She lets out the cutest hiccup and pulls the scarf over her head. Her blond hair sticks up out of the side in a big knot, making her look even younger than usual.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I take the small chance to ask her when we step off the elevator and walk down to our . . . the apartment.
She nods, and I unlock the door. My mum is sitting on the couch and worry spreads across her face as she takes in Tessa’s appearance. I shoot her a warning glare, hoping she’ll remember the promise she made to not bombard Tessa with questions about her return. Mum tears her eyes from Tessa and looks at the television, feigning indifference.
“We’re going to go into the room for a little while,” I announce, and my mum nods. I know it’s driving her crazy not being able to talk, but I won’t have her making Tessa feel any worse by prying.
As we go, I pause at the thermostat in the hallway to turn the heat up, since I know she’s freezing. When I step into the room, Tessa’s already sitting on the edge of the bed. Unsure of how close I’m allowed to get, I wait for her to say something.
“Hardin?” she says in a weak voice. The hoarse tone of her voice tells me she had been crying the whole drive, and it makes me feel worse for her.
I go stand in front of her and she surprises me again by grabbing hold of my T-shirt and pulling me to stand between her legs. This is more than her mum saying some rude shit.
“Tess . . . what did she do?” I ask as she starts crying again, smearing her makeup on the bottom of my white shirt. I could give a shit about the mess; if anything, it will give me a reminder of her when she leaves again.
“My dad . . .” she croaks, and I go rigid.
“Your dad?” If he was there . . . “Tessa, was he there? Did he do something to you?” I ask her through my teeth.
She shakes her head no, and I reach down to lift her chin up, forcing her to look at me. She’s never quiet, even when upset. That’s usually when she’s the most vocal.
“He moved back here—but I didn’t even know he left. I mean, I guess I did, but I never thought about it. I never thought about him.”
My voice is not as calm as I mean for it to be when I ask, “Did you talk to him today?”
“No; she did, though. She said he isn’t going to come near me, but I don’t want her making that choice for me.”
“You want to see him?” All of the things she has told me about this man have been negative. He was violent, often smacking her mum around in front of her. Why would she want to see him?
“No . . . well, I don’t know. But I want to be the one to decide.” She dabs at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Not that he would even want to see me . . .”
The instinct to hunt this man down and make sure he doesn’t come near her takes over, and I have to talk myself down before I do something stupid and brash.
“I can’t help but think, what if he’s like your dad?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if he’s different now? What if he doesn’t drink anymore?” The hope in her voice breaks my heart . . . well, what’s left of it.
“I don’t know . . . that usually doesn’t happen,” I tell her honestly. I see the way her mouth turns down at the ends, so I continue: “But it could. Maybe he’s different now . . .” I don’t believe it, but who am I to extinguish her hope? “I didn’t know you had any interest in him.”
“I don’t . . . well, I didn’t. I’m just angry because my mother kept it from me . . .” she says, and then, between bouts of wiping her nose and face against my shirt, she tells me the rest of what happened. Tessa’s mother is the only woman who would reveal the return of her alcoholic ex-husband and then promptly mention going shopping. I keep my mouth shut about Noah being there even though it pisses me off. That kid just won’t seem to go away.
Finally she looks up at me, a bit calmer. She seems much better than she was when she ran to me in the parking lot, and I would like to think that’s because she’s here with me. “It’s okay that I’m here, right?” she asks.
“Yeah . . . of course. You can stay as long as you need to. It is your apartment, after all.”
I try to smile, and surprisingly she returns the gesture before wiping her nose on my shirt again. “I should have a dorm room next week.”
I nod; if I speak, I’ll end up pathetically begging her not to leave me again.
chapter twenty-nine
TESSA
I walk to the bathroom to remove the makeup from my face and pull myself together. The warm water washes away all evidence of my eventful morning, and I’m actually glad to be back here. Despite everything that Hardin and I have been through, I’m glad to know that I still have a safe place to land with him. He is the only constant in my life; I remember him saying that to me once. I wonder if he meant it then.
Even if he didn’t, I believe that he feels that way now. I just wish he would tell me more about how he feels. Seeing him break down yesterday was the most emotion that I’ve seen out of him since we met. I just want to hear the words behind the tears.
I go back into the bedroom to find Hardin setting my bags down on the floor. “I went down and got your stuff,” he informs me.
“Thank you, I really hope I’m not intruding,” I tell him and bend down to grab some sweats and a T-shirt. I have to get out of this dress.
“I want you here, you know that, don’t you?” he says quietly. I shrug and he frowns. “You should know that by now, Tess.”
“I do . . . it’s just that your mother is here, and here I am bringing all this drama and crying,” I explain.
“My mum is glad that you’re here, and so am I.”
My chest swells, but I change the subject. “Do you guys have anything planned today?”
“I think she wanted to go to the mall or something, but we can go tomorrow.”
“You can go, I can keep myself entertained.” I don’t want him to cancel plans with his mother when he hasn’t seen her in over a year.
“No, it’s fine, really. You don’t need to be alone.”
“I’m fine.”
“Tessa, what did I just say?” he growls and I look up at him. He seems to have forgotten that he doesn’t get to decide things for me anymore. No one does.
He softens and corrects himself. “Sorry . . . you stay here. I’ll go shopping with her.”
“Much better,” I say and try to fight my smile.
Hardin has been so gentle, so . . . afraid the last few days. Even if he was wrong to push me, it was kind of nice to see he’s still himself.
I go into the closet to change my clothes, and just as I lift the dress over my head, he taps on the door. “Tess?”
“Yes?” I say.
After a beat he asks, “You’ll be here when we get back?”
I snort. “Yeah. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.”
“Okay. If you need anything, call me,” he says; the sadness in his voice is clear.
A few minutes later I hear the front door close and I emerge from the bedroom. I probably should have gone with them so I wouldn’t be here alone with my thoughts. I already feel lonely. After watching television for an hour, I am beyond bored. Periodically my phone buzzes and my mother’s name flashes on-screen. I ignore her entirely and wish Hardin would come back already. I grab my e-reader and start to read to pass the time, but I can’t stop looking at the clock.
I want to text Hardin and see how much longer they’ll be, but instead I decide to make dinner to pass the time. I go into the kitchen to decide what to make, something that takes a while but is easy. Lasagna it is, then.
Soon it’s eight, then eight thirty, and by nine I’m already thinking again that I’ll text him.
What the hell is wrong with me? One fight with my mother and suddenly I’m back to clinging to Hardin? If I’m honest with myself, I know that I never truly stopped clinging to him. Even though I don’t really want to admit it, I know that I’m not ready for a life without Hardin.
I’m not going to jump into anything wholesale with him, but I’m exhausted from battling myself all the time over him. As terrible as he has been to me, I’m even more miserable without him than I was when I found out about the entire bet. Part of me is irritated at myself for my lack of strength, but another part can’t deny how resolved I felt when I came back today. I still need a little time to think, to see how everything goes with us being around one another. I’m still so confused.
Nine fifteen. It’s only nine fifteen when I finish setting the table and cleaning up the mess I made in the kitchen. I’ll text him, just once, a simple Hey, how’s it going? just to check on him. It’s snowing, so I’m only texting him to check on him, you know, for safety reasons.
Just as I pick up my phone, the front door opens. I set my phone down covertly as Hardin and his mom enter.
“So, how was shopping?” I ask him at the same exact time that he says, “You made dinner?”
“You first,” we both say and laugh.
I hold up one hand and inform him and Trish, “I made dinner. If you already ate, that’s fine, too.”
“It smells so good in here!” his mother says as she surveys the tableful of food. Immediately she drops her bags and drops into a seat at the table. “Thank you, Tessa dear. That mall was dreadful, all the last-minute Christmas shoppers filled the place. Who waits until two days before Christmas to get their gifts?”
“Um, you,” Hardin answers and pours himself a glass of water.
“Oh, hush,” she scolds and picks off the end of a breadstick to pop into her mouth.
Hardin sits down next to his mother, and I take the chair across from her. Over dinner Trish talks about the shopping horrors they experienced and how a man was tackled by security guards for trying to steal a dress from Macy’s. Hardin swears that the dress was for the man himself, but Trish rolls her eyes and continues with the outlandish tale. I realize that the meal I prepared is actually quite good—better than usual—and almost the entire pan of lasagna is gone by the time the three of us finish. I had two servings myself—that’s the last time I’ll go all day without eating.
“Oh, we bought a tree,” his mom says suddenly. “Just a small one, but you two have to have a tree in your place—especially your first Christmas together!” She claps her hands and I laugh.
Even before everything fell apart, Hardin and I had never talked about getting a Christmas tree. I had been so distracted by moving in, and just by Hardin in general, that I nearly forgot about the holidays altogether. Neither of us had taken any interest in Thanksgiving—him for obvious reasons and me because I didn’t want to spend it at my mother’s church, so we ordered pizza and hung out in my dorm room.
“That’s okay, right?” Trish asks, making me realize I haven’t responded.
“Oh yeah, of course it is,” I tell her and look at Hardin, who is just staring at his empty plate.
Trish takes over the conversation again and I’m grateful. After a few more minutes she announces, “Well, as much as I’d love to stay awake with you party animals, I must get my beauty sleep.” Thanking me again and putting her plate into the sink, she bids us good night before leaning down to kiss Hardin on his cheek. He groans and moves away, so her lips barely brush his skin, but she seems pleased with the small amount of contact. She wraps her arms around my shoulders, placing a kiss on the top of my head. Hardin rolls his eyes, and I kick him under the table. After she disappears I stand up and put away the few remaining leftovers.
“Thanks for making dinner. You didn’t have to,” Hardin tells me, and I nod before we both head into the bedroom.
“I can sleep on the floor tonight since you did last night,” I offer, even though I know he wouldn’t actually let me sleep on the floor.
“No, it’s fine. It’s actually not so bad,” he says
I sit on the bed, and Hardin takes the blankets from the closet and lays them on the floor. I toss him two pillows, and he gives me a small smile before unbuttoning his jeans. Oh, I definitely should look away. I don’t exactly want to, but I know that I should. He pulls his black jeans down and steps out of them. The way his muscles move on his tattooed stomach as he bends down has me unable to look away, reminding me just how attracted I am to him, despite my anger. His black boxers cling to his skin, and his head snaps up to look at me. His face, hard and concentrated on mine, only feeds my trance. His jawline is so sharp, so intriguing. He’s still staring.
“Sorry,” I say, and jerk my head to the side, my cheeks flaring in humiliation.
“No, I’m sorry. Just a habit, I guess.” He shrugs and pulls a pair of cotton pants from the dresser.
I keep my eyes on the wall until he says “good night, Tess” and flicks the light off. I can practically hear the smirk in this tone.
I’M AWOKEN BY A SHARP SOUND and stare at the ceiling, I can barely see the blades of the fan moving through the darkness.
Then I hear it again, Hardin’s voice. “No! Please!” he whimpers.
Shit, he’s having one of his nightmares. I jump out of bed and kneel down beside his thrashing body.
“No!” he repeats, much louder this time.
“Hardin! Hardin, wake up!” I say into his ear and shake his shoulders.
His shirt is soaked with sweat and his face twisted as he opens his eyes, sitting up immediately. “Tess . . .” he breathes and pulls me into his arms.
I rub my fingers through his hair before bringing my hand down to his back. I gently run my hands up and down his back, my nails barely grazing his skin.
“It’s okay,” I tell him over and over again, and he hugs me tighter. “Come on, let’s go to bed,” I say and stand up. Holding on to my T-shirt, he climbs into the bed with me.
“Are you okay?” I ask him when he lies down.
He nods and I pull him closer to me. “Do you think you could get me some water?” he asks.
“Of course. I’ll be right back.”
I turn on the lamp before climbing back out of the bed, then try to keep as quiet as possible so as not to wake Trish. But I get to the kitchen, she’s already there.
“Is he okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, he’s okay now. I’m just getting him some water,” I say to her and fill up a glass in the sink. When I turn back around, she pulls me into a hug and kisses my cheek.
“Can we talk tomorrow?” she asks.
Suddenly I’m too nervous to speak, so I just nod, which makes her smile, though she sniffles as I walk off.
Back in our room, Hardin looks slightly relieved when I return and thanks me as he takes the water from my hand. He gulps down the entire glass while I watch him and join him back on the bed. I can see how uneasy he is, likely from the nightmare, but I know part of it is because of me.
“Come here,” I tell him and see the relief in his eyes as he scoots his body toward mine, and I wrap my arms around him and put my head on his chest. It feels just as comforting to me as I imagine it does to him. Despite everything he has done, I feel like home in this flawed boy’s arms.
“Don’t let me go, Tess,” he whispers and closes his eyes.
chapter thirty
TESSA
I wake up sweating. Hardin’s head is on my stomach, and his arms are in a bear hug around me. Surely his arms must be numb from my body weight. His legs are intertwined with mine, and he’s snoring lightly.
Taking a deep breath, I carefully lift my hand to brush his luscious hair from his forehead. I feel like I haven’t touched his hair in so long, but in reality it’s only been since Saturday. My mind replays the events in Seattle like a movie as I run my fingers through his soft mess of hair.
His eyes flutter open, and I jerk my hand away quickly. “Sorry,” I say, embarrassed to be caught in the act.
“No, it felt good,” he says, his voice thick from sleep.
After gathering himself and breathing against my skin for a moment, he lifts himself up from me—too soon—and I wish I hadn’t touched his hair so he
would still be asleep, holding me.
“I have some work to do today, so I’ll be going to town for a little while,” he says and grabs a pair of black jeans from the closet. He grabs his boots and slips them on quickly. I get the feeling that he’s rushing out of here.
“Okay . . .” What? I thought he’d be happy that we slept together, and that we held each other for the first time in a week. I thought something would have changed—not completely, but I thought maybe he could see that my resolve was wearing down, that I was a few steps closer to reconciling with him than I was yesterday.
“Yeah . . .” he says and twists his eyebrow ring between two fingers before pulling the white T-shirt over his head and grabbing a black one from the dresser. He doesn’t say anything before he exits the room, leaving me confused once again. Of all the things I expected to happen, him running out like this wasn’t one of them. What work could he possibly have to do right now? He reads manuscripts, the same as I do—only he has much more freedom to work from home, so why would he want to do it today? The memory of what Hardin was doing the last time he had to “work” makes my stomach turn.
I hear him talking to his mother briefly before the front door opens and closes. I plop back onto the pillows and kick my feet in a childish manner. But hearing the siren song of caffeine, I finally climb out of bed and pad out into the kitchen to make some coffee.
“Good morning, sweetie,” Trish chirps as I pass where she sits at the counter.
“Good morning. Thank you for making coffee,” I say and grab the freshly brewed pot.
“Hardin said he had some work to do,” she says, though it really sounds like she’s asking, not telling.
“Yeah . . . he said something about that,” I reply, unsure what else to say.
But she seems to ignore that and says, “I’m glad he’s okay after last night,” her voice full of worry.
“Yeah, me, too.” Then, without thinking, I add, “I shouldn’t have made him sleep on the floor.”