Текст книги "After We Fell"

Автор книги: Anna Todd

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Текущая страница: 48 (всего у книги 49 страниц)

chapter

one hundred and thirty-eight

TESSA

The man behind the desk gives Hardin the key to our room with a smile that Hardin does not return. I try my best to offer one to make up for it, but it comes off as forced and awkward, and the desk clerk looks away quickly.

In silence, we walk through the lobby to find the room. The hallway is long and narrow; religious paintings line the cream-colored walls, a handsome angel kneeling before a maiden in one, two lovers embracing in another. I shudder when my eyes drag across the last painting, meeting the black eyes of Lucifer himself right outside of our assigned room. I’m stuck staring into the empty eyes as I hurry behind Hardin into the room and flip the light switch, illuminating the dark space. He tosses my bag onto a wingback chair that sits in a corner and drops the suitcase by the door next to where I’m standing.

“I’m taking a shower,” he says quietly. Without looking back, he walks into the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

I want to follow him, but I’m conflicted. I don’t want to push him or upset him any more than he already is, but at the same time I want to make sure he’s okay and I don’t want him to wallow in this—not alone, at least.

I pull my shoes off, then my jeans and Hardin’s shirt, and follow him into the small bathroom, completely naked. When I push the door open, he doesn’t turn around. Steam has already begun to billow through the small space, filling it, covering Hardin’s naked body with a cloud of vapor. His tattoos peek through, the black ink visible through the steam, drawing me toward him.

I step over the pile of his discarded clothes and stand behind him, keeping more than a foot of distance between us.

“I don’t need you to—” Hardin begins, his voice flat.

“I know,” I interrupt him. I know he’s angry, hurt, and he’s beginning to slip back behind the wall that I’ve fought so hard to demolish. He’s been controlling his anger so well that I could kill Trish and Christian both for making him lose it that way.

Surprised by the dark direction my thoughts have taken, I shake them away.

Without another word, he draws back the shower curtain and steps into the cascading water. I take a breath, summoning every ounce of confidence I can muster, and step into the shower behind him. The water is scalding, barely tolerable, and I hide behind Hardin to avoid it. He must notice my discomfort, because he adjusts the water temperature.

I grab the small complimentary bottle of soap and squeeze it onto a cloth and carefully bring it to Hardin’s back. He finches and tries to move forward, but I follow him, stepping closer.

“You don’t have to talk to me, but I know you need me to be here right now.” My voice is almost a whisper, lost between Hardin’s deep breaths and the falling water.

Silent and still, he doesn’t move as I brush the cloth across the letters etched into his skin. My tattoo.

Hardin turns to face me, allowing me to clean his chest now, his eyes studying every stroke of the cloth. I feel the anger radiating from of him, mixing with the clouds of hot vapor, and his eyes are burning into me. He looks as if he’s going to explode. Before I can blink, both of his hands are pressed against my jaw, cupping my neck on either side. His mouth desperately collides against mine, and my lips part involuntarily under the rough contact. There is nothing gentle, nothing soft about his touch. My tongue meets his, and I pull his bottom lip between my teeth, gently tugging, avoiding his wound. He groans and presses me against the wet tile.

I hear myself whimper when he pulls his mouth from mine, but he quickly reestablishes contact and peppers rough kisses down the column of my neck and across my chest, then cups my breasts, rolling them beneath his busted and bruised hands while his mouth works back and forth, licking, sucking, biting. I roll my head back against the tile and bury my fingers in his hair, tugging the way I know he loves.

Without warning, he lowers his body even further, resting on his knees under the spraying water, and for a fleeting moment I’m reminded of something vague. But then he touches me again, and I just can’t remember what it is.

chapter

one hundred and thirty-nine

HARDIN

Tessa’s fingers rake through my hair, bringing my mouth to her flushed, already swollen skin. Touching her, tasting her this way, pushes everything else from my tortured mind.

She cries out as my tongue laps around her, pulling tightly at the roots of my hair. Her hips lift from the tile, meeting my mouth, desperate for more.

Too soon, I stand back to my feet and lift one of her legs to wrap around my waist, following with the other. She groans as I lift her, entering her slowly.

“Fuuuuck . . .” I draw the word out, my voice almost a hiss as I’m overwhelmed by the warmth, the wetness, of feeling her without the barrier of a condom between us.

Her eyes roll back into her head as I push forward, withdrawing and filling her again. I fight every urge to slam into her, to fuck her so hard that I forget everything around us. Instead, I move slowly but allow my mouth and hands to be rough on her skin. Her arms tighten around my shoulders as my lips latch on to the skin just above the curve of her full breast. I can taste the blood rising to the surface underneath my tongue, and I pull away in time to see the faint pink mark left in my wake.

Her eyes dart down between us, examining it herself. She doesn’t scold me or even frown at the bruise left by my lips; she only brings her lip between her teeth, staring almost adoringly at the mark. Tessa drags her fingernails down the slope of my back, and I press her harder against the tile wall. My fingers are pressed into her thighs, indenting her skin, and I thrust inside of her, repeating her name over and over.

Her legs tighten around my waist, and I push and pull, in and out, bringing both of us closer to our release.

“Hardin,” she softly moans, her breathing erratic as she comes around me. The realization that I can come inside of her without worry brings me to the edge, pushing me over. I spill into her with a shout of her name.

“I love you.” I press my lips against her temple before placing my forehead against hers to catch my breath.

“I love you,” she gasps, her eyes closed. I stay inside of her, allowing myself to simply enjoy the feeling of skin on skin.

On my back, I can feel the heat leaving the water; we won’t have more than ten minutes left of hot water. The idea of a cold shower in the middle of the night causes me to carefully help her back to her feet. As I withdraw from her, I watch shamelessly as the evidence of my orgasm seeps from between her legs. Fucking hell, that sight alone is worth waiting seven fucking months for.

I want to thank her, to tell her that I love her and that she brought me out of the darkness, not only tonight, but ever since the day she caught me off guard by kissing me in my old room at the frat house, but I can’t find the words.

I turn the hot water up and stare at the wall. I sigh in relief when I feel the soft washcloth on my back, continuing what she started only minutes ago.

I turn around to face her, and as she brings the cloth to my neck, I stay silent. My anger is still around, lurking and simmering below the surface, but she’s taken me beyond it in the way that only she can.

chapter

one hundred and forty

TESSA

My mum is so fucked up.” Hardin finally speaks after long minutes of silence. My hand jerks at the sudden noise, but I quickly recover and return to bathing him as he continues. “I mean this is some shit right out of Tolstoy.”

My mind scrambles through Tolstoy’s works before landing on The Kreutzer Sonata. I shiver despite the heat of the shower.

“Kreutzer?” I ask, hoping I’m confused or that he and I have interpreted the dark story differently.

“Yes, of course.” He’s becoming emotionless again, crouching down behind that damn wall.

“I don’t know if I would compare this . . . situation to something so dark,” I softly argue. That story is filled with blood, jealousy, and rage, and I’d like to think this real-life one will have a better ending.

“Not completely, but yes,” he answers as if he can read my mind.

I play the story line through my head, trying to see some connection to Hardin’s mother’s affair, but the only thing I can come up with has to do with Hardin himself and his beliefs about marriage. That causes me to shiver again.

“I didn’t plan to ever marry, and I still don’t, so no, it didn’t change anything,” he coldly responds.

I ignore the pain in my chest and focus on him. “Okay.” I run the cloth down one arm, then the other, and when I look up, his eyes are closed.

“Whose story do you suppose we’ll have?” he asks, taking the cloth from my hand.

“I don’t know,” I answer him honestly. I’d love nothing more than to know the answer to this question.

“Me neither.” He pours more body wash onto the cloth and runs it across my chest.

“Couldn’t we make our own story?” I look up into his troubled eyes.

“I don’t think we can. You know this is going to end one of two ways,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

I know he’s hurt and I know he’s angry, but I don’t want Trish’s mistakes to affect our relationship and I can see Hardin making comparisons behind the green of his eyes.

I try to take the conversation in another direction. “What is it about all of this that bothers you the most? It’s that the wedding is tomorrow . . . well, today,” I correct myself. It’s almost 4 a.m. now, and the wedding is, or was, supposed to start at two this afternoon. What happened after we left the house? Did Mike come back to talk to Trish, or did Christian and Trish finish what they started?

“I don’t know.” He sighs, dragging the cloth down my stomach and across my hips. “I don’t really give a fuck about that wedding. I guess I just feel like they’re both fucking liars.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

“My mum is the one who’ll be sorry. She’s the one who sold her fucking house and cheated the night before her damn wedding.” His touch becomes rough as his anger builds.

I stay quiet but remove the cloth from his hands and hang it on the rack behind me.

“And Vance, what kind of fucking asshole has an affair with the ex-wife of his best friend? My father and Christian Vance have known each other since they were kids.” Hardin’s tone is bitter—threatening, even. “I should call my father and see if he knows what a backstabbing whore—”

I reach my hand and cover his mouth before he can finish the harsh words. “She’s still your mother,” I softly remind him. I know he’s angry, but he shouldn’t call her names.

I remove my hand from his mouth so he can speak. “I don’t give a fuck that she’s my mother, and I don’t give a fuck about Vance either. And the joke’s going to be on him, because when I tell Kimberly about them and you quit your job, he’ll be fucked,” Hardin proudly declares, as if this would be the best form of revenge.

“You will not tell Kimberly.” I look into his eyes, pleading. “If Christian doesn’t tell her himself, then I will, but you will not embarrass her or harass her about it. I understand that you’re angry at your mother and at Christian, but Kimberly is innocent here, and I don’t want her to be hurt,” I say firmly.

“Fine. You will quit, though,” he says while turning his body around to rinse the foamy shampoo from his hair.

Sighing, I reach for the shampoo bottle in Hardin’s hand but he pulls it away.

“I’m serious, you aren’t working for him anymore.”

I understand his anger, but this isn’t the time to discuss my job. “We’ll talk about it later,” I tell him and finally manage to get the bottle into my hands. The water is growing colder by the minute, and I’d like to wash my hair.

“No!” He jerks it back. I’m trying to stay calm and be as gentle as possible with him, but he’s making it difficult.

“I can’t just quit my internship; it’s not that simple. I’d have to inform the university, fill out a bunch of paperwork, and give a solid explanation of what happened. Then I would have to add classes to my schedule in the middle of the semester to make up for the credits I was receiving from Vance Publishing, and since the deadline for financial aid has already passed, I’d have to pay out of pocket. I can’t simply just quit. I’ll try to figure something out, but I need a little time, please.” I give up on washing my hair.

“Tessa, I literally couldn’t give less than a fuck about you having to file some paperwork; this is my family,” he says, and I immediately feel guilty.

He’s right, isn’t he? I honestly don’t know, but his busted lip and bruised nose make me feel that way. “I know, I’m sorry. I just need to find another internship first, that’s all I’m asking.” Why am I asking? “I mean saying . . . that’s what I’m saying . . . that I need a little time. I’m already going to have to move into a hotel as it is . . .” The anxiety I feel at the prospect of being homeless, jobless, and once again friendless is taking me over.

“You won’t be able to find another internship anyway, not a paying one,” he harshly reminds me. I knew that already, but I was trying to force myself into believing that I had a slight chance.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I need some time. This is all such a mess.” I step out of the shower and reach for a towel.

“Well, you don’t have much time to figure it out. You should just move back to central Washington with me.” His words stop me in my tracks.

“Move back there?” The very idea of it makes me nauseous. “I’m not moving back there, and after last weekend, I don’t even want to visit the place again, let alone move back. That isn’t an option.” I wrap the towel around my wet body and leave the bathroom.

I reach for my phone and panic when I see five missed calls and two text messages. All from Christian. Both text messages are pleas to have Hardin call him right away.

“Hardin,” I call to him.

“What?” he snaps. I roll my eyes and swallow my annoyance. “Christian has called, a lot.”

He emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. “And?”

“What if something happened to your mother? Don’t you want to call and be sure she’s okay?” I ask him. “Or I—”

“No, fuck both of them. Don’t call them.”

“Hardin, I really think—”

“No,” he says, interrupting me.

“I already sent him a text, just to be sure your mother is okay,” I admit.

He grimaces. “Of course you did.”

“I know you’re upset, but please stop taking it out on me. I’m really trying to be here for you, but you have to stop snapping at me. This isn’t my fault.”

“I’m sorry.” His hands run over his wet hair. “Let’s both just turn our cell phones off and get some sleep.” His voice has calmed, and his eyes have softened tremendously. “My shirt is stained,” he says, dragging the bloodied garment across the floor, “and I don’t know where the other one is.”

“I’ll get it from the suitcase.”

“Thank you.” He sighs. The fact that he finds so much comfort in me wearing his clothing makes me happy, even in the middle of this disastrous night. I retrieve the shirt he wore earlier today and hand him clean boxers to sleep in before refolding the articles in the suitcase.

“I’m going to change our flight when I wake up. I can’t concentrate right now.” He sits on the edge of the bed for a moment before lying down.

“I can do it,” I offer, pulling his laptop from the suitcase.

“Thanks,” he grumbles, half asleep already.

Seconds later he mutters, “I wish I could take you away, far away.” My hands are still on the keyboard and I wait for him to say something else, but he breaks into soft snores.

As I pull up the airline’s website, my phone vibrates on the table. Christian’s name comes up on the screen. I ignore the call, but when a second comes in, I grab the room key and quietly retreat to the hallway to answer.

I try to whisper. “Hello.”

“Tessa? How is he?” he asks, panicked.

“He’s . . . he’s okay. His nose is bruised and swollen, his lip is busted, and he has a few bruises and cuts.” I don’t hide the hostility in my tone.

“Dammit,” he breathes. “I’m so sorry that it came to this.”

“Me, too,” I snap at my boss and try to ignore the hideous painting in front of my eyes.

“I need to talk to him. I know he’s confused and angry, but I need to explain some things to him.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to you, and honestly, why should he? He trusted you, and you know that his trust is not something he gives lightly.” I lower my voice. “You’re engaged to a lovely woman and Trish was supposed to be getting married tomorrow.”

“She’s still getting married,” he says through the line.

“What?” I walk farther down the hall. I stop in front of the peaceful painting of the kneeling angel, but the more I look at it, the darker it becomes. Behind the angel is another; this second one’s body almost translucent, and he’s holding a double-edged dagger in his hand. The brown-haired maiden is watching him, a sinister smile on her face as she seems to wait for the assault on the kneeling angel. The second angel’s expression is contorted, his naked body all planes and angles as he prepares to stab the first angel. I look away and focus on the voice on the other end of the line.

“The wedding has not been canceled. Mike loves Trish, and she loves him; they will still be married tomorrow despite my mistake.” The words sound as if he’s struggling to get them out.

I have so many questions to ask him, but I can’t. He’s my boss and his affair is with Hardin’s mother; this is none of my business.

“I know what you must think of me, Tessa, but if I’m able to explain myself, maybe you both will understand.”

“Hardin wants me to change our flight and leave in the morning,” I inform him.

“He can’t leave without saying goodbye to his mother. It will kill her.”

“I don’t think it’s in the best interest of anyone to allow him to be in the same room as her,” I warn and walk back to the room, stopping just outside the door.

“I understand your need to protect him, and it pleases me greatly to see how fiercely loyal you are to him. But Trish has had a hard enough life as it is, and it’s time for her to have some happiness. I don’t expect him to show for the wedding, but please do what you can to have him at least say goodbye to her. God knows how long it will be before he comes back to England.” Christian sighs.

“I don’t know.” I run my fingers along the bronze frame of the Lucifer painting. “I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise anything. I won’t push him.”

“I understand. Thank you.” The relief in his voice is clear.

“Christian?” I say just before hanging up.

“Yes, Tessa?”

“Will you tell Kimberly?” I hold my breath and wait for his answer to my highly inappropriate question.

“Of course I’ll tell her,” he softly responds, his accent thick and smooth. “I love her more than—”

“Okay.” I’m trying to understand, but the only image that’s coming to mind is Kimberly smiling in their kitchen, her head tipped back in laughter and Christian’s eyes sparkling as he watches her in amazement, as if she’s the only woman in his world. Does he look at Trish that way?

“Thank you. Let me know if you need anything. Again, I’m sorry for what you saw earlier, and I hope that your opinion of me hasn’t been completely destroyed,” he says and hangs up the phone.

I take one last glance at the hideous monster on the wall and walk back into the hotel room.

chapter

one hundred and forty-one

HARDIN

W here are you?” His angry voice booms down the hall, creeping into the kitchen. The front door slams, and I jump down from the kitchen chair, grabbing my book. My shoulder knocks into the bottle on the table, sending it crashing to the ground into too many pieces. The brown liquid covers the floor, and I hurry to hide it before he finds me and sees what I did.

“Trish! I know you’re here!” He yells again. His voice is closer now. My small hands pull the towel from the stove and throw it onto the floor to cover the mess I made.

“Where’s your mum?”

I jerk back at the sound of his voice. “She’s . . . she’s not here,” I tell him, standing to my feet.

“What the fuck did you do?” he shouts, pushing past me and seeing the big mess I made. I didn’t mean to make the mess. I knew he would be angry.

“That bottle of scotch was older than you,” he says. I look up to his red face and he stumbles. “You broke my fucking bottle.” My dad’s voice is slow. It always sounds like this when he comes home lately.

I back away, taking small steps. If I can just get to the stairs, I can get away. He’s too drunk to follow me. He fell down them last time.

“What’s that?” His angry eyes focus on my book.

I hug it tighter to my chest. No. Not this one, too.

“Come here, boy.” He circles around me.

“Please don’t,” I beg the man as he rips my favorite book from my hands. Miss Johnson says that I’m a good reader, better than anyone else in fifth year.

“You broke my bottle, so I get to break something of yours.” He smiles. I back away as he tears the book in two and rips out the pages. I cover my ears and watch as Gatsby and Daisy float around the room in a white storm. He grabs some of the pages in the air and rips them into small pieces.

I can’t be a baby, I can’t cry. It’s just a book. It’s just a book. My eyes are burning, but I’m not a baby, so I can’t cry.

“You’re just like him, you know? With your stupid fucking books,” he slurs.

Just like who? Jay Gatsby? He doesn’t read as much as me.

“She thinks I’m stupid, but I’m not.” He grabs the back of the chair to keep from falling. “I know what she did.” Suddenly his face goes still, and I think my dad is going to cry.

“Clean up this shit,” he groans and leaves me alone in the kitchen, kicking the binding of my book as he leaves.

“HARDIN! HARDIN, WAKE UP!” A voice calls me from my mum’s kitchen. “Hardin, it’s only a dream. Please wake up.”

When my eyes fly open, I’m met with worried eyes and an unfamiliar-looking ceiling above my head. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m not in my mum’s kitchen after all. There’s no spilled scotch or ripped-up novel.

“I’m so sorry for leaving you in here alone. I just went to get some breakfast. I didn’t think—” Her voice breaks off into a sob, and she wraps her arms around my sweat-covered back.

“Shh . . .” I smooth her hair. “I’m fine.” I blink a few times.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she quietly asks.

“No, I can’t even remember it, really,” I tell her. The dream has turned blurry, fading out more with each stroke of her hand across the bare skin between my shoulder blades.

I let her hold me for a few minutes before breaking away. “I got breakfast for you,” she says, wiping her nose with the sleeve of my sweatshirt she’s wearing. “Sorry.” She smiles shyly, holding the snot-covered sleeve up in front of me.

I can’t help but laugh, my nightmare forgotten. “There have been worse things on that sweatshirt,” I cheekily remind her, trying to make her laugh. My thoughts travel back to when she jacked me off in the apartment while I was wearing said sweatshirt, and quite the mess was made.

Her cheeks flush, and I reach for the tray of food next to her. She has piled it high with different types of bread, fruit, cheese, and even a small box of Frosted Flakes.

“I had to fight an old woman for that.” She grins, nodding toward the cereal.

“You did no such thing,” I tease her as she brings a grape to her lips.

“I would have,” she insists.

The mood has shifted drastically since our arrival in the middle of the night. “Did you change the flight?” I ask her and tear into the Frosted Flakes, not bothering to pour them into the small bowl she put on the tray.

“I wanted to talk about that with you.” Her voice lowers. She didn’t change the flight. I sigh and wait for her to finish. “I talked to Christian last night . . . well, this morning.”

“What? Why? I told you—” I stand up, knocking the cereal box onto the tray.

“I know you did, but just hear me out,” she begs.

“Fine.” I sit back on the bed and wait for her explanation.

“He said he’s really sorry and that he needs to explain all of this to you. I understand if you don’t want to hear it. If you don’t want to talk to either of them, Christian or your mother, I’ll get online and change the flight now. I just wanted to give you the option first. I know you care for him . . .” Her eyes begin to water again.

“I don’t,” I assure her.

“Do you want me to change the tickets?” she asks.

“Yes,” I tell her. She frowns and leans over to lift my laptop from the nightstand next to the bed. “What else did he say?” I ask hesitantly. It doesn’t matter, but I’m curious.

“The wedding is still on,” she informs me.

What the fuck?

“And he says he’s going to tell Kimberly everything and that he loves her more than his own life.” Tessa’s bottom lip begins to tremble at the mention of her betrayed friend.

“Mike is fucking stupid, then—maybe he does belong with my mum after all.”

“I don’t know what made him forgive her so quickly, but he did.” Tessa pauses and looks at me like she’s trying to gauge my mood. “Christian asked me to have you at least say goodbye to your mother before we leave. He knows you won’t go to the wedding, but he wants you to tell her goodbye.” She rushes the words.

“Hell, no. No fucking way. I’m getting dressed and we’re getting the fuck out of this shithole.” I wave my hand around the overly expensive motel room.

“Okay,” she agrees.

That was easy. Too easy. “What do you mean, okay?” I ask her.

“Nothing. I just meant okay. I understand if you don’t want to say goodbye to your mom.” She shrugs her shoulders and tucks her messy hair behind both ears.

“You do?”

“Yes.” She smiles a weak smile. “I know I’m hard on you sometimes, but I’m going to support you on this. You’re completely justified here.”

“Okay,” I say, more than a little relieved. I thought she’d fight me and even try to force me to go to the wedding. “I can’t wait to go back.” I rub my fingers over my temples.

“Yeah, me, too,” Tessa weakly replies.

Where the fuck is she going to live? After what happened here she can’t just go back to Vance’s house, but she won’t come to my place either. I don’t know what she’s going to do, but I do know that I want to rip Vance’s fucking head from his body for making her return to the States complicated.

I wish I could get her a job with me at Bolthouse, but it’s impossible. She’s not even a sophomore, and paying internships at publishing houses don’t come along every day, even to graduates. There’s no way she’ll find another, especially in Seattle, not until she’s further along in her degree, or even finished with it.

I take the laptop from her hands to finish the task of changing our flight. I shouldn’t have agreed to come to the UK in the first place. Vance talked me into bringing Tessa, only to ruin the entire damn trip himself.

“I just need to get the stuff from the bathroom and we can head to the airport,” Tessa says, tucking my dirty clothes into the top pocket of the suitcase. A defeated-looking frown covers her face, and her brows are drawn together. I want to smooth away the deep worry line between them. I hate the way her shoulders are slumped, and I know without a doubt that they’re bearing the burden of my troubles. I love Tessa and I love her compassion; I just wish she wouldn’t carry my problems along with her own. I can carry my problems myself.

“Are you all right?” I ask her. She looks up and plasters the most unconvincing smile onto her face that I’ve ever seen.

“Yeah, are you?” she asks back, her worry line deepening.

“Not if you aren’t. Tessa. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m not,” she lies.

“Tess . . .” I cross the room and stand in front of her, pulling the shirt from her hands that I’ve just watched her fold at least ten times within the last two minutes. “I’m fine, okay? I’m still pissed off and shit, but I know you’re worried that I’m going to snap. I won’t.” I look down at my busted hands. “Well, not again, anyway.” I correct myself with a small laugh.

“I know. It’s just that you’ve been controlling your anger so well, and I don’t want anything to jeopardize your progress.”

“I know.” I run my hand over my hair and try to think clearly without getting angry.

“I’m really proud of you already, for how you handled that situation. Christian was the one who attacked you,” she says.

“Come here.” I hold my arms out, and she graciously steps into them, nuzzling her face into my chest. “Even if he hadn’t come at me, the fight still would have happened. I know I’d have made the first move if he hadn’t,” I tell her. My hands move under the hem of her shirt, and she flinches at the coldness of my touch against the warm skin of her back.

“I know,” she agrees.

“Since you’re off until Wednesday, we’ll stay at my father’s house until you—” The vibrating of her cell phone interrupts me.

Both of our eyes dart to the table. “I won’t answer it,” she announces.

I let go of Tessa and grab her phone. Looking at the screen, I take a breath before answering. “Stop fucking harassing Tessa; if you want to talk to me, then you can call me. Don’t bring her into this shit,” I say before he can even say hello.

“I did call you. You shut your phone off,” Christian says.

“And why do you think that is?” I huff. “If I wanted to talk to you, I would have, but since I don’t, stop fucking bothering me.”

“Hardin, I know you’re mad, but we need to talk about this.”

“There isn’t anything to talk about!” I shout. Tessa watches with worried eyes as I try to control my temper.

“Yes, there is. There’s a lot to talk about. All I’m asking for is fifteen minutes.” His voice is pleading.

“Why should I talk with you?”

“Because I know you feel betrayed and I want to explain myself. You’re important to me, and to your mom,” he says.

“So now you two are forming some kind of united front against me? Fuck off.” My hands are shaking.

“You can act like you don’t give a fuck about either of us, but your anger shows that you do.”

I pull the phone away from my ear and have to stop myself from smashing it into pieces against the wall.

“Fifteen minutes,” I hear him repeat. “The wedding isn’t scheduled to begin for a few hours. All the men are meeting for lunch at Gabriel’s bar. You should meet me there.”