Minutes pass and I begin to grow uncomfortable with him just sitting here. Why the hell isn’t he talking or playing, or whatever the hell it is that five-year-olds do?
“So what’s the deal? Why don’t you talk?” I finally ask.
He shrugs.
“It’s rude to ignore people when they’re talking to you,” I inform him.
“It’s more rude to ask me why I don’t talk,” he fires back.
He has a slight British accent, not strong like his father’s, but not completely watered down either. “Well, at least now I know you’re able to speak,” I say, kind of thrown off guard by his cheeky response and not really sure what to say to him.
“Why do you want me to talk so bad?” he asks, seeming much older than five.
“I . . . I don’t know. Why don’t you like to?”
“I dunno.” He shrugs.
“Is everything okay in there?” Tessa calls from the kitchen. For a second, I consider telling her no, that the kid is dead or injured, but the humor is lost with the thought.
“Everything is fine!” I yell back. I hope she’s finished soon, because I’m finished with this conversation.
“Why do you have those things in your face?” Smith asks, pointing to my lip ring.
“Because I want to. Maybe the better question is, why don’t you have any?” I say to turn the tables on him, trying not to remember that he’s a kid after all.
“Did they hurt?” he asks, ducking my question.
“No, not at all.”
“They look like it.” He half smiles.
He isn’t so bad, I guess, but I still don’t like the idea of babysitting him.
“Almost finished in here,” Tessa calls out.
“Okay, I’m just teaching him how to make a homemade bomb out of a soda bottle,” I tease, which causes her to poke her head around the corner to check on us.
“She’s mental,” I tell him, and he laughs, dimples showing.
“She’s pretty,” he whispers into cupped hands.
“Yeah, she is. Isn’t she?” I nod and look up at Tess with her hair pulled up into some sort of nest on top of her head, her yoga pants and a plain T-shirt still on, and I nod again. She’s beautiful, and she doesn’t even have to try.
I know she can hear us still, and I catch a glimpse of her smile as she turns to finish her task in the kitchen. I don’t get why she’s smiling like that; so what if I’m talking to this kid? He’s still annoying, like all the other half-sized humans.
“Yeah, really pretty,” he agrees again.
“Okay, calm down, little dude. She’s mine,” I tease.
He looks at me with an O for a mouth. “Your what? Your wife?”
“No—fuck, no,” I scoff.
“Fuck, no?” he repeats.
“Shit, don’t say that!” I reach across the couch to cover his mouth.
“Don’t say ‘shit’?” he asks, shaking free of my hand.
“No, don’t say ‘shit,’ or ‘fuck.’ ” This is one of the many reasons I shouldn’t be around kids.
“I know they’re bad words,” he tells me, and I nod.
“So don’t say them,” I remind him.
“Who is she if she isn’t your wife?”
God, he’s a nosy little shit. “She’s my girlfriend.” I should have never got this kid talking in the first place.
He folds his hands together and looks up at me like a little priest or something. “You want her to be your wife?”
“No, I don’t want her to be my wife,” I say slowly but clearly so he can hear me and maybe get it this time.
“Ever?”
“Never.”
“And you have a baby?”
“No! Hell, no! Where do you get these things?” Just hearing them aloud is stressing me out.
“Why do—” he starts to ask, but I cut him off.
“Stop asking so many questions.” I groan and he nods before grabbing the remote out of my hand and changing the channel.
Tessa hasn’t checked up on us in a few minutes, so I decide to go into kitchen and see if she’s almost finished. “Tess . . . are you almost done, because he’s talking way too much,” I complain, grabbing a piece of broccoli from the dish she’s preparing. She hates when I eat before a meal is ready, but there is a five-year-old in my living room, so I can eat this damn broccoli.
“Yeah, just another minute or two,” she answers without looking at me. Her tone is strange, and something seems off.
“You okay?” I ask her when she turns around with glassy eyes.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It was just the onions.” She shrugs and turns the faucet on to wash her hands.
“It’s okay . . . he’ll talk to you, too. He’s warmed up now,” I assure her.
“Yeah, I know. It’s not that . . . it’s just the onions,” she says again.
chapter seventy-one
HARDIN
The little shit remains mute and just nods when Tessa asks him cheerfully, “Do you like the chicken, Smith?”
“It’s really good!” I say overenthusiastically, to soften the blow of the kid still not wanting to speak to her.
She gives me an appreciative smile but doesn’t meet my eyes. The rest of the meal is eaten in silence.
While Tessa cleans up the kitchen, I head back into the living room. I can hear the small footsteps following me.
“Can I help you?” I ask and plop down on the couch.
“No.” He shrugs, turning his attention to the television.
“Okay, then . . .” There is literally nothing on tonight.
“Is my dad going to die?” the small voice next to me suddenly asks.
I look at him. “What?”
“My dad, will he be dead?” Smith asks, though he looks pretty unfazed by the whole topic.
“No, he’s just sick with food poisoning or something.”
“My mom was sick and now she’s dead,” he says, and the little quaver in his voice makes me realize he’s not immune to the worry, causing me to choke on my own breath.
“Erm . . . yeah. That was different.” Poor kid.
“Why?”
Christ, he asks so many questions. I want to call for Tess, but something about the worried expression on his face stops me. He won’t even speak to her, so I don’t think he would want me to bring her in here.
“Your dad is just a little sick . . . and your mum was really sick. Your dad will be fine.”
“Are you lying?” He speaks well beyond his years, sort of the way I always have.
I suppose that is what happens when you’re forced to grow up too quickly. “No, I would tell you if your dad was going to die,” I say, and mean it.
“You would?” His bright eyes are shining, and I’m terrified that he may cry. I have no fucking idea what I would do if he cried right now. Run. I would run into the other room and hide behind Tessa.
“Yep. Now let’s talk about something a little less morbid.”
“What’s morbid?”
“Something that’s twisted and fucked up,” I explain.
“Bad word,” he scolds me.
“It’s okay for me to say, because I’m an adult.”
“Still a bad word.”
“You said two of them earlier. I could tell your dad on you,” I threaten.
“I’ll tell your pretty girl on you,” he counters, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Okay, okay, you win,” I say, gesturing for him to just stay put.
Tessa peers around the corner. “Smith, do you want to come in here with me?”
Smith looks at her, then looks back up at me and asks, “Can I stay with Hardin?”
“I don’t—” she begins, but I interrupt.
“Fine.” I sigh and hand the kid the remote.
chapter seventy-two
TESSA
I watch as Smith settles in on the couch, scooting slightly closer to Hardin. Hardin looks at him with caution but doesn’t stop him or say anythi
ng about his proximity. It’s ironic that Smith seems to like Hardin, when Hardin clearly despises children. Though since Smith feels in some ways more like a country gentleman from an Austen novel, he may or may not be included in that category.
Never, he said to Smith when asked about marrying me.
Never. He never plans on having a future with me. I knew this somewhere deep inside, but it still hurts me to hear him say it, especially the cold and confident way he said it, like it was a joke or something. He could have softened the blow, even just a little.
I don’t want to be married right now, obviously, not for years. But it’s the idea that it isn’t even a possibility that hurts me, a lot. He says that he wants to be with me forever, yet he doesn’t want to be married? Are we supposed to just be “boyfriend and girlfriend” forever? Am I okay with never having children? Will he love me enough to make this all okay, despite the future I had always envisioned for myself?
I honestly don’t know, and my head is pounding thinking about it. I don’t want to obsess about the future right now; I’m only nineteen. We’ve been getting along so well, and I don’t want to ruin that.
After the kitchen is clean and the dishwasher is loaded, I check on Hardin and Smith once more before going into the bedroom to get my things ready for tomorrow. My phone rings as I lay out a long black skirt for tomorrow. Kimberly.
“Hey, is everything okay?” I ask after answering.
“Yeah, everything is okay. They’re giving him some antibiotics and we should be getting sent home soon. It may be late, I hope that’s okay,” she says.
“Of course it is. Do what you need to do.”
“How is Smith doing?”
“He’s good—he’s actually hanging out with Hardin,” I tell her, still not believing it myself.
She laughs heartily. “Really? Hardin?”
“Yeah, tell me about it.” I roll my eyes and make my way back into the living room.
“Well, that’s unexpected, but it’s good training for when you have little Hardins running around the house,” she teases.
Her words tug at my heart, and I bite down on my lip. “Yeah . . . guess so.” I want to change the subject before the lump in my throat grows any larger.
“Well, we’ll be done soon, hopefully. Smith’s bedtime is ten, but since it’s already ten, just let him stay up until you want him to go to sleep. Thank you again,” Kimberly says and hangs up.
I make a quick stop in the kitchen to pack a small lunch for tomorrow; I’ll just bring leftovers from tonight.
“Why?” I hear Smith ask Hardin.
“Because they’re trapped on the island.”
“Why?”
“Their plane crashed.”
“How come they’re not dead?”
“It’s a show.”
“A stupid show,” Smith says, and Hardin laughs.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Hardin shakes his head in amusement, and Smith giggles. They look alike in some ways: the dimples, the shape of their eyes, and their smiles. I imagine that except for the blond hair and shade of eyes, Hardin looked much like Smith when he was younger.
“Is it okay if I go to bed, or do you want me to watch him?” I ask Hardin.
He looks at me, then at Smith. “Um . . . that’s cool. We’re just watching mindless television anyway,” he says.
“Okay, good night, Smith. I’ll see you in a bit when Kim is here to get you,” I tell him. He looks over at Hardin, then back to me and smiles.
“Night,” he whispers.
I turn to go back into the room, but I’m stopped by Hardin’s fingers wrapping around my arm. “Hey, no good night to me?” He pouts.
“Oh . . . yeah. Sorry.” I hug him and give him a kiss on the cheek. “Good night,” I say, and he hugs me again.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, pushing my shoulders back so he can look at me.
“Yeah, I’m just really tired, and he wants to hang out with you, anyway.” I smile weakly.
“I love you,” he tells me and kisses my forehead.
“I love you,” I respond and hurry to the bedroom and close the door behind me.
chapter seventy-three
TESSA
The next day, the weather is nice, with no snow and minimal slush on the sides of the road. When I get to Vance, Kimberly is sitting at her desk, and she smiles at me as I grab my usual donut and coffee.
“I didn’t even know you came last night. I fell asleep,” I tell her.
“I know, Smith was sleeping, too. Thank you again,” she says, and her phone rings.
My office feels strange after being on campus yesterday. Sometimes it seems as though I live a double life: one half a college student, one half full adult. I have an apartment with my boyfriend and a paid internship that honestly feels like a job, not an internship. I love both halves, and if I had to choose, I would choose the adult life, but with Hardin.
I dive into my work, and lunchtime comes quickly. After several duds, I hit upon a manuscript that is really captivating, and I find myself eating quickly so I can get back and finish it. I hope they find a cure for the main character’s illness; I’ll be heartbroken if he passes. The rest of the day goes quickly as I am completely withdrawn from the world and fully enveloped in the manuscript, which ends terribly sadly.
With tears staining my cheeks, I leave for the day and head home. I haven’t heard from Hardin once since I left him asleep and grumpy in bed, and I can’t stop thinking about his words from last night. I need a distraction from ruminations; sometimes I wish I could just shut my mind off the way other people seem to be able to do. I don’t like that I overthink everything, but I can’t help it. It’s who I am, and now all I can think of is Hardin and me not having a future. Still, I really need to do something to get my mind off obsessing over this. He is who he is, and he doesn’t want to ever get married or have children.
Maybe I should call Steph after I go to Conner’s to get groceries and do a load of laundry since Hardin and Landon will be going to the hockey game tonight . . . God, I hope that goes well.
When I arrive at the apartment, I find Hardin reading in the bedroom.
“Hey, sexy. How was your day?” he asks as I walk in.
“It was okay, I guess.”
“What’s wrong?” Hardin looks up at me.
“The manuscript I read today was so sad, incredible but so heartbreaking,” I say, trying not to get emotional again.
“Oh, it must have been good if you’re still upset about it.” He smiles. “I would hate to have been there the first time you read A Farewell to Arms.”
I plop down next to him on the bed. “This was worse, so much worse.”
He grabs hold of my shirt, pulling me to lay my head on his shoulder. “My sensitive girl.” As he runs his fingers up and down my spine, the way he spoke the words he just uttered makes my stomach flutter. To be called “my girl” in any form makes me much happier than it should.
“Did you even go to classes today?” I ask him.
“Nope. Watching the mini-human wore me out.”
“By ‘watching,’ you mean watching TV with him?”
“Same thing. I did more than you did.”
“So you like him, then?” I’m not sure why I’m asking this.
“No . . . well, as far as annoying children go, he isn’t at the top of the list, but I won’t be planning any playdates soon.” He smiles.
I roll my eyes but don’t say anything else about Smith. “Are you ready for the game tonight?”
“No, I already told him I’m not going.”
“Hardin! You have to go,” I shriek.
“I’m teasing . . . he’ll be here soon. You owe me for this shit, Tess.” Hardin groans.
“You like hockey, though, and Landon is good company.”
“Not as good of company as you.” He kisses my cheek.
“You’re in a good mood for someone who acts like they’re being led to slaughter.”
/>
“If this goes badly, I won’t be the one who is slaughtered.”
“You better be nice to Landon tonight,” I warn him.
He raises his hands in mock innocence, but I know better. A knock is heard at the door, but Hardin stays put. “He’s your friend, you answer the door,” he says.
I give him a look but go answer the door.
Landon is dressed in a hockey jersey, blue jeans, and tennis shoes. “Hey, Tessa!” he says with his usual friendly smile and a hug for a greeting.
“Can we get this over with?” Hardin says before I can even say hello.
“Well, I can see this will be a fun night.” Landon jokes and runs a hand over his short hair.
“It’ll be the best night of your entire life,” Hardin teases him.
“Good luck,” I tell Landon, who just chuckles.
“Oh, Tess, he’s just showing off, trying to act like he isn’t excited to spend time with me.” Landon smiles, and it’s Hardin’s turn to roll his eyes.
“Well, this is too much testosterone for me, so I’m going to change and run some errands. You two have fun,” I say, leaving the men to their little games.
chapter seventy-four
HARDIN
As Landon and I push our way through the crowd, I groan and ask, “Why the hell is it so crowded already?”
He gives me a look with a little attitude behind it. “Because you made us late.”
“The game doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes.”
“I usually come an hour early,” he explains.
“Of course you do. Even when I’m not with Tessa, I’m with Tessa,” I complain. Landon and Tessa are literally the same person when it comes to their annoying need to be the first and best at everything they do.
“You should feel honored to be with Tessa,” he tells me.
“Stop being a dick and we might actually enjoy the game,” I tell him forcefully, but can’t help the smile that appears on my face at his annoyance. “Sorry, Landon. I’m honored to be with her. Now, would you chill out?” I laugh.
“Sure, sure. Let’s just get our seats,” he says quietly, leading the way.
“WHAT THE HECK! Did you see that? How the heck did that count!?” Landon screams next to me. He’s more energized than I’ve ever seen him. Still, even angry, he sounds like a pussy.