After We Fell (10 page)

“She'll come back,”
Dick
assures me ever so helpfully.

“I know that!” I shout at him and grab my phone. Fortunately, the screen's not cracked. I glare at the old drunk and then stalk into the bedroom.

Why the fuck is he here, again? And why the fuck isn't Tessa?
Nothing good can come out of her being in the same room with Molly.

Just as I start plotting how to go out and find her when I have no keys, no car, and a blood alcohol level that is far beyond the legal limit, I hear the front door open.

“He's, uh, lying down,” Richard says loudly, with incongruous cheerfulness. I suspect he's trying to give me some sort of warning of Tessa's arrival.

I pull the door open before she can and sweep a long arm to invite her in. She doesn't look the least bit intimidated or concerned by the deep scowl on my face.

“Why didn't you answer when I called you?” I demand.

“Because I told you I was leaving soon. And I did.”

“You should have answered. I've been worried.”

“Worried?” She's clearly surprised by my choice of words.

“Yes, worried. Why the hell were you with Molly?”

She puts her purse on the back of the chair. “Beats me. Steph invited me to lunch and brought her along,”

Fucking Steph.
“Why the fuck would she do that? Was she mean?”

“No meaner than usual.” She raises her brow, watching me.

“Steph's a bitch for bringing her. What were they saying?”

“I don't know, but I think people are spreading rumors about me.” She frowns and sits on the chair to remove her shoes.

“What? What sort of rumors?”

What I really mean to ask is: Who do I have to kill?

Fuck, I'm still drunk. How is this possible? It's been at least three hours. I vaguely remember being told some time ago that each drink takes an hour to sober up from; I'm fucked for at least the next ten or so hours, then. That is, if I'm remembering correctly.

“Did you hear me?” Tessa's voice is calm, worried even.

“No, sorry,” I mumble.

Her cheeks flush. “I think people are saying that Zed and I . . .
you
know.”

“You what?”

“That we . . . slept together.” Her eyes are weary and her voice is soft.

“Who's saying that?” I try to keep my voice at the same level as Tessa's despite the slow burn of anger building inside me.

“Supposedly there's a rumor about it; Steph and Molly were talking about it.”

I don't know whether to try to comfort her or let my anger take over. I'm too drunk for this shit.

She holds her hands in her lap and looks down. “I don't want people to think of me in that way.”

“Don't listen to them, they're fucking idiots. If there is a rumor, I'll be sure it's cleared up.” I drag her over to sit with me on the bed. “Don't you worry.”

“You're not mad at me?”
she asks, blue-gray eyes meeting mine.

“Yes,” I say. “I'm upset because you weren't answering, and then Steph didn't fucking answer. But I'm not mad about this rumor shit—not at you, at least; they probably just made it up because they wanted to be assholes.” The thought of Steph and Molly saying shit to Tessa to purposely hurt her feelings really fucking irks me.

“I don't understand why she brought Molly, who then, of course, had to remind me that she slept with you.” She cringes. So do I.

“She's a fucking whore who doesn't have shit else to do but reminisce over the days I used to fuck her brains out.”

“Hardin,” Tess whines at the too-descriptive reminder.

“Sorry; you know what I mean.”

She unhooks the clasp on her bracelet and gets up to place it on the desk. “Are you still drunk?”

“A little.”

“A little?”

I smile. “A little more than a little.”

“You're being so weird.” She rolls her eyes and pulls that damn planner out of the desk drawer.

“How so?” I walk over to stand behind her.

“You're drunk and being all nice about everything. Like you were mad that I wasn't answering you, but now you're being . . .” She looks up at my face. “ ‘
Understanding
,' I guess is the word, over this Molly thing.”

“What did you expect me to do?”

“I don't know . . . yell at me? You don't have the best temper when you're drunk,” she says softly.

I can tell she's trying not to upset me, but wants to let me know she's not going to dance around the issue. “I'm not going to yell at you; I just didn't want you around them. You know how
they are, especially Molly, and I don't want anyone hurting you.” Then I add, emphasizing each word, “In any way.”

“Well, they didn't, but . . . I know it's stupid, but for once I just wanted a normal lunch with a friend.”

I want to tell her Steph isn't an ideal choice for a friend, but I know she doesn't have any, aside from Landon and me . . . and Noah.

And Zed.

Well, not Zed anymore. That shit is over, and I'm fairly certain that kid won't be showing his face around here for a while.

T
he fact that Hardin is being reasonable surprises me, and I'm able to relax a little bit. He crosses his legs and leans back on his palms. I'm not sure if I should bring up Seattle now, since he seems to be in an easy mood, or if I should wait.

But if I wait, who knows when he'll be ready to talk about it.

I glance at him, notice his green eyes watching me, and decide to ease into it. “Steph wants to have a going-away party,” I tell him and wait for his reaction.

“Where's she going? LSU?”

“No. It's for me,” I explain, leaving out the small detail of telling them he's coming along to Seattle.

He gives me a look. “You told them you're moving?”

“Yes. Why wouldn't I?”

“Because you haven't decided yet, right?”

“Hardin, I'm going to Seattle.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “You still have some time to think about it.”

“Anyway . . . what do you think about this party? She said it could be a dinner-party-type get-together at Nate and Tristan's place instead of the frat house,” I explain, but Hardin's still intoxicated and he doesn't seem to be listening to me. I look over my moving schedule for next week. I really hope Sandra calls me back soon about that apartment; otherwise I won't have a place to live when I get there, and I'll be stuck living out of a suitcase in some motel room. Ugh, motel rooms.

“No, we aren't going,”
he surprises me by saying.

I turn to him. “What? Why not? If it's a dinner it won't be so bad—no Truth or Dare or Suck and Go, you know?”

He chuckles and looks up at me with amusement clear on his face. “Suck and
Blow
, Tess.”

“You know what I mean! It'll be the last time we—well,
I
see them, and they have sort of been my friends, in a really strange way.” I don't want to think about the beginning of my “friendship” with the group.

“Let's just talk about it later. This shit is giving me a headache,” he groans.

I sigh in defeat. I can tell by his tone that he's not going to continue the discussion.

“Come here.” He sits back down on the mattress and opens his arms to me.

I close the planner and go to join him on the bed; as I stand between his legs, his hands move to my hips. He looks up at me with a crooked smile.

“Aren't you supposed to be mad at me or something?”

“I'm getting overwhelmed, Hardin,” I admit.

“Overwhelmed by what?”

I throw up my arms. “Everything. Seattle, transferring to another campus, Landon leaving, your expulsion—”

“I lied,” he says plainly and nuzzles his face into my stomach.

What now?
“What?” I thread my fingers through his hair and lift his head to look up at me.

He shrugs. “I lied about the expulsion.”

I take a step away from him; he tries to pull me back, but I don't allow it. “Why?”

“I don't know, Tessa,” he says, and stands. “I was upset about you being outside with Zed and all this Seattle shit.”

My mouth drops. “So you told me you were expelled because you were pissed at me?”

“Yeah. Well, that and another reason.”

“
What
other reason?”

He sighs. “You're going to be angry.” His eyes are still red, but he seems to be sobering up quickly.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Yeah, probably. But tell me.”

“I thought you'd feel bad for me and come to England.”

I don't know what to think about his confession. I should be upset. I
am
upset. I'm pissed the hell off. The nerve of him, to try and guilt me into moving to England with him. He should have just been honest from the start . . . but still I can't help but feel a
little
better about finding it out straight from his mouth instead of the usual way his lies are revealed.

He looks at me with questioning eyes. “Tessa . . . ?”

I look at him and
almost
smile. “Honestly, I'm just surprised you came clean before someone else told me.”

“Me, too.” He closes the distance between us, bringing his hand to my neck, the span of his fingers covering my jaw. “Please don't be mad at me. I'm an asshole.”

I blow out a harsh breath, but love his touch. “That's a terrible defense.”

“I'm not defending myself. I'm a dick. I know this, but I love you and I'm sick of all the shit. I knew you'd find out sooner or later anyway, especially with this dreadful trip with my father's family.”

“So you told me because you knew I'd find out?”

“Yeah.”

I pull my head back a little and look at him. “You would have kept it from me and still tried to force me to go to England with you out of pity?”

“Basically . . .”

What the hell am I supposed to say to that?
I want to tell him he's insane, that he's not my father and needs to stop trying to manipulate me, but instead I just stand there with my mouth
open like a fool. “You can't try to force me into things by lying and manipulating me.”

“I know it's fucked up,” he says, with a look of worry in his green eyes. “I don't know why I am the way I am. I just don't want to lose you, and I'm desperate here.”

I can tell by his expression that he really doesn't understand how he's been acting. “No, you don't know. Otherwise you wouldn't have lied.”

Hardin puts his hands on my hips. “Tessa, I'm sorry, I really am. You have to admit that we're both getting much better at this relationship shit.”

He's right; in a messed-up way we really are much better at communicating than we used to be. Far from a normal-functioning relationship, but normal has never been our thing.

“So, the marriage thing—that isn't going to make you come with me?”

My heart beats uncontrollably in my chest, and I'm sure he can hear it. But I say simply, “We'll talk about it when you're not drunk.”

“I'm not that drunk.”

I smile and pat his cheek. “Too drunk for that type of conversation.”

He smiles and pulls me closer. “When will you be back from Sandpoint?”

“You're not coming?”

“I don't know.”

“You said you would. We've never traveled together before.”

“Seattle,” he says, and I laugh.

“Actually, you showed up there uninvited, and left the next morning.”

He runs a hand through my hair. “Technicalities.”

“I really want you to come. Landon is moving soon.” The thought of that alone pains me.

“So?” he asks, shaking his head.

“And your father would love it if you came, I'm sure.”

“Oh, him. He's just upset with himself because they gave me a bullshit fine and put me on academic probation; the slightest fuckup and I'm done.”

“Then why not transfer to the Seattle campus with me?”

“I can't hear the word ‘Seattle' again tonight; I've had a long day and have a headache from hell now . . .” He kisses my forehead.

I snap my head back slightly, away from him. “You got drunk with my father and lied about being expelled—we're talking about Seattle if I want to,” I say sharply.

He smiles. “And you wore those pants out after teasing me with them, and didn't answer my calls.” He runs his thumb along my bottom lip.

“You don't need to call me that many times. It's suffocating. Molly even called you a stalker,” I say, but smile beneath his gentle touch.

“Did she, now?” He continues tracing the outline of my lips, and they part involuntarily.

“Yeah,” I breathe.

“Hmm . . .”

“I know what you're doing.” I reach down and remove his other hand from my hip, where his fingers have begun to slip below the waistband of my pants.

He smiles. “What's that?”

“You're trying to distract me so I won't be mad at you.”

“How's that working for me?”

“Not well enough. Besides, my father is here, and there's no way I'm having sex with you when he's in the other room.” I reach around and smack him playfully on the butt.

Which only makes him thrust himself against me a little. “Oh, you mean like when I fucked you right there”—he points to the bed—“while
my mum was sleeping on the couch?” He thrusts gently against me again. “Or the time I fucked you in the bathroom at my father's, or the multiple times I fucked you while Karen, Landon, and my father were just down the hall?” He reaches down and touches my thigh softly. “Oh, wait, you must mean like when I bent you over your desk at work—”