Текст книги "After We Fell"

Автор книги: Anna Todd

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 49 страниц)

chapter

fifty

TESSA

Landon opens the door, rubbing his eyes. He’s half dressed, wearing only plaid pants, no shirt or socks.

“Can I sleep in here?” I ask him, and he nods drowsily, not asking any questions. “I’m sorry for waking you up,” I whisper to him.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles, and stumbles back to the bed. “Here, you can have this one, the other is flat.” He pushes a fluffy white pillow against my chest.

I smile, hugging the pillow close and sitting on the edge of the bed. “This is why I love you. Well, not the only reason, but one of them.”

“Because I gave you the best pillow?” His smile is even more adorable when laced with sleep.

“No, because you’re always here for me . . . and you have soft pillows.” My voice is so slow when I’m drunk . . . it’s odd.

Landon lies back on the bed and moves his body over so that there’s plenty of room for me on the other side. “Is he going to come in here after you?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t think so.” The moment of humor that came with Landon and his soft pillows has been replaced by the ache of Hardin and the words we exchanged moments ago.

I lie down on my side and look over at Landon lying next to me. “Remember when you said he isn’t a lost cause?” I whisper.

“Yeah.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Yeah, I do.” He pauses. “Unless he did something else . . .”

“No, well . . . nothing new, really. I just . . . I don’t know if I can do it anymore. We keep moving backward, and we shouldn’t be. Every single time I think we’re making progress, he becomes that same Hardin I met six months ago. He calls me a selfish bitch, or basically tells me he doesn’t love me—and I know he doesn’t mean the words, but every syllable crushes me a little more than the last, and I think I’m starting to understand that this really is just the way he is. He can’t help it, but he can’t change it either.”

Landon watches me with thoughtful eyes before his mouth turns to a frown. “He called you a bitch? Tonight?”

I nod, and he sighs heavily, running his hand over his face.

“I was saying hurtful things to him, too.” I hiccup. The heavy combination of wine and whiskey is going to haunt me tomorrow, I know it.

“He shouldn’t call you out of your name—he’s a man and you’re a woman. It’s never okay, Tessa. Please don’t make excuses for him.”

“I’m not . . . I just . . .” But that’s exactly what I’m doing. I sigh. “I think this is all about Seattle. He went from getting a tattoo for me and telling me that he can’t live without me to telling me he only chases me because I fuck him. Oh my gosh! I’m sorry, Landon!” I cover my face with my hands. I cannot believe I just said that in front of him.

“It’s okay—you did just fish your underwear out of the hot tub, remember?” He grins, lightening the conversation, and I hope that the relative darkness of the room at least hides my blushing.

“This trip has been a disaster.” I shake my head, pressing it against the cool pillow.

“Maybe not; maybe this is what you two needed.”

“To break up?”

“No . . . is that what happened?” He lays another pillow next to me.

“I don’t know.” I bury my face further.

“Is that what you want?” he asks delicately.

“No, but it’s what I should want. It’s not fair to either of us to keep doing this day in and day out. I’m not innocent here either—I always expect too much from him.” My mother’s flaws have been passed down to me. She expects too much from everyone, too.

Landon shifts a little. “There isn’t anything wrong with expecting things from him, especially when the things that you expect from him are reasonable,” he replies. “He has to see what he has. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him; he needs to remember that.”

“He said that it’s my fault . . . that he is the way he is. All I want is for him to be kind to me at least half the time, and I want security in our relationship, that’s all. It’s pathetic, really.” I groan, my voice breaks, and I can still taste the whiskey laced with Hardin’s mint on my tongue. “Would you go to Seattle if you were me? I can’t help but think I should just call it off and stay here, or go with him to England. If he’s acting like this because I’m going to Seattle, maybe I should—”

“You can’t not go,” Landon interrupts. “You’ve been gushing over Seattle since the day I met you. If Hardin won’t go with you, then that’s his loss. Besides, I give him a week of you being gone before he shows up at your doorstep. You can’t give in on this; he has to know that you’re serious this time. You have to let him miss you.”

I smile while envisioning Hardin showing up a week after I leave, desperately begging for my forgiveness with lilies in his hand. “I don’t even have a doorstep for him to show up on.”

“That was him, wasn’t it? The reason that woman wasn’t calling you back?”

“Yeah.”

“I knew it. Realtors don’t just not return calls. You have to go. Ken will help you find somewhere to stay until you find a permanent place.”

“What if he doesn’t come after all? And worse, what if he does come but he’s even more angry because he hates it there?”

“Tessa, I’m only saying this because I care about you, okay?” He waits for my response, and I nod. “You’d have to be insane to give up Seattle for someone who loves you more than anything but is only willing to show it half of the time.”

I think about Hardin saying that I make all the mistakes, that I make him act the way he does. “Do you think he’d be better off without me?” I ask Landon.

He sits up a little and says, “No, heck no! But seeing as I know you don’t tell me even half of the messed-up things he says to you, maybe it really isn’t going to work.” Reaching across the empty space between us, his hand touches my arm and he rubs slowly.

Using the alcohol in my veins as an excuse, I grant myself permission to ignore the fact that Landon, one of the only people who actually had faith in my relationship with Hardin, has just thrown in the towel. “I’m going to feel like hell tomorrow,” I say to change the subject before I break the promise that I made with myself not to cry.

“Yeah, you are,” he teases. “You smell like a liquor cabinet.”

“I met Lillian’s girlfriend. She kept giving me shots. Oh, and I danced on a bar.”

He gasps gleefully. “You didn’t.”

“I did. It was so embarrassing. It was Riley’s idea.”

“She’s . . . interesting.” Landon smiles and seems to notice his fingertips still running over my skin. He pulls them away and tucks his arm under his head.

“She’s the female version of Hardin.” I laugh.

“She is! No wonder she sounds so annoying!” he teases, and in a moment of drunken insanity, I glance over to the door, expecting to see Hardin there with a deep scowl after hearing Landon’s playful insult.

“You make me forget about everything.” My mouth releases the words before my mind can catch up.

“I’m glad.” My best friend smiles and grabs the blanket at the foot of the bed. He pulls it up over both of our bodies, and I close my eyes.

Minutes pass in silence, and my mind is putting up a fight as sleep tries to pull me under. Landon’s breathing slows, and I have to keep my eyes closed and pretend that it’s Hardin breathing next to me or my mind will never surrender.

Hardin’s angry scowl and harsh words float through my hazy thoughts as I finally fall asleep: You’re a selfish bitch.

“NO!”

Hardin’s voice startles me awake. It takes a moment to remember that I’m in Landon’s room and Hardin is down the hall, alone.

“Get off of her!” His voice echoes down the hallway seconds later.

I’m out of bed and at the door before he even finishes the sentence.

He has to see what he has. He has to know that you’re serious this time. You have to let him miss you.

If I go rushing into that room, I know I’ll forgive everything. I’ll see him feeling vulnerable and afraid, and I’ll say whatever he needs to hear to comfort him.

I pick my heart up off of the floor and walk back to the bed. I place the pillow over my head just as another “No!” rips through the cabin.

“Tessa . . . are you . . .” Landon whispers.

“No,” I reply, my voice cracking at the end. I bite down on the pillow and break my own promise. I begin to cry. Not for myself. The tears are for Hardin, for the boy who doesn’t know how to treat the people that he cares about, the boy who has nightmares when I’m not in bed with him, but who tells me that he doesn’t love me. The boy who really does need to be reminded how it feels to be alone.

chapter

fifty-one

HARDIN

T hey won’t stop, they won’t stop touching her. His dirty, wrinkled hands run up her thighs, and she whimpers as the other man fists her ponytail in his hand, pulling her head back, hard.

“Get away from her!” I try to shout at them, but they can’t hear me. I try to move but am frozen on the staircase from my childhood. Her gray eyes are wide, afraid, and absolutely fucking lifeless as she looks at me while a purple bruise already begins forming on her cheek.

“You don’t love me,” she whispers. Her eyes burn into mine as his hand creeps up and wraps around her neck.

What?

“Yes; yes, I do! I do love you, Tess!” I shout, but she doesn’t listen.

She shakes her head as he tightens his grip on her and his friend reaches down between her legs.

“No!” I scream one last time before she begins to fade in front of my eyes.

“You don’t love me . . .” Her eyes are bloodshot from his assault, and I can’t do a damn thing to help her.

“Tess!” I flail my arm out across the bed to reach for her. The moment I touch her, this panic will go away, taking with it the fucked-up images of those hands wrapped around her neck.

She’s not here.

She didn’t come back. I sit up and click on the lamp on the nightstand and scan the room. My heart is hammering against my rib cage, and my body is drenched in sweat.

She’s not here.

A light knock at the door sounds, and I hold my breath as it creaks open. Please be . . .

“Hardin?” Karen’s soft voice fills the room. Fuck.

“I’m fine,” I snap, and she opens the door further.

“If you need anything, please let me—”

“I fucking said I’m fine!” My hand swipes across the nightstand, knocking the lamp to the floor with a hideous crash.

Without a word, Karen leaves the room, closing the door behind her, and I’m left alone in the darkness.

TESSA’S HEAD lies on the counter, cushioned by her crossed arms. She’s still in her pajamas, and her hair is in a nest on top of her head. “I just need to take some Tylenol and drink some water,” she groans.

Landon sits next to her, spooning cereal into his mouth.

“I’ll get you some. Once we get the car packed up, we can head out. Ken is still in bed, though; he had trouble sleeping last night,” Karen says.

Tessa looks up at her but stays silent. I know she’s thinking, Did they all hear me screaming like a pathetic little bitch?

Karen walks over to open a drawer and grabs a couple of foil packets. I watch all three of them, waiting for someone to acknowledge me. No one does.

“I’m going to go pack; thank you so much for the Tylenol.” Tessa’s voice is soft as she stands up from her seat at the counter. She takes the medication quickly, and when she sets the glass of water back onto the counter, her eyes meet mine, but she quickly looks away.

It’s only been one night without her, and already I miss her so much. I can’t get the haunting images from my nightmare out of my mind, especially when she walks past me with no emotion at all. Nothing to let me know that I’ll be okay.

The dream felt so real, and she’s being so cold.

I stand still for a moment debating whether or not to follow her, but my feet decide for me as they scale the stairs. When I enter the room, she’s kneeling down, unzipping the suitcase.

“I’m just going to pack everything, then we can go,” she says without turning around.

I nod, then realize that she can’t see me. “Yeah, okay,” I mutter. I don’t know what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling, or what I should say. I’m fucking clueless, as usual.

“I’m sorry,” I say too damn loud.

“I know,” she replies quickly. Her back is still turned to me as she begins to refold my clothes from the dresser and floor.

“I really am. I didn’t mean what I said.” I need her to look at me so I can be reassured that my dream was just that.

“I know you didn’t. Don’t worry about it.” She sighs, and I notice the way her shoulders are slumped lower than before.

“Are you sure . . . I said some fucked-up shit.” You’re broken, Hardin, and I can’t fix you—that was the worst possible thing she could have said to me. She finally realizes how fucked up I am, and more importantly, she realizes that there’s no cure for what’s wrong with me. No one can fix me if it isn’t her.

“So did I. It’s fine. I have a really bad headache; can we talk about something else?”

“Of course.” I kick at a piece of the lamp I broke last night. I have to owe my father and Karen at least five fucking lamps by now.

I feel slightly guilty for snapping at Karen last night, but I don’t want to bring it up to her first, and she’s probably too polite and understanding to bring it up herself.

“Can you get your stuff from the bathroom, please?” Tessa asks.

The remainder of my time at that damn cabin is spent this way, watching Tessa as she packs our things and cleans up the broken lamp without another word to me, without really looking at me.

chapter

fifty-two

TESSA

I’m so thrilled that we got to see Max and Denise again—it’s been years!” Karen gushes as Ken starts the SUV. The bags have been placed securely in the back, and I borrowed Landon’s headphones to distract myself during the drive.

“It was nice. Lillian has grown so much.” Ken appeases Karen with a smile.

“She has. She’s such a beautiful girl.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes. Lillian was nice and all, but after spending hours under the impression that she was interested in Hardin, I’m not sure if I’ll ever care for the girl. I’m grateful that the chances of me seeing her again are slim to nonexistent.

“Max hasn’t changed over the years,” Ken remarks, his voice low and disapproving. At least I’m not the only one who doesn’t care for his arrogance and haughty attitude.

“Do you feel any better?” Landon turns around to ask me.

“Not really.” I sigh.

He nods. “You can sleep it off during the drive. Do you want a bottle of water?”

“I can get it,” Hardin interjects.

Ignoring him, Landon grabs a thing of water from the small cooler on the floor in front of his seat. I thank him quietly and push the earbuds into my ears. My phone freezes repeatedly, so I turn it off and on again, hoping it will work. This drive will be miserable if I can’t drown out the tension with music. I don’t know why I never did this before the “great depression,” when Landon had to show me how to download music.

I smile slightly at the ridiculous nickname I’ve given those long days without Hardin; I don’t know why I’m smiling, given that those were the worst few days of my life. I feel a similar sensation now. I know that time is coming again.

“What’s wrong?” Hardin leans down to speak into my ear, and on reflex I jerk away. He frowns and doesn’t make a move to touch me again.

“Nothing, my phone is just . . . it’s junk.” I hold the device in the air.

“What are you trying to do, exactly?”

“Listen to music and hopefully sleep,” I whisper.

He takes the phone from my hand and messes with the settings. “If you listened to me and got a new phone, this wouldn’t happen,” he scolds.

I bite my tongue and stare out the window while he attempts to fix my phone. I don’t want a new one, and I don’t really have the money to get one right now, anyway. I have an apartment to find, new furniture to buy, bills to pay. The last thing on my mind is paying hundreds of dollars for something I already paid money for recently.

“It’s working now, I think. If not, you can just use mine,” he says.

Use his? Hardin is voluntarily offering to allow me to use his phone? This is new.

“Thanks,” I mutter and scroll through the song list on my phone before choosing. Soon music floods through my ears and enters my thoughts, drowning out my inner turmoil.

Hardin leans his head against the window and closes his eyes, the dark rings beneath them emphasizing his lack of sleep.

A wave of guilt hits me, but I push it back. Within minutes, the calming music coaxes me to sleep.

“TESSA.” Hardin’s voice wakes me. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” I groan, not wanting to open my eyes.

“You’re hungover; you should eat,” he says.

Suddenly I realize that I’m feeling the need for something to absorb all that stomach acid. “Fine,” I say, giving in. I don’t have the energy to put up a fight today, anyway.

Minutes later a sandwich and fries are placed on my lap, and I open my eyes. I pick at the food and lay my head back on the seat after finishing half of it. But my phone has frozen yet again.

Seeing me start to futz with it, Hardin pulls my earbuds out of my phone and plugs them into his. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

He’s already opened the music app for me. A long list appears on the screen, and I scroll through to find anything familiar. I almost give up, but then my eyes move to a folder named T. I look over at Hardin, whose eyes, surprisingly, are closed and not watching me. When I tap the folder, all of my favorite music appears, even songs that I’ve never mentioned to him. He must have seen them on my phone.

Things like these make me question myself. The small, thoughtful gestures that he tries to conceal from me are my favorite things in the entire world. I wish he’d stop hiding them.

WITH A GENTLE NUDGE, it’s Karen who wakes me this time. “Wake up, dear.”

I look over and see Hardin is asleep; his hand is on the seat between us, his fingers barely touching my leg. Even in his sleep, he gravitates to me.

“Hardin, wake up,” I whisper, and his eyes fly open, wide and immediately alert. He rubs them, then scratches his head and stares at me, gauging my expression.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, and I nod. I’m trying to avoid any confrontation with him today, but I’m growing nervous at his calm demeanor. It’s usually a precursor to a blowup.

We file out of the car, and Hardin walks to the back to retrieve our bags.

Karen wraps her arms around me and hugs me tight. “Tessa, dear, thank you again for coming. It was a lovely time. Please come visit soon, but in the meanwhile, take Seattle by storm.” When she pulls away, her eyes are full of tears.

“I’ll visit soon, I promise.” I hug her again. She has always been so kind and supportive of me, almost like the mother I never had.

“Good luck, Tessa, and let me know if you need anything. I have a lot of connections in Seattle.” Ken smiles and awkwardly wraps an arm around my shoulder.

“I’ll see you again before I leave for New York, so no hugs for you yet,” Landon says, and we both laugh.

“I’ll be in the car,” Hardin mumbles and walks off, not even saying goodbye to his family.

Watching him go, Ken says to me, “He’ll come around, if he knows what’s good for him.”

I look at Hardin, who is now sitting in the car. “I sure hope so.”

“Going back to England isn’t good for him. He has too many memories, too many enemies, too many mistakes there. You’re what’s good for him, you and Seattle,” Ken assures me, and I nod. If only Hardin saw it that way.

“Thank you again.” I smile at them before joining Hardin in the car.

He doesn’t say a word when I get in; he only turns on the radio and raises the volume up high so I know he doesn’t want to talk. I wish I knew what went on inside his mind at times like this, when he’s so unreadable.

My fingers fiddle with the bracelet he gave me for Christmas, and I stare out the window as the drive continues. By the time we park at the apartment, the tension I feel between us has grown to an unbearable level. It’s driving me insane, yet he doesn’t seem to be affected at all.

I move to get out, and Hardin’s large hand reaches over to stop me. He brings his other hand to my chin and tips my head up so I have to look at him. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be upset with me,” he says quietly, his mouth inches from mine.

“Okay,” I breathe, inhaling his minty scent.

“You’re not okay, though, I can tell. You’re holding back, and I hate it.”

He’s right; he always knows exactly what I’m thinking, but yet he’s so clueless at the same time. It’s a confusing contradiction. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”

“So don’t,” he states, as if it’s that simple.

“I’m trying not to, but so much happened during that trip. I’m still trying to process it all,” I admit. It started with me finding out that Hardin sabotaged my apartment and ended with him calling me a selfish bitch.

“I know I ruined the trip.”

“It wasn’t only you. I shouldn’t have spent time with—”

“Don’t finish,” he interrupts and drops his hand from my chin. “I don’t want to hear about it.”

“Okay.” I glance away from his intense stare, and he puts his hand over mine, squeezing gently.

“Sometimes I . . . well, sometimes I get . . . fuck.” He sighs and starts again. “Sometimes when I think about us, I start to get paranoid, you know? Like I don’t know why you’re with me sometimes, so I act out and my mind starts making me believe that it won’t work or that I’m losing you, and that’s when I say stupid shit. If you could just forget about Seattle, we could be happy finally—no more distractions.”

“Seattle isn’t a distraction, Hardin,” I reply softly.

“It is. You’re only pushing it so much to prove a point.” It’s amazing how his tone can change from soothing to ice in a matter of seconds.

I look out the window. “Can we please stop talking about Seattle? Nothing is changing: you don’t want to go, and I do. I’m sick of going around and around about it.”

He pulls his hand away, and I turn back to him. “Fine, what do you suggest we do, then? You go to Seattle without me? How long do you think we would last? A week? A month?” His eyes regard me coolly, and I shiver.

“We could make it work if we really wanted to. At least long enough for me to try Seattle and see if it’s what I want. If I don’t like it, we can go to England.”

“No, no, no,” he says with a shrug. “If you go to Seattle, we won’t be together at all. That will be it.”

“What? Why?” I fumble the words and scramble for my next response.

“Because I don’t do long distance.”

“You also didn’t ‘do’ dating, remember?” I remind him. It’s infuriating that I’m basically begging him to stay in a relationship with me when I should be considering leaving him for the way he treats me.

“Look how that’s turning out,” he says cynically.

“You were literally just apologizing for lashing out at me two minutes ago, and now you’re threatening to end our relationship if I go to Seattle without you?” I gape while he nods slowly. “So let me get this straight: you offered to marry me if I don’t go, but if I do go, you’re breaking up with me?” I wasn’t prepared to bring up his offer, but I couldn’t stop the words from coming.

“Marry you?” His mouth falls open and his eyes narrow. I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned it. “What—”

“You said that if I chose you, you’d marry me. I know you were drunk, but I thought maybe—”

“You thought what? That I would marry you?” As he speaks these words, all of the air in the car disappears, and breathing proves harder and harder as the seconds pass in silence.

I will not cry in front of this boy. “No, I knew you wouldn’t, I just—”

“Then why bring it up? You know how drunk I was and desperate for you to stay—I would have said anything.”

My heart sinks at his words, at the scorn in his voice. Like he’s blaming me for believing the bullshit that comes out of his mouth. I knew insulting me would be his reaction, but a small part of me—the part that still had faith in his love for me—led me to believe that maybe he meant his proposal.

This is déjà vu. I once sat here, in this car seat, while he mocked me and laughed at me for thinking we would begin a relationship. The fact that I’m just as hurt now, actually a lot more hurt than I was then, makes me want to scream.

I don’t, though. I sit there, quiet and embarrassed, just like I always do when Hardin does what he always does.

“I love you. I love you more than anything, Tessa, and I don’t want to hurt your feelings, okay?”

“Well, you’re doing an amazing job,” I snap and bite down on the inside of my cheek. “I’m going inside.”

He sighs and opens his car door at the same time as I open mine. Going around to the back, he opens the trunk. I’d offer to help him carry the bags, but I really don’t feel like interacting with him, and he’d just insist on doing it himself anyway. Because more than anything, Hardin wants to be an island.

We walk through the complex in silence, and the only noise in the elevator is the whir of the machinery pulling us upward.

When we get to our place, Hardin puts his key in the lock, then asks me, “Did you forget to lock the door?”

At first I don’t realize what he’s asked, but then I recover and reply, “No, you locked it. I remember.” I watched him lock the door before we left; I remember how he rolled his eyes and made a joke about me taking too long to get ready.

“That’s weird,” he says, and steps inside. His eyes scan the room like he’s searching for something.

“Do you think—” I start.

“Someone was in here,” he answers, becoming instantly alert as he presses his mouth into a hard line.

I begin to panic. “Are you sure? It doesn’t look like anything is missing.” I walk toward the hallway but he quickly pulls me back.

“Don’t go in there until I look around,” he commands.

I want to tell him to stay put, that I will check, but it’s silly, really: the idea of me protecting him, when in reality he’d be the one protecting me. I nod, and a chill creeps down my spine. What if someone really is inside? Who would come into our apartment when we aren’t here and not steal the giant flat-screen television I can still see hanging on the wall in the living room?

Hardin disappears into our bedroom, and I hold my breath until I hear his voice again.

“It’s clear.” He reappears from the bedroom, and I let out a deep breath.

“Are you sure someone was here?”

“Yes, but I don’t know why they didn’t take anything . . .”

“Me either.” My eyes scan the room, and I notice the difference. The small stack of books on the nightstand next to Hardin’s side of the bed has been moved. I especially remember the highlighted book I gave him being on top, because it made me smile knowing that he was reading it over again.

“It was your fucking dad!” he suddenly shouts.

“What?” If I’m honest, the thought was already planted in my mind, but I didn’t want to be the one say it.

“It had to be him! Who else would know we were gone and come into our home but not steal shit? Only him, that stupid, drunk motherfucker!”

“Hardin!”

“Call him, right now,” he demands.

I reach for my phone in my back pocket but then freeze. “He doesn’t have a phone.”

Hardin throws his hands up like it’s the worst thing he’s ever heard. “Oh yeah, of course not. He’s fucking broke and homeless.”

“Stop it,” I say with a glare. “Just because you think it may have been him doesn’t mean you can say things like that in front of me!”

“Fine.” He lowers his arms and makes a sweeping gesture to escort me out. “Let’s go find him, then.”

I walk over to our landline. “No! We should just call the police and report it, not go on a manhunt for my father.”

“Call the police and say what? That your drug-addict father broke into our apartment but didn’t steal anything?”

I stop in my tracks and turn to face him. I can practically feel my temper flaring through my eyes. “Drug addict?”

He blinks rapidly and takes a step toward me. “I meant drunk . . .” He doesn’t look at me. He’s lying.

“Tell me why you said drug addict,” I demand.

He shakes his head, running his hands over his hair. He looks at me, then down at the floor. “It’s just an assumption, okay?”

“And why would you assume that?” My eyes burn and my throat aches at the thought. Hardin and his brilliant assumptions.

“I don’t know, maybe because that guy who showed up to pick him up looked like your everyday meth addict.” He looks up at me with softness in his eyes. “Did you see the guy’s arms?”

I remember the man scratching his forearms, but he was wearing long sleeves. “My father is not a drug addict . . .” I say slowly, unsure if I believe the words that are coming out of my mouth, but knowing that I’m not ready to face the possibility.

“You don’t even know him. I wasn’t even going to say anything.” He steps toward me again, but I back away.

My bottom lip trembles, and I can’t look at him any longer. “You don’t know him either. And if you weren’t going to say anything, then why did you?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

My headache has now intensified, and I’m so exhausted that I feel like I could pass out at any moment. “What was the point of saying it, then?”

“I said it because it just came out, and he broke into our fucking apartment.”

“You don’t know that.” He wouldn’t. Would he?

“Fine, Tessa, you go ahead and pretend that your dad—who, may I remind you, is a drunk—is perfectly innocent here.”

His nerve is outstanding, as always. He is calling my father out for drinking? Hardin Scott is calling someone out for their drinking, when he gets so drunk that he can barely remember anything the next day?

“You’re a drunk, too!” I say and then instantly cover my mouth.

“What did you say?” Any trace of sympathy drops from his face. He eyes me like a predator, starts circling me.

I feel bad, but I can see he’s just trying to scare me into staying quiet. He’s so unaware of himself and how he is. “If you think about it, you are. You only drink when you’re upset or angry; you don’t know when to stop drinking; and you’re a mean drunk. You break things and get into fights—”

“I’m not a fucking drunk. I had stopped drinking altogether until you came along.”

“You can’t blame me for everything, Hardin.” I ignore the way my mind is reminding me that I, too, have been turning to wine when I’m upset or angry.

“I’m not blaming you for the drinking, Tessa,” he says pretty loudly.

“Two more days and neither of us will have to worry about any of this!” I stalk out into the living room, and he follows.