Page 4 of Playing Hard to Hate

FOUR YEARS AGO

Pulling into the parking lot at school, I saw my two best friends already leaning against their car, waiting for me.

The twins, Graham and Hunter, quickly filled a void I hadn’t known was there my freshman year of high school.

They’d been recruited by the school for the baseball team.

The duo had natural talent and were expected to make it to the big leagues.

They took pity on my sorry ass and let me in on all their tips and tricks after I fumbled my way through tryouts.

We’d been inseparable since. After I lost the girl who had been my best friend since kindergarten, I had this gaping hole in my chest, this strange longing for companionship I hadn’t found in anyone else at our school. She’d gone ice cold against any male who crossed her path.

She hadn’t had any good examples growing up.

Hell, her brother left as soon as he graduated high school and never came back.

No one ever heard from him. I wasn’t even sure if he was still alive.

And what really sealed the deal was her father running away with some whore he had been cheating on his wife with.

He took her and ran away. Rumor has it he started a new family.

At least that’s what I overheard my mom say to my dad one evening.

“You’re late this morning,” Hunter commented as I opened the door of my beloved Mustang, stepped out, and grabbed my backpack from the passenger seat.

“Dad felt like Monday was a good time to remind me that I have only one college acceptance and my grades are slacking.”

Graham chuckled and shook his head. “Did you even send out all your applications yet?”

I shook my head. College wasn’t at the forefront of my mind. I knew I wanted to play ball, but lately, a certain brunette had been occupying a lot of my thoughts.

I wondered if she was going to college and what she was going to study.

When we were kids, she dreamed of being a veterinarian because of the dog her dad had gotten her, Buster.

Man, I had loved that dog. My father hated animals.

He didn’t want any hair in his house or any other responsibilities and would never let me get one.

So, I spent a lot of time at the Graces’ house playing with Buster and Tatum.

We had been neighbors, which sparked our friendship because of the one fateful day when both our parents forgot to pick us up from the bus stop.

I suggested to her that we walk home. We’d been instant friends after that day.

My mom used to send me to their house whenever Dad came home from work in a foul mood, which was at least three to four times a week, and my mom was afraid of him taking out his anger on me.

As a little boy, I was convinced my dad had some small faults.

He was a hardworking man. He did everything necessary of him to provide for his family, but he let the work consume him until there was nothing left of him to give his family.

There were no family trips. He was never at any of my ball games.

Hell, growing up, I was convinced he didn’t even know when my birthday was, but it was okay because my mom gave me all the love he couldn’t.

It wasn’t until I was older that I realized he might have been full of faults, and a hardworking man who provided a life of luxury for his wife and only son wasn’t enough in the long run.

He wasn’t a good husband to my mom, yet her loyalty never strayed.

She had his back, she took care of him, her love never wavered.

As time made us grow further and further apart, my love and admiration for my father grew small, and when Mom used to send me to the Graces’, I couldn’t get out of the house fast enough. It was my escape from reality.

Tatum’s mom was a kind woman. She was soft-spoken and full of more love than I thought a person should possess.

The fresh scent of cookies always filled the house on Friday afternoons when Tatum and I would come through the door.

Buster would be waiting for us, his big tail wagging so fast all you saw was a whoosh of blond before he would jump on you out of pure excitement.

She would make my favorite meal once a week and always had enough food for me on nights I would come for dinner, even if it wasn’t planned.

Sometimes, when Mom and Dad would start arguing, I would run over there, wanting to be in a home full of so much love and peace.

I hadn’t noticed it as a kid, but Mr. Grace was seldom there.

Tatum said her dad worked a lot, but we all found out the harsh truth of his work trips in third grade.

His absence was completely filled by Mrs. Grace’s love and adoration for Tatum.

She never let her absent husband play a role in ruining her daughter’s childhood.

Until one day it was more than she could bear, and the truth of his infidelity became town gossip.

Tatum’s once-perfect and peaceful childhood had been ruined.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget the screams that came from that home on that day, the way Mrs. Grace’s voice was consumed with so much anger, betrayal, and pure rage.

And overnight, the loving woman I had come to know disappeared, leaving a ghost in her wake.

It was a normal day. We were walking home from the bus.

Tate was telling me about her upcoming birthday she was so excited for.

Her dad had promised her a new pink bike with pink and silver streamers that would float in the wind if she went fast enough.

It was going to be her first bike without training wheels, and it was all she had spoken about all week.

She was skipping along the sidewalk, her brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail that bounced with each and every step.

Then we heard the screaming, followed by a car door slamming and the screech of tires.

When her dad peeled out of the driveway in a blur without a second thought, I yanked Tatum out of the way.

She had pulled from my tiny arms so fast, yelling for her mom. Her voice echoed off the trees of the neighborhood. Her pink Converse slapped against the pavement up the driveway to her mother, who was standing at the door of their home, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks.

“Momma! Momma! What happened? Why are you crying? Why did Daddy drive like that? He almost hit me! Momma!” She latched onto her mother’s forearms and shook them as Mrs. Grace fell to her knees, and it felt like the world shook as the ugliest, most heart-wrenching sound I’d ever heard tore from her lips.

My mother came running from the house, so fast she didn’t even slip on her sandals before she bolted past me to Mrs. Grace. They had become friends over the years. Best friends.

“Come take Tate. Griffin, come take her please.” My mother’s voice shook with fear and uncertainty, and I forced my legs to move. I ran up the drive, prying Tatum’s hands from her mother’s arms, her clutch iron strong .

“Come on, Tatum. Let’s go to my house,” I whispered.

Tate’s hands gripped my shirt, holding it tightly.

“Why, Fin? We never go there. I want to be home. My momma needs me. My momma,” she whimpered, tears rolling down her hot red cheeks, beads of sweat lining her forehead as her eyes locked on mine. I tried to find the words. The words an eight-year-old didn’t have.

“Tate, honey, your momma needs some time alone right now. When you get older, you will understand, but sometimes us ladies need alone time,” my mom said to Tatum, pulling her attention from mine.

“But you’re here,” Tatum pressed, confusion lining her features as she tried to understand.

“My daddy, he almost ran me over.” Tatum looked up at my mom, her big eyes filling with tears as she said the words.

“He left. He left. He left us?” Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, and I hated it when she cried.

And now I hated Mr. Grace for making her cry.

“I’m here, Tate. I’m here, and I promise I won’t leave.”

I shook the memory from my head as we entered River High.

Immediately, people turned to look at my two friends and me.

We were the stereotypical jocks. You know, the type that guys want to be like, and girls want to date.

Yeah, that kind. At first, it was hard to handle.

Girls kept slipping notes into my locker, offering to do things I had only dreamed of, and guys wanted to hang out every day of the week, hoping some of my popularity would rub off of me and onto them.

I took advantage of the offers from the many girls who were prepared to spread their legs for a sixteen-year-old boy and pretended to date a few when the sex was good so that I had a regular hookup.

I hung out with the guys, went to more parties than I could count, had more beer than I probably should have, and had more friends than I ever needed.

Popularity had been something I was so eager to get, so envious of those before me who looked cool and had all the answers. Until it was something that I had learned to hate with every fiber of my being because it took the one thing that was most important to me.

Tatum Grace.