Текст книги "After We Fell"

Автор книги: Anna Todd

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Текущая страница: 47 (всего у книги 49 страниц)

chapter

one hundred and thirty-five

HARDIN

I’ve paced around the entire house over a hundred times, I’ve walked around this shitty neighborhood twice, I even called Landon. Now I’m stir-crazy, and Tessa isn’t answering any of my calls. Where the hell are they?

I look at my phone; it’s after three. How long could this spa shit take?

Adrenaline is coursing through me when I hear a car crunching over the gravel driveway. I go to a front window and see that it’s my mum’s. Tessa gets out first and walks to the back, pulling out a massive white bag. Something is different about her.

“I got it!” she calls to my mum as I open the screen door. I take the steps quickly and grab the stupid dress from her hands.

Her hair . . . what did she do to her hair?

“I’m going next door to get Mike!” my mum yells to us.

“What the hell did you do to your hair?” I repeat my thought out loud. Tessa frowns, and I watch the sparkle in her eyes dim drastically.

Shit.

“I’m just asking . . . it looks nice,” I tell her and take another look. It does look nice. She always looks beautiful.

“I had it dyed . . . you don’t like it?” She follows me into the house. I toss the bag onto the couch. “Be careful! That’s your mother’s wedding gown!” she shrieks, lifting the bottom of the bag from the floor. Her hair looks shinier than usual, too, and her eyebrows are different. Women do too much shit to impress men who can barely tell the difference.

“I don’t have a problem with your hair, I was just surprised by it,” I tell her, meaning it. It’s not that different from the hair she left the house with—just a little darker toward the top, but it’s basically the same.

“Good, because it’s my hair and I’ll wear it how I want it.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and a laugh bursts through my lips.

“What?” She glowers. She’s serious.

“Nothing. I’m just finding your whole almighty-powerful-woman-thing amusing, that’s all.” I continue to laugh.

“Well, I’m glad you find it amusing because that’s how it is,” she challenges.

“Okay.” I grab the sleeve of her sweater and pull her to me, ignoring the cleavage on display beneath it. I get the feeling this wouldn’t be a good time to call her on it.

“I’m serious, no more caveman shit,” she says, a small smile breaking her scowl as she tugs at my chest.

“Okay, calm down. What the hell did my mum do to you?” I press my lips against her forehead, and relief floods through me because she hasn’t mentioned Susan or Natalie. I’d much rather hear her cursing me out over her dyed hair than over my past.

“Nothing; you were rude about my hair and I figured it was a good time to warn you that things are changing around here.” She bites her cheek to conceal a grin. She’s teasing and testing, and it’s fucking adorable.

“Sure, sure, no more caveman.” I roll my eyes, and she pulls away. “I’m serious, I get it.” I pull her back to me.

“I missed you today.” She sighs into my chest, and I wrap my arms around her again.

“You did?” I ask, wanting her to confirm. She hasn’t been reminded of my past after all. Everything is fine. This weekend will be fine.

“Yeah, especially while I was getting a massage. Eduardo’s hands were even bigger than yours.” Tessa giggles. Her giggles turn into shrieks as I lift her over my shoulder and head toward the stairs. I know for a fact she didn’t get a damn massage by some man; if she had, she sure as hell wouldn’t tell me about it and then start laughing.

See, I can lighten up on the caveman shit. Unless, of course, there’s a real threat. Never mind that “unless”; this is Tessa we’re talking about, and there’s always someone trying to keep her from me.

The back door screeches open, and my mum’s voice calls our names through the house just as I reach the halfway point of the staircase. I groan, and Tessa wiggles, begging me to put her down. I do as she wants, only because I’ve missed her all day and my mum will be extra obnoxious if I show Tessa too much affection in front of her and the neighbor.

“We’re coming!” Tessa responds when I put her back on her feet.

“Actually, we aren’t.” I kiss the corner of her mouth, and she smiles.

“You aren’t.” She waggles her new eyebrows, and I smack her ass as she rushes down the stairs.

Most of the weight on my chest has been lifted. I behaved like a fucking idiot last night for no reason. My mum wouldn’t have purposely taken Tessa around Natalie; why was I so worried?

“What do you two want to do for dinner? I was thinking we could go to Zara, the four of us.” My mum turns to her soon-to-be husband as soon as we enter the living room. Tessa nods even though she has no idea what Zara is.

“I hate Zara. It’s too crowded, and Tessa isn’t going to like anything there,” I grumble. Tessa would eat anything to keep the peace, but I know she wouldn’t want to eat liver or pureed lamb for the first time in a situation where she’d feel obligated to smile and pretend that it’s the best thing she’s ever eaten.

“Blues Kitchen, then?” Mike suggests. Honestly, I don’t want to go any fucking where.

“Too loud.” I rest my elbows on the counter and pick at the edges where the Formica is chipping.

“Well, you decide and let us know,” my mum says in exasperation. I know she’s growing impatient with me, but I’m here, aren’t I?

Glancing at the clock, I nod. It’s only five; we won’t need to leave for another hour. “I’m going upstairs,” I tell them.

“We need to leave in ten minutes—you know how parking is around here,” my mum says.

Great. I hurry out of the living room. I hear Tessa following behind me.

“Hey.” She grabs the sleeve of my shirt as I reach the hallway.

I turn to face her.

“What?” I ask, trying to keep my tone as soft as possible despite my irritation.

“What’s going on with you? If something’s bothering you, just tell me and we can fix it,” she offers with a nervous smile.

“How was your lunch today?” She hasn’t brought it up, but I can’t help but ask.

She catches on. “Oh . . .” Her eyes look down to the floor, and I press my thumb under her chin to make her look at me. “It was nice.”

“What did you talk about?” I ask her. It obviously wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, but I can tell she’s hesitant to discuss it.

“I met her . . . Natalie. I met her.”

My blood runs cold. I slightly bend my knees to get a better look at her face. “And?”

“She’s lovely,” Tessa says. I wait for her to frown or for her eyes to give away her anger, but nothing comes.

“She’s ‘lovely’?” I repeat, completely and utterly confused by her response.

“Yes, she was so sweet . . . and very pregnant.” Tessa smiles.

“And Susan?” I hesitantly ask.

“Susan was very fun and nice as well.”

But . . . but Susan hated me for what I did to her niece. “It was okay, then?”

“Yes, Hardin. My day was fine. I missed you, but my day was fine.” She reaches her hand out to grab my shirt and bring me closer to her. She looks so fucking beautiful in the dim lighting of the hallway. “Everything is fine, don’t worry,” she declares.

My head rests on top of hers, and she wraps her arms tightly around my waist.

She’s comforting me? Tessa is comforting me, assuring me that everything will be okay, after coming face-to-face with the girl that I nearly destroyed. She says it will be okay . . . Will it?

“It never is, though,” I whisper, almost hoping she won’t hear the words. If she did hear them, she chooses not to respond.

“I don’t want to go to dinner with them,” I admit, breaking the silence between us. I really just want to take Tessa upstairs and lose myself in her, forget all the shit that’s been torturing my mind all day, push all the ghosts and memories away and focus on her. I want hers to be the only damn voice in my head, and burying myself in her right now will ensure that it is.

“We have to—it’s your mother’s wedding weekend. We don’t have to stay long.” She stretches to kiss the top of my cheek, then her lips travel down to my jaw.

“I couldn’t be more excited,” I mutter sarcastically.

“Come on.” Tessa leads me back into the living room, her hand in mine, but the moment we join my mum and Mike, I drop her hand.

I sigh. “Well, let’s go eat.”

DINNER IS JUST AS TEDIOUS as I expected. My mum is keeping Tessa busy, chatting her ear off about weddings and the small guest list. She fills her in in on the family members that will be there, which isn’t much from my mum’s side; only one distant cousin will be attending since both of my mum’s parents are dead and have been for years. Mike is quiet during the meal, like me, but he doesn’t appear to be as bored as I am. He’s watching my mum with an expression that makes me want to smack him in his head. It’s sickening but somehow comforting. It’s obvious that he loves her, so I guess he’s not so bad.

“You’re my only shot at grandchildren, Tessa,” my mum teases as Mike pays the bill. Tessa chokes on her water, and I pat her on the back. She coughs a few times before apologizing, but when she recovers, her eyes are wide and she looks embarrassed. She’s overreacting, but I’m sure she was caught off guard by my mum’s crass and out-of-line statement.

Sensing my anger, my mum says, “I’m only teasing. I know you’re still young,” and childishly sticks her tongue out at me.

Young? It doesn’t matter how fucking young we are, she doesn’t need to be putting that shit in Tessa’s head. We’ve already agreed: no children. My mum making Tessa feel guilty and obligated won’t help anything—it’ll only cause another fight. The majority of our fights have been over children and marriage. Neither of which I want, or will ever want. I want Tessa, every single day for the rest of forever, but I won’t be marrying her. Richard’s warning from the other night creeps its way into my head, but I push it away.

After dinner, my mum kisses Mike good night, and he heads to his house next door. She’s following that stupid tradition of the groom not being able to see the bride before their wedding night. I think she’s forgotten that this isn’t her first rodeo; those stupid superstitions don’t apply the second time around.

As much as I’m dying to take Tessa in my old bed, I can’t do it with my mum in the house. This shitty place has no soundproofing, nothing. I can literally hear my mum each time she rolls over on her creaky mattress in the next room.

“I should have booked a hotel,” I whine as Tessa undresses. I wish she’d sleep in a parka so I wouldn’t be tormented all night by her half-naked body. She slips my T-shirt over her head, and I can’t help but stare at the curve of her tits underneath the fabric, the slope of her full hips, the way her voluptuous thighs almost fill the bottom of my shirt so it hugs to her skin. I’m glad the shirt isn’t too loose on her; it wouldn’t look nearly as fucking good. It wouldn’t make me this hard, and it sure as hell wouldn’t make this night so damn long.

“Come here, baby.” I hold my arms open to her, and she lays her head on my chest. I want to tell her how much it means to me that she handled the Natalie situation so well, but I can’t find the right words. I think she knows; she has to know how terrified I was that something would come between us.

Within minutes she’s asleep, clinging to me, and the words flow freely as I run my fingers over her hair.

“You’re everything to me,” I say.

I WAKE UP SWEATING. Tessa is still latched on to me, and I can barely breathe through the thick air. It’s too hot in this house. My mum must have turned the damn heat on. It’s spring now; there’s no need. I unhook Tessa’s limbs from around my body and wipe her sweat-soaked hair away from her forehead before walking downstairs to check the thermostat.

I’m half asleep when I turn the corner to the kitchen, but what I see next stops me in my tracks. I rub my eyes and even blink to clear the distorted image that has formed in front of me.

But it’s still there . . . they are still there no matter how many times I blink.

My mum is sitting on top of the counter, her thighs parted. A man stands between them, his arms wrapped around her waist. Her hands are buried in his blond hair. His mouth is on hers, or hers on his—I don’t fucking know—what I do know is that the man isn’t Mike.

It’s fucking Christian Vance.

chapter

one hundred and thirty-six

HARDIN

What? What is happening? For one of the few times in my life, I find myself speechless. My mum’s hands move from Vance’s hair down to his jaw, her mouth pushing harder against his.

I must have made a noise—probably a gasp, I don’t fucking know—because my mum’s eyes spring open and she immediately pushes at Vance’s shoulders. His head quickly turns to me, his eyes go wide, and he steps away from the counter. How did they not hear me coming down the stairs? Why is he here, in this kitchen?

What the actual fuck is happening?

“Hardin!” my mum says, her voice high with panic as she jumps down from the kitchen counter.

“Hardin, I can—” Vance starts. I hold up my hand to silence them while my mouth and brain work together, trying to make sense of the fucked-up sight in front of me.

“How . . .” I begin, the jumbled words flying through my mind not really connecting. “How . . . ?” I repeat, my feet beginning to move backward. I want to get away from them as fast as I possibly can, but I need an explanation at the same time.

I look back and forth between the two of them, trying to reconcile the people before me with those that I thought I knew. But I fail to do so, and nothing makes sense.

My heels hit the back of the stairs, and my mum steps toward me. “It’s not—” she begins.

I’m relieved to feel the familiar burn of anger beginning to chip away at my shock, sweeping over me and pushing away any vulnerability that may have been present seconds ago. Anger I can deal with—I revel in it; shock and stunned silence, not so much.

I’m walking toward them again before I realize what I’m doing, and my mum steps back, distancing herself from me, while Vance steps in front of her. What?

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I interrupt her, ignoring the selfish tears shining in her eyes. “You’re getting married tomorrow!”

“And you,” I seethe at my old boss, “you’re fucking engaged, and here you are about to fuck my mum on the goddamned kitchen counter!” I lower my hand and strike a harsh blow to the already damaged countertop. The cracking sound of the wood splintering excites me, makes me want more.

“Hardin!” my mum yells.

“Don’t you fucking yell at me!” I nearly scream. I hear the rush of footsteps above me, a signal that our voices have woken Tessa up, and I know she’s on her way to find me.

“Don’t talk to your mother like that.” Vance’s voice isn’t loud, but the threat in his tone is clear.

“You don’t get to tell me what the fuck to do! You’re no one—who the fuck are you?” My nails dig into my palms, and my anger grows, gathering into a large mass, ready to explode.

“I’m—” he begins, but my mum’s hand wraps around his shoulder and pulls him back.

“Christian, don’t,” she begs him.

“Hardin?” Tessa’s voice calls from the stairs, and she enters the kitchen only seconds later. She looks around the room, at the unexpected guest first, then her eyes settle on me as she comes to stand next to me. “Is everything okay?” she nearly whispers, wrapping her small hand around my arm.

“Everything is just fine! Perfect, really!” I pull my arm out of her grip and wave it in front of me. “Although you may want to warn your friend Kimberly that her beloved fiancé has been shagging my mum.”

Tessa’s eyes nearly fall out onto the floor at my words, but she remains silent. I wish she’d stayed upstairs, but I know if I were her, I wouldn’t have either.

“Where is your lovely Kimberly? Staying at a nearby hotel with your son?” I ask Vance, sarcasm screaming through my words. I don’t like Kimberly, she’s fucking nosy and obnoxious, but she loves Vance, and I was under the strong impression that he was just as much in love with her. Clearly, I was wrong. He doesn’t give a fuck about her or their upcoming wedding. If he did, this wouldn’t be happening.

“Hardin, everyone just needs to calm down.” My mum tries to defuse the situation. Her hand has dropped from Vance’s shoulder.

“Calm down?” I scoff. She’s unbelievable. “You’re getting married tomorrow, and I find you here, in the middle of the night, laid out on the kitchen counter like a whore.”

The moment the words hit the air, he’s on me. Vance’s body collides with mine, and my head smacks against the tile floor of the kitchen as he tackles me to the ground.

“Christian!” I hear my mum scream. He uses the weight of his body to hold me there, but I manage to get my hands out from under his grip. The moment that his fist connects with my nose, my adrenaline courses through me, taking me over, and all I see is red.

chapter

one hundred and thirty-seven

TESSA

Am I dreaming? Please let this be a nightmare . . . what’s happening surely can’t be real.

Christian is on top of Hardin. When his fist connects with Hardin’s nose, it makes the most awful sound. The sound burns my ears, and my heart plummets. Hardin’s fist reaches up between them, delivering a blow of equal force to Christian’s jaw, causing Christian’s hold on him to slip.

Within seconds, Hardin rolls from under him and shoves his shoulders, pushing him back to the floor. I can’t keep track of how many punches they exchange, and I can’t tell who has the upper hand.

“Stop them!” I scream to Trish. Every part of me wants to step between them, knowing that if Hardin sees me he’ll immediately stop, but the slight fear is there that he may be too angry, too out of control, and accidently do something that would later drive him mad with guilt.

“Hardin!” Trish grabs Hardin’s bare shoulder in an attempt to pull him from the violence, but she goes unnoticed by the both of them.

Adding to the chaos, the back door is yanked open, revealing a panicked Mike. Oh God. “Trish? What is—” He blinks his eyes under his thick glasses as he registers what’s happening.

Less than a second later, he joins the rumble, stepping behind Hardin and grabbing him by both of his arms. Large man that he is, Mike lifts him effortlessly and pushes him toward the wall. Christian scrambles to his feet, and Trish pushes him against the opposite wall. Hardin is shaking, fuming, breathing so heavily that I’m afraid he’ll somehow damage his lungs. I rush to him, unsure what to do but needing to be close to him.

“What the hell is going on?” Mike’s voice commands attention, demands it.

Everything is happening so quickly: the terror in Trish’s brown eyes, the angry bruises covering Christian’s face, the deep red trail of blood running from Hardin’s nose to his mouth . . . it’s all too much.

“Ask them!” Hardin shouts, tiny drops of red splattering onto his chest. He gestures to a frightened Trish and an angry Christian.

“Hardin,” I gently say. “Let’s go upstairs,” I reach for his hand, trying to keep my own emotions at bay. I’m trembling and I feel the hot tears on my cheeks, but this isn’t about me.

“No!” He jerks away from me. “Tell him! Tell him what you were fucking doing!” Hardin tries to lunge toward Christian again, but Mike quickly steps between them. I close my eyes for a moment, praying that Hardin won’t assault him, too.

I’m in my old dorm room again, Hardin and Noah on either side of me, as Hardin forces me to confess my infidelity to the boy who I spent half of my life with. The look on Noah’s face wasn’t nearly as heartbreaking as the one I’m looking at right now. Mike’s expression is a mixture of realization, confusion, and pain.

“Hardin, please don’t do this,” I beg.

“Hardin,” I repeat, pleading with him not to embarrass this man. Trish needs to tell him in her own way, not in front of an audience. This isn’t right.

“Fuck that! Fuck all of you!” Hardin screams, and his fist drives down against the cheap countertop, snapping it in two.

“I’m sure Mike won’t mind if you two use the premises tomorrow.” Hardin’s voice lowers; each word is deliberately measured and cruel. “I’m sure he’d let you, seeing as he probably wasted a shitload of his money on this joke of a wedding.” He half laughs.

A chill sets deep in my spine and I stare at the ground. There’s no stopping him when he’s like this; no one tries. Everyone is silent as Hardin continues.

“What a nice couple the two of you make. The engaged ex-wife of a drunk and his loyal best friend,” he scoffs. “I’m sorry, Mike, but you’re about five minutes late to the show. You missed the part where your bride had her tongue down his throat.”

Christian tries to grab hold of Hardin again, but Trish leaps in front of him. Hardin and Christian eye each other like panthers.

I’m seeing an entirely new side to Christian. He’s not playful or witty; anger is radiating from him in thick waves. The Christian that holds Kimberly by the waist and whispers how beautiful she is is nowhere to be found.

“You disrespectful little—” Christian says through his teeth.

“I’m disrespectful? You’re the one going on and on to me about the glories of marriage, yet you’ve been having an affair with my mum!”

My mind can’t wrap itself around this. Christian and Trish? Trish and Christian? It doesn’t make sense. I know they’ve been friends for many years, and Hardin told me that Christian had taken Trish and him in, taken care of them, after Ken left. But an affair?

I never thought of Trish as the type who’d do such a thing, and Christian has always seemed so deeply in love with Kimberly. Kimberly . . . My heart aches for her; she loves him so much. She’s in the middle of planning her dream wedding with her dream man, and now it’s pretty clear that she doesn’t know him at all. She’ll be devastated. She has built a life with Christian and his son. No matter what I have to do, I will not let Hardin be the one to tell her. I will not let him humiliate and mock her the way he just did Mike.

“It’s not like that!” Christian’s temper is just as hot as Hardin’s. His green eyes are glowing, burning with rage, and I know he wants nothing more than to wrap his hands around Hardin’s neck.

Mike is silent, his eyes focused on his fiancée and her tearstained cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I don’t know—” Trish’s voice breaks into a heartbreaking sob, and I look away.

Mike shakes his head, clearly rejecting her apology, and he stays silent as he strides across the small kitchen and walks out, slamming the back door behind him. Trish falls to her knees, her hands covering her face to muffle her cries.

Christian’s shoulders slump, his anger momentarily replaced by concern as he kneels next to her, drawing her into his arms. Next to me, Hardin’s breathing picks up again, his fists tighten at his sides, and I step in front of him, bringing my hands to his cheeks. My stomach turns at the sight of the blood, which has now reached his chin. His lips are stained crimson . . . so much blood.

“Don’t,” he warns me, pushing my hands away. He’s staring behind me at his mother, wrapped in Christian’s arms. The two of them seem to have forgotten that we’re here—either that or they just don’t care. I’m so confused.

“Hardin, please,” I cry and raise my trembling hands to his face once more.

He finally looks at me, and I see the guilt rising behind his eyes.

“Please, let’s go upstairs,” I plead with him. His gaze stays on my face, and I force myself not to look away from his eyes as his anger slowly passes.

“Get me away from them,” he stammers. “Get me out of here.”

I drop my hands and wrap one around his arm, gently leading him from the kitchen. When we reach the staircase, Hardin halts.

“No . . . I want to leave this house,” he says.

“Okay,” I quickly agree. I want to leave the house, too. “I’ll grab our bags; you go out to the car,” I suggest.

“No, if I go out there . . .” He doesn’t have to finish his sentence. I know exactly what will happen if he’s left alone with his mother and Christian.

“Come upstairs—it won’t take long,” I promise him. I’m trying my best to keep calm, to be strong for him, and so far, it’s working.

He lets me take the lead and follows me up the staircase and down the hall to the small bedroom. I hastily shove our things into our bags, not taking the time to pack them properly. I jump and stifle a scream when Hardin knocks over the dresser, and the heavy piece of furniture lands with a loud thud against the floor. Hardin kneels down and pulls out the first empty drawer. He tosses it to the side before grabbing the next. He’s going to destroy everything in this room if I don’t get him out of here.

Just as he flings the last drawer against the wall, I wrap my arms around his torso. “Come to the bathroom with me.” I lead him down the hallway and close the door behind us. Grabbing a towel from the rack, I turn the faucet on and instruct him to sit on the toilet seat. His silence is chilling and I don’t want to push him.

He doesn’t speak or even flinch when I bring the hot towel to his cheek, dragging it across the blood pooled under his nose, across his lips, and down his chin.

“It’s not broken,” I quietly note after briefly examining his nose. His busted bottom lip is already swollen but no longer bleeding. My mind is still racing, flashing angry images of the two men assaulting each other.

He doesn’t respond.

When most of the blood is removed, I rinse the stained towel and leave it in the sink. “I’m going to grab our bags. Stay here,” I say, hoping he’ll listen.

I hurry to the room to gather both of our bags and unzip the suitcase. Hardin is shirtless and barefoot, wearing only athletic shorts, and I’m dressed in just his T-shirt. I didn’t have time to think about getting dressed, or even to be embarrassed about running downstairs half naked when I heard the shouting. I didn’t know what I was expecting to find as I raced down the steps, but Christian and Trish having sex wasn’t one of the scenarios that I ever could have anticipated.

Hardin remains quiet as I pull a clean T-shirt over his head and pull socks onto his bare feet. I dress myself in a sweatshirt and jeans, not giving a thought to my appearance. I rinse my hands again in the bathroom, trying to scrub the blood from under my fingernails.

Silence stretches between us as we reach the stairs, and Hardin takes both bags from me. He hisses in pain when he lifts the strap of my bag onto his shoulder, and I cringe as I picture the bruise beneath by his shirt.

I hear Trish’s sobs and Christian’s low voice comforting her as we exit the house. When we reach the rental car, Hardin turns around to face the house again, and I watch as a shudder passes through his shoulders.

“I can drive.” I take the keys, but he quickly pulls them away from me.

“No, I’m driving,” he finally says. I don’t argue with him.

I want to ask where we’re going, but I choose not to question him right now; he’s barely coherent and I need to tread lightly. I place my hand on his, and I’m relieved that he doesn’t jerk away from my touch.

Minutes feel like hours as we drive through the village in silence, each mile adding another layer of tension. I stare out the window and recognize the familiar street from this afternoon as we pass Susan’s bridal shop. The memory of Trish wiping away tears, staring at herself in the mirror while dressed in her gown, brings tears to my own eyes. How could she do this? She’s supposed to be getting married tomorrow; why would she do such a thing?

Hardin’s voice snaps me back to the present. “This is so fucked up.”

“I don’t understand it,” I say, gently squeezing his hand.

“Everything and everyone in my life is so fucked up,” he says, his voice emotionless.

“I know,” I agree with him; even though I couldn’t disagree more, now is not the time to correct him.

Hardin slows the car as he pulls into the parking lot of a small motel. “We’ll stay here tonight and leave in the morning,” he says, staring out the windshield. “I don’t know what to say about your job and where you’ll live when we get back to the States,” he continues, and climbs out of the car.

I was so busy worrying about Hardin and the violent scene in the kitchen that I momentarily forgot that the man rolling around on the floor with Hardin was not only my boss, but the man whose home I’m living in.

“Are you coming?” Hardin asks.

Instead of answering, I step out of the car and follow him into the motel in silence.