Текст книги "After We Fell"

Автор книги: Anna Todd

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 41 (всего у книги 49 страниц)

chapter

one hundred and twenty-one

HARDIN

You’re free to go.” I release Landon from his babysitting duties.

“I’m not going, she just got here,” he replies, challenging me. I guess he’s one of the biggest reasons, if not the only reason, that she wanted to come to this damned place at all.

“Fine,” I huff and lower my voice. “How was he while I was gone?” I quietly ask.

“He was good; he’s less shaky, and he hasn’t thrown up since yesterday morning.”

“Fucking junkie.” I run my hands over my hair. “Fuck.”

“Calm down, it’s all going to work out,” my stepbrother assures me.

I ignore his words of wisdom and leave him in the kitchen to find Tessa. When I reach the bedroom door, I hear a strangled sob coming from inside. I take a quick step forward to find her with both hands cupped over her mouth, her blue eyes bloodshot and full of tears as they stare down at the floor. One more step is all it takes for me to spot what it is that she’s looking at. Fuck.

Fuck.

“Tess?” I had planned on coming up with a plan to fix the problem that I created by ripping up that damned letter, but I just haven’t had the chance yet. I was going to find the pieces that were left and try to tape them back together . . . or at least tell Tessa what I did before she found out on her own. Too late now.

“Tess, I’m sorry!” The apology tumbles out as tears roll down her tearstained cheeks.

“Why did you—” she sobs, unable to finish the sentence. My heart constricts in my chest. For a brief moment, I’m convinced that I’m hurting worse than she is.

“I was so mad after you left me,” I begin to explain, walking over to her, but she backs away. I don’t blame her. “I wasn’t thinking properly, and it was there, on the bed, where you left it.”

She doesn’t speak or look away from me.

“I am so sorry, I swear it!” I frantically proclaim.

“I . . .” She chokes, furiously wiping at her cheeks. “I . . . just need a minute, okay?” Her eyes close, and a few more tears escape from under her fluttering eyelids.

I want to give her a minute like she asked, but I’m selfishly afraid that she’ll grow more and more hurt as time passes and decide she doesn’t want to see me.

“I’m not going to leave the room,” I say. She has both her hands pressed over her mouth, but even so, I hear her let out a muffled cry. The sound cuts straight through me.

“Please,” she begs through her pain. I knew she’d be hurt when she found out about me destroying that letter, but what I didn’t expect was for it to hurt me so much.

“No, I won’t.” I refuse to leave her in here alone to cry over my mistakes, again. How many times has that happened in this apartment?

She looks away from me and sits down at the foot of the bed, her shaky hands clasped on her lap, her eyes half closed, and her lips quivering as she tries to calm herself down. I ignore the push of her hand against my chest when I drop to my knees in front of her and wrap my arms around her body.

After a few exhausted efforts to push me away, she finally gives in and allows me to comfort her.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” I repeat; I don’t know if I’ve ever meant those words so sincerely before.

“I loved that letter,” she says, crying into my shoulder. “It meant so much to me.”

“I know it did. I’m so sorry.” I don’t even try to defend myself, because I’m a fucking idiot, and I knew how much that thing meant to her. I gently push her back by her shoulders and take her tearstained cheeks between my hands and lower my voice. “I don’t know what to say except I’m sorry.”

Finally she opens her mouth to speak. “I won’t say it’s okay, because it’s not . . .” Her eyes are red-rimmed and already swollen from her sobbing.

“I know.” I bow my head, dropping my hands from her face.

Moments later I feel her fingers press under my chin, tilting my face up to look at her, the way I usually do to her.

“I’m upset . . . devastated, really,” she says. “But there’s nothing I can do about it, and I don’t want to sit here and cry all weekend, and I certainly don’t want you backtracking and beating yourself up over it.” She’s trying her hardest to talk herself up, pretending that it doesn’t bother her the way that I know it does.

I let out a breath that I didn’t realize I was holding. “I’ll make it up to you, somehow.” When she doesn’t answer, I press a little. “Okay?”

She wipes at her eyes, her makeup smearing under her fingertips. Her silence is making me uneasy. I’d rather be screamed at than have her cry like this.

“Tess, please talk to me. Do you want me to take you back to Seattle?” Even if she says yes, I sure as hell won’t do it, but the offer is tossed between us before I can think it through.

“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

With a sigh, she stands, sidestepping my body as she exits the bedroom. I get to my feet and follow her. She closes the bathroom door, and I go back into the bedroom to grab her small bag. I know her—she’ll want to fix that black-smudged mess underneath her eyes.

I tap on the bathroom door, and she opens it slightly, just enough for me to shove the small bag through. “Thanks,” she says, her voice small, defeated.

I’ve already ruined her weekend, and it’s barely started.

“My mom and your dad want you to bring Tessa by the house tomorrow,” Landon calls from the end of the hall.

“And . . .”

“I’m just saying. My mom misses Tessa.”

“So . . . your mum can see her some other time.” Then I realize this might get Tessa’s mind off that damned letter. “You know what? Fine,” I say before he can get his response out. “I’ll take her by tomorrow.”

My stepbrother tilts his head. “Is she crying?”

“She’s . . . it’s not really any of your business, is it?” I snap.

“You’ve been back here for less than twenty minutes, and she’s already locked herself in the bathroom,” he says, crossing his arms.

“This isn’t the time to start shit with me, Landon,” I growl. “I’m already at the point of explosion; the last thing I need is you butting your damn nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

But he just rolls his eyes in a very Tessa-like way. “Oh, so I’m only allowed to butt in when it involves doing a favor for you?”

What the fuck is his problem, and why do I keep referring to him as my stepbrother? “Fuck off.”

“She’s probably already overwhelmed, so the two of us need to stop this before she lets herself out of that bathroom.” He’s trying to reason with me.

“Fine, then stop talking shit to me,” I say.

Before he can respond, the bathroom door clicks open, and Tessa, looking put together but very exhausted, shuffles into the hallway, worry on her face. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Landon is going to order pizza, and we’re all going to spend the remainder of the night as one big happy family.” I glance at him. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” he agrees—for Tessa’s sake, I know. I miss the days when Landon wouldn’t smart off to me. They were few and far between, but he’s grown ballsier as the months have dragged on. Or maybe I’ve grown weaker . . . I haven’t a damn clue, but I don’t like the shift.

Tessa lets out a little sigh. I need her to smile, I need to know she can get over this. So I say, “I’m going to take you by my father’s house tomorrow; maybe Karen can share some recipes or some shit with you?”

Her eyes lighten, and she grins, finally. “Recipes or ‘some shit’?” She chews on the corner of her bottom lip to keep from grinning further. The pressure in my chest dissolves.

“Yeah, or some shit.” I smile back at her and lead her to the living room, where we are set to enjoy a torturous night of entertaining Richard and Landon.

RICHARD IS LYING across the span of the couch. Landon is in the chair. And Tessa and I are sitting on the floor.

“Can you pass me another supreme?” Richard asks for the third time since we started this hideous movie. I look at Tessa and Landon, who, of course, are completely fascinated by the email love affair that’s going on between Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. If this were a modern movie, they would have fucked after the first email, not waited until the last scene to even kiss. Hell, they would have been on one of those hookup apps and maybe only known each other by screen names. How depressing is that?

“Here,” I groan, sliding the pizza box to Richard. He’s already taking up the entire couch, and now he’s interrupting me every ten minutes for more fucking pizza.

“This last part used to make your mom cry every time she saw it.” Richard’s hand reaches out and squeezes Tessa’s shoulder. I try my best not to scoot between them or bat his hand away. If she had any idea what her father has been doing the last week, if she had watched the drugs leave his system in a mess of vomit and convulsing withdrawals, she’d push his hand away herself and then sanitize her shoulder.

“Really?” Tess looks up at her father with glossy eyes.

“Yes. I still remember you two watching it every time it was on. More around the holidays, of course.”

“Was that—” I begin but halt my vicious words before I utter them.

“What?” Tessa asks me.

“Was that . . . um, dog supposed to be there?” I dumbly ask. It makes no sense, but Tessa, being Tessa, goes into full discussion mode about the last scene of the movie and that the dog, Barkley or Brinkley, I believe she said his name is, is essential to the success of the movie.

Blah, blah, blah . . .

A knock at the door stops Tessa’s explanation and Landon gets up to answer.

“I got it,” I say and push past him. This is my fucking place, after all.

I don’t bother to look through the peephole, but once I pull the door open, I wish that I had.

“Where’s he?” the foul-smelling junkie asks.

I step out into the hallway and close the door behind me. Tessa will not be bothered by this shit. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I hiss.

“I’m just here to see my buddy, that’s all.” Chad’s teeth are even browner than before, and his facial hair is matted to his skin. He can only be in his thirties, but he possesses the face of a man pushing fifty. The watch my father got me is hanging from his filthy wrist.

“He’s not coming out here, and no one is giving you anything, so I suggest you take your ass back where you came from before I bash your face against that railing,” I say matter-of-factly and point toward the metal bar in front of the hallway fire extinguisher. “Then, while you’re bleeding out, I’ll call the police and have you arrested for possession and trespassing.” I know he has drugs on him, the fucking asshole.

His eyes focus in on me, and I take a step toward him. “I wouldn’t test my patience, not tonight,” I warn.

His mouth opens just as the door to the apartment opens behind me. Fucking hell.

“What’s going on?” Tessa asks, moving in front of me.

I instinctively jerk her back, and she asks again. “Nothing, Chad here was just leaving.” I stare at Chad, so help him God, if he fucking—

Tessa’s eyes narrow in on the shiny object dangling from his thin wrist. “Is that your watch?”

“What? No—” I begin to lie, but she already knows. She isn’t stupid enough to think it’s coincidence that this drug-addict fuck has the same exact expensive-ass watch as I do.

“Hardin . . .” She glares at me. “So what, you’ve been hanging out with this guy or something?” She crosses her arms and puts more distance between us.

“No!” I half shout. Why would that be the conclusion she draws from this little scene?

I’m conflicted between calling her father out and defending myself or making up yet another lie. “I’m not friends with him, he’s leaving.” I shoot Chad one more warning.

This time he takes it and backs away down the hall. I suppose it’s only Landon who isn’t intimidated by me anymore. Maybe I haven’t lost my edge after all.

“Who’s there?” Richard joins us in the hallway.

“That man . . . Chad,” Tessa answers, inquisition clear in her tone.

“Oh . . .” Richard pales and looks helplessly at me.

“I need to know what’s going on.” Tessa is getting upset. I shouldn’t have let her come back here. I saw it on her face the moment she stepped into this damned place.

“Landon!” Tessa calls for her best friend, and I look at her father. Landon will tell her everything; he won’t lie to her face the way I have so many times.

“Your dad owed him money, and I gave him that watch for payment,” I admit. She gasps and turns to Richard.

“You owed him money for what? Hardin’s father gave him that watch as a gift!” she shouts.

Okay . . . this isn’t exactly the reaction I was expecting. She’s more focused on the stupid watch than the whole your-father-owed-this-creep-money aspect.

“I’m sorry, Tessie. I didn’t have any money, and Hardin—”

Before I realize what she’s doing, she’s halfway to the elevator. What the fuck!

I panic, running after her, but she slides into the steel cage just before I reach her. Those doors move with torturous slowness any other time, yet when she’s escaping from me, they close instantly.

“Goddammit, Tessa!” I pound my fist once against the metal. Does this place even have a staircase? When I look back down the hall, Landon and Richard are both staring blankly, unmoving. Thanks for the fucking help, assholes.

I move quickly and find the staircase, taking two stairs at a time to get to the bottom. I reach the lobby and glance around for Tessa. When I don’t see her, I begin to panic again. Chad could have friends with him . . . they could approach Tessa or hurt her . . .

The elevator opens with a ding, and Tessa steps out of it; the most determined face imaginable covers her features, until she spots me.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” I shout at her, my voice filling the lobby.

“He’s giving that damn watch back, Hardin!” she shouts back. She stalks toward the glass doors, and I wrap my arm around her waist, yanking her back against my chest.

“Get off of me!” She claws at my arms, but I don’t relent.

“You can’t just chase after him. What’re you thinking?”

She keeps fighting me.

“If you don’t stop moving, I will literally carry your ass back up to the apartment. Now listen to me,” I say.

“He can’t have that watch, Hardin! Your father gave it to you, and it meant a lot to him and to you—”

“That watch didn’t mean shit to me,” I say.

“Yes, it did. You’ll never admit it, but it did. I know it.” Her eyes are watering again. Fuck, this weekend is going to be hell.

“No, it didn’t . . .”

Did it?

Her hands stop moving, and she settles down slightly. I gently coax her back toward the elevator, her drug-dealer-chasing mission aborted, much to her chagrin.

“It’s not fair to you that he took that watch because of some stupid bar tab my father ran up! How much freaking alcohol does one consume that they actually owe people money?” Her temper is flaring, and I’m torn between thinking it’s amusing and feeling terrible for what I have to tell her.

“It wasn’t alcohol, Tess.” I watch as she tilts her head to the side, looking anywhere and everywhere but at my eyes.

“Hardin, I know my father and his drinking—don’t make excuses for him.” Her chest is moving up and down at an unhealthy pace.

“Tessa, Tessa, you have to calm down.”

“Then tell me what’s going on, Hardin!”

I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry—sorry that I couldn’t shield her from her fuckup of a father, just like I couldn’t shield my mother from the devastation of mine. So I do something rather alien for me. I say something brutally honest. “It’s not alcohol. It’s drugs.”

Tessa’s reaction seems at first like no reaction at all. But after a second, she shakes her head and says, “No, he’s not . . . He’s not doing drugs.”

Quickly she steps into the elevator and punches the button for our floor. I jump on right after her, but she just stares into space as the doors close us in.

chapter

one hundred and twenty-two

TESSA

As Hardin and I walk back into the apartment, it feels like the air has become stale and awkward.

“Are you okay?” Landon asks when Hardin closes the door behind him.

“Yeah,” I state simply, lying.

I’m confused, hurt, angry, and exhausted. It’s only been a few hours since we arrived, and already I’m ready to go back to Seattle. Any thought I had of wanting to live here again vanished somewhere during the silent walk from the elevator to the apartment door.

“Tessie . . . I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” my father says as he follows me into the kitchen. I need a glass of water; my head is throbbing.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” The sink creaks when I pull at the faucet, and I wait patiently for the glass to fill.

“I think we should at least talk—”

“Please . . .” I turn to face him. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to hear the hideous truth, or some well-intentioned lie. I only want to go back to when I was cautiously excited about trying out a relationship with my father that I never had as a child. I know that Hardin has no reason to lie about my father’s addictions, but perhaps he’s somehow mistaken.

“Tessie . . .” my father pleads.

“She said she doesn’t want to talk about it,” Hardin insists, suddenly appearing in the room. He walks farther into the kitchen and stands between my father and me. I’m thankful for his intrusion this time, but I’m slightly worried over the quick movements of his chest as his breaths become more shallow and labored. I’m grateful when my father sighs in defeat and leaves me alone with Hardin in the kitchen.

“Thank you.” I sag against the counter and take another drink of the lukewarm tap water.

A worried line forms along Hardin’s forehead, and he doesn’t attempt to hide his deep scowl. His fingers press against his temples, and he leans against the opposite counter. “I shouldn’t have let you come here; I knew this would happen.”

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that.”

“Because I always have to be. Otherwise, when the next disaster occurs, I won’t be prepared.” The adrenaline coursing through me only minutes ago has disappeared, evaporated along with the hope that for once, something could go right for an entire weekend. I don’t regret coming here, because I’ve missed Landon so much and I wanted to pick up my letter, e-reader, and bracelet. My heart still aches over the letter; it doesn’t seem rational for an object to hold such significance to me, but it does. It was the first time Hardin had ever been so open with me—no more hiding, no more secrets about his past, all of his cards were on the table—and I didn’t have to force the confessions from him. The thought that he put into writing it and the way his hands shook as he held it out to me will always remain in my mind. I’m not upset with him, really; I wish he hadn’t destroyed it, but I know his temper, and I’m the one who left it here, somehow sensing that he probably would destroy it. I won’t allow myself to dwell on it anymore, though it still hurts to think about the shred of paper that was left; that small piece could never hold all of the emotion packed into the words he had scribbled across the page.

“I hate that it’s like that for you,” Hardin quietly says.

“Me, too.” I sigh in agreement. The pained look on his face makes me add, “It’s not your fault.”

“Like hell it isn’t.” Exasperated fingers push through the wave of his hair. “I’m the one who ripped up that damn letter, I drove you here, and I thought I could keep your father’s habits from you. I thought that asshole Chad was gone for good when I gave him my watch for the money your dad owed.”

I stare at Hardin, who’s always so wound up, and I want to hug him. He gave away something of his; regardless of his claims to have no attachment to the object, he gave it up in an attempt to dig my father out of the hole he created for himself. God, I love him.

“I’m very grateful to have you,” I tell him. His shoulders straighten, and his head quickly lifts to look at me.

“I don’t know why. I create nearly every disaster in your life.”

“No, I’m equally to blame,” I assure him. I wish he thought more of himself; if only he could see himself the way that I do. “The indifference of the universe does a lot, too.”

“You’re lying”—he stares at me with expectant eyes—“but I’ll take it.”

I stare at the wall in silence, my brain running over a thousand thoughts per minute.

“I’m still angry that you ran after him like a fucking madman, though,” Hardin scolds me. I don’t blame him; it wasn’t smart. But I also somehow knew he’d run after me in my ridiculous attempt to chase Chad down and take the watch back from him. What the heck was I thinking?

I was thinking that the watch represented the beginning of a new relationship between Hardin and his father. Hardin said he hated that watch, and he refused to wear it, claiming it was outrageous. He’s unaware of the times I passed the bedroom to see him staring at it in its box. Once he even had the watch resting in his open palm, examining it closely, as if it might burn or heal him. His expression was ambivalent when he tossed it carelessly back into the oversize black box.

“My adrenaline got the best of me.” I shrug, trying to hide the gentle tremor shaking through me at the thought of actually catching up to the hideous man.

I had a bad feeling about him the first time he came to pick my father up from the apartment, but I was unaware of the possibility that he’d return. Out of all the suspicions I held relating to what exactly was happening here, slimy men selling drugs and being paid in watches was never a thought. This obviously was what Hardin referred to as “taking care of it without me having to worry about it.” If I had just kept my behind in the apartment, I could still be blissfully ignorant of the entire situation. I could still see my father in a decent light.

“Well, I don’t care much for your adrenaline, then. It obviously cuts off the oxygen to your damn brain,” Hardin huffs, glaring at the refrigerator beside me.

“Should we start the next movie?” My father’s voice sounds from the living room. I shoot a sudden panicked look toward Hardin, and he opens his mouth to answer for me.

“In a minute,” he replies, his tone harsh.

Hardin looks down at me, his height and irritated expression overpowering me. “You don’t have to go out there and fake some bullshit conversation with them if you don’t want to. I’d dare either of them to say shit to you about it.”

The idea of watching a movie with my father does not sound the least bit appealing, but I don’t want things to be awkward, and I don’t want Landon to go just yet.

“I know.” I sigh.

“You’re in denial, and I get that, but you’re going to need to face the music sooner or later.” His words are harsh, but his eyes are sympathetic as he gazes down at me. I feel the heat of his fingers trail down the back of both of my arms.

“I’ll take later—for now,” I plead with him, and he nods, not approving but accepting my denial. For now.

“Go on and go in there, then. I’ll be in in a minute.” He tilts his head toward the living room.

“Okay; can you make some popcorn?” I smile up at him, trying my best to convince him that my heart isn’t hammering against my rib cage and my palms aren’t sweating.

“You’re pushing it . . .” A playful smile tugs at the corners of his mouth while he pushes me out of the kitchen. “Go on.”

When I enter the dimly lit living room, my father is sitting in his usual spot on the couch and Landon is standing, leaning against the dark brick wall. My father’s hands are on his lap; he’s picking at the skin on his fingertips, a habit I had as a child until my mother forced me to give it up. Now I know where it came from.

My father lifts dark eyes from his lap to peer up at me, and a chill runs over me. I can’t decipher whether it’s the lighting or my mind playing tricks on me, but his eyes are nearly black, and it’s making me nauseous. Is he really taking drugs? If so, how much and what kind? My knowledge of drugs consists of having watched a few episodes of Intervention with Hardin. I cringed and covered my eyes when the addicts would push the needles into their skin or smoke the frothy liquid off of a spoon. I could barely stand to watch them destroy themselves and everyone around them, while Hardin went on about not feeling an ounce of pity for the “fucking junkies.”

Is my father really one of them?

“I’ll understand if you want me to go . . .” My father’s voice doesn’t match the look in his haunted eyes. It’s small, weak, and broken. My chest aches.

“No, it’s okay.” I swallow and sit down on the floor to wait for Hardin to join us. I hear the quiet popping of the kernels, and the aroma of popping corn has already filled the apartment.

“I’ll tell you anything you want to—”

“It’s okay, really,” I assure my father with a smile. Where is Hardin?

My silent question is answered only moments later when he strides into the living room, a bag of popcorn in one hand and my glass of water in the other. He sits down next to me on the floor without a word and places the bag on my lap.

“It’s a little burned, but still edible,” he quietly remarks. His eyes move straight to the television screen, and I know he’s holding back many thoughts. I squeeze his hand to thank him for keeping them that way. I don’t think I’d be able to handle anything else tonight.

The popcorn is delicious and buttery. Hardin gripes when I offer Landon and my father some. I suspect that’s why they refuse it.

“What bullshit are we watching now?” Hardin asks.

“Sleepless in Seattle,” I answer with a grin.

His eyes roll. “Really? Isn’t that like an older version of what we just watched!”

I can’t help but be amused. “It’s a lovely movie.”

“Sure.” He looks at me, but his eyes don’t stay on mine as long as usual. He uses his sweatshirt to wipe the greasy butter off his fingers. I cringe and make a mental note to soak the shirt longer than usual tomorrow before I wash it.

“Is something wrong? This movie isn’t that bad,” I whisper to him. My father is finishing off the remainder of the pizza, and Landon has taken his seat back on the recliner.

“No.” He still doesn’t look at me. I don’t want to comment on his odd behavior; everyone’s already on edge from tonight’s events.

The movie distracts me from myself and my vicious mind long enough to laugh with Landon and my father. Hardin stares at the screen, his shoulders stiff again and his mind miles away. I desperately want to ask him what’s wrong so that I can fix it, but I know that it’s best to leave him be for now. Instead, I snuggle against his chest with my knees bent beneath me and one arm wrapped around his lean torso. He surprises me by pulling me closer and planting a soft kiss on my hair.

“I love you,” he whispers. I’m nearly convinced that I’m hearing voices until I look up into his expectant green eyes.

“I love you,” I reply softly. I take a few moments to stare at him, just to take in how beautiful he is. He drives me insane, as I do him, but he loves me, and his calm behavior tonight is just another indication of that. No matter how forced the behavior is, he is trying, and in that I find solace, a steady certainty that even in the middle of the brewing storm, he will be my anchor. I once feared that he would take me under; now I don’t even mind if he does.

A heavy knock at the door jolts me from Hardin’s lap. I’ve somehow migrated there in my near slumber, and he unwraps his arms from around me and gently places me on the floor so he can stand up. I study his face, looking for anger, or shock, but instead he looks . . . worried?

“You’re not moving,” he says to me. I nod in agreement. I don’t want to face Chad again.

“We should just call the police, otherwise he’ll never stop coming here.” I groan, wondering how this apartment could have changed so drastically in the last few weeks. The panic rises into my chest again, and when I look up to gauge my father and Landon’s reactions to the intruder, I see that they’re both asleep. The television is set on the menu screen for the pay-per-view; we must have all actually drifted off to sleep without realizing it.

“No,” I hear Hardin say. I rise onto my knees when he reaches the door. What If Chad isn’t alone? Will he try to hurt Hardin? I stand up and head toward the couch to wake my father.

I barely register the heavy click of high heels across the hard flooring, so when I turn my head and see my mother, in all her tight-red-dress, curled-hair, and red-lipsticked glory, I’m shocked. Her beautiful face is set in a deep scowl as her darkening eyes meet mine.

“What are you—” I begin. I glance at Hardin; and he’s calm . . . expectant almost . . .

He allows her to storm past him and stalk toward me.

“You called her?” My voice squeaks as the puzzle pieces click into place. He looks away from me. How could he call her? He knows firsthand how my mother is; why on earth would he bring her into this?

“You have been avoiding my calls, Theresa,” she snaps. “And now I find out that your father is here! At this apartment, and he’s on drugs!” She storms past me, too, and goes straight for the kill. Her fire-engine-red manicured fingers grip my father’s arm, and she yanks his sleeping body off of the couch. He topples to the floor.

“Get up, Richard!” she booms, and I flinch at the harshness in her voice.

My father scrambles up to a sitting position quickly, using his palms to support his body weight, and shakes his head. His eyes nearly pop out of his skull as he takes in the woman in front of him. I watch as he blinks rapidly and stumbles to his feet.

“Carol?” His voice is even smaller than mine.

“How dare you!” She waves a finger in his face, and he backs away from her only to have his legs hit the couch, causing him to fall back. He looks terrified, and I don’t blame him.

Landon stirs in the chair and opens his eyes; his expression mimics my father’s, confused and terrified.

“Theresa, go to your bedroom,” my mother demands.

What? “No, I will not,” I counter. Why did Hardin have to call her? Everything would have been okay. I’d have a way to move on from my father, probably.

“She’s not a child anymore, Carol,” my father says.

My mother’s cheeks puff, and her chest rises, and I know what’s coming next. “Don’t you dare speak of her as if you know her at all! As if you have any claim on her!”

“I’m trying to make up for lost time—” My father is holding his ground pretty decently for a man who has just been awoken by his angry ex-wife screaming in his face. I don’t know what to make of the scene unfolding in front of me. There’s something in my father’s voice, something in his tone as he steps closer to my mother, gaining confidence that almost looks familiar. I can’t quite put my finger on it.