Campus King | 18+

Chapter Fifty-Four

Tristan

I woke up feeling more rested than I had in... fuck, years probably. No dreams, no tossing and turning — just solid, deep sleep.

My arms instinctively tightened around the woman in my arms, and I buried my face in her hair, breathing her in. She always smelled so good. Despite everything between us, being here felt right, natural even. I wasn't sure how I'd find the strength to walk away again.

Knowing I had to let her go made me pull her even closer, greedily soaking her in while I still had the chance. And then for one agonizing moment, I let myself imagine waking up like this every morning — to her, for the rest of my life, and the hunger for that to be real nearly crippled me.

So I quickly pushed those thoughts aside, knowing they would continue to gnaw at me later. This was a one-time thing, and I had to accept that. She had her dreams, just like I did. And as much as it pained me, I couldn't ask her to stay, not when I understood the importance of a dream.

Or at least, I used to. Lately, mine had started to lose its shine. Football wasn't going so well, and the pressure to keep performing, to not let everyone down, was starting to crush me. I didn't know how to shake the feeling, didn't know how to fix things.

Maybe I was just stressed, but the once exhilarating rush of the game had been replaced by dread, a fear of failure that followed me everywhere.

And yet, even with all that weight on me, I couldn't imagine doing anything else. Football was all I knew, the only thing I'd ever wanted. The thought of walking away from the game that had defined me for so long filled me with a sense of emptiness — a void I didn't know how to fill. I was an athlete through and through, so the thought of sitting at a desk or pursuing a different career path felt foreign and wrong.

Still, I felt like I was reaching a breaking point. Deep down, I knew something had to give, but I had no idea where to start. No, I didn't know how to start. And the thought of admitting that I was struggling made me sick to my stomach.

She was right about one thing though — my past still had a hold on me. I hated thinking about it, hated how out of control and helpless it made me feel. I especially hated the fear it made me relive.

I thought I was making progress, getting better, when I stopped partying and drinking. But after that festival weekend, I realized none of that was the real issue.

I should have known Hannah would force me to confront those aspects of myself, and at first, it pissed me off. Even I knew I got defensive and shut off when anyone tried to help. And that was exactly what Hannah did — because at her core, Hannah was a good person, someone who cared deeply about the people in her life. Beneath her prickly exterior was a heart bigger than anyone realized.

She tried to help me and I pushed her away, ultimately losing her in the process.

Maybe my past would always have a chokehold on me — a part of me believed it always would. I couldn't see myself ever forgetting what happened, and how could I heal from it if I could still remember all the nauseating details, all the things I'd felt in those moments? I didn't know what to do anymore. I was drowning, but too stubborn to ask for help. And the one thing I wanted more than anything else, I couldn't have.