After We Fell (43 page)

Searching the house for my phone and purse, I realize that I don't have a single memory that could point me toward their hiding place. Why can't my mind just clear through the jumbled night and make sense of everything? I'm assuming my car is still parked outside of Steph's dorm; hopefully she hasn't slashed my tires.

I go back into my old bedroom and pull open the desk drawer. My phone sits inside, on top of my small purse. I press the power button and wait for the home screen to appear. I nearly turn it
back off when the alert vibrations go on endlessly. Text message after text message, voicemail after voicemail, pop onto the small screen.

Hardin . . . Hardin . . . Zed . . . Hardin . . . unknown . . . Hardin . . . Hardin . . .

My stomach flutters in the most uncomfortable way as I read his name on the screen. He knows; he has to. Someone told him what happened, and that's why he called and text-messaged me so many times. I should call him and at least let him know that I'm okay before he worries himself crazy. Regardless of the state of our relationship, he's probably upset after hearing about what happened . . . “upset” being an understatement, for sure.

I hang up the phone after six rings, just as his voicemail picks up, and head back into my mother's bedroom to attempt to style my hair. The last thing I care about is my appearance right now, but I also don't care for the idea of listening to my mother's insults if I don't make myself look at least decent. Dealing with my appearance also helps to distract me from my anxiety over the scattershot memories of last night that flash into my mind occasionally. I cover the deep circles under my eyes and apply a few swipes of mascara and brush my hair. It's nearly dry now, working in my favor as I rake my fingers through the natural waves. It doesn't look nearly as good as I would like, but I don't have the energy to mess with the frizzy mess any longer than I already have.

The faint sound of someone knocking at the front door draws me out of my daze.
Who could be coming here at this time?
And suddenly my stomach turns at the thought of Hardin being on the other side of the door.

“Tessa?” a familiar voice calls as I hear the door open.

Noah lets himself in, and I see him in the living room. Relief and guilt hit me as I take in his familiar but shaky smile.

“Hey . . .” He nods, shifting from one foot to the other.

Without thinking, I practically throw myself at him, wrapping
my arms around his neck. I bury my face in his chest and begin to cry.

His strong arms wrap around me and hold me, keeping both of us from toppling over. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I'm just . . . No, I'm not.” I lift my head from his chest, not wanting to smear my mascara on his tan cardigan.

“Your mom said you were in town.” He continues to hold me while I continue to relish the familiarity of him. “So I kind of ducked out before the service ended so I could say hey without everyone around. So what happened?”

“So much, too much to even explain. I'm being so dramatic,” I groan and step away from him.

“College still isn't treating you the way you hoped?” he asks with a sympathetic little smile.

I shake my head and gesture for him to follow me into the kitchen, where I make another pot of coffee. “No, not at all. I'm moving to Seattle.”

“Your mom told me,” he says and sits at the table.

“Are you still thinking of going to WCU in the spring?” I bark out a little laugh. “I wouldn't recommend that school.” But trying to make a joke at my own expense fails as tears fill my eyes.

“Yeah, that's the plan. This . . . girl I've been seeing . . . we've been thinking about San Francisco, though. You know how I love California.”

I wasn't prepared for that—Noah dating someone. I suppose I should have been, but it feels so weird that all I can think to say is, “Oh?”

Noah's blue eyes shine under the fluorescent kitchen lights. “Yeah, it's been going pretty well. I've been trying to take it in stride, though, you know . . . because of everything.”

Not wanting him to finish that thought and make me feel even more guilty about how we broke up, I ask, “Uhm, so how did you two meet?”

“Well, she works at Zooms or something, a store in the mall near you, and—”

“You were in town?” I interrupt him. It feels strange that he didn't tell me, didn't stop by . . . but I get it.

“Yeah, to see Becca. I should have called you or something, but everything was so weird between us . . .”

“I know, it's okay,” I assure him and let him finish. That name, Becca, rings a bell . . . but the fragment of memory drops from my mind as he continues.

“Well, anyway, I guess after that, we got pretty close. We had some problems here and there, and I thought I couldn't trust her for a while, but we're doing pretty good now.”

Hearing about his woes brings me back to my own, and I sigh. “I feel like I can't trust anyone anymore.” When Noah frowns, I hastily add, “Except you. I'm not talking about you. Every single person that I've met since I arrived at that school has lied to me in some way.”

Even Hardin. Especially Hardin.

“Is that what happened last night?”

“Sort of . . .” I wonder what my mother told him.

“I knew it had to be something big to bring you home.” I nod, and he reaches across the table to clasp my hands in his. “I missed you,” he murmurs, sadness clear in his voice.

I look up at him with wide eyes; I can feel the tears coming again. “I'm so sorry that I haven't called about your grandma.”

“It's okay, I know you're busy.” He leans back against the chair with soft eyes.

“That's not an excuse, I've been so terrible to you.”

“You haven't,” he lies, shaking his head slowly.

“You know that I have. I've treated you so poorly since I left home, and I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve any of it.”

“Stop beating yourself up; I'm okay now,” he assures me with a warm smile, but the guilt doesn't subside.

“I still shouldn't have done it.”

Then he surprises me with something I wouldn't have expected him to ever ask. “If you could do it all over again, what would you change?”

“The way I went about things. I shouldn't have strung you along and gone behind your back. I've known you half my life and I dropped you so suddenly, it was terrible of me.”

“It was,” he starts, “but I get it now. We weren't good for each other . . . Well, we were perfect together,” he says with a laugh. “But I think that was actually the problem.”

The small kitchen feels more spacious now as my guilt begins to dissolve. “You think so?”

“Yeah, I do. I love you, and I'll always love you. I just don't love you the way I always thought I did, and you could never love me the way you love him.”

I choke on my breath at his mention of Hardin. He's right, he's so right, but I can't talk about Hardin with Noah. Not right now.

I need to change the subject. “So Becca makes you happy, then?”

“Yeah, she's different than you'd probably expect, but then, Hardin isn't exactly who I expected you to break up with me for.” His smile isn't harsh as he chuckles softly. “I guess we both needed something different.”

He's right, yet again. “I guess so.” I laugh along with him and we continue to lighten the conversation until another knock at the door interrupts us.

“I'll get it,” he says, standing to his feet and leaving the small kitchen before I can stop him.

W
atching the clock change from minute to minute is slowly murdering me. I'd rather pull my hair out piece by piece than sit here and wait in this goddamned driveway until five. I don't see Tessa's mum's car. There are no cars in the driveway except Tessa's, which I'm sitting in. Landon has parked on the street, having followed me here so I get a lift back. Luckily he cares about Tessa's well-being more than anyone except me, so it didn't take any convincing.

“Go knock on the door, or I will,” he threatens through the phone.

“I'm going to! Fuck, give me a second. I don't know if anyone's here.”

“Well, if not, leave the keys in the mailbox, and we'll go.” That's exactly why I haven't done that already—I want her to be inside. I have to know that she's okay.

“I'm going up now,” I say and hang up on my obnoxious stepbrother.

The seventeen steps up to her mum's front door are the worst of my life. I knock on the outer screen door, but I'm not sure if it was loud enough. Fuck it. I knock again, this time much harder. Too hard, too hard. I put my hand down when the flimsy aluminum bends, snapping a couple pieces of wire from the screen. Shit.

The door creaks open, and instead of Tessa, her mum, or anyone else on the fucking planet that I'd rather see, it's Noah.

“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” I say.

When he tries to close the door in my face, I stop it with my boot.

“Don't be a dick.” I push the door open, and he steps back.

“Why are you here?” he asks, his face etched in a deep scowl. I should be asking him why the fuck
he
is here. Tessa and I haven't been separated three days, and here this asshole is, worming his way back into her life.

“To drop her car off.” I look behind him, but I can't see shit. “Is she here?” The entire way here, I told myself that I didn't want her to see me or remember that I was at her house at all last night, but I know I was just bullshitting myself.

“Maybe. Does she know you're coming?” Noah crosses his arms, and it takes every bit of self-control I have not to knock him to the ground, step over him—maybe
on
him—and find her.

“No. I just want to make sure that she's okay. What did she tell you?” I ask him, backing back off of the porch.

“Nothing. She didn't have to. She doesn't have to tell me anything. I know she wouldn't come all the way here if you hadn't done something to her.”

I frown. “You're wrong, actually; it wasn't me . . . this time.” He looks surprised by my small admission, so I continue—peacefully, for now. “Look, I know you hate me, and you have every reason to, but I
will
see her one way or another, so you can either move out of my way or I'll—”

“Hardin?” Tessa's voice is a small whisper, nearly lost in the breeze, as she appears behind Noah.

“Hey . . .” My feet carry me inside the house, and Noah sensibly moves out of my way. “Are you okay?” I ask, cupping her cheeks in my cold hands.

Her head jerks away—because of the cold, I force myself to believe—and she steps back from me. “Yeah, I'm okay,” she lies.

Questions tumble out of my mouth. “Are you sure? How are you feeling? Did you sleep? Does your head ache?”

“Yes, okay, some, yes,” she answers, nodding along, but I already forgot what I asked her in the first place.

“Who told you?” she asks me, her cheeks a deep red.

“Molly.”

“Molly?”

“Yeah, she called when you were . . . um, in my old room.” I can't keep the panic from my voice.

“Oh . . .” She looks past me, focusing on some distant space, her eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

Does she remember that I was here? Do I want her to?

Yes, of course I do. “You're okay, though?”

“Yes.”

Noah steps to where we're standing, and with alarm clear in his voice asks, “Tessa,
what
happened?”

Looking back at Tessa, I can tell she doesn't want him to know about everything. I like the idea of that more than I should.

“Nothing, don't worry about it,” I answer him so she doesn't have to.

“Was it serious?” he presses.

“I said, don't worry about it,” I growl, and he gulps. I turn back to Tessa. “I brought your car,” I tell her.

“You did?” she says. “Thanks, I thought Steph would have busted the windshield or something.” She sighs, her shoulders slouching further with every word. Her attempt at a joke didn't work for anyone, herself included.

“Why did you go to her, anyway? Out of all people, why her?” I ask her.

She looks at Noah, then back to me. “Noah, can you give us a minute?” she sweetly requests.

He nods and gives me what I assume is supposed to be some kind of warning glare before leaving us alone in the small living room.

“Why her? Tell me, please,” I repeat.

“I don't know. I didn't have anywhere else to go, Hardin.”

“You could have gone to Landon; you practically have your own bedroom at that house,” I point out.

“I don't want to keep dragging your family into it. I've done it enough, and it's not fair to them.”

“And you knew I would go there?” When she looks down at her hands, I say, “I wouldn't have.”

“Okay,” she says sadly.

Fuck, that's not what I meant. “I didn't mean it like that. I meant I was going to give you space.”

“Oh,” she whispers while picking at her fingernails.

“You're being really quiet.”

“I'm just . . . I don't know. It's been a long night and morning.” She frowns. I want to walk over and smooth the line between her brows and kiss her pain away.

“No Hardin, Zed,”
she called out in her barely conscious state.

“I know, do you remember it?” I ask her, not sure if I can bear to listen to her response.

I expect her to tell me to go away or cuss me out even, but she doesn't. Instead she nods and sits down on the couch, gesturing for me to sit on the other side.