After Ever Happy (After #4) (41 page)

He lowers his fist and turns on his heel to leave the room. Landon is still against the wall, looking as if he might punch something himself. Sophia is on her feet now, moving to comfort him. Karen and Ken are talking quietly between themselves, walking toward Landon, and I . . . well, I’m standing in the middle of the dining room, trying to understand what just happened.

Landon demanded that Hardin hit him. Hardin’s temper was already shot; he felt betrayed and screwed over again, and yet he didn’t do it. Hardin Scott walked away from violence, even in the heat of the moment.

I
keep walking until I’m outside, and only then do I realize that Ken and Karen had been in the room. Why didn’t they try to stop me? Did they somehow know that I wouldn’t hit him?

I’m not sure how I feel about that.

The spring air isn’t fucking crisp or fresh or flowery or anything that could help me snap out of this shit. I’m getting back there; I’m seeing red around the corners of my vision, and I don’t want to. I don’t want to slip and fucking lose everything that I’ve been working toward. I don’t want to lose this new and much easier version of myself. If I had hit him, if I had knocked Landon’s goddamn teeth down his throat, I would have lost. I would have lost everything, including Tessa.

Then again, I don’t really have her. I haven’t had her since I sent her packing in London. She’s been planning this little getaway the entire time. Right alongside Landon. Both of them have been plotting behind my fucking back, planning to leave me behind in the shitty state of Washington while they travel the country together. She sat there in silence as I poured myself out to her and let me make a fucking fool of myself.

Landon had me fooled this entire time, thinking that he actually gave a fuck about me. Everyone around me keeps fucking me over and lying, and I’m sick of it. Hardin, stupid fucking Hardin, the guy who no one gives a fuck about, always the last to know every fucking thing. That’s me—always has been, always will be.

Tessa is the only person in my entire life that ever took the time to care about me, care for me, and make me feel like I’m actually worth someone’s time.

I agree we haven’t had the easiest relationship. I’ve made mistake after mistake, and I could have done a lot of shit differently—but I would never abuse her. If she sees me or our relationship like that, then there really is no hope for us.

I think the hardest thing to explain is that there is a big difference between our relationship being unhealthy and being abusive. I think that a lot of people are quick to judge without putting themselves in the shoes of people who deal with this shit.

My shoes track across the grass and toward the line of trees at the end of the property. I don’t know where the hell I’m going or what I’m going to do back here, but I need to calm my breathing and concentrate before I snap.

Fucking Landon had to push me; he just had to push my fucking buttons and try to make me hit him. But I didn’t have the raging rush of adrenaline, my blood wasn’t singing in my veins—my mouth wasn’t watering at the idea of a fight, for once.

Why the hell would he tell me to hit him? He’s an idiot, that’s why.

Motherfucker
is what he is.

Bastard.

Asshole.

Fucking idiot asshole motherfucker.

“Hardin?” Tessa’s voice travels through the dark silence, and I try to make a quick decision whether to talk to her. I’m just too fucking mad to deal with her shit and be scolded for picking on Landon.

“He started this shit,” I say, stepping out into the open space between two large trees.

So much for hiding.
See, I can’t even fucking do that correctly.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice light and nervous.

“What do you think?” I snap, looking past her and into the darkness.

“I’m—”

“Save it. Please, I know you’re going to say you’re right and I’m wrong, and I shouldn’t have slammed Landon against the wall.”

She steps toward me, and I can’t help but notice the way I take a step closer to her at the same time. As angry as I am, I am fucking drawn to her—always have been, always fucking will be.

“Actually, I was going to apologize. I know how wrong it was to keep that from you. I want to take ownership for my mistake, not blame you,” she says softly.

What?
“Since when?”

I remind myself yet again that I’m pissed off. But it’s hard to remember how pissed off I am when I just want her to hug me, to remind me that I’m not as big of a fuckup as I think I am.

“Can we talk again? You know, how we did on the patio?” Her eyes are wide and hopeful even in the dark, even after my blowup.

I want to tell her no, that she had her damn chance to talk every day since she decided to move across the fucking country to “put some space between us.” Instead, I huff and nod in agreement. I don’t give her the satisfaction of answering, but I nod again and lean against the trunk of the tree behind me.

I can tell by the look on her face that she didn’t expect me to acquiesce so easily. The childish little shit inside me smiles at my having caught her off guard.

She kneels down and sits cross-legged on the grass. She rests her hands on her bare feet. “I’m proud of you,” she says, looking up at me. The lights from the patio cast only enough light to make out her small smile, the soft praise in her eyes.

“For what?” I pick at the bark on the tree, waiting for her answer.

“For walking away like that. I know Landon was pushing and pushing, but you walked away, Hardin. That was a huge step for you. I hope you know how much that means to him, that you chose not to hit him.”

Like he fucking cares. He’s been going behind my back for the last three weeks.

“It doesn’t mean shit.”

“Yes, it does. It means a lot to him.”

I pull off a particularly large piece of bark and toss it to the ground at my feet. “And what does it mean to you?” I ask, eyes focused on the tree.

“Even more.” She runs her palm across the grass. “It means even more to me.”

“Enough to keep you from moving? Or ‘even more’ as in you’re really proud of me, I’m a good boy, but you’re still leaving?” I can’t disguise the pathetic whine in my voice.

“Hardin . . .” She shakes her head—trying to think of an excuse, I’m sure.

“Landon out of all people knows exactly what you mean to me. He knows that you are my fucking lifeline, and he didn’t care. He’s going to take you across the country, pulling the cord on me, and that hurts, okay?”

She sighs, biting on her bottom lip. “When you say things like that, it makes me forget why I’m fighting against you.”

“What?” I push my hair back and sit down on the ground, my back resting against the tree.

“When you say things like I’m your lifeline, and when you admit that something hurts you, it reminds me why I love you so much.”

I look at her and notice the way she sounds so sure, despite her claim to be uncertain of our relationship. “You know damn well you are, you know that I’m not shit without you.” Maybe I should have said,
I’m nothing without you, love me,
but I already blurted out my own version.

“You are, though.” She smiles hesitantly. “You are a good person, even at your worst. I have a really bad habit of reminding you of your mistakes and holding them over you when, in reality, I’m just as bad at this relationship as you are. I had an equal share in dooming it.”

“Dooming it?” I’ve heard this way too many damn times.

“Ruining us, I mean. It was just as much my fault as it was yours.”

“Why is it ruined? Why can’t we just fix our issues?”

She takes another breath and tilts her head back slightly to look at the sky. “I don’t know?” she says, sounding as surprised as I am.

“You ‘don’t know’?” I repeat, a smile on my lips.
Fuck, we are insane.

“I don’t know. I just had my mind set, and now I’m confused because you are truly, honestly trying, and I see that.”

“You do?” I try not to sound too interested, but of course my fucking voice breaks and I sound like a damn mouse.

“Yes, Hardin, I do. I’m just not sure what to do about it.”

“New York won’t help us. New York isn’t going to be this new start at life or whatever you think. You and I both know that you’re using that city as an easy way out of this,” I say, waving my hand back and forth between us.

“I know.” She pulls a handful of grass from its roots, and I can’t help but love the way I’ve been with her so long that I know she does this every time she sits on grass.

“How much time?”

“I don’t know. I really do want to go to New York now. Washington hasn’t been good to me so far.” She frowns, and I watch as she leaves me and disappears into her own mind.

“You’ve been here your whole life.”

She blinks once, takes a deep breath, and tosses her little stray pieces of grass onto her foot. “Exactly.”

A
re you ready to go inside?” My voice is a whisper, breaking the silence between us. Hardin hasn’t spoken, and I haven’t been able to come up with anything worth saying in the last twenty minutes.

“Are you?” He lifts himself up using the tree and brushes the dirt off his black jeans.

“If you are.”

“I am.” He smiles a sarcastic smile. “But if you would like for us to keep
talking
about going inside, we could do that, too.”

“Ha-ha.” I roll my eyes, and he reaches his hand out to help me to my feet. His hand gently wraps around my wrist, and he pulls me up. He doesn’t let go; he only slides his hand down to cup mine. I don’t comment on his gentle touch, or that he’s looking at me in that familiar way, the way that he looks when his anger is masked, overpowered even, by his love for me. This raw and unplanned look on his face reminds me that a part of me needs and loves this man more than I am willing to admit.

There is no plan behind this touch; it’s not a calculated gesture when his arm moves around my waist and he draws me to him as we walk up the grass to the deck.

Once we’re inside, not a word is spoken—we get only a worried glance, from Karen. Her hand is resting on her husband’s arm, and he’s leaning down, talking quietly to Landon, who has now taken a seat back at the dining-room table. Sophia’s no longer around, and I assume she left after the chaos. Who could blame her?

“Are you okay?” Karen turns her attention to Hardin as he walks near.

Landon looks up at the same time as Ken, and I gently nudge Hardin.

“Who, me?” he asks, confused. He stops in front of the staircase, and I bump into him.

“Yes, dear, are you okay?” Karen clarifies. She pushes her brown hair behind her ears and takes a step toward us, her hand moving to her belly.

“You mean”—Hardin clears his throat—“am I going to go on a rampage and bash Landon’s face in? No, I’m not,” he huffs.

Karen shakes her head, patience clear in her soft features. “No, what I meant was, are you
okay
? Is there anything I can do for you? That’s what I meant.”

He blinks once, composing himself. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“If the answer to that question changes, be sure to let me know. Okay?”

He nods once and leads me upstairs. I look back down for Landon to follow, but he closes his eyes, turning his face away.

“I need to talk to Landon,” I tell Hardin as he opens the door to his room.

He switches the light on and lets go of my arm. “Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

The moment I say the word, Hardin has me against the wall. “This second?” He leans into me, his breath warm against my neck. “You’re sure?”

I’m not sure, of anything, really.

“What?” My voice is thick, my head cloudy.

“I think you were going to kiss me.” He presses his lips to mine, and I can’t help but smile into it, into the madness, into the relief of his affection. His lips aren’t soft; they are dry and cracked, but so perfect, and I love the way his tongue laps around mine, pushing into my mouth, not giving me the option to overthink or pull away.

His hands are at my waist, fingers pressing deliciously into the skin there as his knee pushes between my thighs to separate them.

“I can’t believe you are moving so far from me.” He drags his mouth across my jaw to the skin just below my ear. “So far away from me.”

“I’m sorry,” I breathe, unable to say more than that when his hands move from my hips to my stomach, pushing the fabric of my T-shirt along with the heavy drag of his hands.

“Between the two of us, we keep running.” His voice is calm, despite his hands moving quickly to cup my chest. My back is pressed against the wall, and my shirt is lying on the floor at our feet.

“We do.”

“One Hemingway quote, and then I’ll keep my mouth busy elsewhere.” He smiles against my mouth, his hands rubbing, teasing, just above the waist of my pants.

I nod, wanting him to follow through on that promise.

“ ‘You can’t get away from yourself by moving from one place to another.’ ” He pushes his hand into my pants.

I groan, equally overwhelmed by his words and his touch. His words play on an endless stream inside my mind as he touches me, and I reach for him. He’s clearly straining against his zipper, and he moans my name under his breath as I fumble with the button of his jeans.

“Don’t go to New York with Landon, stay with me in Seattle.”

Landon.
I turn my head and remove my hand from Hardin’s zipper. “I need to talk to Landon, this is important. He seemed upset.”

“So? I’m upset, too.”

“I know.” I sigh. “But you clearly aren’t that upset.” I glance down at his cock, boxers barely covering it.

“Well, that’s because I’m distracted from being angry at you—and Landon,” he adds weakly, as an afterthought.

“I won’t be long.” I pull away from him and lift my shirt from the floor, tugging it down over my stomach.

“Okay, I need a few minutes anyway.” Hardin pulls his hair back and drops the messy fringe onto his neck. This is the longest his hair has been since I met him. I like it this way, but sort of miss being able to see the traces of ink that peek up from the neckline of his shirt.