Текст книги "After We Fell"

Автор книги: Anna Todd

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Текущая страница: 43 (всего у книги 49 страниц)

“You okay?” he asks, ignoring my mother’s presence completely.

“Yeah.” I gravitate toward him but avoid throwing my arms around him, for my mother’s sake. The poor woman has already been dragged through twenty years of memories.

“I was just leaving.” My mother runs her palms down her dress, stopping at the hem and then repeating the action, a frown settling on her face.

“Good,” Hardin rudely remarks, quick to protect me.

I look up at him, my eyes pleading with him for silence. He rolls his eyes but doesn’t say another word as my mother strides by us and marches down the hall. The obnoxious clicking of her heels sends me into a full migraine.

I take his hand and follow in silence. My father attempts to speak to my mother, but she brushes him off.

“You didn’t wear a coat?” he unexpectedly asks her.

Just as puzzled as I am, she mumbles “no” and turns to me. “I’ll call you tomorrow . . . Answer this time?” It’s a question instead of a demand, which is some sort of progress.

“Yes.” I nod.

She doesn’t say goodbye. I knew she wouldn’t.

“That woman drives me flippin’ crazy!” my father shouts when the door closes, his hands flying into the air in exasperation.

“We’re going to bed. If anyone else knocks at the damn door, don’t answer it,” Hardin grumbles and leads me back to the bedroom.

I’m beyond exhausted. I can barely stand on my feet.

“What did she say?” Hardin lifts his sweatshirt over his head and tosses it at me. I detect a flicker of uncertainty as he waits for me to collect it from the floor.

Despite the greasy butter and blood smeared on the black fabric, I gladly remove my own shirt, along with my bra, and pull it over my head. I breathe in the familiar scent of him, which aides in calming my nerves. “More than she’s said in my entire life,” I admit. My mind is still reeling.

“Did any of it change your mind?” He looks at me, panic and fear filling his eyes. I get the feeling my father must have had a similar talk with him, and wonder if my father holds the same grudge against my mother as she holds against him or if he admits that he’s to blame for the turmoil in both of their lives.

“No.” I pull my loose pants down my legs and place them on the chair.

“You’re sure? Aren’t you worried that we’re repeating their—” Hardin begins.

“No, we are not. We’re nothing like them.” I stop him. I don’t want anyone else getting into his head, not tonight.

Hardin doesn’t look convinced, but I force myself not to focus on that right now.

“What do you want me to do about your dad? Kick him out?” he asks. He moves to sit on the bed with his back against the headboard while I grab his dirty jeans and socks from the floor. Hardin’s arms lift to rest behind his head, fully displaying his toned, inked body.

“No, don’t kick him out. Please.” I crawl into bed, and he pulls me onto his lap.

“I won’t,” he assures me. “Not tonight, at least.” I look up for a smile, but there isn’t one.

“I’m so confused,” I groan into his chest.

“I can help with that.” He lifts his pelvis, and l’m forced forward, using my palms to steady myself against his exposed chest.

I roll my eyes. “Of course you can. Every problem looks like a nail when your first tool of choice is a hammer.”

He smiles wickedly. “Are you saying you need to get nailed?”

Before I can bemoan his bad joke, he takes my chin between his long, busted fingers, and I find myself shifting my hips, rubbing against him. I’m vaguely aware of my period; I know Hardin certainly doesn’t mind it.

“You need sleep, baby; it would be wrong to fuck you right now,” he says softly.

I shamelessly pout. “No, it wouldn’t,” I say and slide my palms down his stomach.

“Oh no, you don’t.” He stops me.

I need a distraction, and Hardin is the perfect fix. “You started it,” I whine. I sound desperate, because I am.

“I know, and I’m sorry for that. I’ll take you in the car tomorrow.” His fingers slip under the sweatshirt and begin to draw unknown shapes across my bare back. “And if you’re a good girl, I’ll even bend you over the desk at my father’s house, just the way you like,” he says into my ear.

My breathing hitches, and I playfully swat at him, and he laughs. His laugh is almost as distracting as sex would be. Almost.

“Besides, we don’t want to make a mess in here tonight, do we? With your father out there? He’ll probably see the blood on the sheets and assume I’ve killed you.” He bites the inside of his cheek.

“Do not start that,” I warn him. His cheesy menstrual jokes are not welcome right now.

“Ahh, baby, don’t be like that.” He pinches my behind, and I yelp, sliding further into his lap, “Go with the flow.” He grins.

“You’ve used that one before.” I smile back.

“Well, excuse me for not being original. I like to recycle my jokes about once a month.”

I groan and try to roll off him, but he stops me and nuzzles my neck.

“You’re disgusting,” I say.

“Yeah, I’m just an old bloody rag, I suppose.” He laughs and presses his lips to mine.

I roll my eyes. “Speaking of bloody rags, let me see your hand.” I reach behind my back and gently grab him by the wrist. His middle finger is the worst, a thick gash spreads from knuckle to knuckle. “You should get this looked at, if it doesn’t begin to heal tomorrow.”

“I’m fine.”

“This one, too.” I run the pad of my index finger over the mangled skin on his ring finger.

“Stop fussing, woman, go to sleep,” he grumbles.

I nod in agreement and drift off to the sound of him complaining about my father eating his Frosted Flakes again.

chapter

one hundred and twenty-five

TESSA

I lay in bed for over two hours, waiting patiently for Hardin to wake up, before I gave up. By the time I’ve showered and am fully dressed, the kitchen is cleaned, and I’ve taken two ibuprofen to get rid of my cramps and massive headache. I make my way back to the bedroom to wake him up myself.

I gently shake his arm and whisper his name. It doesn’t work.

“Hardin, wake up.” I roughly grip his shoulder and recoil when the vision of my mother ripping my father’s slumbering body off of the couch flashes into my mind. All morning I’ve been avoiding thoughts of my mother and the heartbreaking history lesson I was given last night. My father is still asleep; I imagine that her short visit has worn him out as well.

“No,” he grumbles sleepily.

“If you won’t get up, then I’ll be going to your father’s house alone,” I say, slipping my feet into my flat shoes. I have many pairs of Toms, but I always find myself wearing the tan crocheted ones the most. Hardin calls them “hideous moccasins,” but I love the comfortable shoes.

He groans and rolls over onto his stomach, pushing himself up onto his elbows. His eyes are still closed when he turns his head to me. “No, you won’t.”

I knew he wouldn’t like that idea, which is precisely why I used it to get his behind out of the bed.

“Get up, then. I’ve already showered and everything,” I whine. I’m anxious to get to Landon’s house and see him, Ken, and Karen again. It feels like ages since I last saw that sweet woman in the strawberry-print apron that she hardly ever removes.

“Dammit.” Hardin pouts, opening one eye. I stifle a giggle at the lazy expression covering his face. I’m tired, too, mentally and physically drained, but the idea of getting out of this apartment for the day has perked me up tremendously.

“Come here first.” He opens the other eye and reaches out for me. The moment I’m beside him on the bed, he rolls his heavy body on top of mine, encasing me in his warmth. He purposely rubs his hardness against me, grinding his hips until he’s perfectly nestled between my thighs, his morning erection pressing torturously into me.

“Morning.” He’s wide-awake now, and I can’t help but laugh. He leisurely drags his hips in a circle again, and this time I try to wiggle free. He joins me in laughter but quickly silences me by covering my mouth with his. His tongue laps mine, gently caressing, hinting at an intention completely opposed to the sharp movements his hips are making.

“Are you plugged?” he whispers, still kissing me. His hands have moved to my chest, and my heart is thumping rapidly, making his sleepy voice barely audible.

“I am.” I nod, only mildly cringing at the hideous term I have become used to. He pulls away, his eyes slowly raking over my face, and his tongue swiping along his bottom lip, wetting it.

The sound of kitchen cabinets opening and closing carries down the hallway, followed by a large belch, and then the crash of pans on the floor.

Hardin’s eyes roll. “Fucking lovely.” He stares down at me. “Well, I had planned on fucking you before we left, but now that Mr. Sunshine’s awake . . .”

He climbs off of me and stands up, taking the blanket with him. “I’ll be quick in the shower,” he says with a scowl toward the door.

Hardin returns less than five minutes later just as I’m tucking in the corners of the bedsheet. The only article of clothing he’s wearing is a white towel wrapped around his waist. I force my eyes away from his gorgeous inked body and up to his face while he walks over to the dresser and pulls out a signature black T-shirt. Pulling it down over his head, he steps into a pair of boxers.

“Last night was a fucking disaster.” His eyes are focused on his busted hand as he buttons his jeans.

“Yeah.” I sigh, trying to avoid any further conversation that revolves around my parents.

“Let’s go.” He grabs his keys and phone from the dresser and shoves them into his pockets. He pushes his wet hair back off his forehead and opens the bedroom door. “Well . . . ?” he impatiently remarks when I don’t jump up right away. What happened to the playful Hardin from only minutes ago? If his bad mood continues this way, then I suspect that today will be just as bad as yesterday.

Without a word, I follow him through the door and down the hallway. The bathroom door is closed, and the water is on. I don’t want to wait for my father to get out of the shower, but I also don’t want to leave without telling him where we’re going and making sure he doesn’t need anything. What does he do in this apartment while he’s alone? Does he think about drugs all day? Does he have people over?

I shake the second thought from my head. Hardin would find out if he brought bad friends around, and my father sure as heck wouldn’t still be here if that were the case.

HARDIN STAYS QUIET during the drive to Ken and Karen’s place. The only assurance I have that today isn’t going to be a total wash is his hand resting on my thigh while he focuses on the road.

When we arrive, Hardin, as always, doesn’t knock before walking inside. The sweet smell of maple syrup fills the house, and we follow the scent to the kitchen. Karen is standing next to the oven, a spatula is one hand while she waves the other through the air in conversation. An unfamiliar young woman is seated at one of the island stools. Her long brown hair is the only thing I see until she turns the stool around when Karen’s attention is directed toward us.

“Tessa, Hardin!” Karen nearly shrieks with joy as she carefully places the spatula onto the counter and rushes over to wrap her arms around me. “It’s been so long!” she exclaims, holding me at arm’s length and then crushing me back to her body. Her warm welcome is exactly what I needed after last night.

“It’s only been three weeks, Karen,” Hardin rudely remarks.

Her smile dims a fraction, and she tucks her hair behind her ear.

I peer around her to take in all the baked goods around the kitchen. “What are you making?” I ask to distract her from her stepson’s sour attitude.

“Maple cookies, maple cupcakes, maple squares, and maple muffins.” Karen pulls me along gently while Hardin cowers in the corner, a deep frown set on his face.

Ignoring him, I look at the young woman again, unsure how to introduce myself.

“Oh!” Karen takes notice. “I’m sorry, I should have introduced you first thing.” She gestures to the woman. “This is Sophia; her parents live just down the road.”

Sophia smiles and reaches to shake my hand. “Nice to meet you,” she says with a smile. She’s beautiful, extremely beautiful. Her eyes are bright and her smile warm; she’s older than me, but she can’t be much more than twenty-five.

“I’m Tessa, Landon’s friend,” I say.

Hardin coughs behind me, obviously displeased at my choice of words. I assume Sophia knows Landon, and since Hardin and I are . . . well, this morning it just seems easier to introduce myself this way.

“I haven’t gotten to meet Landon yet,” Sophia says. Her voice is soft and sweet, and I immediately like her.

“Oh?” I assumed she knew him, since her family lives down the road.

“Sophia has just graduated from the Culinary Institute of America in New York,” Karen brags for her, and Sophia smiles. I don’t blame her; if I’d just graduated from the best culinary school in the country, I’d let people brag for me, too. I mean, if I wasn’t already doing it myself.

“I’m visiting my family, and I ran into Karen down the road . . . buying some syrup.” She grins, eyeing the massive amount of maple-flavored goodies on display.

“Oh, and this is Hardin,” I say to include my brooding man in the background.

She smiles at him. “Nice to meet you.”

He doesn’t even look at the poor woman and just says, “Yeah.”

I in turn offer her a shrug and a sympathetic smile, then turn to Karen. “Where’s Landon?”

Her eyes flicker to Hardin, then to me, before she answers, “He’s upstairs . . . He hasn’t been feeling well,” she says. My stomach turns; there’s something going on with my best friend, I know it.

“I’m going upstairs.” Hardin turns to leave.

“Wait, I’ll go,” I offer. If something is going on with Landon, the last thing he needs is Hardin taunting him.

“No.” Hardin shakes his head. “I’ll go. Have some syrup cakes or whatever,” he grumbles and takes two stairs at a time, giving me no chance to argue.

Karen and Sophia watch him go. “Hardin is Ken’s son,” Karen says. Despite his poor attitude today, she still smiles proudly at the mention of his name.

Sophia nods in understanding. “He’s lovely,” she lies, and the three of us burst into laughter.

chapter

one hundred and twenty-six

HARDIN

Fortunately for both of us, Landon’s not rubbing one out when I push his bedroom door open. Predictably, he’s seated in the recliner against the wall with a textbook on his lap.

“What are you doing in here?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

“You knew we were coming.” I take the liberty of sitting on the edge of his bed.

“I meant in my room,” he clarifies.

I choose not to answer that; actually, I don’t know why I’m in his room. I sure as hell didn’t want to stay downstairs with three women obsessing over one another.

“You look like shit,” I tell him.

“Thanks.” He looks back down at the textbook.

“What’s wrong with you? Why are you up here moping around?” I look around his normally tidy room to find it sort of messy—clean by my standards, but not by his and Tessa’s.

“I’m not moping.”

“If something’s wrong, tell me. I’m really good at, like, caring,” I say, hoping humor might help somehow.

He slams the book shut and stares at me. “Why would I tell you anything? So you can laugh at me?”

“No. I wouldn’t,” I say. I probably would. I had actually been planning on him telling me some stupid shit about getting a bad grade so I could take my frustrations out on him, but now that he’s here, in front of me, looking all pitiful, making him miserable doesn’t appeal to me as much as it did before.

“Just tell me, maybe I can help,” I offer. I have no fucking idea why I just said that. We both know I’m shit at helping anyone. Look at what a fucking disaster last night turned out to be. Richard’s words have been eating away at me all morning.

“Help me?” Landon gapes, obviously wary of my offer.

“Oh, come on, don’t make me beat it out of you.” I lie back on his bed and examine the blades of the ceiling fan, willing it to be summer already so I could enjoy the sensation of it cooling me down.

I hear his light chuckle and the sound of the book being placed on the desk beside him. “Dakota and I have ended things,” he admits meekly.

I sit up quickly. “What?” That was the last thing I imagined would come from his mouth.

“Yeah, we’ve been trying to make it work . . .” He frowns, his eyes glossing over.

If he fucking cries, I’m out of here.

“Oh . . .” I say and look away.

“I think she’s been wanting to end it for a while.”

I glance at him again, not wanting to put too much focus on his sad features. He really is like a puppy, especially right now. I don’t like puppies, though, except this one, maybe . . . My sudden animosity toward the curly-haired girl is strong.

“Why do you think that?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. She didn’t come right out and say that she wanted to end it . . . It’s just . . . she’s been so busy lately, and she never returns my calls. It’s like the closer it got to me coming to New York, the more distant she became.”

“She’s probably fucking someone else,” I blurt out, and he flinches.

“No! She isn’t like that,” he says, defending her.

I probably shouldn’t have said that. “Sorry.” I shrug.

“She’s not that type of girl at all,” he tells me.

Neither was Tessa, but I had her shaking and moaning my name while she was still seeing Noah . . . though I keep that fact to myself for everyone’s sake.

“Okay,” I say agreeably.

“I’ve been dating her so long that I can’t even remember what life was like before her.” His voice is quiet and so full of sadness that it makes my chest tight. It’s an odd feeling.

“I know what you mean,” I say. Life before Tessa was nothing, only sloshed memories and darkness, and that’s exactly what it would be like after her, too.

“Yeah, but at least you won’t have to find out what it would be like after.”

“What makes you so sure?” I ask, noting that I’m taking away from his breakup announcement, but I must know the answer.

“I can’t imagine anything would tear you two apart . . . nothing has so far.” Landon says it like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. Maybe it is to him; I wish it were that obvious to me.

“So what now? Are you still going to New York? You’re supposed to be leaving in what . . . two weeks?”

“Yeah, and I don’t know. I’ve worked so hard to get into NYU, and I’ve already enrolled in my summer classes and everything. It just seems like a waste not to go, but it seems pointless to go at the same time.” His fingers rub circles over his temples. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You shouldn’t go,” I say. “It would be really awkward.”

“It’s a big city: we’ll never run into each other. And besides, we’ll still be friends.”

“Sure, the whole ‘friends’ thing.” I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Why didn’t you tell Tessa what was going on?” I ask him. She’s going to be heartbroken for him.

“Tess has—” he begins.

“Tess-a,” I correct him.

“—has enough on her plate. I don’t want her worrying for me.”

“You want me to keep this from her, don’t you?” I point out. I can tell by his guilty expression that he does.

“Only for now, until she catches a break. She’s too stressed lately, and I’m afraid one of these days something will tip her over the edge.” His concern for my girl is strong, and slightly irritating, but I decide against my better judgment and keep my mouth closed.

I groan. “She’ll kill me for this, you know that.” But I don’t want to tell her either. He’s right: she has enough going on, and I’m to blame for ninety percent of it.

“There’s more . . .” he begins.

Of course there is.

“It’s my mom, she—” But a light knock at the door silences him.

“Landon? Hardin?” Tessa’s voice sounds through the wood.

“Come in,” Landon calls, all the while looking at me with pleading eyes to reaffirm my promise of keeping his breakup from Tessa.

“I know,” I assure him as the door opens and Tessa steps inside carrying a plate and the thick smell of syrup with her.

“Karen wanted you two to try these.” She rests the plate on the desk and looks at me, then quickly turns to Landon with a smile. “Try the maple squares first. Sophia taught us how to properly ice them . . . See the little flowers.” Her small finger points to the clots of icing piled onto the brown crust. “She taught us how to make those; she’s so lovely.”

“Who?” Landon asks, his brow raised.

“Sophia; she just left to go back to her parents’ house down the road. Your mother really went crazy getting tons of baking secrets from her.” Tessa smiles and brings a square to her mouth. I knew she’d like that girl. I could tell instantly that the three of them would squeal over one another in the kitchen—it’s why I had to bolt.

“Oh.” Landon shrugs and reaches for a square. Tessa apprehensively holds the plate out to me and I shake my head, declining. Her shoulders slump but she doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll have a square,” I mumble, wanting her frown to go away. I’ve been an asshole all morning. She perks up and hands me one. The so-called flowers on the top look like globs of yellow snot. “You must have iced this one,” I tease her, pulling her by the wrist to sit on my lap.

“That was a practice one!” She defends herself with her defiant lift of the chin. I can tell she’s confused by my sudden shift in mood. Actually, so am I.

“Sure, baby.” I grin and she flicks a piece of the yellow icing onto my shirt.

She pouts. “I’m no chef, okay?”

I look at Landon, who has his mouth full of cupcake while he stares at the ground. I dip my finger onto my shirt to remove the icing, and before Tessa can stop me, I wipe my finger across her nose, smearing the hideous yellow across it.

“Hardin!” She tries to wipe it off, but I gather her hands in mine, the pastries falling to the floor.

“Oh, come on, guys!” Landon shakes his head at us. “My room’s already a mess!”

Ignoring him, I resume licking the icing from Tessa’s scrunched-up nose.

“I’ll help you clean up!” She laughs as my tongue runs along her cheek.

“You know, I miss the days when you wouldn’t even hold her hand in front of me,” Landon complains. He bends down to collect the broken squares and smashed cupcakes from his floor.

I sure as hell don’t miss those days, and I hope Tessa doesn’t either.

“DID YOU LIKE the maple squares, Hardin?” Karen asks while pulling a ham from the oven and sliding it onto a cutting board.

“They were okay.” I shrug my shoulders and take a seat at the table. When Tessa shoots me a glare from the seat next to me, and I backtrack. “They were good,” I say, earning a smile from my girl. I’ve finally begun to realize that the tiniest things make her smile. It’s weird as hell, but it works, so I’m going with it.

My father turns to me. “How is your graduation packet coming along?” He lifts his glass of water and takes a sip, looking much better than he did when I saw him in his office last week.

“Good, it’s completed. I’m not going to walk, remember?” I know he remembers; he’s just hoping that I’ve changed my mind.

“What do you mean, you’re not going to walk?” Tessa interrupts, which causes Karen to look up and stop carving the ham.

Fucking hell. “I’m not walking in that graduation, I’m having my diploma mailed,” I reply sternly. This isn’t going to turn into a trample-Hardin-and-change-his-mind thing.

“Why not?” Tessa asks, which makes my father look pleased. That asshole planned this, I know he did.

“I don’t want to.” I look at Landon for backup, but he’s avoiding my gaze. So much for our bonding shit earlier; it’s clear that he’s back on Team Tessa. “Don’t push it right now, I’m not walking, and I won’t be changing my mind,” I say to her, loud enough that everyone will hear me so there won’t be any mistaking the finality of my decision.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she threatens with flushed cheeks.

Sure, Tess, sure.

Karen comes over with the ham on a serving platter, looking pretty proud of her creation. I suppose she should; admittedly it smells pretty good. I wonder if she found a way to use maple syrup on it, too.

“Your mum said you’ve decided to go to England,” my father says. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable speaking on the topic in front of Karen. I suppose they’ve been together long enough that him talking about my mum isn’t awkward.

“Yes.” I give him a one-word answer and take a bite of ham to signal that I’m done with the table chat.

“You’re going, too, right, Tessa?” he asks her.

“Yes, I have to finalize my passport, but I’m going.”

The smile on her face knocks my irritation down a notch.

“It will be an amazing experience for you; I know you told me how much you love England. I hate to ruin it for you, though, but modern London isn’t quite like the London in your novels.” He grins at her, and she laughs.

“Thank you for the warning, I’m aware that Dickens’s London fog was actually smog.”

Tessa fits in so well with my father and his new family, much better than I do. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be speaking to any of them.

“Have Hardin take you down to Chawton, it’s less than two hours from Hampstead, where Trish lives,” my father suggests.

I had planned on taking her there anyway, thanks.

“That would be lovely.” Tessa turns to me; her hand moves under the table, and she squeezes my thigh. I know she wants me to be a good sport throughout this dinner, but my father is making it difficult. “I’ve heard a lot about Hampstead,” she adds.

“It’s changed a lot over the years. It’s not the small, quiet village it was when I lived there. Real estate prices have skyrocketed,” he tells her. Like she gives a fuck about the real estate in my hometown.

“There are plenty of places to see—how long will you be staying?” he asks.

“Three days.” Tessa answers for both of us. I don’t plan on taking her anywhere except Chawton. I thoroughly plan to keep her locked away so her weekend won’t be ruined by any of my ghosts.

“I was thinking . . .” My father presses a cloth napkin to his mouth. “I called around to a few places this morning and I found a really nice facility for your father.”

Tessa’s fork drops from her hand and clatters onto her plate. Landon, Karen, and my father are all staring at her, waiting for her to speak.

“What?” I break the silence so she doesn’t have to.

“I found a really nice treatment facility; they offer a three-month program for recovering . . .”

Tessa whimpers next to me. It’s such a low sound that no one else hears it, but it resonates throughout my entire body. How dare he bring this shit up to her in front of an audience at the dinner table!

“. . . the best in Washington, though we could look elsewhere, too, if you’d like.” His voice is soft, and I don’t hear a hint of judgment in it, but her cheeks are flushed in embarrassment, and I want to rip my father’s fucking head clear off.

“This isn’t the time to bring this shit up to her,” I warn him.

Tessa jerks slightly at my harsh tone. “It’s okay, Hardin.” Her eyes plead with mine. “I’m just a little caught off guard,” she politely says.

“No, Tessa, it’s not okay.” I turn to Ken. “How did you even know that her father is a junkie anyway?”

Tessa flinches again; I could break all the plates in this house for his bringing this up.

“Landon and I talked about it last night, and we both thought that discussing a rehabilitation plan with Tessa would be a good idea. It’s very hard for addicts to get clean on their own,” he says.

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” The words are out before I can think them through.

My words didn’t have the intended effect on my father, who just brushes the statement off with a smooth pause. When I look over to his wife, sadness is clear in her eyes. “Yes, as a recovering alcoholic, I would know,” he replies.

“How much does it cost?” I ask him. I make enough money to fully support myself, and Tessa, but rehab? That shit’s expensive.

“I would cover it,” my father calmly answers.

“Hell, no.” I try to stand from the table, but Tessa’s grip on my arm is strong. I sit back down. “You aren’t paying for it.”

“Hardin, I’m more than willing to.”

“Maybe the two of you should talk about this in the other room,” Landon suggests.

What he’s really saying is, Don’t talk about it in front of Tessa. Her grip on my arm lets up, and my father gets to his feet at the same time that I do. Tessa doesn’t look up from her plate as we go into the living room.

“I’m sorry,” I hear Landon say just before I pin my father against the wall. I’m getting mad, enraged—I can feel the anger taking over.

My father pushes me off with more force than I’d expect.

“Why couldn’t you bring this up to me before throwing it in her face at the fucking dinner table—in front of everyone!” I shout at him, squeezing my fists tight to my sides.

“I think Tessa should have some say in it, and I knew you’d refuse my offer to pay.” His voice is calm, unlike mine. I’m pissed the hell off and my blood is boiling. I’m reminded of the many times I stormed out of family dinners at the Scott residence. It might as well be a damn tradition.

“You’re damn right, I refuse. You don’t need to be throwing your fucking money around to us—we don’t need it.”

“That’s not my intention here. I just want to help you in any way that I can.”

“How is sending her fuckup of a father to rehab going to help me?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

He sighs. “Because if he’s well, then she’s well. And she’s the only way to help you. I know that, and so do you.”

I let out a deep breath, not even arguing back, because he’s right this time. I just need a few minutes to calm down, to bring myself back to reason.