay. You’re safe now. I won’t ever let anything happen to you.”

Her fingers were twisted into my shirt, stretching the material, but I didn’t care.

Turning her head, she burrowed her face in the curve of my neck and continued to cry, her body trembling in my arms. I tightened my hold on her, wishing I could wipe the grocery store part of the night from her mind, but I couldn’t.

I couldn’t, and I hated it.

“I miss my mom,” she sobbed, and my heart clenched at the brokenness in her tone.

I wished her mom was still here. I wished I could have been there to stop her from taking her own life, but I couldn’t.

So, I did what I knew I could do to help her, which was to keep rocking her, whispering soothing words in her ear, and keeping my hold on her tight to keep her grounded.

Her tears eventually slowed, and before long, her breathing regulated.

She slumped in my arms, relying on me to support her weight, which I certainly didn’t mind .

Easing to the edge of the couch, I slowly stood to my feet with her cradled against my chest. She tightened her hold on my shirt. I brushed my lips against her hair. “I’ve got you,” I whispered.

She made a small noise in response.

I hadn’t paid any attention to her bedroom the other night. I was so laser-focused on her and wanted to kiss her. Looking around the small space, it was just so…her. Warm colors, lights strung around the ceiling, plush pillows all over her bed, and a pink fuzzy shag rug on the floor.

Gently, I set her on her mattress, and she shook her head, her eyes still not opening. “Stay,” she mumbled, though her sleep slur was so heavy and thick, I barely understood her. “Don’t go. Please don’t leave me.” Her words were soft, broken, pleading.

“I won’t go,” I said quietly, running my hand over her hair. “I’ll stay however long you need. But you must let go of me so I can get in bed, too.”

She slowly—very slowly—uncurled her fingers from my shirt, and I peeled it over my head before sliding into bed on the other side.

She curled up against my side, her head resting on my chest. This felt right.

I’d been in bed with so many girls, and never had I ever let them sleep with me.

Never had I wanted a moment of intimacy like I craved right now with Tatum.

Nothing could have prepared me for how good it felt to hold her like this. To cuddle with her as she slept. To be the person she needed in this moment of darkness.

My phone vibrated for the umpteenth time tonight. Sighing, I pulled the device from my back pocket.

I grimaced at the insane number of messages I had from my mom and then Hunter and Graham.

Ignoring my mother’s messages, I opened my group thread with Hunter and Graham, not even bothering to go through their previous messages.

More than likely, they were both yelling at me about something I didn’t do.

Which reminded me, we were supposed to play Warzone tonight. I fucking forgot.

Griffin

Something came up. Was involved in a grocery store robbery. Tatum was held at gunpoint.

Hunter

WHAT? A grocery store robbery? Tatum? GUNPOINT?

Graham

Dude, are you okay? Is Tatum okay? Was anyone hurt?

Hunter

I’m still stuck on Tatum, to be honest.

Griffin

I could’ve died tonight, and you’re stuck on Tatum?

Hunter

If you’re texting me, you’re okay. You and Tatum keep ending up together in these weird scenarios.

Hunter and Graham both knew how I felt about Tatum. They both also knew she was the only girl for me. Every woman I tried to date didn’t work out because I just compared them to Tate.

Graham

Don’t be insensitive, Hunter. Are you okay, Griffin?

Griffin

I’m okay. Probably won’t ever be able to go out without looking over my shoulder again, but I’m okay. Tate…not so much. I’m here at her place. She’s not handling it well.

Graham

Can’t really blame her, man. Being held at gunpoint and thinking your life might end wouldn’t be easy for anyone to navigate and move past. She needs time. Her place? Twice in one weekend…

Hunter

She needs some of that Griffin alkjdjhdghjjg

Griffin

Did you just spasm or something?

Graham

I stopped him from sending something very inappropriate.

Griffin

I shouldn’t have told you both about the other night.

Hunter

As if you could ever keep a secret from us.

I snickered. I loved my best friends. Just texting them made this night a little more bearable.

Griffin

I need to get some sleep. But I wanted to check in and let you guys know what was going on. It’ll probably be all over the news tomorrow. You can fill the team in or let Coach know. I’ll call him in the morning so the PR team can get on top of this.

Graham

Sounds good, man. Take care of yourself, all right? We’ll hold down the fort. And tell Tatum we said hi.

I scoffed but sent back a thumbs up before locking my phone and setting it on Tatum’s nightstand. Yeah, I wasn’t telling her they said hi yet. She never really liked them after they joined in on my teasing of her in high school. But maybe I could get her to give them a second chance.

Because, like me, they’d grown up too. None of us were the same stupid kids we’d been in high school.