Текст книги "After We Fell"
Автор книги: Anna Todd
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Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 49 страниц)
chapter
seventy-three
HARDIN
I nudge Richard’s thigh with my boot. I’m beyond mad, and this whole mess is his damn fault.
“I’m sorry,” he groans, attempting to lift himself up from the floor; within seconds he winces and slides back onto the hardwood. The last thing I want to do is lift his pathetic ass up off of the floor, but at this point I’m not sure what else to do with him.
“I’ll put you in the chair, but you aren’t sitting on my couch, not until you take a shower.”
“Okay,” he mutters and closes his eyes as I bend down to lift him. He’s not as heavy as I expected him to be, especially for his height.
I drag him over to a kitchen chair, and as soon as I sit him down, he bends over, wrapping his arms around his torso.
“What now? What am I supposed to do with you now?” I ask him quietly.
What would Tessa do if she was here? Knowing her, she’d run him a hot bath and make him something to eat. I’m not doing either of those things.
“Take me back,” he suggests. His shaky fingers lift the neckline of his torn T-shirt, something of mine that Tessa let him keep. Has he been wearing it since he left here? He wipes the blood from his mouth, lazily smearing it down his chin and into the mess of thick hair there.
“Back where?” I say. Maybe I should’ve called the police when I first entered the apartment, maybe I shouldn’t have given Chad that watch . . . I wasn’t thinking properly at the time, all I could think about was keeping Tessa out of this.
But of course she’s completely out of it already . . . she’s so far away.
“Why did you bring him here? If Tessa had been here . . .” My voice trails off.
“She moved out. I knew she wouldn’t be here,” he strains to say.
I know it’s hard for him to speak, but I need answers and my patience is running thin. “Did you come here a few days ago, too?”
“I did. I only came to eat and sh-shower,” Richard pants.
“You came all the way here just to eat and shower?”
“Yeah, I took the bus the first time. But Chad”—he takes a breath and howls in pain before shifting his weight—“he offered to bring me here, but then he turned on me as soon as we got inside.”
“How the fuck did you get in?”
“I took Tessie’s spare key.”
He took it . . . or she gave it to him? I wonder.
He nods toward the sink. “From the drawer.”
“So let me get this straight, you stole a key to my apartment and thought you could just come here whenever the hell you wanted to take a shower. Then you bring Chad the Charming Junkie to my house, and he beats your ass in my living room because you owe him money?” How did I end up in the middle of an episode of Intervention?
“No one was home. I didn’t think it mattered.”
“You didn’t think—that’s the problem! What if Tessa had been the one to come here? Do you even care how she’d feel if she saw you like this?” I’m completely out of my element here. My first instinct is to drag this old fool out of our—out of my apartment and leave him bleeding in the hallway. I can’t do that, though, because I happen to be desperately in love with his daughter, and by doing it, all I’d accomplish would be to hurt her even more than I already have. Isn’t love just fucking awesome?
“Well, what should we do now?” I scratch ay my chin. “Should I take you to a hospital?”
“I don’t need a hospital, just a bandage or two. Can you call Tessie for me and tell her I’m sorry?”
I dismiss his suggestion with a sweep of the arm. “No, I will not. She isn’t going to know about this. I don’t want her worrying about this shit.”
“Okay,” he agrees and shifts on the chair again.
“How long have you been using?” I ask him.
He swallows. “I don’t,” he says meekly.
“Don’t lie to me, I’m not a fucking idiot. Just tell me.”
He looks deep in thought, distracted. “About a year, but I’ve been trying so hard to stop since the day I ran into Tessie.”
“She’s going to be heartbroken—you know that, don’t you?” I hope he does. And I certainly have no problem reminding him multiple times if he ever happens to forget.
“I know, I’m going to get better for her,” he claims.
Aren’t we all . . .
“Well, you may want to hurry your rehabilitation along, because if she saw you now . . .” I don’t finish the sentence. I’m debating whether or not to call her and ask her what the hell I’m supposed to do with her dad, but I know that’s not the answer. She doesn’t need to be bothered with this, not right now. Not while she’s trying to turn her dreams into reality.
“I’m going to my room. Feel free to take a shower, eat, or whatever you were planning on doing before I came home and interrupted you.” I saunter out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. I close the door behind me and lean against it. This has been the longest twenty-four hours of my life.
chapter
seventy-four
TESSA
I can’t keep the ridiculous grin off of my face as Kimberly and Christian show me my new office. The walls are a clean white, the trim and door are dark gray, and the desk and bookcases are black, sleek, and modern. The size of the room is the same as my first office, but the view here is incredible; breathtaking, really. The new Vance Publishing office is located in the center of downtown Seattle; the city below is thriving, constantly moving, constantly developing, and here I am, right in the center of it all.
“This is amazing—thank you so much!” I say, with probably more enthusiasm than most people would consider to be professional.
“Everything you need is within walking distance—coffee, any cuisine you could possibly crave, it’s all here.” Christian proudly stares down at the city and wraps his arm around his fiancée’s waist.
“Stop bragging, would you?” Kimberly teases, and he plants a soft kiss to her forehead.
“Well, we’ll leave you be. Now, get to work,” Christian playfully scolds me. Kimberly grabs him by his tie and practically drags him out of the office.
I arrange the things in my desk the way I like them and read a little, but by lunchtime I’ve sent at least ten pictures of my office to Landon . . . and to Hardin. I knew that Hardin wouldn’t respond, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted him to see the view—maybe it would make him change his mind about moving here? I’m only making excuses for my momentary lapse in judgment in sending him the pictures. But I miss him—there, I said it. I miss him terribly, and I was hoping for a response from him, even a simple text. Something. But nothing came.
Landon sent an excited response to each of the pictures, even when I sent a cheesy one of me holding a coffee mug with VANCE PUBLISHING printed on the side.
The more I dwell on my impulsive decision to send those pictures to Hardin, the more I regret it. What if he takes them the wrong way? He does have a tendency to do that. He may see them as a reminder of the fact that I’m moving on; he may even think that I’m trying to rub this whole thing in his face. That truly wasn’t my intention, and I can only hope that he doesn’t take it that way.
Maybe I should send another message to explain myself, I think. Or tell him that I sent the pictures accidentally. I don’t know which would be more believable.
Neither, I’m sure. I’m overthinking this; after all, they’re only pictures. And I can’t be fully responsible for how he chooses to interpret them. I can’t be fully responsible for his emotions like that.
When I walk into the break room on my floor, I find Trevor sitting at one of the square tables with a tablet in front of him.
“Welcome to Seattle,” he says, his blue eyes beaming bright.
“Hey.” I return his enthusiasm with a smile and swipe my debit card through the slot on the massive vending machine. I press a few small numbered buttons and am rewarded with a sleeve of peanut butter crackers. I’m too nervous to be hungry, and I’ll go out for lunch tomorrow after I’ve had a chance to explore the area.
“How do you like Seattle so far?” Trevor asks.
I look to him for permission, and when he nods, I slide into the chair across from him. “I haven’t seen much yet. I only arrived yesterday, but I love this new building.”
Two women enter the room and smile at Trevor; one of them turns to smile at me, and I give her a small wave. They begin to talk with each other, and then the shorter woman, who has black hair, pulls open the refrigerator and takes out a microwavable meal while her friend picks at her fingernails.
“You should explore, then; there are so many things to do here. It’s a beautiful city,” Trevor declares as I munch absentmindedly on a cracker. “The Space Needle, the Pacific Science Center, art museums, you name it.”
“I do want to see the Space Needle, and Pike Place Market,” I say. But I’m beginning to feel uneasy, because every time I glance over at the women, I can tell that they’re both looking at me and talking quietly.
I’m quite paranoid today.
“You should. Have you decided where you’re staying yet?” he asks, swiping his index finger across the screen to close the window on his tablet, giving me his full attention.
“I’m actually at Kimberly and Christian’s house for right now . . . only for a week or two until I can find my own place.” The urgency in my voice is embarrassing. I hate that I have to stay with them, because Hardin ruined my chance to rent the only apartment I could find. I want to live on my own and not worry about being a burden to anyone.
“I could ask around and see if there are any vacancies in my building,” Trevor offers. He adjusts his tie and smoothes the silver fabric down before running his hands over the lapels of his suit.
“Thanks, but I’m not sure your building would be in my price range,” I softly remind him. He’s the head of finance, and I’m an intern—a decently paid intern, but I’m sure that I can’t even afford to rent the Dumpster behind his building.
He flushes. “Okay,” he says, realizing the massive difference between our incomes. “I can still ask around and see if anyone knows of any places.”
“Thank you.” I smile a convincing smile. “I’m sure Seattle will feel more like home once I actually have a home.”
“I agree; it’s going to take some time, but I know you’ll love it here.” His crooked grin is warm and welcoming.
“Do you have any plans after work?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“I do,” he says, his soft voice fumbling. “But I can cancel them.”
“No, no. It’s fine, I was just thinking that since you know the city, you could show me around, but if you already have plans, don’t worry about it.” I hope that I can make some friends here in Seattle.
“I’d love to show you around. I was just going jogging, that’s all.”
“Jogging?” My nose crinkles. “What for?”
“For fun.”
“That doesn’t sound like much fun.” I laugh, and he shakes his head in amused displeasure.
“I usually go every day after work. I’m still getting to know the city, too, and it’s a good way to learn the layout. You should come along one day.”
“I don’t know . . .” The idea doesn’t sound appealing.
“We could walk instead.” He chuckles. “I live in Ballard; it’s a pretty cool neighborhood.”
“I’ve heard of Ballard, actually,” I say, remembering browsing through page after page on sites showing the neighborhoods of Seattle. “Okay, yeah. Let’s walk around Ballard, then.” I close my hands in front of me and rest them on my lap.
I can’t help but think how Hardin would feel about this. He despises Trevor, and he’s already having a hard enough time with our “space” arrangement. Not that he’s said this, but I’d like to think that he is. Regardless of how much space is put between Hardin and me, literal or metaphorical, I only see Trevor as a friend. The last thing on my mind is being romantic with someone, especially anyone other than Hardin.
“Okay, then.” He smiles, clearly surprised that I’ve agreed to come along. “My lunch hour is over, so I have to get back to my office, but I’ll text you my address, or we can go straight from work if you want.”
“Let’s just go straight from here—I’m wearing reasonable shoes.” I point down to my flats, mentally patting myself on the back for not wearing heels today.
“Sounds good. I’ll meet you at your office at five?” he says and stands up.
“Yes, that’s fine.” I get up, too, and toss the crackers wrapper into the trash can.
“We all know why she got the job anyway,” I hear one of the women say behind me.
When, out of curiosity, I look over to where they’re sitting, they both quickly get quiet and stare down at the table. I can’t help but feel that they were talking about me.
So much for making friends in Seattle.
“All those two do is gossip, ignore them,” Trevor says, placing his hand between my shoulder blades and guiding me out of the break room.
When I get back to my office, I reach into my desk drawer and pull out my cell phone. Two missed calls, both from Hardin.
Should I call him back right now? He called twice, so maybe something is wrong. I should, I think, by way of bargaining with myself.
He answers on the first ring, and hurriedly says, “Why didn’t you answer when I called you?”
“Is something wrong?” I stand up from my chair in a slight panic.
“No. Nothing’s wrong,” he breathes. I can picture the exact way his pink lips move as he says the simple words “Why did you send those pictures?”
I look around my office, worried about upsetting him. “I was just excited about my office, and I wanted you to see it. I hope you didn’t think I was trying to be mean about it and brag. I’m sorry for—”
“No, I was just confused,” he coolly interjects, then goes silent.
After a few seconds, I say, “I won’t send any more, I shouldn’t even have sent those.” I lean my forehead against the office window and stare down at the streets of the city.
“Don’t worry, it’s fine . . . how is it there? Do you like the place?” Hardin’s voice is somber, and I want to smooth away the frown that I know is marring his face right now.
“It’s lovely here.”
He calls me out, I knew he would: “You didn’t answer the question.”
“I like it here,” I say softly.
“You sound absolutely ecstatic.”
“I really do like it, I’m just . . . adjusting. That’s all. What’s happening back there?” I ask in order to keep the conversation going. I’m not ready to get off the phone with him just yet.
“Nothing,” he quickly responds.
“Is this awkward for you? I know you said you didn’t want to talk on the phone, but you called me, so I was just—”
“No, it’s not awkward,” he interrupts. “It’s never awkward with us, and I only meant I don’t think we should talk for hours every day if we aren’t going to be together, because that doesn’t make any sense and it’s only going to torture me.”
“So you do want to talk to me, then?” I ask because I’m pathetic and I need to hear him say the words.
“Yes, of course I do.”
A car horn honks in the background, and I think he must be driving. “So what, then? We’re going to chat on the phone, like friends?” he asks, no anger in his voice at all, only curiosity.
“I don’t know, maybe we could try that?” This separation feels so different from the last; this time we separated on good terms, and it wasn’t a clean break. I’m not ready to decide if a clean break from Hardin is what I actually need, so I push the thought back, file it away, and promise to visit it later.
“It won’t work.”
“I don’t want us to ignore one another and not speak again, but I haven’t changed my mind about the space thing,” I tell him.
“Fine, tell me about Seattle, then,” he finally says into the receiver.
chapter
seventy-five
TESSA
After I spend half an afternoon on the phone with Hardin and getting close to no actual work done, my first day at the new office is over, and I wait patiently for Trevor just outside my door.
Hardin was so calm earlier, and he sounded so clear, as if he was focused on something. Standing here in the corridor, I can’t contain my happiness that we’re still communicating; it’s so much better now that we’re no longer avoiding each other. Deep down, I know that it won’t continue to be this easy, talking this way, teasing myself with small doses of Hardin when in reality I want him, all of him, all the time. I want him here with me, holding me, kissing me, making me laugh.
This must be what denial feels like.
I’m fine with that for now. It feels pretty good, compared to my other option: sadness.
I sigh and rest my head against the wall as I continue to wait. I’m beginning to wish that I hadn’t asked Trevor if he was free after work. I’d rather be at Kimberly’s house, talking on the phone to Hardin. I wish he had just come here; he could be the one meeting me instead. He could have an office close to mine; he could come by my office multiple times a day, and in between those times, I could make excuses to go to his. I’m sure Christian would give Hardin a job if he wanted one. He’s made it clear that he wanted Hardin to work for him again a couple of times.
We could spend our lunch hour together, maybe even re-create some of the memories we shared at the old office. I begin picturing Hardin behind me, me bent down over the top of my desk, my hair wrapped tightly around his fist—
“Sorry I’m a little late, my meeting ran over.” Trevor interrupts my reverie, and I jump in both surprise and embarrassment.
“Oh, um, it’s okay. I was just”—I tuck my hair behind my ear and swallow—“waiting.”
If only he knew what I was thinking; thank goodness he doesn’t have a clue. I’m not sure where those thoughts even came from.
He inclines his head the other way, peering down the empty hallway. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.”
We make small talk as we walk through the building. Nearly everyone has left for the day, leaving the office quiet. Trevor tells me about his brother’s new job in Ohio and how he went shopping for a new suit to wear to our coworker Krystal’s wedding next month. Idly, I wonder just how many suits Trevor owns.
Once we get to our cars, I follow Trevor’s BMW as he drives through the crowded city, and we finally arrive in the small neighborhood of Ballard. According to the blogs I was reading before my move, it’s one of the hippest neighborhoods in Seattle. Coffee shops, vegan restaurants, and hipster bars line the narrow streets. I pull my car into the parking garage beneath Trevor’s building and laugh to myself while remembering that he offered to help me find an apartment in this pricey place.
Trevor smiles, gesturing to his suit. “I just need to change, obviously.”
Once we get to his apartment and he wanders off, I nosily glance around his expansive living room. Pictures of family and articles clipped from newspapers and magazines fill the frames on his mantel; an intricate display piece made from melted and molded wine bottles takes up the entire coffee table. Not a trace of dust has been allowed to collect in any of the corners. I’m impressed.
“Ready!” Trevor announces, stepping out of his bedroom and zipping up a red sweatshirt. It always catches me off guard to see him dressed so casually—it’s such a vast difference from how he looks normally.
After walking two blocks from his building, both of us are shivering and shaking.
“Are you hungry, Tessa? We can grab something to eat.” White puffs of cold air follow his words.
I nod eagerly. My stomach growls in hunger, reminding me of just how insufficient a package of peanut butter crackers is for lunch.
I tell Trevor to choose a restaurant he likes, and we end up at a small Italian grill only feet away from where we were just walking. The sweet smell of garlic fills my senses, and my mouth waters as we’re escorted to a small booth in the back.
chapter
seventy-six
HARDIN
You look much more . . . hygienic now,” I tell Richard as he steps out of the bathroom wiping his freshly shaven face with a white towel.
“I haven’t shaved my face in months,” he responds, rubbing the smooth skin on his chin.
“You don’t say.” I roll my eyes, and he grants me half a smile.
“Thanks again for letting me stay here . . .” His deep voice trails off.
“It’s not permanent, so don’t thank me. I’m still not cool with this whole situation.” I take another bite of the pizza I ordered for myself . . . and ended up sharing with Richard. I need to find a way to take some of the pressure off of Tessa. She has too much going on lately, and if I can help her in any way by handling this mess with her father, I will.
“I know it. I’m surprised you haven’t thrown me out yet,” he says with a laugh. As if that’s something to make a joke about. I stare at him. His eyes look too large for his face, with dark rings showing through his white skin.
I sigh. “So am I,” I admit with annoyance.
Richard quivers while I stare at him—not from intimidation, but from a lack of whatever the hell drug it is that he’s used to taking.
I want to know if he brought any drugs into our apartment while he was staying here just last week. However, if I ask him and he says yes, I’ll lose my temper and he’ll be out of my apartment within seconds. For Tessa’s sake, and for mine, I rise to my feet and leave the living room with my empty plate in hand. The stack of dirty dishes in the sink has managed to double in size, and loading the dishwasher is the last thing I want to do at the moment.
“Do the dishes as payment!” I call to Richard.
I hear his deep laughter from the hallway, and he walks into the kitchen just as I reach the bedroom door and close it.
I want to call Tessa again, just to hear her voice. I want to know about the rest of her day . . . What does she plan to do after work? Did she stare at her phone with a stupid-ass grin on her face after we hung up earlier, like I did?
Probably not.
I now know that all my past sins are finally catching up to me—that’s why Tessa was given to me. A merciless punishment disguised as a beautiful reward. Having her for months just to have her taken from me, yet still dangling in front of my face by means of casual phone calls. I don’t know how much longer it will be until I succumb to my fate and finally allow myself to break out of this denial.
Denial, that’s exactly what this is.
It doesn’t have to be, though. I can change the outcome of all this. I can be who she needs me to be without dragging her down to my hell again.
Fuck this, I’m calling her.
Her phone rings and rings, yet she doesn’t pick up. It’s almost six—she should be done with work and back at her place. Where the hell else would she go? While debating whether or not to call Christian, I push my feet into my gym shoes, lazily tie them, and shove my arms through my jacket.
I know she’ll be upset—beyond mad, surely—if I call him, but I’ve already called her six times, and she hasn’t answered once. I groan and run my fingers over my unwashed hair. This giving-each-other-space shit is really fucking irritating me.
“I’m going out,” I tell my unwanted houseguest. He nods, unable to speak due to the handful of potato chips that he’s shoveling into his mouth. At least the sink is free of dishes now.
Where the fuck am I even supposed to go?
Within minutes, my car is parked in the lot behind the small gym. I don’t know what being here will accomplish or if this shit will help me, but right now I’m growing more and more irritated at Tessa, and all I can think about doing is cussing her out or driving to Seattle to find her. I don’t need to do either of those things . . . they’d only make things worse.
