I nod. “I know what you mean.”
“What?”
Broken memoires of blacking out in bars and stumbling down the streets of London race through my mind. The idea of fun that I once had is completely different from what I consider to be fun now. “I used to take them now and then for fun.”
“You did?” Her mouth falls open, and I don’t like how her look makes me feel.
“I guess ‘fun’ isn’t really the word,” I backtrack. “Not anymore.”
She nods and gives me a sweet, relieved smile. She adjusts the collar of her sweater, which I see now is pretty tight on her.
“Where did that come from?” I ask.
“The sweater?” She gives me a wry smile. “It’s my mother’s . . . can’t you tell?” Her fingers tug at the thick fabric.
“I don’t know. Noah was at the door, and you’re dressed like that . . . I thought I had stepped into a time machine,” I tease. Her eyes light up with humor, all sadness momentarily washed away, and she bites down on her lip in an attempt to stop from laughing.
She sniffles and reaches over to the small table to pull a tissue from the floral box. “No. There are no time machines.” Tessa shakes her head back and forth slowly while wiping at her nose.
Fuck, even after crying she’s so damned beautiful. ’ “I was worried about you,” I tell her.
Her smile disappears. Fuck.
“This is what confuses me,” she says. “You told me you didn’t want to try anymore, but here you are telling me that you were worried about me.” She stares at me blankly, her lip trembling.
She’s right. I don’t always say it, but it’s true. I spend hours a day worrying about her. Emotion . . . this is what I need from her. I need the reassurance.
But she takes my silence the wrong way. “It’s okay, I’m not upset with you. I do appreciate you coming here and bringing my car. It means a lot to me that you did that.”
I remain mute on the couch, unable to talk for some time.
“It’s nothing,” I finally manage to say with a shrug. But I need to say something real, anything.
After watching more of my painful silence for a moment, Tessa goes into polite hostess mode. “How will you get home? Wait . . . how did you even know how to get here?”
Shit. “Landon. He told me.”
Her eyes light up again. “Oh, he’s here?”
“Yeah, he’s outside.”
She flushes and rises to her feet. “Oh! I’m keeping you, I’m sorry.”
“No, you aren’t. He’s fine out there waiting,” I stammer. I don’t want to leave. Unless you’re coming with me.
“He should have come inside.” She glances toward the door.
“He’s fine.” My voice comes out much too sharp.
“Thank you again for bringing my car . . .” She’s trying to dismiss me in a polite way. I know her.
“Do you want me to bring your stuff inside?” I offer.
“No, I’m leaving in the morning, so it’s easier to keep it in there.”
Why does it surprise me that every single time she opens her mouth, she reminds me that she’s going to Seattle? I keep waiting for her to change her mind, but it will never happen.
chapter sixty-seven
TESSA
As Hardin reaches the door, I ask, “What did you do about Dan?”
I want to know more about last night, even if Noah can hear us talking. As we pass him in the hallway, Hardin doesn’t so much as look at him. Noah glares, though, unsure of what to do, I assume.
“Dan. You said Molly told you. What did you do?” I know Hardin well enough to know that he went after him. I’m still surprised by Molly’s help—I was far from expecting it when she walked into the bedroom last night. I shudder at the memory.
Hardin half smiles. “Nothing too bad.”
I didn’t kill Dan when I found him; I only kicked him in the face . . .
“You kicked him in the face . . .” I say, trying to dig through the mess in my head.
He raises a brow. “Yeah . . . Did Zed tell you that?”
“I . . . I don’t know . . .” I remember hearing the words, I just can’t remember who said them.
I’m Hardin, not Zed, Hardin said—his voice in my mind feels so real.
“You were here, weren’t you? Last night?” I step toward him. He backs into the wall. “You were; I remember it. You said you were going to drink and you didn’t . . .”
“I didn’t think you remembered,” Hardin mutters.
“Why wouldn’t you just tell me?” My head aches while I struggle to separate drug-induced dreaming from reality.
“I don’t know. I was going to, but then everything got so familiar and you were smiling and I didn’t want to ruin it.” He shrugs one shoulder, and his eyes focus on the large painting of the golden gates of Heaven on my mother’s wall.
“How would you telling me that you drove me home ruin it?”
“I didn’t drive you home. Zed did.”
I remembered that earlier, sort of. This is so frustrating.
“So you came after? What was I doing?” I want Hardin to help me put together the sequence of events. I can’t seem to do it on my own.
“You were lying on the couch; you could barely speak.”
“Oh . . .”
“You were calling out for him,” he adds quietly, venom laced through his deep voice.
“For who?”
“Zed.” His answer is simple, but I can feel the emotion behind it.
“No, I wasn’t.” That doesn’t make sense. “This is so frustrating.” I sift through the mental mud and finally find a lump of sense . . . Hardin speaking about Dan, Hardin asking me if I can hear him, me asking him about Zed . . .
“I wanted to know about him, if you had hurt him. I think.” The memory is fuzzy, but it’s there.
“You said his name more than once; it’s okay. You were so out of it.” His eyes drop to the carpet and stay there. “I didn’t expect you to want me anyway.”
“I didn’t want him. I may not remember much, but I was afraid. I know myself enough to know that I would only call for you,” I admit without thinking.
Why did I just say that? Hardin and I broke up, again. This is our second actual breakup, but it feels like there have been so many more. Maybe because this time I haven’t jumped into his arms at the slightest sign of affection from him. This time I left the house and the gifts from Hardin; this time I’m leaving for Seattle in less than twenty-four hours.
“Come here,” he says, holding his arms open.
“I can’t.” I take a page from his book and run my fingers over my hair.
“Yes, you can.”
Whenever Hardin is around me, despite the situation, the familiarity of him always seeps into every fiber of my being. We either scream at each other or we smile and tease. There’s never any distance, no middle ground between us. It’s such a natural thing for me now, an instinct really, to let myself find comfort in his arms, laugh at his stale attitude, and ignore the issues that caused us to be in whatever terrible situation that we’re in at the time.
“We aren’t together anymore,” I say quietly, more to remind myself.
“I know.”
“I can’t pretend that we are.” I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and try not to notice the way his eyes dull at the reminder of our status.
“I’m not asking you to do that. All I’m asking is for you to come here.” His arms are still open, still long and inviting, calling for me, pulling me closer and closer.
“And if I do, we’ll only fall back into repeating the cycle that we both decided to end.”
“Tessa . . .”
“Hardin, please.” I back away. This living room is much too small for me to avoid him, and my self-control is faltering.
“Fine.” He finally sighs and his hands tug at his hair, his usual sign of frustration.
“We need this, you know that we do. We have to spend som
e time apart.”
“Some time apart?” He looks wounded, pissed off, and I’m a little afraid of what will come out of his mouth next. I don’t want a fight with him, and today isn’t the day for him to try to start one.
“Yes, some time alone. We can’t get along and everything seems to always be working against us. You said yourself the other day that you were sick of it. You kicked me out of the apartment.” I cross my arms in front of my chest.
“Tessa . . . you can’t be fucking—” He looks into my eyes and stops midsentence. “How much time?”
“What?”
“How much time apart?”
“I . . .” I didn’t expect him to agree. “I don’t know.”
“A week? A month?” He pushes for specifics.
“I don’t know, Hardin. We both need to get ourselves to a better place.”
“You’re my better place, Tess.”
His words swarm through my chest, and I force my eyes to move from his face before I lose whatever resistance I have left. “You’re mine, too, you know you are, but you’re so angry and I’m always on edge with you. You have to do something about your anger, and I need time to myself.”
“So this is my fault, again?” he asks.
“No, it’s me, too. I’m too dependent on you. I need to be more independent.”
“Since when does any of this matter?” The tone of his voice tells me that he hasn’t ever considered my dependency on him a problem.
“Since we had that massive blowup at the apartment a few nights ago. Actually, it started a while ago; Seattle and the argument the other night were just the icing on the cake.”
When I finally gather the courage to look up at Hardin, I see that his expression has changed.
“Okay. I get it,” he says. “I’m sorry, I know I fuck up a lot. We’ve already beaten the Seattle thing into the ground, and maybe it’s time that I start listening to you more.” He reaches for my hand, and I let him take it, momentarily baffled by his newfound agreeability. “I’ll give you some space, okay? You’ve dealt with enough shit in the past twenty-four hours alone. I don’t want to be another problem . . . for once.”
“Thank you,” I respond simply.
“Can you let me know when you get to Seattle? And get some food in your stomach, and rest, please.” His green eyes are soft, warm, and comforting.
And I want to ask him to stay, but I know it’s not a good idea.
“I will. Thank you . . . Really.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” His hands push into the tight pockets of his black jeans, and his eyes measure my face. “I’ll tell Landon you said hello,” he says and walks out the door.
I can’t help but smile at the way he lingers by Landon’s car, staring at my mother’s house for a long beat before getting into the passenger seat.
chapter sixty-eight
TESSA
The moment that Landon’s car is out of sight, the emptiness weighs heavy on my chest, and I step back from the entryway, letting the door close.
Noah is leaning against the threshold between the living room and kitchen. “Is he gone?” he asks gently.
“Yeah, he’s gone.” My voice is distant, unfamiliar even to myself.
“I didn’t know you guys weren’t together.”
“We . . . well . . . we’re just trying to figure everything out.”
“Can you tell me one thing before you change the subject?” His eyes scan my face. “I know that look—you’re about to find a reason to.”
Even after the months we’ve been apart, Noah still reads me so well. “What do you want to know?” I ask.
His blue eyes stare into mine. He holds my gaze for a long time, a bravely long time. “If you could go back, would you, Tessa? I heard you say you want to erase the last six months . . . but if you could, would you, really?”
Would I?
I sit down on the couch to ponder his question. Would I take it all back? Erase everything that’s happened to me in the last six months? The bet, the endless fights with Hardin, the downward spiral of my relationship with my mother, Steph’s betrayal, all the humiliation, everything.
“Yes. In a heartbeat.”
Hardin’s hand on mine, the way his inked arms wrapped around me, pulling me to his chest. The way he sometimes laughed so hard that his eyes would pinch closed and the sound would fill my ears, my heart, and the entire apartment with such a rare happiness that I felt more alive than I’d ever felt before.
“No. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t,” I say, changing my answer.
Noah shakes his head. “Which is it?” He chuckles and sits on the recliner across from the couch. “I’ve never known you to be so indecisive.”
I shake my head firmly. “I wouldn’t erase it.”
“You’re sure? It’s been a bad year for you . . . and I don’t even know the half of it.”
“I’m sure.” I nod a couple of times, then take a seat on the edge of the couch. “I would do some things differently, though, with you.”
Noah gives me a slight smile. “Yeah, me, too,” he quietly agrees.
“THERESA.” A hand grasps my shoulder and shakes me. “Theresa, wake up.”
“I’m up.” I groan and open my eyes. The living room. I’m in my mother’s living room. I kick a blanket off my legs . . . a blanket Noah covered me with when I lay down after we talked a bit more and then started to watch some TV together. Just like old times.
I wriggle out of my mother’s grip. “What time is it?”
“Nine p.m. I was going to wake you up earlier.” She purses her lips.
It must have been driving her insane to let me sleep the day away. Oddly, the thought amuses me.
“Sorry, I don’t even remember falling asleep.” I stretch my arms and stand to my feet. “Did Noah leave?” I peer into the kitchen, and I don’t see him.
“Yes. Mrs. Porter really wanted to see you, but I told her it wasn’t a good time,” she says and goes into the kitchen.
I follow her, smelling something cooking. “Thank you.” I do wish I’d said a proper goodbye to Noah, especially because I know I’ll see him again.
My mother goes to the stove and says over her shoulder, “Hardin brought your car, I see,” disapproval coloring her voice. A moment later, she turns from the stove and hands me a plate of lettuce and grilled tomatoes.
I haven’t missed her idea of a good meal. But I take the plate from her hand anyway.
“Why didn’t you tell me that Hardin came here that night? I remember it now.”
She shrugs. “He asked me not to.”
Taking a seat at the table, I poke at the “meal” tentatively. “Since when do you care what he wants?” I challenge, nervous about her reaction . . .
“I don’t,” she says and prepares her own plate. “I didn’t mention it because it’s in your best interest not to remember.”
My fork slips from my fingers and hits the plate with a sharp clink. “Keeping things from me isn’t in my best interest,” I say. I’m doing my best to keep my voice cool and calm, I really am. To emphasize this, I dab the corners of my mouth with a perfectly folded napkin.
“Theresa, do not take your frustrations out on me,” my mother says, joining me at the table. “Whatever that man has done to make you this way is your own fault. Not mine.”
The moment her red lips pull into a confident smirk, I stand from the table, throw my napkin onto the plate, and storm out of the room.
“Where are you going, young lady?” she calls.
“To bed. I have to get up at four in the morning, and I have a long drive ahead of me,” I yell down the hallway and close the door to my bedroom.
I take a seat on my childhood bed . . . and immediately the light gray walls seem to be closing in on me. I hate this house. I shouldn’t, but I do. I hate the way I feel inside it, like I can’t breathe without being scolded or corrected. I never realized how caged and controlled I had been my entire life until I had my first tas
te of freedom with Hardin. I love having pizza for dinner, spending the entire day naked in bed with him. No folded napkins. No curled hair. No hideous yellow curtains.
Before I can stop myself, I’m calling him, and he’s answering on the second ring.
“Tess?” he says, out of breath.
“Um, hey,” I whisper.
“What’s wrong?” he huffs.
“Nothing, are you all right?”
“Come on, Scott. Get back over here,” a female voice says in the background.
My heart starts hammering against my rib cage as the possibilities flood my mind. “Oh, you’re . . . I’ll let you go.”
“No, it’s fine. She can wait.” The background noise gets softer and softer by the second. He must be walking away from whoever she is.
“Really, it’s okay. I’ll just go, I don’t want to . . . interrupt you.” Looking at the gray wall nearest my bed, I swear it’s crept closer to me. Like it’s ready to pounce.
“Okay,” he breathes.
What?
“Okay, bye,” I say quickly and hang up, holding my hand over my mouth to keep from vomiting on my mother’s carpet.
There has to be some sort of logical—
My phone buzzes next to my thigh, Hardin’s name clear on the small screen. I answer despite myself.
“I’m not doing what you think I’m doing . . . I didn’t even realize how it sounded,” he immediately states. I can hear a harsh wind blowing around him, muffling his voice.
“It’s okay, really.”
“No, Tess, it wouldn’t be,” he says, calling me out. “If I was with someone else right now, that wouldn’t be okay, so stop acting like it would be.”
I lie back on the bed, admitting to myself that he’s right. “I didn’t think you were doing anything,” I half lie. I somehow knew he wasn’t, but my imagination . . . it took me there still.
“Good, maybe you finally trust me.”
“Maybe.”
“Which would be much more relevant if you hadn’t left me.” His tone is sharp.
“Hardin . . .”
He sighs. “Why did you call? Is your mum being a bitch?”