Текст книги "After We Fell"

Автор книги: Anna Todd

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Текущая страница: 42 (всего у книги 49 страниц)

“Lost time! You don’t get to make up for lost time! Now I hear you’re taking drugs?”

“I’m not anymore!” he yells back at her. I want to cower behind Hardin, but right now I don’t know whose side he’s actually on. Landon’s eyes are focused on me, Hardin’s on my father and mother.

“Wanna go?” Landon mouths silently from across the room. I shake my head, silently declining, but hoping that my eyes can convey how thankful I am for his offer.

“Anymore? Anymore!” My mother must have worn her heaviest heels. I’m beginning to wonder if they’ll leave dents in the floor as she stomps across it.

“Yes, anymore! Look, I’m not perfect, okay?” His hands move over his short hair, and I freeze. The gesture is so familiar, it’s uncanny.

“Not perfect! Ha!” She laughs, her white teeth shining through the dim room. I want to turn a light on but can’t bring myself to move. I don’t know how to feel or what to think as I watch my parents scream at each other in the middle of the living room. I’m convinced this apartment is cursed; it has to be. “Not perfect is fine; doing drugs and dragging your daughter down the same path is deplorable!”

“I’m not dragging her down any path! I’m trying my hardest to make up for what I did to her . . . and to you!”

“No! You’re not! Your coming back around will only confuse her more! She’s already messed her life up enough!”

“She hasn’t messed up her life,” Hardin interrupts. My mother shoots him a fiery glare before turning her attention back to my father.

“This is your fault, Richard Young! All of this! If it weren’t for you, Theresa wouldn’t be in this toxic relationship with this boy!” She waves her hand toward Hardin. I knew it would only be a matter of time before she started in on him. “She never had a male example to show her how a woman should be treated; that’s why she’s shacked up here with him! Unmarried, living in sin, and Lord only knows what he’s doing! He’s probably taking the drugs with you!”

I recoil, my blood instantly boils, and the raging need to defend Hardin surfaces. “Don’t you dare bring Hardin into this! He’s been taking care of my father and providing him with somewhere to live to keep him off of the streets!” I hate the way my choice of words resembles my mother’s.

Hardin crosses the room and stands beside me. I know he’s going to warn me to stay out of it.

“It’s true, Carol. He’s a good man, and he loves her more than I’ve ever seen a man love a woman,” my father chimes in. My mother’s fists ball at her sides, and her perfectly blushed cheeks flare a deep red.

“Don’t you dare defend him! All of this—she waves one clenched fist through the thick air—“is because of him! She should be in Seattle, creating a life for herself, finding herself a suitable man . . .”

I can barely hear anything over the blood rushing and pumping through my head. In the midst of all of this, I feel terrible for Landon, who has kindly retreated to the bedroom to leave us alone, and for Hardin, who is, yet again, being used as my mother’s scapegoat.

“She is living in Seattle, she’s here visiting her father. I told you that on the phone.” Hardin’s voice breaks through the chaos; it’s barely controlled, and it sends a shiver over my body, raising the small hairs on my arms.

“Don’t think that just because you called me we’re suddenly friends,” she snaps. Hardin jerks me back by my arm, and I glare up at him, puzzled. I hadn’t even realized that I started toward her until he stopped me.

“Judgmental as always. You’ll never change, you’re still the same woman you were all those years ago.” My father shakes his head in disapproval. I’m thankful that he’s on Hardin’s side.

“Judgmental? Are you aware that this boy, the one you’re defending, weaseled his way between your daughter’s legs to win money in a bet he made with his friends?” My mother’s voice is cold—smug, even.

All of the air leaves the room, and I’m choking, gasping for a simple breath.

“That’s right! He was bragging around campus about his conquest. So don’t you defend him to me,” she hisses. My father’s eyes are wide. I can see the stormy currents gathering behind them as he looks at Hardin.

“What? Is this true?” My father is choking for breath, too.

“It’s not important! We’ve already passed it,” I tell him.

“See, she went and found herself someone exactly like you. Let us pray that he doesn’t get her pregnant and leave when times get tough.”

I can’t listen anymore. I can’t let Hardin be dragged through the mud by both of my parents. This is a disaster.

“And not to mention just three weekends ago, a man dropped her at my house unconscious because of his”—she points to Hardin—“friends! They nearly had their way with her!”

The reminder of that night pains me, but it’s the way my mother is blaming Hardin that bothers me the most. What happened that night was in no way his fault, and she knows it.

“You son of a bitch!” my father says through his teeth.

“Don’t,” Hardin calmly warns him. I pray that he listens.

“You had me fooled! Here I was thinking you just had a bad rep, some tattoos, and an attitude! I could deal with that. I’m the same way. But you used my daughter!” My father dashes toward Hardin, and I stand in front of him.

My brain hasn’t had a chance to catch up with my mouth. “Stop it! Both of you!” I scream. “If you want to go to war over your past, that’s your choice, but you won’t bring Hardin into it! He called you for a reason, Mother, and yet here you are throwing him under the bus out of anger. This is his place, not either of yours. Both of you can get the hell out!” My eyes burn, as if they’re begging me to shed the warm tears, but I refuse.

My mother and father both halt; they look at me, then at each other. “Sort your crap out or leave; we’ll be in the bedroom.” I wrap my fingers around Hardin’s, and I try to pull him behind me.

He hesitates for a moment before using his long legs to step in front of me and lead me down the hallway, still grasping my hand. His grip is tight, nearly unbearably so, but I stay quiet. I’m still in shock from my mother’s arrival and blowup; too much pressure on my hand is the least of my concerns.

I push the door closed behind me just in time to muffle the shouting voices of my parents down the hall. Suddenly I’m nine again, running through the backyard of my mother’s house to my haven, the small greenhouse. I could always hear the shouting, no matter how loud Noah attempted to be in order to mute the unpleasant noise.

“I wish you hadn’t called her.” I break from my memories and look up at Hardin. Landon is sitting at the desk, making a point not to stare at us.

“You needed her. You were in denial.” His voice is gravelly.

“She made things worse; she told him about what you did.”

“It made sense at the time to call her. I was trying to help you.”

The look in his eyes tells me he really thought it might work. “I know,” I say with a sigh. I wish he’d run the idea past me first, but I know he was doing what he thought was right.

“Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.” He shakes his head and plops down on the bed. Looking up at me with real anguish, he says, “We’ll always be reminded of that shit—you know that, don’t you?”

He’s shutting down; I can feel it just as surely as I can see it happening in front of me.

“No, that’s not true.” There’s at least some truth to my words in that once everyone we know finds out about the bet, it’ll become old news to them all. I shudder at the thought of Kimberly and Christian finding out, but everyone else around us now knows the humiliating truth.

“Yes, it is! You know it is!” Hardin raises his voice and paces across the floor. “It’s never going to go away, every time we fucking turn around, someone is throwing it in your face, reminding you of what a fuckup I am!” His fist collides with the top of the desk before I can stop him. The wood splinters, and Landon jumps to his feet.

“Don’t do this! Don’t let her get to you, please!” I grab a fistful of his black sweatshirt, stopping him from beginning another assault on the already broken wood. He jerks away, but I don’t let up. I grab both sleeves this time, and he turns around, fuming.

“Aren’t you tired of this shit? Aren’t you tired of the constant fight? If you would just let me go, your life would be much easier!” Hardin’s words come out clipped and loud, and each syllable cuts deep. He always does this; he always goes for self-destruction. I won’t allow it this time.

“Stop that! You know that I don’t want easy and loveless.” I gather his face between my hands and force him to look at me.

“Both of you, listen to me,” Landon interrupts. Hardin doesn’t look at him; he keeps his furious gaze on me. My best friend, Hardin’s stepbrother, walks across the room to stand only feet away from us.

“You guys can’t do this again. Hardin, you can’t let people get into your head like that; Tessa’s is the only opinion that matters. Let hers be the only voice in your head,” he tells us.

It’s as if the black rings around Hardin’s eyes visibly shrink as he takes in the words. “And Tess . . .” Landon sighs. “You don’t need to feel guilty and try to convince Hardin that you want to be with him; you staying around through everything should be proof enough.”

Landon has a point, but I’m not sure if Hardin will see it through his anger and pain.

“Tessa needs you to comfort her right now. Her parents are screaming at each other in there, so be here for her—don’t make this about you,” Landon tells his stepbrother. Something in his words seems to click in Hardin’s mind, and he nods, tilting his head down to press his forehead against mine, his harsh breathing slowing with each breath.

“I’m sorry . . .” he whispers.

“I’m going to go home now.” Landon looks away from us, seemingly uncomfortable with witnessing the intimacy between Hardin and me. “I’ll let my mom know you’ll be by.”

I move away from Hardin to wrap my arms around Landon’s neck. “Thank you for everything. I’m so glad you were here,” I say into his chest. His arms tightly hug me, and this time Hardin doesn’t pull me away. When I step out of the embrace, Landon leaves the room, and I look back at Hardin. He’s examining his bloody knuckles, a sight that was beginning to turn into a distant memory; now I’m seeing it again as the thick blood drips onto the floor.

“About what Landon said,” Hardin says, wiping his bloodied hand on the bottom of his sweatshirt. “When he said yours should be the only voice in my head. I want that.” When he looks up at me again, his expression is haunted. “I want that so fucking bad. I can’t seem to shake them . . . Steph, Zed, now your mum and dad.”

“We’ll figure it out, we will,” I promise him.

“Theresa!” My mother’s voice resounds from outside the door. I had been too wrapped up in Hardin to notice that the noise in the living room had dissipated. “Theresa, I’m coming in.”

The door opens on the last word, and I stand behind Hardin. This seems to be a pattern.

“We need to talk about this, all of this.” She eyes Hardin and me with equal intensity. Hardin’s head turns, and he looks down at me, raising an eyebrow for approval.

“I don’t think there’s much to discuss,” I say from behind my shield.

“There’s plenty to discuss. I’m sorry for my behavior tonight. I lost my mind when I saw your father here, after all these years. Please give me a little time to explain. Please.” The word “please” sounds foreign coming from my mother’s lips.

Hardin steps away, exposing me to her. “I’m going to go clean this up.” He lifts his battered hand in the air and exits the room before I can stop him.

“Sit down, we have a lot to discuss.” My mother runs her palms down the front of her dress and pushes her thick blond waves to one side before she sits down on the edge of the bed.

chapter

one hundred and twenty-three

HARDIN

The cold water blasts from the faucet onto my torn flesh. I stare down at the sink, watching as the red-stained water swirls around the metal drain.

Again? This shit happened again? Of course it did; it was only a matter of time.

I leave the bathroom door open so I can easily access the room across the hall if I hear any screaming. I have no fucking idea what I was thinking when I called that bitch. I shouldn’t call her that . . . but she is one, so . . . bitch it is. At least I’m not saying it in front of Tessa. When I called her, I could only think of Tessa’s blank expression and naive remarks, saying things like “he’s not doing drugs” as she tried to convince herself of what was obviously not true. I knew she’d come undone at any moment, and for some stupid fucking reason I thought her mum being here could possibly be of help.

This is precisely why I don’t try to help people. I have no experience in it. I’m pretty damn excellent at fucking shit up, but I’m no savior.

A flash of movement in the mirror catches my eye, and I look up to see Richard’s reflection staring back at me. He’s leaning against the narrow doorframe, his expression wary.

“What? Did you come to try and shank me or something?” I say flatly.

He sighs and runs his hands over his clean-shaven face. “No, not this time.”

I scoff, half wishing that he would try and come at me. I’m certainly wound up enough for a brawl, or two.

“Why didn’t either of you tell me?” Richard asks, obviously referring to the bet.

Is he fucking serious?

“Why would I tell you? And you sure as hell aren’t stupid enough to believe Tessa would tell her father—her absentee father—some shit like that.” I turn the faucet off and grab a towel to apply pressure to my knuckles; they’ve stopped bleeding, for the most part. I should learn to switch hands, punch with my right from now on.

“I don’t know . . . I feel blindsided, I thought you two were just opposites attracting, but now . . .”

“I’m not asking for your approval. Nor do I need it.” I walk past him and hurry down the hallway. I go and grab the bag of burned popcorn that still rests on the floor.

“Let hers be the only voice in your head.” Landon’s words echo through my mind. I wish it were that easy, and maybe it will be one day . . . I sure as hell hope so.

“I know you don’t; I just want to understand all this shit. As her dad, I feel obligated to beat your ass.” He shakes his head.

“Right,” I say, wanting to remind him again that he hasn’t been her father for over nine years.

“Carol was a lot like Tessa when she was young,” he says, following me into the kitchen.

I recoil, and the bag nearly slips from my fingers. “No, she wasn’t.”

There is no way in hell that this could be true. Honestly, I used to think Tessa was just like that prudish, bitchy woman, but now that I actually know her, I’m sure that it couldn’t be further from the truth. Her struggle to appear perfect is certainly the result of having the woman as her mother, but otherwise Tessa is nothing like her.

“It’s true. She wasn’t quite as nice, but she wasn’t always . . .” He trails off, grabbing a bottled water from my fridge.

“A bitch?” I finish his sentence for him. His eyes dart down the empty hallway as if he’s afraid she’s going to appear and toss him around again. I’d like to see that happen, actually . . .

“She was always smiling . . . Her smile was something else. All the men wanted her, but she was mine.” He grins at the memory. I didn’t sign up for this shit . . . I’m no fucking counselor. Tessa’s mum is hot as hell, but she’s got a constant stick up her ass that someone needs to remove, or maybe the complete opposite . . .

“Okay . . .” I don’t get the point here.

“She had so much ambition and compassion then. It’s really fucked up, because Tessa’s grandma was just like Carol, if not worse.” He laughs at the thought, but I cringe. “Her parents hated, I mean hated me. They never hid it, either. They wanted her to marry a stockbroker, a lawyer—anyone except me. I hated them, too; may they rest in peace.” He looks up at the ceiling. As fucked up as it is to say, I’m grateful that Tessa’s grandparents aren’t around to judge me.

“Well, obviously you two shouldn’t have been married, then.” I close the lid on the trash can, where I’ve just dropped the bag of popcorn, and lean my elbows on the counter. I’m frustrated with Richard and his stupid fucking habits, which are upsetting to Tessa. I want to kick his ass out and send him right back onto the streets, but he’s almost become like a piece of furniture in this apartment. He’s like an old couch that smells like shit and always creaks when you sit down on it, and it’s uncomfortable as shit, but for some reason you can’t throw it away. That’s Richard.

His face falls, and he says softly, “We weren’t married.”

I tilt my head slightly out of confusion. What? I know Tessa told me that they were . . .

“Tessa doesn’t know. No one does. We were never married legally. We had a wedding to please her parents, but we never filed the paperwork. I didn’t want it.”

“Why?” But maybe a more important question is, why am I so interested in this shit? Minutes ago I was imagining slamming Richard’s head through the drywall; now I’m participating in gossip like a fucking teenage girl. I should be listening at the door of my bedroom, making sure Tessa’s mum isn’t filling her head with bullshit to try to take her away from me.

“Because marriage wasn’t for me”—he scratches his head—“or so I thought. We did everything as a married couple; she took my last name. I’m not quite sure how she pulled that off—I think it was like she thought that by doing it, I’d finally consent or something, but no one knew the sacrifices she made for my selfishness.”

I wonder how Tessa would feel about this information . . . she’s so obsessed with the idea of marriage. Would this diminish her obsession, or fuel it?

“Over the years, she grew tired of my behavior. We fought like cats and dogs, and let me tell you, that woman was relentless, but I took it from her. Once she stopped fighting me, that’s when I knew it was over. I watched the fire slowly die out in her over the years.” Looking at his eyes, I can see he’s removed himself from this room and launched himself into the past. “Every single night she would be waiting at the dinner table, her and Tessie both in dresses and hairpins, only for me to stumble in and complain about the burned edges of lasagna. Half the time I’d pass out before the fork hit my mouth, and every night ended with a fight . . . I can’t remember the half of it.” A visible shudder passes over him.

A vision of a very young Tessa, all dressed up at the table, waiting excitedly to see her father after a long day, only to have him crush her, makes me want to reach out and strangle the man.

“I don’t want to hear another word,” I warn him, meaning it.

“I’ll stop now.” I can see the embarrassment plastered on his face. “I just wanted you to know that Carol wasn’t always like this. I did it to her. I made her the bitter, angry woman she is today. You don’t want history to repeat itself, do you?”

chapter

one hundred and twenty-four

TESSA

My mother and I sit in silence. My mind is reeling, and my heart is pounding as I watch her tuck a lock of thick blond hair behind her ear. She’s calm and collected—not overwhelmed the way I am.

“Why would you let your father come here? After all this time. I can understand you wanting to see him more after running into him on the street, but not allowing him to move in,” she finally says.

“I didn’t allow him to move in; I don’t live here anymore. Hardin let him stay out of kindness, kindness that you misinterpreted and threw in his face.” I don’t hide my disgust about the way she treated him.

My mother—everyone—will always misunderstand Hardin, and why I love him. It doesn’t matter, though, because I don’t need them to.

“He called you because he thought you would be there for me.” I sigh, mentally deciding which way I want to steer the conversation before she bulldozes me into acquiescence in her typical Carol Young fashion.

My mother’s blue eyes are somber, cast to the ground. “Why do you turn against everyone to defend that boy, after all he has done to you? He’s put you through so much, Theresa.”

“He’s worth the defending, Mother. That’s why.”

“But—”

“He is. I won’t keep having this discussion with you. I told you before, if you can’t accept him, then I can’t have a relationship with you. Hardin and I are a package deal, whether you like it or not.”

“I once thought that about your father.” I do my best not to flinch when she lifts her hand to smooth the front of my hair.

“Hardin is nothing like my father.”

A light laugh sounds from her painted lips. “Yes, oh yes, he is. He is like him in so many ways.”

“You can leave if you’re going to say those things.”

“Calm down.” She repeats the smoothing action on my hair. I’m torn between being irritated by the patronizing gesture and being comforted by the decent memories it brings. “I want to tell you a story.”

I’ll admit I’m intrigued by her words, though I’m skeptical of her motives. She never told me stories about my father while I was growing up, so this ought to be interesting. “Nothing you say will change my mind about Hardin,” I tell her.

The corners of her mouth turn up slightly as she declares, “Your father and I never married.”

“What?” I sit up straight on the bed, crossing my legs beneath me. What does she mean, they never married? Yes, they did, I’ve seen the pictures. My mother’s lace gown was exquisite, despite the fact that her belly was slightly swollen, and my father’s suit wasn’t tailored properly, it hung off him like a potato sack. I used to love to look through those albums and admire the way my mother’s cheeks glowed as my father looked down at her as if she were the only person in his world. I remember the awful scene that ensued one day when my mother found me looking through them; after that, she hid them away, and I never saw them again.

“It’s true.” She sighs. I can tell that this disclosure is humiliating for her. Her hands are shaking when she says, “We had a wedding, but your father never wanted to be married. I knew that, I knew that if I hadn’t gotten pregnant with you, he’d have left me much sooner. Your grandparents pushed the marriage on him. You see, your father and I could never get along, not even for a day. It was exciting in the beginning, thrilling even”—the blue of her eyes is lost in the memory—“but as you will come to see, there’s only so much that one person can take. As the nights came and went and the years passed, I prayed to God every night that he would change for me, for you. I prayed that one night, he’d walk through that front door with a bouquet of roses in his hand instead of liquor on his breath.” She leans back and crosses her arms in front of her chest. Bracelets that she can’t afford hang from her wrists, a tribute to her excessive need to look stylish.

My mother’s confession has left me silent. She’s never been one for open discussion, especially when the topic is my father. The sympathy that I suddenly find myself feeling for this cold woman brings me to tears.

“Stop that,” she scolds me before continuing: “Every woman hopes to be the one to reform her man, but that’s all it is: false hope. I don’t want you going down the same path that I did. I want more for you.” I feel nauseous. “That is why I raised you to be able to get out of that small town and make a life for yourself.”

“I’m not—” I begin to defend myself, but she raises her hand to silence me.

“We had our good days, too, Theresa. Your father was funny and charming—she smiles—“and he was trying his best to be what I needed him to be, but his true self overpowered that, and he became frustrated with me and with the life we shared for all those years. He turned to liquor, and it was never the same. I know you remember.” Her voice is haunted, and I can hear the vulnerability in her tone and see it shining in her eyes, but she recovers quickly. My mother has never been fond of weakness.

I’m once again taken back to the screaming, the breaking of dishes, even the occasional “these bruises on my arms are from gardening,” and feel my stomach get tied up in knots.

“Can you honestly look me in the eyes and tell me that you have a future with this boy?” she asks as the silence ticks on.

I can’t respond. I know the future that I want with Hardin. Whether he’ll be willing to give it to me is the question.

“I wasn’t always like this, Theresa.” She gently dabs both index fingers under her eyes. “I used to love life, I was always excited about the future . . . and look at me now. You may think I’m a horrible person for wanting to protect you from my fate, but I’m only doing what’s necessary to keep you from repeating my history. I don’t want this for you . . .” I struggle to picture a young Carol, happy and excited about each new day. I can count the times that I’ve heard the woman laugh in the last five years on one hand.

“It’s not the same, Mother.” I force myself to say the words.

“Theresa, you cannot deny the similarities.”

“There are some, yes,” I admit, more to myself than to her, “but I refuse to believe that history is repeating itself. Hardin has already changed so much.”

“If you have to change him, why even bother?” Her voice is calm now as she looks around the bedroom that once was mine.

“I haven’t changed him, he’s changed himself. He’s still the same man; all the things that I love about him are there, only he has learned to handle things differently and has become a better version of himself.”

“I saw his bloody hand,” she points out.

I shrug. “He has a temper.” A massive one, but I won’t go along with her putting him down. She needs to understand that I’m on his side, and that from now on, to get to him she has to go through me.

“So did your father.”

I stand. “Hardin would never purposely hurt me. He isn’t perfect, Mother, but neither are you. Neither am I.” I’m amazed at my own confidence as I cross my arms and match her glare.

“It’s more than his temper . . . Think of what he’s done to you. He humiliated you; you had to find another campus.”

I don’t have the energy to argue with her statement, mostly because it holds a lot of truth. I’d always wanted to move to Seattle, but my bad experience this first year at school gave me the extra push that I needed.

“He’s covered in tattoos . . . though at least he removed those hideous piercings.” Her face twists in disgust.

“You’re not perfect either, Mother,” I repeat. “The pearls around your neck hide your scars, just as Hardin’s tattoos hide his.”

My mother’s eyes quickly flick over to me, and I can clearly see the words repeating in her mind. It’s finally happened; I’ve finally made a breakthrough in dealing with her.

“I’m sorry for what my father did to you, I really am, but Hardin isn’t my father.” I sit back down next to her, and dare to place my hand over hers. Her skin is cold under my palm, but to my surprise, she doesn’t pull away. “And I’m not you,” I add as gently as possible.

“You will be if you don’t get as far away from him as you can.”

I remove my hand from hers and take a deep breath to stay calm. “You don’t have to approve of my relationship, but you have to respect it. If you can’t,” I say, struggling to stay confident, “then you and I will never be able to have a relationship.”

She slowly shakes her head from side to side. I know she was expecting me to give in to her, to agree that Hardin and I could never work. She was wrong.

“You cannot give me that type of ultimatum.”

“Yes, I can. I need as much support as possible, and I am beyond exhausted with battling against the world.”

“If you feel as if you’re battling alone, perhaps it’s time to change sides.” She raises an accusatory brow at me. I stand again.

“I’m not battling alone, stop doing that. Stop it,” I hiss. I’m trying my best to be patient with her, but my resolve is wearing as thin, as this night is long.

“I’m never going to like him,” my mother says, and I know she means every word.

“You don’t have to like him, but you won’t be spreading our business to anyone else, including my father. That was incredibly wrong of you to tell him about the bet, and not in the least justified.”

“Your father had the right to know what he has caused.”

She doesn’t get it! She still doesn’t understand. My head is going to explode any moment; I can feel the pressure building in my neck. “Hardin is trying his hardest for me, but until now he’s never known any better,” I tell her.

She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t even look at me.

“That’s it, then? You’re going to take the second option?” I ask.

She stares at me, silent, the wheels of her mind turning and turning behind her heavily shaded eyes. She has no color left in her cheeks, despite the rosy blush she clearly swept across her cheekbones before she arrived. At last she mutters, “I’ll try to respect your relationship. I will try.”

“Thank you,” I say, but really I don’t know what to make of this . . . truce with my mother. I’m not naive enough to believe what she’s promised until she proves it, but it still feels pretty good to have one of the heavy stones lifted from my back.

“What will you do about your father?” We both stand; she towers over me in her four-inch heels.

“I don’t know.” I’ve been too distracted by the topic of Hardin to focus on my father.

“You should make him leave; he has no business being here clouding your mind and filling it with lies.”

“He’s done no such thing,” I fire back. Every time I believe we’ve made any type of progress, she uses her sharp heel to kick me back down.

“He has! He has strangers showing up here, shaking him down for money! Hardin told me all of it.”

Why would he do that? I understand his concern, but my mother hasn’t helped the situation one bit. “I’m not going to kick him out. This isn’t my place, and he has nowhere else to go.”

My mother’s eyes close, and she shakes her head at me for the tenth time in the last twenty minutes. “You have to stop trying to fix people, Theresa. You will spend your entire life doing it, but then you’ll have nothing left of yourself, even if you succeed in changing them.”

“Tessa?” Hardin’s voice calls from outside the bedroom. He opens the door before I respond, and his eyes immediately scan my face for signs of distress.