Her brows knit together in question. “He doesn’t have the nightmares when he isn’t on the floor?” she asks carefully.
“No, he doesn’t have them if we . . .” I trail off, stirring the sugar into my coffee and trying to think of a way to talk myself out of this.
“If you’re there,” she finishes for me.
“Yeah . . . if I’m there.”
She gives me a hopeful look that—so I’m told—only a mother can give when talking about her children. “Do you want to know why he has them? I know he’ll hate me for telling you, but I think you should know.”
“Oh, please, Mrs. Daniels.” I swallow. I don’t really want to hear her tell me that story. “He told me . . . about that night.” I swallow when her eyes widen in surprise.
“He told you?” she gasps.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just say it that way. And the other night, I thought you knew . . .” I apologize and take another drink of coffee.
“No . . . no . . . Don’t apologize. I just can’t believe he told you. Obviously you knew about the nightmares, but this . . . this is astounding.” She dabs her eyes with her fingers and smiles a smile straight from the heart.
“I hope it’s okay. I’m so sorry for what happened.” I don’t want to intrude on their family secrets, but I also have never had to deal with anything like this before.
“It’s more than okay, Tessa dear,” she says and begins full-on sobbing. “I’m just so happy he has you . . . They were so bad—he would scream and scream. I tried to send him to therapy, but you know Hardin. He wouldn’t speak to them. At all. As in not one word, he would just sit there and stare at the wall.”
I set my mug down on the counter and wrap my arms around her.
“I don’t know what it was that made you come back yesterday, but I’m glad that you did,” she says into my shoulder.
“What?”
She pulls back and gives me a wry expression and dabs at her eyes. “Oh, honey, I’m old, but not that old. I knew something was going on between the two of you. I saw how surprised he was to see you when we arrived and I could tell something was off when he said you weren’t going to make it to England.”
I had a feeling that she was onto us, but I didn’t know how transparent we were to her. I take a big gulp of my now lukewarm coffee and consider this.
Trish tenderly grabs on to my other arm. “He was so excited . . . well, as excited as Hardin gets . . . to bring you to England, and then a few days ago he said you were going out of town, but I knew better. What happened?” she asks.
I take another drink and make eye contact with her. “Well . . .” I don’t know what to tell her, because Oh nothing, your son just took my virginity as a part of a bet doesn’t exactly feel helpful right now.
“He . . . he lied to me” is all I say. I don’t want her to be upset with Hardin, and I don’t really want to get into all of it with her, but I don’t want to completely lie either.
“A big lie?”
“A massive lie.”
She looks at me then like I’m a landmine. “Is he sorry?”
Talking to Trish about this is strange. I don’t even know her, and she’s his mother, so she’ll feel inclined to take his side no matter what. So I reply delicately, “Yeah . . . I think he is,” and drain the rest of my coffee.
“Has he said that he is?”
“Yeah . . . a few times.”
“Has he shown it?”
“Sort of.” Has he? I know he broke down the other day, and he’s been calmer than usual, but he hasn’t actually said what I want to hear.
The older woman looks at me, and for a moment I really fear what her response is going to be. But then she surprises me by saying, “Well, as his mother, I have to put up with his antics. But you don’t. If he wants you to forgive him, then he needs to work for it. He needs to show you that he’ll never again do anything like whatever it is that he did—and I figure it must have been a pretty big lie if you moved out. Try to keep in mind that emotion is not a place he goes to often. He’s a very angry boy . . . man now.”
I know the question sounds ridiculous—people lie all the time—but the words tumble out before my brain can process them: “Would you forgive someone for lying to you?”
“Well, it would depend on the lie, and how sorry they were. I will say that when you allow yourself to believe too many lies, it’s hard to find your way back to the truth.”
Is she saying I shouldn’t forgive him?
She taps her fingers on the counter lightly. “However, I know my son, and I can see the change in him since the last time I saw him. He’s changed the last few months, so much, Tessa. I can’t even tell you how much. He laughs and smiles. He even engaged in conversation with me yesterday.” Her smile is bright despite the serious subject. “I know that if he lost you he would go back to how he was before, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to be with him because of that.”
“I don’t . . . feel obligated, I mean. I just don’t know what to think.” I wish I could explain the whole story to her so I could have her honest opinion. I wish my mother was as understanding as Trish seems to be.
“Well, that’s the hard part, you have to be the one to decide. Just take your time and make him work it, things come easily to my son, they always have. Maybe that’s part of his problem, he always gets what he wants.”
I laugh because that statement couldn’t be more true. “That he does.”
I sigh and go to the pantry and grab a box of cereal. But Trish interrupts my plan by saying, “How about you and me get dressed and go get some breakfast and do some girl things? I could use a haircut, myself.” She laughs and shakes her brown hair back and forth.
Her sense of humor is nice, just like Hardin’s is, when he allows it to show. He’s more raunchy, yes, but I see where he gets his humor.
“Great. Let me just take a shower first,” I say and put back the box.
“Shower? Its snowing outside, and we’ll be getting our hair washed anyway! I was going to just wear this.” She gestures to her black tracksuit. “Throw on some jeans or something, and let’s go!”
This is so different than if I was going anywhere with my mother. I would have to have ironed clothes, my hair curled, and makeup on—even if we were just going to the grocery store.
I smile and say, “Okay.”
In the bedroom, I grab a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt from the closet, then pull my hair into a bun. Slipping on my Toms, I head to the bathroom and quickly brush my teeth and splash cold water on my face. When I join Trish in the living room, she’s ready and waiting by the door.
“I should leave Hardin a note or text him,” I say.
But she smiles and pulls me toward the door. “That lad will be fine.”
AFTER SPENDING THE REST of the morning and the majority of the afternoon with Trish, I feel much more relaxed. She is kind, funny, and great to talk to. She keeps the conversation light and has me laughing almost the entire time. We both get our hair done, and Trish adds bangs, daring me to do the same, but I refuse with a smile. I do, however, let her talk me into buying a black dress for Christmas. I have no idea what I’m doing for Christmas, though. I don’t want to intrude on Hardin and his mother, and I haven’t bought any presents or anything. I think I may take Landon up on the invitation to his house. It seems a little too much to spend Christmas with Hardin when we’re not together. We’re in this alien in-between stage: we aren’t together, but I’d been feeling like we were getting closer to each other until he left this morning.
By the time we return to the apartment, Hardin’s car is in the lot, and I start to feel nervous. When we get up to the apartment, we find him sitting on the couch with papers spread out across his lap and the coffee table. He has a pen between his teeth and looks deep into whatever it is that he’s doing. Working, I suspect, but I have only actually seen him work a few times in the months I’ve known him.
“Hello, son!” Trish says
in a cheery voice.
“Hey,” Hardin responds flatly.
“Did you miss us?” she teases, and he rolls his eyes before gathering up the loose pages and shoving them into a binder.
“I’ll be in the bedroom,” he huffs and stands from the couch.
I shrug at Trish, then follow Hardin into our bedroom.
“Where’d you guys go?” he asks and sets down his binder on the dresser. A page falls out, and he quickly shoves it back inside, closing the tab with a snap.
I sit on the bed with my legs crossed. “To breakfast, then we got haircuts and did some shopping.”
“Oh.”
“Where did you go?” I ask him. He looks down at the floor before answering.
“To work.”
“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I’m not buying that,” I say with a tone that tells me Trish must have worn off on me.
His green eyes blaze at me. “Well, I don’t really care if you’re not buying that,” he says in a mocking tone and sits down on the opposite side of the bed.
“What’s your problem?” I snap.
“Nothing. I don’t have a problem.” His walls are up; I can feel them guarding him.
“Obviously you do. Why did you leave this morning?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I already told you.”
“Lying to me isn’t going to help anything, that’s what got you . . . us into this mess in the first place,” I remind him.
“Fine! You want to know where I was? I was at my dad’s!” he shouts and stands up.
“Your dad’s? Why?”
“Talking to Landon.” He sits down on the chair.
I roll my eyes. “I believed the work story more than this.”
“I was. Go on and call him, if you don’t believe me.”
“Okay, and what were you talking with Landon about?”
“You, of course.”
“What about me?” I raise my hands in front of me.
“Just everything. I know you don’t want to be here.” He looks over at me.
“If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.”
“You have nowhere else to go, I know you wouldn’t be here if you did.”
“What makes you so sure? We slept in the bed together last night.”
“Yeah, and you know why—if I hadn’t had a nightmare, you wouldn’t have agreed to it. That’s the only reason you did, and the only reason you’re talking to me now. Because you feel sorry for me.” His hands are shaking, and his eyes are piercing. I can see the shame behind the green.
“It doesn’t matter why it happened.” I shake my head at him. I don’t know why he always jumps to these conclusions. Why is it so hard for him to accept that he is loved?
“You feel sorry for poor Hardin who has nightmares and can’t sleep in a fucking bed alone!” His voice is too loud, and we have company.
“Stop yelling! Your mom is in the other room!” I yell back.
“Is that what you two did all day . . . talk about me? I don’t need your fucking pity, Tess.”
“Oh my God! You are so frustrating! We did not talk about you, not in that way. And for the record, I do not feel sorry for you, I wanted you in that bed with me regardless of your dreams.” I cross my arms.
“Sure,” he barks.
“This isn’t about how I feel; it’s about how you feel about yourself. You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself, if anything,” I say equally harshly.
“I don’t.”
“Seems like it. You just started a fight with me for no reason. We should be moving forward not backward.”
“Moving forward?” His eyes meet mine.
“Yeah . . . I mean may-maybe,” I stutter.
“Maybe?” He smiles.
And he’s so happy all of a sudden—he’s grinning like a small child on Christmas. He was just fighting with me, his cheeks flushed in anger. And strangely, I feel most of my anger evaporating as well. The control that he holds over my emotions terrifies me. “You are insane, literally,” I tell him.
He gives me a killer smirk. “Your hair looks nice.”
“You need to be medicated,” I tease, and he laughs.
“I wouldn’t argue there,” he responds.
And I can’t help but laugh with him . . . Maybe I’m just as crazy as he is.
chapter thirty-one
TESSA
Our moment together is interrupted when my phone vibrates and dances across the dresser. Hardin grabs it for me, looks at the screen, and says, “Landon.”
Taking the phone from him, I answer, “Hello?”
“Hey, Tessa,” Landon says. “So, my mum wanted me to call and see if you were coming over for Christmas?”
His mom is so nice. And I bet she makes a great Christmas spread. “Oh . . . yeah, I’d love to. What time should I be there?” I reply.
“Noon.” He laughs. “She’s already started cooking, so if I were you, I wouldn’t eat anything until then.”
“I’ll start fasting now,” I joke. “Anything I should bring? I know Karen’s a much better cook than me, but I could make something—dessert, maybe?”
“Yeah, you can bring a dessert . . . and also . . . I know this is awkward, and if you aren’t comfortable with it, then that’s okay.” His voice lowers. “But they want to invite Hardin and his mum. But if you and Hardin aren’t getting along—”
“We are. Sort of,” I interrupt. Hardin raises his brow at my reply, and I give him a nervous smile.
Landon lets out a little breath. “Super. If you could just pass the invite along, they would really appreciate it.”
“I will,” I assure him, and then something occurs to me. “What should I get them, giftwise?”
“No, no—nothing! You don’t have to bring gifts.”
I keep my eyes on the wall and try not to focus on Hardin’s steady gaze on me. “Okay, sure. But I’m bringing gifts, so what should it be?”
Landon sighs good-naturedly. “Stubborn as always. Well, my mum likes her kitchen, and Ken would go for a paperweight . . . or something.”
“A paperweight?” I snort. “That’s a dreadful gift.”
He laughs. “Well, don’t get him a tie, because I did.” Then he groans. “Well, let me know if you need anything between now and then. I have to go help clean the house,” he says and hangs up.
When I put my phone down, Hardin immediately asks, “You are going there for Christmas?”
“Yeah . . . I don’t want to go to my mother’s,” I say and sit on the bed.
“I don’t blame you.” He rubs his chin with his index finger. “You could stay here?”
I pick at my fingernails on my lap. “You could . . . come with me.”
“And leave my mum here alone?” he scoffs.
“No! Of course not, Karen and your dad want her to come . . . Both of you.”
Hardin looks at me like I’m crazy. “Yeah, right. And why would my mum want to go there with my father and his new wife?”
“I . . . I don’t know, but it could be nice to have everyone together.”
Really, though, I’m not sure how exactly that would go, largely because I don’t know what type of relationship Trish and Ken have now, if they have one at all. It’s also not my place to try to bring everyone together—I’m not part of their family. Heck, I’m not even Hardin’s girlfriend.
“I don’t think so.” He frowns.
Despite everything going on between Hardin and me, it would have been nice to spend Christmas with him, but I understand. It would have been hard enough to convince Hardin to go to his father’s house for the holiday anyway, let alone with his mother.
Because part of my brain likes a problem to solve, I start thinking that I need to get gifts for Landon and his parents, maybe something for Trish as well. But what? I should go now, really—it’s already five, which only leaves a bit tonight and then tomorrow, Christmas Eve. I have no idea whether or not I should get something for Hardin; actually, I’m pret
ty sure I shouldn’t. It would be awkward to give him a present when we’re in this strange in-between place.
“What is it?” Hardin asks of my silence.
I groan. “I have to go to the mall. This is what I get for being homeless on Christmas,” I tell him.
“I don’t think bad planning has anything to do with you being homeless,” he teases. His smile is small but his eyes are bright . . .
Is he flirting with me? I laugh at the thought and roll my eyes. “Bad planning is not something that I do, ever.”
“Sure . . .” he mocks, and I swat my hand at him.
He grabs my wrist and wraps his fingers around it to stop my playful assault. A familiar warmth floods through my body, and I lock eyes with him. He lets go quickly and we both look away. The air fills with tension, and I stand up to put my shoes back on.
“You’re going now?” he asks.
“Yeah . . . the mall closes at nine,” I remind him.
“You’re going alone?” He shuffles his feet awkwardly.
“Would you like to come?” I know this probably isn’t the best idea, but if I want to at least try to move forward, then going to the mall together is fine. Right?
“Come shopping with you?”
“Yeah . . . if you don’t want to, that’s fine, too,” I say awkwardly.
“No, of course I do. I just . . . wasn’t expecting you to ask.”
I nod, then grab my phone and purse. Hardin close on my heels, I go out into the living room.
“We’re going to the mall for a while,” Hardin tells his mom.
“Both of you?” she asks knowingly, and he rolls his eyes. As we hit the door, she yells over her shoulder, “Tessa, dear, if you want to leave him there, I won’t complain.”
I chuckle. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I say and follow him out.
WHEN HARDIN’S CAR STARTS, a very familiar piano melody fills the air. He hurries to turn the volume down, but it’s too late. I give him a smug look.
“They grew on me, okay?” he says.
“Sure,” I tease and turn the song back up.
If only things could go this way forever. If only this flirty getting along, this nervous middle ground that we are in, could last forever. But it won’t. It can’t. We have to actually discuss what has happened, and what will happen from here on out. I know we have so much to talk about, but we aren’t going to solve this problem all at once, even if I force the issue. I want to find the right time, and take it slow until then.