Текст книги "After We Fell"

Автор книги: Anna Todd

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Текущая страница: 35 (всего у книги 49 страниц)

chapter

one hundred and eight

HARDIN

The entire morning I’m dead on my feet. I don’t remember walking into my first class, and I begin to wonder why I even bother.

When I walk past the administration building, Nate and Logan are standing at the bottom of the steps. I pull my hood up and pass them by without a word. I have to get the hell away from this place.

In a split-second decision, I turn back around and take the steep flight of stairs up to the front of the building. My father’s secretary greets me with the fakest smile I’ve seen in a while.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Ken Scott.”

“Do you have an appointment?” the woman sweetly asks, knowing damn well that I don’t. Knowing damn well who I am.

“Obviously not. Is my father in there or not?” I gesture to the thick wooden door in front of me. The fogged glass in the center of it makes it hard to tell if he’s inside.

“He’s in there, but he’s on a conference call at the moment. If you have a seat, I’ll—”

I walk past her desk and go straight to his door. When I turn the knob and push it open, my father’s head turns my way, and he calmly raises a finger to ask me to give him a moment.

Being the polite gentleman that I am, I roll my eyes and take a seat in front of his desk.

After another minute or so, my father returns the phone to its base and rises to his feet to greet me. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I wasn’t expecting to be here,” I admit.

“Is something wrong?” His eyes move to his closed door behind me and back to my face.

“I have a question.” I rest my hands on his almost maroon cherrywood desk and look up at him. Dark patches of stubble are visible on his face, making it obvious that he hasn’t shaved in a few days, and his white button-down shirt is slightly wrinkled at the cuffs. I don’t think I’ve seen him wearing a wrinkled shirt since I moved to America. This is a man who comes to breakfast in a sweater vest and pressed khakis.

“I’m listening,” my father says.

The tension between us is abundant, but even so, I have to struggle to remember the searing hate that I once felt toward this man. I don’t know how to feel about him now. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive him completely, but holding on to all that anger toward him simply takes too much fucking energy. We’ll never have the relationship that he has with my stepbrother, but it’s sort of nice to know that when I need something from him, he usually tries his best to help. The majority of the time, his help doesn’t get me anywhere, but the effort is appreciated, somewhat.

“How hard do you think it will be for me to transfer to the Seattle campus?”

His brow rises dramatically. “Really?”

“Yes. I don’t want your opinion, I want an answer.” I make it clear that my sudden change of mind isn’t open for discussion.

He eyes me thoughtfully before answering. “Well, it would set your graduation back. You’re better off staying at my campus for the remainder of this semester. By the time you apply to transfer, register, and move to Seattle, it wouldn’t be worth the hassle and time . . . logistically speaking.”

I sit back against the leather chair and stare at him. “Couldn’t you help speed the process along?”

“Yes, but it would still put off your graduation date.”

“So basically I have to stay here.”

“You don’t have to”—he rubs the dark stubble on his chin—“but it makes more sense for now. You’re so close.”

“I’m not attending that ceremony,” I remind him.

“I had hoped you changed your mind.” My father sighs, and I look away.

“Well, I haven’t, so . . .”

“It’s a very important day for you. The last three years of your life—”

“I don’t give a shit. I don’t want to go. I’m fine with having my diploma mailed to me. I’m not going, end of discussion.” My eyes travel up the wall behind him to focus on the frames hanging heavily on the dark brown walls of his office. The white-framed certificates and diplomas mark his achievements, and I can tell by the way he proudly stares up at them that they mean more to him than they ever would to me.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He continues to stare at the frames. “I won’t ask again.” My father frowns.

“Why is it so important to you for me to go?” I dare to ask.

The hostility between us has thickened, and the air has grown heavier, but my father’s features soften tremendously as the moments of silence between us go by.

“Because”—he draws in a long breath—“there was a time, a long time, when I wasn’t sure . . .”—another pause—“how you would turn out.”

“Meaning?”

“Are you sure you have time to talk right now?” His eyes move to my busted knuckles and bloodstained jeans. I know he really means: Are you sure you’re mentally stable enough to talk right now?

I knew I should have changed my jeans. I didn’t feel like doing much of anything this morning. I literally rolled out of bed and drove to campus.

“I want to know,” I sternly reply.

He nods. “There was a time when I didn’t think you’d even graduate high school, you know, given the trouble you always got into.”

Flashes of bar fights, burglarized convenience stores, crying half-naked girls, complaining neighbors, and one very disappointed mother play before my eyes. “I know,” I agree. “Technically, I’m still into trouble.”

My father gives me a look that says he’s not at all pleased to hear me being a little flippant over what was a substantial headache for him. “Not nearly as much,” he says. “Not since . . . her,” he adds softly.

“She causes most of my trouble.” I rub the back of my neck with my hand, knowing I’m full of shit.

“I wouldn’t say that.” His brown eyes narrow, and his fingers play with the top button of his vest. Both of us sit in silence for a beat, unsure what to say. “I have so much guilt, Hardin. If you hadn’t made it through high school and gone to college, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

“Nothing—you would have been living your perfect life here,” I snap.

He flinches as if I’ve slapped him. “That’s not true. I only want the best for you. I didn’t always show it, and I know that, but your future is very important to me.”

“Is that why you had me accepted into WCU in the first place?” We’ve never discussed the fact that I know he used his position to get me into this damn school. I know he did. I didn’t do shit in high school, and my transcripts prove it.

“That, and the fact that your mother was at her breaking point with you. I wanted you to come here so I could get to know you. You aren’t the same boy you were when I left.”

“If you wanted to know me, you should have stuck around longer. And drunk less.” Fragments of memories that I’ve tried so hard to forget push their way into my mind. “You left, and I never had the chance to just be a boy.”

I used to occasionally wonder how it felt to be a happy child with a strong and loving family. While my mum worked from sunup to sundown, I would sit in the living room alone, just staring at the dingy and slanted walls for hours. I would make myself some shitty meal that was barely edible and imagine that I was sitting at a table full of people who loved me. They would laugh and ask how my day went. When I’d get into a fight at school, I’d sometimes wish I had a father around to either pat me on the back or bust my ass for starting trouble.

Things got much easier for me as I grew up. Once I was a teenager and I realized I could hurt people, everything was easier. I could get back at my mum for leaving me alone while she worked by calling her by her first name and denying her the simple joy of hearing her only child say “I love you.”

I could get back at my father by not speaking to him. I had one goal: to make everyone around me as miserable as I felt; that way, I would finally fit in. I used sex and lies to hurt girls, and made a game of it. That backfired when my mum’s friend spent too much time around me; her marriage was ruined, along with her dignity, and my mum was heartbroken that her fourteen-year-old son had done such a thing.

Ken looks like he catches on, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “I know that, and I’m sorry for all the things you were subjected to because of me.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” I push the chair back and stand up.

My father stays seated, and I can’t help the thrill of power that I get from standing over him this way. I feel so . . . above him in every way possible. He’s haunted by his guilt and regrets, and I’m finally coming to terms with mine.

“So much happened that you wouldn’t understand. I wish I could tell you, but it wouldn’t change anything.”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’ve already had a shitty day, and this is too much. I get it; you regret leaving us and all that shit. I’m over it,” I lie, and he nods. It’s not a full-on lie, really. I’m much closer to being over it than I’ve ever been before.

When I reach the door, a thought pops into my mind, and I turn around to face him. “My mum’s getting married. Did you know that?” I ask out of curiosity.

From his blank stare and the way his brows lower, it’s clear that he had no fucking clue.

“To Mike . . . you know, the neighbor guy?”

“Oh.” He frowns.

“In two weeks.”

“That soon?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Is that a problem or something?”

“No, not at all. I’m just a little surprised, that’s all.”

“Yeah; me, too.” I lean my shoulder against the doorframe and watch as my father’s expression transforms from sullen to relieved.

“Will you be attending?”

“No.”

Ken Scott rises to his feet and walks around his massive desk to stand in front of me. I have to admit, I’m slightly intimidated. Not by him, of course, but by the raw emotion in his eyes when he says, “You have to go, Hardin. It will break her heart if you don’t. Especially because she knows that you attended my wedding to Karen.”

“Yeah, well, we both know why I attended yours. I didn’t have a choice, and your wedding wasn’t halfway across the damn planet.”

“It might as well have been, given how we never really talked. You have to go. Tessa knows about it?”

Fuck. I hadn’t considered this.

“No, and you don’t need to tell her either. Or Landon; he won’t keep his mouth shut if he knows.”

“Is there a reason that you’re hiding it from her?” he asks, judgment filling his voice.

“It’s not that I’m hiding it. I just don’t want her to worry about going. She doesn’t even have a passport. She’s never even left the state of Washington.”

“You know she’ll want to go. Tessa loves England.”

“She’s never even been there!” I raise my voice and take a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself down. It drives me insane the way he acts as if she’s his own daughter, as if he knows her better than I do.

“I won’t say anything,” he says, raising his hands slightly as if to placate me.

I’m glad he doesn’t press the topic. I’ve done enough talking already, and I’m fucking exhausted. I got absolutely no sleep last night after I got off of the phone with Tessa. My nightmares came back full fucking force, and I made myself stay awake after I woke up dry-heaving for the third time.

“You should go by and see Karen soon. She was asking about you last night,” he says just before I walk out of his office.

“Um, yeah,” I mumble and close the door behind me.

chapter

one hundred and nine

TESSA

In class, the guy I’ve determined is a future politician leans over and whispers to me, “Who did you vote for in the election?”

I feel slightly uncomfortable around my new classmate. He’s charming, too charming, and his dressy clothes and brown skin make for a very distracting sight. He’s not attractive in the same way that Hardin is, but he’s certainly attractive, and he knows it.

“I didn’t,” I reply. “I wasn’t old enough to vote.”

He laughs. “Right.”

I didn’t really want to talk with him, but in the last few minutes of class our professor instructed us to talk among ourselves while he took a phone call. I’m relieved when the clock strikes ten and it’s time to go.

The future politician’s attempt to continue making small talk with me as we exit the classroom fails miserably, and after a few seconds he dismisses himself and walks the other way.

I’ve been distracted all morning. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what Steph must have said to Hardin to get him so worked up. I know he believed me about the rumors about Zed, but whatever else it was that she said to him bothered him enough that he didn’t want to repeat it.

I hate Steph. I hate her for what she did to me and for getting into Hardin’s head and hurting him—by using me, in a way. By the time I make it to my art history class, I’ve planned ten different scenarios of how to murder that horrible girl in my mind.

I sit next to Michael, the blue-haired boy from the first class with the good sense of humor, and spend the entire hour of art history laughing at his jokes, which is a good distraction from my homicidal thoughts.

At last the day’s over, and I’m heading to my car. Right as I reach it and start to climb in, my phone starts vibrating. I expect it to be Hardin, but looking down, I see it’s not. I have three text messages, two of which just showed up.

I decide to read my mother’s first: Call me. We need to talk.

Next is Zed’s. I take a deep breath before pressing the small envelope-shaped button. I’ll be in Seattle Thurs-Sat. Let me know when you’re free :)

I rub my temples, grateful that I saved Kimberly’s message for last. Nothing she has to say could possibly be as stressful as telling Zed that I take back my offer of seeing him or having a conversation with my mother. Did you know Loverboy is going to London next weekend?

I spoke too soon.

England? Why would Hardin be going to England? Is he moving there after he graduates? I reread her text message . . .

Next weekend!

I rest my forehead against the steering wheel of my car and close my eyes. My first instinct is to call him and ask him why he’s hiding the trip from me. I stop myself from doing that because this is the perfect opportunity for me to try not to jump to conclusions without asking him first. There is a chance, a small one, that Kimberly is mistaken and Hardin isn’t going to England next weekend.

My chest tightens at the thought of him still wanting to move back there. I’m still trying to convince myself that I’ll be enough to keep him here.

chapter

one hundred and ten

HARDIN

It feels like ages since I’ve been at this place. I’d been driving around for the last hour, going over the possible outcomes of my coming here. After formulating a mental list of pros and cons—something I never, ever do—I shut my car off and step into the cold afternoon air.

I’m assuming he’s home; if not, I just wasted my entire afternoon, and I’ll be even more irritated than I already am. I glance around the parking lot and find his truck near the front. The brown apartment building is set just off of the street, and a rusty staircase leads up to the second floor, where his place is. With each stomp of my boot against the metal staircase, I run through the reasons why I’m here in the first place.

Just as I reach apartment C, my phone vibrates in my back pocket. It’s either Tessa or my mum, neither of whom I want to speak with right now. If I talk to Tessa, I’ll be thrown off my plan. And my mum will just annoy me with her wedding talk.

I knock on the door. Within seconds Zed answers, wearing only drawstring pants. His feet are bare, and I notice the intricate clockwork-and-gear tattoo that he showed me before has spread further across his stomach. He must have gotten more of it done after he tried to get with my fucking girl.

Zed doesn’t greet me. Instead, he just stares at me from the doorway, a look of obvious shock and suspicion on his face.

“We need to talk,” I finally say and push past him to enter his apartment.

“Should I call the cops?” he asks in that dry tone he gets.

I take a seat on his worn leather couch and stare up at him. “That depends on whether you cooperate or not.”

Dark hair covers his jawline and frames his mouth. It feels like months have passed since I saw him outside Tessa’s mum’s house instead of only ten or so days.

He sighs and leans his back against the wall on the opposite side of his small living room. “Well, get to it, then.”

“You know this is about Tessa.”

“I figured as much.” He frowns and crosses his tattooed arms.

“You aren’t going to Seattle.”

He raises a thick brow before he smiles. “I am, though. I’ve already made the plans.”

What the fuck? Why would he be going to Seattle? He’s making this much harder than it needs to be, and I’m beginning to kick myself in the ass for thinking this conversation would end in any way except him leaving on a stretcher.

“The thing is . . .” I breathe in a deep breath to keep myself calm and stick to the plan. “You aren’t going to Seattle.”

“I’m visiting my friends there,” he answers, challenging me.

“Bullshit. I know exactly what you’re doing,” I bite back.

“I’m staying with some friends in Seattle, but in case you were wondering, she did invite me to visit her.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, I’m on my feet. “Don’t push me—I’m trying to do this the right way. You have no reason to visit her. She’s mine.”

He raises one brow. “Do you realize how that sounds? Saying she’s yours like she’s your property?”

“I don’t give a fuck how it sounds; it’s true.” I take another step toward him. The air between us has shifted from tense to downright primal. Both of us are trying to stake a claim here, and I’m not backing down.

“If she’s yours, then why aren’t you in Seattle with her?” he presses.

“I’m graduating after this semester, that’s why.” Why am I even answering his questions? I came here to talk, not to listen and “engage in dialogue,” as a professor of mine used to say. I’ll be damned if he tries to turn this shit on me. “Me not being there is irrelevant. You won’t be seeing her while you’re there.”

“That’s for her to decide, don’t you think?”

“If I thought that, I wouldn’t be here, would I?” My fists tighten at my sides, and I look away from him to stare at the stack of science textbooks on his coffee table. “Why won’t you just leave her alone? Is this because of what I did to—”

“No,” he interrupts smoothly. “It has nothing to do with that. I care about Tessa, just like you. But unlike you, I treat her the way she deserves to be treated.”

“You know nothing about how I treat her,” I growl.

“Yeah, man, I actually do. How many times has she run to me crying because of something you did or said? Too many.” He points a finger at me. “All you do is hurt her, and you know it.”

“You don’t even know her, first of all, and secondly, don’t you think it’s a little pathetic of you to keep pining after someone you’ll never have? How many times have we had this conversation, about how many girls?”

He eyes me carefully, taking in my anger, but not really biting on my pointing out his history with girls. “No”—his tongue darts out to wet his lips—“it’s not pathetic. It’s genius, actually. With Tessa, I’ll be waiting in the background for the day when you fuck up again—which is inevitable—and when you do, I’ll be there for her.”

“You are a fucking—” I step back across the room to put as much space between his body and mine before his head ends up going through his wall. “What will it take, then? Do you want her to tell you herself that she doesn’t want you around? I thought she already did that, yet here you are . . .”

“You’re the one in my apartment.”

“Goddammit, Zed!” I shout. “Why can’t you just fucking stop? You know what she means to me, and you’re always trying to get in the way. Find someone else to toy with. There are plenty of whores around campus.”

“ ‘Whores’?” He repeats the word, mocking me.

“You know I didn’t mean Tessa,” I growl, struggling to keep my fists at my sides.

“If she meant so much to you, you wouldn’t have done half the shit you did. Does she know that you fucked Molly while you were chasing her around?”

“Yes, she knows that. I told her.”

“And she didn’t mind?” His voice is the complete opposite of mine. He’s so collected and calm, while I’m struggling mightily to keep the lid on my boiling anger.

“She knows that it meant nothing to me, and that it was before everything.” I glare at him, trying to focus again. “But I didn’t come here to discuss my relationship.”

“Okay, why, exactly, did you come, then?”

He’s such a smug bastard.

“To let you know that you aren’t going to see her in Seattle. I thought we could discuss it in a more . . .”—I search for the right words—“civilized manner.”

“Civilized? Sorry, but I find it hard to believe that you came here with ‘enlightened’ intentions,” he scoffs, pointing to the bump on the bridge of his nose.

I close my eyes momentarily and envision his nose busted and bleeding, snapping under the metal casing when I slammed his head against it. The memory of the sound heightens my already buzzing adrenaline. “This is civilized for me! I came here to talk, not to fight—however, if you won’t stay away from her, I don’t have any other options.” I widen my stance a little.

“Than what?” Zed asks.

“What?”

“Than what? We’ve been down this road before. There are only so many times that you can assault me before you get yourself arrested. And this time I will follow through on pressing charges.”

He makes a valid point. Which only makes me madder. I hate the fact that I can’t do a fucking thing about it, except literally murder him, which isn’t an option . . . at this point at least.

I take a couple of breaths and try to relax my muscles. I have to offer my last option. One that I didn’t want to have to rely on, but he’s not giving me much room here. “I came here thinking we could come to some sort of agreement,” I say.

He tilts his head to the side in the cockiest way possible. “What type of agreement? Is it another bet?”

“You’re really pushing me . . .” I say through my teeth. “Tell me what it’ll take for you to leave her alone. What can I give you to make you go away? Name it, and it’s yours.”

Zed stares at me, blinking rapidly, as if I’ve grown another head.

“Well, come on, now. Every man has a price,” I murmur drily. It infuriates me that I have to negotiate with someone like him, but there’s nothing else I can do to make him go away.

“Let her see me again, one more time,” he suggests. “I’ll be in Seattle on Thursday.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Is he fucking stupid?

“I’m not asking your permission here. I’m trying to make you feel more comfortable with it.”

“It’s not happening. You two have no reason to spend time together; she isn’t available to you—or any other man—and she never will be.”

“There you go, getting all possessive.” He rolls his eyes, and I wonder what Tessa would say if she could see this side of him, the only side I’ve ever known. What would I be as her man if I weren’t possessive, if I was okay sharing her with someone?

I bite my tongue while Zed stares at the ceiling as if he’s deliberating his next words. This is such fucking bullshit, pure and utter fucking bullshit. My head is spinning, and I’m honestly beginning to wonder just how much longer I can keep my cool.

Finally, Zed looks at me, a smirk slowly overtaking his features. Then he says simply, “Your car.”

My mouth falls open at his audacity, and I can’t help but laugh. “No fucking way!” I take two steps toward him. “I’m not giving you my fucking car. Are you out of your fucking mind?” My hands fly into the air.

“Sorry, then; looks like we can’t come to an agreement after all.” His eyes glitter through their thick lashes, and he rubs his fingers over his beard.

Images from my nightmare float through my head, him thrusting into her, making her come . . .

I shake my head to get rid of them.

Then I dig my keys out of my pocket and toss them onto the coffee table between us.

He gapes, bending down to retrieve the key chain. “You’re serious?” He studies the keys, turning them over in his palm a few times before looking back up at me. “I was fucking with you!”

He tosses me the keys, but I don’t catch them in time; they land only inches from the toe of my boot.

“I’ll back off . . . fuck. I didn’t expect you to actually give me your keys.” He laughs, mocking me. “I’m not as big an asshole as you.”

I glower at him. “You weren’t giving me many options.”

“We were friends once, remember?” Zed remarks.

I stay silent as we both remember how everything used to be, before all of this shit, before I actually gave a fuck about anything . . . before her. His eyes have shifted, his shoulders have tensed along with the air after his question.

It’s hard to recall those supposed days. “I was too shit-faced to remember.”

“You know that isn’t true!” he exclaims, raising his voice. “You stopped drinking after—”

“I didn’t come here to take a walk down memory lane with you. Are you going to back off or not?” I look at him. He’s different somehow, harder.

He shrugs. “Sure, yeah.”

But that was too easy . . . “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he says with a wave of his hand at me.

“This means absolutely no contact with her. None,” I remind him again.

“She’s going to wonder why. I texted her earlier today.”

I choose to ignore this. “Tell her you don’t want to be friends with her anymore.”

“I don’t want to hurt her feelings like that,” he says.

“I don’t give a fuck about hurting her feelings. You need to make it clear that you aren’t going to be pining after her anymore.” The momentary calm I felt has ceased, and my temper is rising again. The possibility that Tessa’s feelings would somehow be hurt by Zed not wanting to be friends with her drives me fucking crazy.

I walk toward the door, knowing myself well enough that I won’t make it another five minutes in this musty apartment. I’m pretty damn proud of myself for remaining peaceful this long in a room with Zed after all the shit he’s done to interfere with my relationship.

As my hand touches the rusted doorknob, he says, “I’ll do what I have to do for now, but it still isn’t going to change the outcome of all this.”

“You’re right. It won’t.” I agree with him, knowing that he means the exact opposite of what I do.

Before his fucking mouth can utter another word, I get out of his apartment and walk down the staircase as quickly as possible.

BY THE TIME I pull into my father’s driveway, the sun is setting, and I still haven’t been able to reach Tessa, each call going straight to voicemail. I’ve even called Christian twice, but he’s yet to answer or return my calls.

Tessa’s going to be mad that I went to Zed’s apartment; she feels something for him that I’m never going to understand or tolerate. After today, I pray that I won’t have to worry about him any longer. Unless she clings to him . . .

No. I stop myself from doubting her. I know Steph was feeding me bullshit, and it seeped into every insecure crack in my stone facade. If Zed had actually fucked Tessa, he’d have used this afternoon as the perfect opportunity to throw it in my face.

I walk into my father’s house without knocking and search the downstairs for Karen or Landon. Karen is in the kitchen, standing over the stove with a wire whisk in her hand. She turns and greets me with a warm smile but also with troubled, tired eyes. An unfamiliar feeling of guilt spreads through me as I remember the planter I accidentally broke in her greenhouse.

“Hi, Hardin. Are you looking for Landon?” she asks, placing the whisk on a plate and wiping her hands on the bottom of her strawberry-print apron.

“I . . . I don’t know, really,” I admit. What am I doing here?

How pathetic is my life right now, that I find comfort in coming to this house, of all places? I know it’s because of the memories that were created when I was here with Tessa.

“He’s upstairs, on the phone with Dakota.”

Something about Karen’s tone throws me off.

“Is . . .” I’m not very good at interacting with people besides Tessa, and I’m particularly bad at dealing with other people’s emotions. “Is he having a bad day or something?” I ask, sounding like a dumb-ass.

“I think so. He’s having a hard time, I think. He hasn’t spoken to me about anything, but he seems upset lately.”

“Yeah . . .” I say, but I haven’t noticed anything different about my stepbrother’s mood. Then again, I’ve been too busy forcing him to babysit Richard to notice.

“When does he leave for New York again?”

“Three weeks.” She tries to hide the pain in her voice that comes along with the words but fails miserably.

“Oh.” I’m growing more and more uncomfortable by the minute. “Well, I’m going to go . . .”

“Don’t you want to stay for dinner?” she asks eagerly.

“Uh, no. I’m okay.”

Between the talk with my father this morning, the time I spent with Zed, and now this awkward shit with Karen, I’m on overload. I can’t take the chance that something is actually wrong with Landon. I won’t be able to deal with him being all emotional and shit, not today. I already have to go home to a recovering drug addict and an empty fucking bed.