Disclaimer: I do not own 'High School Musical' or any related characters nor do I own Taylor Swift's lyrics.

A/N: So, I was going to update this tomorrow but I'm wasn't too sure if I was going to be able too. It's my birthday tomorrow and my friend has a plan as to what I'm going to be doing for my birthday, kind of a scary thought if you must know. Anyway, so I thought I'd update today because of what's happening tomorrow which is when I really wanted to update. Also, for the time line of this story, their all roughly a year apart with both Troy and Gabriella older by a year in every letter. Unless I base him in Australia in January, which is when I figured Troy's birthday to be.

Okay, now that I've written all that, please enjoy this chapter.

The Letters Never Read

Chapter Four: Love and Hate

If you're missing me
You'd better keep it to yourself
Cause coming back around here
Would be bad for your health

Picture to Burn – Taylor Swift

Dear Troy,

I hate what you did to me.

I hate the fact that I'm writing you another letter that I'll never send. I hate the fact that my friends are sending me sympathetic looks. I hate the fact that you made me cry. I hate the fact that after three years of no contact, you can still make me feel something. I hate the fact that I'm so mad at you and I'm so delighted with you at the same time.

But most of all, Troy, I hate the fact that you missed me and it took you three years to tell me.

If you missed me, why didn't you talk when you called? If you missed me, why couldn't you just go on keeping it to yourself? If you missed me so much why did you get up before I woke up and just leave? Are you always going to do that? Come and find me, remind me of all the reasons why I pushed those complex feelings away and then just leave, embarrassing me in front of my friends and leaving me with no choice but to smile and keep my head high, is that what you're going to do?

I hate you for doing that. I hate you even more for making me so miserable that I feel like crawling under my covers and never coming out again.

Do you realize it's a beautiful day here? I've just finished a class and am sitting at the café where we had breakfast that first morning after you showed up. Do you remember that? Were you already thinking of ways to get me into bed while we laughed about something stupid? Were you already thinking of ways of leaving me without a word of warning? You've ruined this day for me Troy, and this café.

At least, last time, I had some warning. I had the memories of those summer days to cling too. Those times when we were only Troy and Gabriella. When you weren't Troy Bolton, one of the best tennis players in the world and I wasn't the college student who was nearly broke but so happy immersing herself in college life. Now, now do you know what I have?

I have a memory of giggling like a schoolgirl as I watched you. I have a memory of observing how different you were now that you'd managed to reach the big time. I have a memory of your kiss, steady and patient and oh so familiar. Then there's the time after the kiss. I have the memory of the heat, the passion with which you consumed me. I have a memory of you holding me afterwards, joking about round two before telling me how much you missed me. I have a memory of sitting on you lap as we watched the sun rise. I have a memory of waking up to find a note and nothing else.

I hate these memories Troy. I hate them so much because we were so different. I wasn't a nervous seventeen year old falling in love and you weren't a confident nineteen year old guiding me. I hate them so much because what I felt was different. I hate everything you did because everything you did was perfect.

I don't want to cry over this, Troy. I don't want my friends to see my tears or tell them why you leaving the way you did hurt me so much. I don't want them to turn on the television and see you playing a match and think 'what a jerk. Leaving her in the middle of the night and only leaving a note.'

Because the thing I hate the most, the thing that I hate absolutely, the thing that's really killing me right now, as I write this, is not that you left, not that the note didn't hold so much that I keep it in a special box, what I hate so much is that I believed you when you said you didn't want to leave. I still do.

I don't know why I believe that. You left. You left a note that I now really do keep in a special box. You're somewhere in Australia right now, closing in on the top ranking and not thinking about the girl you left in the hotel room. Your mind is probably one hundred percent on the match before you. And I absolutely hate that.

Why was it so hard for you to wait until I was awake? Why was it so hard for you to let me kiss you again and then watch you go? Why did you leave me asleep in your hotel room wearing your shirt and content knowing that you were supposed to be there when I woke up?

I hate that I don't have answers.

You hurt me, Troy. You really did. Not only because you left. Not only because you left me with a shirt and a note that I know I'll always keep. Not only because I'm left trying to once again understand what you make me feel, making my feelings so much more complex than I thought they were ever going to be. Not only because I'm writing you another letter that I'll never send. But because you missed me.

Because you missed me and you'd kept it to yourself for three years. Because you show up here, smile softly at me in greeting and watch as I fall straight back into your arms. Because you met my friends and now they want to know what happened. Why you left and I can't give them an answer and because I can't give them an answer, they're all pissed. They may not have looked like much when you met them but Troy, if you ever show up here again, they will all make sure you end up in hospital. I'm not joking, if you ever come back, it would be bad for your health and not just because maybe missing me is something you should keep to yourself.

Love and hate are said to run hand in hand. Well, guess what Troy? I don't just hate what you did and how you did it. I don't just hate what you made me believe and how miserable I am. I don't just hate that you missed me and it took you three years to tell me. I hate you, Troy Bolton. I hate you so much that any sort of love I may have once felt has been consumed by that hate.

I'm miserable without you, Troy Bolton.

I hate that I'm miserable without you, Troy Bolton.

I hate you, Troy Bolton.

Gabriella

San Francisco, California – December 2002

One night. That was all he'd had. One day and one night with her. He'd promised his coach and his father that he would only spend one day and night in San Francisco. He'd promised his coach that because he knew that he needed to get to Australia to adjust. Australia was notorious for its hot summer and Troy knew that he needed to play in that type of heat in order to perform to the best of his ability in the Australian Open.

He'd promised his father because Jack had wanted to remind him of all he'd worked for and how much he would regret it if he fell back into her.

He resented the time limit he'd had. He resented the fact that he'd made his promises because he could see the logic in them and not because he wanted too. He resented the fact that he was so comfortable with her curled in his arms and he could see the sunlight creeping through a crack in the curtains.

He resented the fact that he was going to leave before she awoke just so he could avoid looking into her disappointed eyes.

Maybe if he pretended it wasn't sunlight creeping through the window he'd get another hour. Another night, even. Maybe if he squeezed his eyes shut he could pretend to go back to sleep and miss the flight he knew was leaving in three hours.

Christ, maybe if he closed his eyes he could rewind time and they'd be back at the house on the shores of Sturgeon Bay when he wasn't the number two seed in men's tennis and she wasn't the college student he hadn't really fallen out of love with but couldn't be with because she needed to live her own life.

Things like that Troy, he told himself scathingly, only happened in Harry Potter and even then it was all fucked up.

She shifted slightly in his arms, snuggling closer and murmuring and Troy tightened his grip on her waist. His beautiful, beautiful Gabriella was going to wake up and hate him. She was going to hate him because he was going to get out of bed and leave a note void of feeling while he flew from San Francisco to Albuquerque and then from Albuquerque direct to Sydney, Australia.

If that didn't destroy any remaining link between them, then Troy wasn't sure what would.

"Baby. Brie." He whispered against her ear, kissing behind it gently. She shifted again.

"Hmm?"

"I have to have a shower."

She was only half-awake and Troy knew that she wasn't going to remember him talking to her. He knew she tended to forget things when she was in the state between consciousness and unconsciousness. Still she turned her head enough for him to kiss her properly.

"Go back to sleep." He whispered even when her hand lazy reached up to wrap around his neck.

"'Kay. Love you."

He froze.

Then watched numbly as she turned back onto her side and fell back into the deep sleep he'd roused her from.

As quickly as he could, he slipped out of the bed and stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. Troy stepped towards the mirror that covered the wall above a granite basin and stared at his reflection. He looked tired, he thought absently, as he leaned closer, his weight balanced on the hands that were gripping the countertop. He looked tired and elated and terrified all in one.

He wasn't fooling himself as to why.

It didn't mean anything, he assured himself. She was half-asleep and wouldn't remember saying that too him when she woke to find him gone. If she did, it would be a memory she'd repress when she found out what he'd done.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

His quiet, tension filled words rebounded back to him in the bathroom and Troy wished that he could walk back into that room, crawl back under the covers and wake to find her watching him sleep.

Instead, he started the shower and stripped, stepping under the spray and steeling himself for what he was about to do.

Thirty minutes later, he stood at the door of the hotel room, a bag slung over his shoulder and staring at the figure still curled up in the bed that they'd shared for the first time in three years.

Don't do it, a part of his mind shouted as he stared at Gabriella, don't do it, drop the bag and go back to bed.

Why? If you do that, you're relationship will fall apart three months from now. Another, more logical voice pointed out. She won't be able to handle the pressure of your schedule and you won't be able to give her the time and attention you know she needs in order to be with you now. The voice continued. Wait, it cautioned, when it's time for you two to be together, you'll be together.

While Troy knew it was never a sane thing to listen to the voices in your head, the sensible, wise voice – which sounded suspiciously like his mothers – made sense. He wouldn't be able to give Gabriella what she needed now and he knew she would find it difficult to follow him. She was strong but he didn't think she was strong enough to handle him being in Australia one day and Spain the next. Not now, at least.

Before he could think about what he was doing, he snatched up the hotel notepad and pen and scribbled down what the voice had said, even though he knew it would have been safer to stick with a note void of emotion.

Carefully, he placed it where she would be able to see it and then, with one last glance at the figure curled up in the bed, Troy stepped out of the hotel room and knew that the next time he saw or spoke to Gabriella Montez, she was going to hate him.

San Francisco, California – 2009

The best and worst decision he'd ever made, Troy remembered as he dropped into the kitchen chair and discarded the letter.

The best because winning the Australia Open had allowed him to take the number one spot. The worst because all he had been able to do when he wasn't playing was imagine her face when she woke to find him gone.

He had regretted it the minute he'd stepped foot outside the room but knew he couldn't have stayed. He had been nearing his peak professionally and it was a peak he needed to reach in order to maintain. However, personally, he'd been a mess. He remembered that he'd fought with his parents, his brother and his friends more in those two months than he'd ever fought with any of them before. Only Chad had been able to put up with him and Chad had only managed that because he didn't have a need to speak to Troy every day.

Dropping the letter onto the table, Troy sighed. That letter was no help. Instead, he'd found himself reliving the memory of leaving her. Something, he admitted, he'd done too much in the past nine years.

He'd always seemed to leave her trying to be strong while breaking inside and Troy had wished every time it had happened that she knew he saw her break on the inside while she forced a smile on the outside. He wished she'd known that –

"Hey bro, remember we're meant to be having lunch right about now?"

Troy's head snapped around and for a moment he was slightly stunned by the sight of his brother in the kitchen doorway and then he shook his head.

"Sorry dude. I, ah, got caught up with something." Andrew Bolton, a younger, slightly bulkier version of his older brother, snorted when he saw the envelope.

"Catching up on your fan mail, I see."

Troy sneered at his brother's tone. "No. They're letters from someone we know."

"Since when do people mail letters anymore? Haven't they heard of email?" Andrew snorted, stepping into the kitchen and plucking up the letter Troy had discarded before his brother could stop him.

"Dude! Don't read that!" Troy exclaimed, making a grab for it and missing.

"Why? What's wrong – oh." His brother's change in tone said it all and Troy held his breath as his brother's eyes, lighter than Troy's own, scanned the first page of the last letter Troy had read.

Andrew's face grew dark as he continued reading before he read the last part and raised his eyes to look at his brother.

"Dude, you slept with her then left her alone in a hotel room?"

Troy blinked.

He'd been expecting many things from his brother. Andrew had, after all, been the most vocal about his disgust at the sudden turn his brother's love life had taken six months ago. He'd expected outrage because she wrote the letter, demand because Troy had read it and disgust at the fact that she had sent it to him.

He most certainly had not expected his brother to question his actions that the letter described.

"Uh. Yes."

Andrew nodded thoughtfully. "Its more complicated than the rest of us knows, isn't it?"

Troy, who had managed to regain some form of thought, lost it again at his brother's thoughtful question.

"Yes." He admitted quietly.

"Well, you know what would have helped six months ago, Troy?" Andrew asked handing the letter back to his brother and shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"What?"

"Telling us its complicated six months ago! How the hell did you handle me and mom denouncing her when there's more to it than either of us knew?" Andrew snapped at his brother and Troy shrugged.

"I trained. I played. I ate. I slept. I ignored it."

"And I imagine you thought that was a productive way to get over the fact that she left, huh?"

Troy snorted. "No. It's not a productive way to get over someone. But seeing as you're married to a girl that you've loved since you first saw her and who worships you in return it's probably not a good idea to be sarcastic about how your brother handled his fiancé leaving him."

Troy didn't mean to make his brother uncomfortable, he really didn't. But he knew he had when Andrew's shoulders tensed slightly. Troy often forgot that while he handled what had happened by ignoring it, the people around him often had trouble attempting to understand that in order for him to come to terms with what had happened he needed to push it from his mind for a while and then handle it.

This meant, he thought as his eyes slid to the letters and he eyed them thoughtfully, the fact that he was reading the letters meant he was ready to deal with it, handle it and try to figure out why.

Which brought him back to the reason he had read the third letter in the first place. Had he really expected the answer to be in her third letter? Obviously, he had. He supposed it would have been too easy if he'd found the letter she had written when she left. If there was a letter she had written when she had left, a voice whispered and Troy's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Troy. Troy. Man, I get it when you ignore me because you think that I'm annoying but this? Really?" Andrew's voice snapped him out of his thoughts and Troy's head snapped around to look at his brother and he frowned.

"What?"

Andrew rolled his eyes. "You're staring at the letters like they're the most interesting thing in the world. Why?"

Troy glanced at his brother and wondered whether it would be a good idea to tell Andrew that the reason he was staring at the letters was because he knew he was going to have to read every single one partly because he had a feeling that the answer to her leaving wasn't just in one single letter but in all of them and partly because there was that some part of him that was hungering for anything to do with her. Anything.

"No reason. Look, An, can we reschedule the lunch? I kind of don't want to go anywhere right now."

Andrew raised his eyebrow in a look that Troy remembered his mother saying they'd inherited form each other. "Uh, dude, we're having this lunch because Amy kicked me out of the house and I'm not allowed back until I've seen you and – "

"Made sure I haven't killed myself in a fit of angst and emotion over the fact that she left me?" Troy smirked at his brother. He appreciated the thought, after all, but he also knew that Andrew's wife had a tendency to be oversensitive towards someone who she perceived to have suffered.

"Pretty much, yeah." Andrew admitted and Troy rolled his eyes.

"Well, you saw me. I'm fine." Troy stood and stretched and Andrew folded his arms. "Seriously Andrew, I'm fine. I'll call you when I'm up to having lunch."

"You know, I'd love to believe that but to point out what you've been doing for the past six months, you've trained, played, ate, slept and ignored everyone. So while I do believe you want to have lunch, I highly doubt you and I are actually going to go out and have lunch before Christmas." There was a twinge of guilt at Andrews' words and Troy acknowledged it with a nod of his head.

"Alright. Just, let me put a shirt on, okay?" Troy asked and Troy wondered if the look on Andrew's face was his imagination or if his brother really looked relieved that he had agreed.

"Yeah. Okay. Some pants would be nice too."

Troy nodded and grinned, before heading out of the kitchen. He spared a glance back at the letters that were sitting on his kitchen bench and, while he knew that they were still going to be there when he got back, Troy was reluctant to leave them.

He spared a glance at his brother's face and knew that, while he desperately wanted to read the rest of his letters, he had been neglecting his family since she had left and his lunch with Andrew had been something he knew his brother had been looking forward too.

The letters were still going to be there when he got back.

A/N:...and we meet Andrew! I forgot that he was in this chapter. Which is weird because I reread this a couple of days ago. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and, as I said, it's one year apart and yes, Troy is kind of a jerk for doing what he did. I hope you all enjoyed it! I also mentioned the Australian heat because, if anyone was in Australia in January, you would understand why he had to adjust. I can remember watching Rafael Nadal play and being stunned when they announced that the temperature had reached 46 degrees celsius. So Australian summers are incredibley uncomfortable in January. The tournament he's heading to is the Medibank International, played in Sydney. So there you go, I hope you enjoyed the chapter!