Текст книги "After We Fell"

Автор книги: Anna Todd

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 49 страниц)

chapter

thirty-nine

TESSA

My heels clacking loudly on the hardwood, I concentrate on making it to the back door of the restaurant through my alcohol haze. If we were closer to home, I’d leave right now, pack my bags for Seattle, and stay in a hotel until I found an apartment.

I am so sick of Hardin doing this kind of shit to me—it’s painful and embarrassing, and it’s breaking me down. He’s breaking me down, and he knows it. That’s exactly why he’s doing it. He’s said as much before: he does these things because he knows they’ll get to me.

When I push through the door—briefly hoping it won’t set off an alarm or something—the chill night air envelops me. It’s calming, blanketing me in something other than the stale air and awkward tension of dull dinner companions.

I rest my elbows on a rock ledge and look out into the woods. It’s dark, nearly pitch-black out there. The restaurant is nestled right in the middle of a wooded area, creating a secluded atmosphere. It works, and would be wonderful, but it’s not ideal for me right now, when I already feel trapped.

“Are you all right?” a voice sounds from behind me.

When I turn, Robert is standing in the doorway, a stack of plates in one hand.

“Um, yeah, I just needed to breathe,” I say.

“Oh, it’s a little cold out here.” He smiles. His smile is polite and actually very endearing.

I give a smile back. “Yeah, a little.”

Both of us stand in silence. It’s slightly awkward, but I don’t mind. Nothing is as awkward as sitting at that table.

A few seconds later he speaks up. “I haven’t seen you around here before.” He gently places the plates on an empty table and walks closer to me. He leans his elbows on the ledge only a few feet away.

“I’m visiting. I’ve never been here before.”

“You should visit in the summer. February is the worst time to come. Well, except for November and December . . . maybe even January.” His cheeks flush as he stammers, “Y-you get what I mean.” Then he lets out a little chucklelike sound.

Trying not to giggle at him and his red cheeks, I say, “I bet it’s beautiful in the summer.”

“Yeah, you are.” His eyes widen. “I mean it is. It is beautiful,” he corrects himself, and runs his hand over his face.

I force my lips together in an attempt not to laugh at him, but I can’t help it. A small giggle escapes, causing him to look even more horrified than before.

“Do you live here?” I ask, trying to sidestep his embarrassment. His company is refreshing; it’s nice to be around someone who’s not so intimidating. Hardin owns every room he’s in, and his presence is overwhelming half the time.

That calms him a tiny bit. “Yeah, born and raised. And you?”

“I go to WCU. I’ll be starting at the Seattle campus next week.” I feel like I’ve been waiting so long to say those words.

“Wow, Seattle. Impressive!”

He smiles and I laugh again. “Sorry, wine makes me laugh a lot,” I blurt, and he looks over at me with a grin.

“Well, I’m glad it’s not me that you’re laughing at.” His eyes roam my face, and I turn away. He looks back to the restaurant. “You should get back inside before your boyfriend comes looking for you.”

I turn around to look in through the windows into the elegant space. Hardin’s head is still turned toward Lillian.

“Trust me, no one is coming to look for me,” I say with a sigh, and my bottom lip quivers as my heart betrays me, sinking lower and lower.

“He looks pretty lost without you,” Robert tries to reassure me.

I spy Landon looking around the room, with nobody to talk to. “Oh! That’s not my boyfriend. Mine is the one across the table—the one with the tattoos.” I watch as Robert looks at Hardin and Lillian and confusion sweeps over his soft features. Swirls of black ink peek out from the top of Hardin’s collared dress shirt. I love the way white looks on him; I love being able to see the hint of ink under the light-colored fabric.

“Um, does he know he’s your boyfriend?” Robert asks, raising his eyebrow.

I tear my eyes away from Hardin as he smirks, a deep smirk, the kind of smirk that shows his dimples, the kind of smirk that is usually given only to me. “I’m beginning to wonder the same thing.”

I bring my hands to my face and shake my head. “It’s complicated,” I groan.

Hold yourself together, don’t fall into his game. Not this time.

Robert shrugs. “Well, who better to talk about your problems with than a stranger?”

We both gaze at the table that I’m missing from. No one except Landon seems to even notice.

“Don’t you have to work?” I ask, hoping that he doesn’t. Robert is young, older than me, but he can’t be any older than twenty-three at the most.

He seems fully confident as he smiles and says, “Yeah, but I have it in good with the owner,” seeming to be telling himself a joke that I’m not included in.

“Oh.”

“So, if that’s your boyfriend, who’s the girl with him?”

“Her name is Lillian.” I can hear the venom in my own voice. “I don’t know her, neither does he . . . well, he didn’t, but apparently now he does.”

Robert’s eyes meet mine. “So he brought her here to make you jealous?”

“I don’t know; it’s not working. Well, I am jealous—I mean, look at her. She’s wearing the same dress as I am, and she looks way better in it.”

“No; no, she doesn’t,” he says quietly, and I smile, thanking him.

“We were getting along fine until yesterday. Well, fine for us. And then we got in a fight this morning—but we always fight. I mean, we fight all the time, so I don’t know what it is about this fight that’s so different, but it is. It’s different; it doesn’t feel like the rest of our fights, and now he’s ignoring me the way he used to when we first met.” I realize that I’ve been speaking more to myself than to this stranger with curious blue eyes. “I sound insane, I know I do. It’s the wine.”

The corners of his lips turn into a smile, and he shakes his head. “No, not insane at all.” Robert smiles, which brings a little laugh out of me. With a nod at my table, he says, “He’s looking at you.”

My head snaps up to look. Sure enough, Hardin’s eyes are on me and my new shrink, eyes that burn into me and make me literally flinch at their intensity.

“You should probably go inside,” I warn him. I’m expecting Hardin to get up from the table at any time, to rush out here and throw Robert over the deck and into the woods.

He doesn’t, though. He remains still, his fingers wrapped around the stem of a wineglass as he looks at me one last time before lifting his free hand and resting it across the back of Lillian’s chair. Oh God. My chest tightens at his callous action.

“I’m sorry,” Robert says.

I’d almost forgotten he was next to me.

“It’s fine, really. I should be used to it. I’ve been playing these games with him for six months now.” I cringe at the truth, cursing myself for not learning my lesson after one month, or two, or three—yet here I am outside with a stranger watching as Hardin shamelessly flirts with another girl. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, I’m the one who asked,” he kindly reminds me. “And we’ve got plenty more wine, if you want some.” His smile is kind and playful.

“I certainly will need more.” I nod and turn away from the window. “Do you get this a lot? Half-drunk girls whining about their boyfriends?”

He chuckles. “No, actually, it’s usually rich old men complaining that their steak isn’t medium rare.”

“Like the guy at my table, the one in the red tie.” I gesture to Max. “God, he’s a jerk.”

Robert nods in agreement. “Yeah, he is. No offense, but anyone who sends a salad back because it has ‘too many olives’ is a jerk by definition.”

We both laugh, and I cover my mouth with the back of my hand, then worry that the laughter will bring some of my tears out.

“Right! He’s so serious, too, like he gave us this massive speech on his well-considered reasoning about olives after that.” I deepen my voice to try to mimic the annoying girl’s annoying father. “ ‘Too many olives overpowers the delicate yet earthy taste of the arugula.’ ”

Robert bursts out laughing, doubling over. Hands on his knees, he looks up, and asks in a voice much closer to Max’s than mine was, “ ‘Could I have four? Three just will not do, and five is far too many—it simply does not balance the flavor palate!’ ”

I lose myself in laughter to the point that my stomach is aching. I don’t know how long it lasts, but I hear a door open suddenly, and Robert and I both instinctively stop and look up . . . to see Hardin standing in the doorway.

I stand up straight, smoothing my dress. I can’t help but feel like I was doing something wrong, even though I know that I wasn’t.

“Am I interrupting something?” Hardin barks, commanding all attention.

“Yes,” I respond, my voice coming out as clear as I was hoping. My breath is still staccato from laughing so hard, my head is swimming from the wine, and my heart is aching over Hardin.

Hardin looks to Robert. “Apparently.”

Robert’s face still holds a smile, his eyes alight with humor as Hardin tries his best to intimidate him. But he doesn’t falter, he doesn’t even blink. Even he has had enough of Hardin’s shit—and he’s trained to always be nice. But here, out of earshot of the rest of the diners, he doesn’t seem to have a problem showing his amusement at Hardin’s absurd attitude.

“What do you want?” I ask Hardin. When he turns to me, his mouth is pressed in a hard line.

“Get inside,” he demands, but I shake my head. “Tessa, don’t play these games with me. Let’s go.”

He reaches for my arm, but I yank it away and stand my ground. “I said no. You go back inside—I’m sure your friend misses you,” I hiss.

“You . . .” Hardin looks back to Robert. “You should really be the one to go inside. Our drinks are in need of refilling,” he says, then snaps his fingers in the most insulting way possible.

“I’m off, actually. But I’m sure you can charm someone else into taking care of your drinks,” Robert says with a shrug.

Hardin’s stance falters momentarily; he’s not used to anyone talking back to him, especially not strangers.

“Okay, let me rephrase this . . .” He steps toward Robert. “Get the fuck away from her. Get inside and find something fucking else to do before I grab you by that fucking ridiculous collar and bash your head against that ledge.”

“Hardin!” I reproach him, stepping between the two of them.

But Robert seems unfazed. “Go ahead,” he says slowly, confidently. “But you should know that this is a very small town. My dad’s the sheriff, Grandpa’s the judge, and Uncle’s the one they locked up for assault and battery. So if you want to take your chances bashing my head in”—he shrugs—“go for it.”

My mouth is wide open, and I can’t seem to close it. Hardin’s glare is murderous, and he seems to be weighing his options as he looks back and forth between Robert, me, and the inside of the restaurant.

“Let’s go,” he says again to me at last.

“I’m not going,” I tell him, backing away. But I do turn to Robert and say, “Can you give us a minute, please?”

He nods slowly, giving Hardin one last glare before walking back inside.

“So what, you’re going to fuck the waiter now?” Hardin grimaces, and I step back even farther, willing myself not to break under his stare.

“Would you just stop, already? We both know how this will go. You’ll keep insulting me. I’ll walk away. You’ll come after me and tell me you won’t be rude anymore. We’ll go back to the cabin and sleep together.” I roll my eyes, and he looks absolutely lost.

In his usual Hardin way, he collects himself rapidly. Throwing his head back in laughter, he simply says, “Wrong,” and steps back toward the door. “I won’t be doing that. It seems you’ve forgotten how it really goes: you throw a fit over something I say, you walk away, and I only come after you so I can fuck you. And you . . .” he adds with a sinister glare, “you always let me.”

My mouth falls open in horror, and my hands move to my stomach to hold my body together after his splintering words. “Why?” I gasp, the cold air nowhere to be found as I try to catch my breath.

“I don’t know. Because you can’t stay away. Probably because I fuck you better than anyone else ever would.” His tone is clipped and cruel.

“Why . . . now?” I correct my earlier question. “What I meant was, why are you doing this now? Is it because I won’t go to England with you?”

“Yes and no.”

“I won’t give up Seattle for you, so you turn on me?” My eyes are burning, but I will not cry. “You show up with her”—I gesture toward Lillian at the table—“and say all these hateful things to me? I thought we were past this. What happened to you not being able to live without me? What happened to you trying your best to treat me the way you should?”

He looks away from me, and for a moment, a barely recognizable moment, I see a deeper emotion behind his hateful glare.

“There is a big difference between not being able to live without someone and loving them,” he says.

And like that, he walks away, whatever was left of my respect for him following in his wake.

chapter

forty

HARDIN

I wanted to hurt her, to make her feel like shit, the way that I felt when I looked up from the table to see her laughing. She was fucking laughing when she should have been sitting across from me vying for my attention. It was like she didn’t give a fuck about me getting close to Lillian. She was too focused on the fucking waiter and whatever the hell he was saying.

So my mind began sifting through hateful thoughts, trying to pick one that was sure to break her down. Lillian’s statement from this morning popped in, and it warmed my anger, so I said it before I could stop myself. There is a big difference between not being able to live without someone and loving them.

I almost want to take them back . . . almost. She deserves them, she really does. She shouldn’t have said that she didn’t want me to go to Seattle with her. She said I turned on her; I didn’t turn on her. I’m here for her, on her side. She’s the one trying to leave me every damn chance she gets.

“I’m leaving,” I announce when I reach the table. Six sets of eyes look up, and Landon rolls his before looking over to the door. “She’s outside,” I tell him sarcastically. He can go out there and put on fucking kid gloves for her—I’m sure as hell not going to.

“What did you do now?” he has the nerve to ask me in front of everyone.

I glare at him. “Mind your own fucking business.”

“Hardin,” my father warns. Not him, too—everyone is fucking against me, apparently. If my father wants to start shit with me, I fucking dare him.

“I’ll go, too,” Lillian says, standing.

“No,” I snap, but she ignores me and follows me as I make my way through the restaurant and out the front door.

“What the heck happened?” she asks when we get outside.

Without breaking my stride, I shout over my shoulder, “She was out there with that fucking guy, that’s what happened.”

“Then what? What did she say when you told her that I’m not a threat?” She stumbles slightly in her high heels, but I don’t stop to help her as I try to decide where the hell I’m actually going. I knew I should have fucking driven my own car here, but no, Tessa had to get her way. Big surprise there.

“I didn’t tell her.”

“Why not? Do you know what she’s probably thinking right now?”

“I don’t give a shit what she thinks. I hope she’s thinking that I’m going to fuck you.”

She stops walking. “Why? If you love her, why would you want her to think that?”

Oh, lovely, now Lillian is turning on me, too. I turn to face her. “Because she needs to learn that—”

She holds up one hand. “Stop. Just stop there, because she doesn’t need to ‘learn’ anything. It seems to me that you’re the one who needs to be learning something—what did you say to the poor girl?”

“I said what you said to me this morning about there being a difference between not being able to live without someone and loving them,” I tell her.

She shakes her head in confusion. “You said that to her, as in you can’t live without her but don’t love her?”

“Yes—did I not just tell you that?” Tessa Number Two needs to just go away, because she’s getting on my last fucking nerve just like Tessa the Original.

“Wow,” she says, and laughs.

She’s laughing at me, too? “What? What’s so funny?” I nearly yell.

“You are so clueless,” she mocks me. “When I said that to you this morning, I wasn’t referring to you, I was talking about her. I meant that just because you think she can’t live without you doesn’t mean that she’s in love with you.”

“What?”

“You assume that you have her so wrapped around your finger that she won’t leave you because she can’t live without you, when in reality it seems like you have her trapped and that’s why she won’t leave you: not because she loves you, but because you’ve made her feel that she can’t be without you.”

“No . . . she loves me.” I know she does, and that’s why she’ll be following me out here any moment now.

Lillian throws her arms wide. “Does she? Why would she, when you do things to hurt her on purpose?”

I’ve had enough of this shit. “You’re in no position to be giving anyone a goddamned lecture.” I throw my hands in the air as wildly as she just did. “Your girlfriend is probably fucking someone else right now while you’re here trying to play couples therapist between Tessa and me,” I growl.

Lillian’s eyes widen, and she takes a step back from me . . . the way Tessa did only minutes ago. Her blue eyes begin to water, shining in the darkness. She shakes her head and starts to walk back toward the restaurant parking lot.

“Where are you going?” I call to her through the wind.

“Back inside. Tessa may be stupid enough to put up with your crap, but I’m not.”

For a moment I almost follow this girl who I thought was my . . . friend? I don’t know, but I felt like I could trust her despite only knowing her for two days.

Fuck that: I’m not following anyone. Tessa or Tessa Number Two. They can both go to hell—I don’t need either of them.

chapter

forty-one

TESSA

My chest is aching, my throat is dry, and my head is spinning. Hardin basically just told me that he doesn’t love me and that he chases me just so he can sleep with me. The worst thing about the things he said to me is that I know he didn’t mean them. I know he loves me—he does. In his own way, he loves me more than anything. He’s shown me that time and time again in the last six months. But he’s also shown me that he’ll stop at nothing to hurt me, to make me feel weak just because his ego is bruised. If he loved me the way he should, he wouldn’t purposely hurt me.

He couldn’t have meant that he only wants sex from me. He doesn’t really see me as a toy, does he? With him, truth and lies slide back and forth as easily as his moods. He couldn’t have meant it. But he said it with such conviction; he didn’t even blink. I honestly don’t know anymore. Through all of the fights, tears, holes in our walls, I have always held on to the small certainty that he loves me.

Without that, we have nothing. And without him, I have nothing. The irrational and flaring tempers we both have, mixed with our young ages, are becoming too much to handle.

There’s a difference between not being able to live without someone and loving them—the words slice through me again.

The air in this place is too stale, too thick and consuming, and the laughter of the customers is growing sinister. I look for an exit. Glass doors leading to a balcony are closed; I open them and welcome the cool air. I sit there, staring out into the darkness, enjoying the quiet of the night and my own slowing mind.

I don’t notice the door to the deck opening until Robert is next to me. “Brought you something,” he says and holds up the bottle of wine, waggling it playfully. He dips his shoulder to one side, and a grin spreads across his handsome face.

I surprise myself by smiling, a real smile, despite the fact that on the inside I’m screaming, huddled in a corner crying.

“Pity wine?” I question, holding my hands out for the white-labeled bottle. I recognize it as the same wine Max ordered earlier; it must have cost a fortune.

He grins, placing the wine in my hands. “What other type of wine is there?” The bottle is cold, but my hands are nearly numb from the February air.

“Glasses.” He smiles, dipping his hands into the deep pockets of his apron. “I couldn’t fit actual wineglasses, so I grabbed these.” He hands me a small Styrofoam cup, and I hold it up while he uncorks the bottle.

“Thank you.” The wine fills the cup, and I bring it to my lips the moment he pulls away.

“We can go inside, you know? There are a few sections that are closed down already, so we can sit there,” Robert says, then takes a sip.

“I don’t know.” I sigh, shifting my gaze to the table.

“He left,” he says, the sympathy obvious in his voice. “So did she,” he adds. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, not really.” I shrug. “Tell me about this wine.” I grasp for a neutral, nondepressing subject.

“This guy? Okay, well, it’s, um, old and aged to perfection?” He laughs and I join him. “I’m good at drinking it, though, not so much studying it.”

“Okay, not the wine, then,” I say. Tipping my cup back, I finish the rest as quickly as possible.

“Um,” he says, looking behind me. My stomach drops at his nervous expression, and I hope Hardin isn’t back to spit more venom at me. When I turn around, Lillian is standing in the doorway, seemingly unsure whether to come out or not.

“What do you want?” I ask her. I’m trying to control my jealousy, but the wine coursing through me doesn’t work in favor of manners. Robert grabs my empty cup just as the wind knocks it over, and begins to refill it. I get the feeling he’s trying to keep himself busy to avoid whatever dramatic or awkward situation lies ahead.

“Can I talk to you?” Lillian asks.

“What is there for us to talk about? Everything is pretty clear to me.” I take a big gulp from my cup, letting the cold wine fill my mouth.

Unexpectedly, she doesn’t respond to my attitude. She just walks over to us and says flatly, “I’m gay.”

What? If Robert’s clear blue eyes hadn’t been focused on me, I’d have spit the wine back into my cup. I look from him to her and swallow slowly.

“It’s true. I have a girlfriend. Hardin and I are only friends.” She frowns. “If you would even call us that.”

I know that look. He must have just told her off.

“Then why . . .” I start. Is she being honest? “But you guys were all over each other.”

“No, he was being a little . . . touchy-feely, I guess you’d say, like when he put his arm around my chair. But he was only doing it to make you jealous.”

“Why would he do that? On purpose?” I ask. But I know the answer: to hurt me, of course.

“I told him to tell you. I’m sorry if you thought something was going on between us. It’s not. I’m in a relationship, with a girl.”

I roll my eyes and hold my cup out to Robert for more wine. “You seemed pretty comfortable going along with it,” I remark harshly.

With honest, pleading eyes, she says, “That wasn’t my intention. I wasn’t really paying attention to what he was doing. I’m really sorry if you were hurt in all this.”

I’m fumbling for reasons to tell this girl off, but I can’t come up with any. Lillian being gay is a huge relief to me, and I wish that I’d known sooner, but it really doesn’t change much with Hardin. If anything, it makes his behavior worse, because he was purposely trying to make me jealous and then upped the ante by saying the most hateful things he could think of to me. Watching him flirt with her didn’t hurt nearly as bad as hearing him tell me that he didn’t love me.

Robert fills my glass, and I take a small sip while watching Lillian. “So what changed your mind and made you tell me? He went off on you, didn’t he?”

She half smiles, then sits down at the table with us. “Yeah, he did.”

“He’s good at that,” I say and she nods. I can tell she’s slightly nervous, and I keep reminding myself that she isn’t the problem here, Hardin is.

“Do you have any more cups?” I ask Robert, and he nods, giving me a proud smile. My stomach flutters lightly; from the wine, I’m sure.

“Not in my pocket, but I can grab another from inside,” he offers politely. “We should go inside, anyway; your lips are turning blue.”

I look up at him, and my gaze goes to his lips. They’re full and pink; they look so soft. Why am I staring at his lips? This is what wine does to me. I want to be staring at Hardin’s lips, but he only uses them to yell at me lately, it seems.

“Is he inside?” I ask Lillian, and she shakes her head. “Okay, let’s go in, then. I have to save Landon from that table, anyway, especially from that Max guy,” I say without thinking, then quickly look at Lillian. “Shit, sorry,”

She surprises me by laughing. “It’s fine, trust me. I know my dad’s an asshole.”

I don’t respond. She may not be a threat to my relationship with Hardin, but that doesn’t mean that I like her, even if she does seem kind of sweet.

“Are we going inside or . . .” Robert rocks on the heels of his black dress shoes.

“Yeah.” I gulp down the rest of my wine and head inside. “I’ll get Landon. Are you sure you can drink here? In your uniform?” I ask my new friend. I don’t want him to get in trouble. My head is fuzzy, and the thought of him getting arrested by his father makes me giggle.

“What?” he asks, his eyes searching my face.

“Nothing,” I lie.

Heading inside, Lillian and I walk over to our party’s table. I put my hands on the back of Landon’s chair, and he turns to look up at me.

“You okay?” he asks quietly while Lillian speaks to her parents.

I shrug. “Yeah, sort of.” I wouldn’t be if I wasn’t borderline drunk from downing several cups of wine. “Do you want to hang out with us? We’re going to hang out here and have some wine . . . some more wine.” I smile.

“Who? Her, too?” Landon glances across the table at Lillian.

“Yeah, she’s . . . well, she’s okay.” I don’t want to blurt out the girl’s personal business in front of everyone.

“I told Ken that I’d watch the game with them at Max’s cabin, but if you want me to stay here, I will.”

“No . . .” I do want him to stay, but I don’t want him to alter his plans for me. “It’s okay. I just thought you might want to get away from them,” I whisper, and he smiles.

“I do, but Ken’s excited for me to come because Max likes the opposing team. I think he thinks it’ll be funny to watch us give each other crap or something.” Then he leans in closer so only I can hear him. “Are you sure about hanging out with that guy? He seems nice, but Hardin will probably try to murder him.”

“I think he can hold his own,” I assure him. “Have fun watching the game.” I lean down and press my lips against Landon’s cheek.

I jerk away quickly and cover my mouth. “I’m sorry. I have no idea why . . .”

“It’s okay.” Landon laughs.

I look around the table and I’m relieved to see that everyone seems to be in engaged in conversation. Thankfully my embarrassing show of affection went unnoticed.

“Be careful, okay, Tessa? And call me if you need me.”

“I will. And if you get bored, come back here.”

“Will do.” He smiles. I know he won’t get bored watching the game with Ken. He loves spending time with the only father figure in his life, something that Hardin doesn’t share the same enthusiasm for.

“Dad, I’m an adult,” I hear Lillian huff from across the table.

Max shakes his head once with authority. “There is absolutely no need for you to be out running the streets here; you’ll go back to the cabin with us. That’s final.” It’s obvious that he’s one of those men who love to have complete control over everyone in his life. The nasty smirk on his hard face confirms it.

“Fine,” his frustrated daughter responds. She looks to her mother, but the woman stays silent. If I had another glass of wine, I would call the jerk out, but I don’t want to upset Ken and Karen.

“Tessa, are you coming back with us?” Karen asks.

“No, I’m going to stay here for a little while, if that’s okay?” I hope she doesn’t mind. I watch as she looks to Lillian and then behind me to where Robert stands in the distance. I get the feeling she has no clue about Lillian’s sexual orientation, and she’s annoyed by the way Hardin was behaving with her. I love Karen.

“That’s fine with us; you have fun.” She smiles approvingly.

“Okay.” I return her smile and walk away from the table without saying goodbye to Max and his wife.

“We’re good to go; she’s not allowed to stay,” I tell Robert when I reach him.

“Not allowed?”

“Her father is a jerk. I’m sort of glad, though, because I’m not sure how I feel about her. She reminds me of someone. I can’t quite put my finger on who . . .” I let the thought trail off as I follow Robert to an empty section of the restaurant. A few tables sit in the closed-off area, bare save for unlit votive candles and salt and pepper shakers.

As we sit, Zed’s mutilated face flashes through my mind. I ask Robert, “Are you sure you’re okay with hanging out with me? Hardin may come back, and he has a tendency to assault people . . .”

Robert pulls a chair out for me and laughs. “I’m sure,” he answers.

Taking the seat across from me, he refills our Styrofoam cups with white wine, and we toast, the cups’ soft material bending slightly and lacking that clink of glassware. Nice and cozy, unlike the rest of this hard-edged restaurant.