After We Fell (68 page)

“So much happened that you wouldn't understand. I wish I could tell you, but it wouldn't change anything.”

“I said I don't want to talk about it anymore. I've already had a shitty day, and this is too much. I get it; you regret leaving us and all that shit. I'm over it,” I lie, and he nods. It's not a full-on lie, really. I'm much closer to being over it than I've ever been before.

When I reach the door, a thought pops into my mind, and I turn around to face him. “My mum's getting married. Did you know that?” I ask out of curiosity.

From his blank stare and the way his brows lower, it's clear that he had no fucking clue.

“To Mike . . . you know, the neighbor guy?”

“Oh.” He frowns.

“In two weeks.”

“That soon?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Is that a problem or something?”

“No, not at all. I'm just a little surprised, that's all.”

“Yeah; me, too.” I lean my shoulder against the doorframe and watch as my father's expression transforms from sullen to relieved.

“Will you be attending?”

“No.”

Ken Scott rises to his feet and walks around his massive desk to stand in front of me. I have to admit, I'm slightly intimidated. Not by him, of course, but by the raw emotion in his eyes when he says, “You have to go, Hardin. It will break her heart if you don't. Especially because she knows that you attended my wedding to Karen.”

“Yeah, well, we both know why I attended yours. I didn't
have a choice, and your wedding wasn't halfway across the damn planet.”

“It might as well have been, given how we never really talked. You have to go. Tessa knows about it?”

Fuck.
I hadn't considered this.

“No, and you don't need to tell her either. Or Landon; he won't keep his mouth shut if he knows.”

“Is there a reason that you're hiding it from her?” he asks, judgment filling his voice.

“It's not that I'm hiding it. I just don't want her to worry about going. She doesn't even have a passport. She's never even left the state of Washington.”

“You know she'll want to go. Tessa loves England.”

“She's never even been there!” I raise my voice and take a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself down. It drives me insane the way he acts as if she's his own daughter, as if he knows her better than I do.

“I won't say anything,” he says, raising his hands slightly as if to placate me.

I'm glad he doesn't press the topic. I've done enough talking already, and I'm fucking exhausted. I got absolutely no sleep last night after I got off of the phone with Tessa. My nightmares came back full fucking force, and I made myself stay awake after I woke up dry-heaving for the third time.

“You should go by and see Karen soon. She was asking about you last night,” he says just before I walk out of his office.

“Um, yeah,” I mumble and close the door behind me.

I
n class, the guy I've determined is a future politician leans over and whispers to me, “Who did you vote for in the election?”

I feel slightly uncomfortable around my new classmate. He's charming, too charming, and his dressy clothes and brown skin make for a very distracting sight. He's not attractive in the same way that Hardin is, but he's certainly attractive, and he knows it.

“I didn't,” I reply. “I wasn't old enough to vote.”

He laughs. “Right.”

I didn't really want to talk with him, but in the last few minutes of class our professor instructed us to talk among ourselves while he took a phone call. I'm relieved when the clock strikes ten and it's time to go.

The future politician's attempt to continue making small talk with me as we exit the classroom fails miserably, and after a few seconds he dismisses himself and walks the other way.

I've been distracted all morning. I haven't been able to stop thinking about what Steph must have said to Hardin to get him so worked up. I know he believed me about the rumors about Zed, but whatever else it was that she said to him bothered him enough that he didn't want to repeat it.

I hate Steph. I hate her for what she did to me and for getting into Hardin's head and hurting him—by using me, in a way.
By the time I make it to my art history class, I've planned ten different scenarios of how to murder that horrible girl in my mind.

I sit next to Michael, the blue-haired boy from the first class with the good sense of humor, and spend the entire hour of art history laughing at his jokes, which is a good distraction from my homicidal thoughts.

At last the day's over, and I'm heading to my car. Right as I reach it and start to climb in, my phone starts vibrating. I expect it to be Hardin, but looking down, I see it's not. I have three text messages, two of which just showed up.

I decide to read my mother's first:
Call me. We need to talk.

Next is Zed's. I take a deep breath before pressing the small envelope-shaped button.
I'll be in Seattle Thurs-Sat. Let me know when you're free :)

I rub my temples, grateful that I saved Kimberly's message for last. Nothing she has to say could possibly be as stressful as telling Zed that I take back my offer of seeing him or having a conversation with my mother.
Did you know Loverboy is going to London next weekend?

I spoke too soon.

England? Why would Hardin be going to England?
Is he moving there after he graduates? I reread her text message . . .

Next
weekend!

I rest my forehead against the steering wheel of my car and close my eyes. My first instinct is to call him and ask him why he's hiding the trip from me. I stop myself from doing that because this is the perfect opportunity for me to try not to jump to conclusions without asking him first. There is a chance, a small one, that Kimberly is mistaken and Hardin isn't going to England next weekend.

My chest tightens at the thought of him still wanting to move back there. I'm still trying to convince myself that I'll be enough to keep him here.

I
t feels like ages since I've been at this place. I'd been driving around for the last hour, going over the possible outcomes of my coming here. After formulating a mental list of pros and cons—something I never, ever do—I shut my car off and step into the cold afternoon air.

I'm assuming he's home; if not, I just wasted my entire afternoon, and I'll be even more irritated than I already am. I glance around the parking lot and find his truck near the front. The brown apartment building is set just off of the street, and a rusty staircase leads up to the second floor, where his place is. With each stomp of my boot against the metal staircase, I run through the reasons why I'm here in the first place.

Just as I reach apartment C, my phone vibrates in my back pocket. It's either Tessa or my mum, neither of whom I want to speak with right now. If I talk to Tessa, I'll be thrown off my plan. And my mum will just annoy me with her wedding talk.

I knock on the door. Within seconds Zed answers, wearing only drawstring pants. His feet are bare, and I notice the intricate clockwork-and-gear tattoo that he showed me before has spread further across his stomach. He must have gotten more of it done after he tried to get with my fucking girl.

Zed doesn't greet me. Instead, he just stares at me from the doorway, a look of obvious shock and suspicion on his face.

“We need to talk,” I finally say and push past him to enter his apartment.

“Should I call the cops?” he asks in that dry tone he gets.

I take a seat on his worn leather couch and stare up at him. “That depends on whether you cooperate or not.”

Dark hair covers his jawline and frames his mouth. It feels like months have passed since I saw him outside Tessa's mum's house instead of only ten or so days.

He sighs and leans his back against the wall on the opposite side of his small living room. “Well, get to it, then.”

“You know this is about Tessa.”

“I figured as much.” He frowns and crosses his tattooed arms.

“You aren't going to Seattle.”

He raises a thick brow before he smiles. “I am, though. I've already made the plans.”

What the fuck? Why would he be going to Seattle? He's making this much harder than it needs to be, and I'm beginning to kick myself in the ass for thinking this conversation would end in any way except him leaving on a stretcher.

“The thing is . . .” I breathe in a deep breath to keep myself calm and stick to the plan. “You aren't going to Seattle.”

“I'm visiting my friends there,” he answers, challenging me.

“Bullshit. I know exactly what you're doing,” I bite back.

“I'm staying with some friends in Seattle, but in case you were wondering, she did invite me to visit her.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, I'm on my feet. “Don't push me—I'm trying to do this the right way. You have no reason to visit her. She's mine.”

He raises one brow. “Do you realize how that sounds? Saying she's yours like she's your property?”

“I don't give a fuck how it sounds; it's true.” I take another step toward him. The air between us has shifted from tense to
downright primal. Both of us are trying to stake a claim here, and I'm not backing down.

“If she's
yours,
then why aren't you in Seattle
with her
?” he presses.

“I'm graduating after this semester, that's why.”
Why am I even answering his questions?
I came here to talk, not to listen and “engage in dialogue,” as a professor of mine used to say. I'll be damned if he tries to turn this shit on me. “Me not being there is irrelevant. You won't be seeing her while you're there.”

“That's for her to decide, don't you think?”

“If I thought that, I wouldn't be here, would I?” My fists tighten at my sides, and I look away from him to stare at the stack of science textbooks on his coffee table. “Why won't you just leave her alone? Is this because of what I did to—”

“No,” he interrupts smoothly. “It has nothing to do with that. I care about Tessa, just like you. But unlike you, I treat her the way she deserves to be treated.”

“You know nothing about how I treat her,” I growl.

“Yeah, man, I actually do. How many times has she run to me crying because of something you did or said? Too many.” He points a finger at me. “All you do is hurt her, and you know it.”

“You don't even know her, first of all, and secondly, don't you think it's a little pathetic of you to keep pining after someone you'll never have? How many times have we had this conversation, about how many girls?”

He eyes me carefully, taking in my anger, but not really biting on my pointing out his history with girls. “No”—his tongue darts out to wet his lips—“it's not pathetic. It's genius, actually. With Tessa, I'll be waiting in the background for the day when you fuck up again—which is inevitable—and when you do, I'll be there for her.”

“You are a fucking—” I step back across the room to put as much space between his body and mine before his head ends up
going through his wall. “What will it take, then? Do you want her to tell you herself that she doesn't want you around? I thought she already did that, yet here you are . . .”

“You're the one in my apartment.”

“Goddammit, Zed!” I shout. “Why can't you just fucking stop? You know what she means to me, and you're always trying to get in the way. Find someone else to toy with. There are plenty of whores around campus.”

“ ‘Whores'?” He repeats the word, mocking me.

“You know I didn't mean Tessa,” I growl, struggling to keep my fists at my sides.

“If she meant so much to you, you wouldn't have done half the shit you did. Does she know that you fucked Molly while you were chasing her around?”

“Yes, she knows that. I told her.”

“And she didn't mind?” His voice is the complete opposite of mine. He's so collected and calm, while I'm struggling mightily to keep the lid on my boiling anger.

“She knows that it meant nothing to me, and that it was before everything.” I glare at him, trying to focus again. “But I didn't come here to discuss my relationship.”

“Okay, why, exactly,
did
you come, then?”

He's such a smug bastard.

“To let you know that you aren't going to see her in Seattle. I thought we could discuss it in a more . . .”—I search for the right words—“civilized manner.”

“Civilized? Sorry, but I find it hard to believe that you came here with ‘enlightened' intentions,” he scoffs, pointing to the bump on the bridge of his nose.

I close my eyes momentarily and envision his nose busted and bleeding, snapping under the metal casing when I slammed his head against it. The memory of the sound heightens my already buzzing adrenaline. “This is civilized for me! I came here
to talk, not to fight—however, if you won't stay away from her, I don't have any other options.” I widen my stance a little.

“Than what?” Zed asks.

“What?”

“Than
what
? We've been down this road before. There are only so many times that you can assault me before you get yourself arrested. And this time I
will
follow through on pressing charges.”

He makes a valid point. Which only makes me madder. I hate the fact that I can't do a fucking thing about it, except literally murder him, which isn't an option . . . at this point at least.

I take a couple of breaths and try to relax my muscles. I have to offer my last option. One that I didn't want to have to rely on, but he's not giving me much room here. “I came here thinking we could come to some sort of agreement,” I say.