After We Collided (The After Series) (14 page)

An hour later, he knocks at the door, and when I open it, his familiar, warm smile makes me smile in return and he pulls me into his arms.

“Happy Birthday, Tessa,” he says into my hair.

“Thank you,” I say and hug him tighter.

He lets me go and sits at the desk chair. “Do you feel any older?”

“No . . . well, yes. I feel like I’ve aged ten years in the last week.”

He gives me a small smile but doesn’t say anything.

“I ordered takeout—there’s plenty left if you want some,” I offer.

Turning, he grabs the white Styrofoam container and a plastic fork from the desk. “Thanks. So is this what you’re doing all day?” he teases.

“Sure is.” I laugh and sit cross-legged on the bed.

As he chews, Landon looks past me and raises a brow. “You got an e-reader? I thought you hated them.”

“Well . . . I did, but now I kind of love them.” I pick up the device and admire it. “Thousands of books right at my fingertips! What could be better?” I smile and tilt my head to the side.

“Well, nothing says happy birthday like buying yourself a gift,” he says with his mouth full of rice.

“Actually, Hardin got it for me. He left it in my car.”

“Oh. That was nice of him,” he says with a peculiar tone.

“Yes, very. He even put all these wonderful novels on there and . . .” I stop myself.

“So what do you think about it?” he asks.

“It confuses me even more. He does these incredibly kind things sometimes, but he does the most hurtful things at the same time.”

He smiles and waggles the fork while he says, “Well, he does love you. Unfortunately, love doesn’t always go hand in hand with common sense.”

I sigh. “He doesn’t know what love is.” I start scrolling through the list of romantic novels, and note that common sense is not something usually seen in any of these stories.

“He came to talk to me yesterday,” he says, causing me to drop my gift onto the mattress.

“What?”

“Yeah, I know. It surprised me, too. He came looking for me, his dad, or even my mother,” he says, and I shake my head.

“Why?”

“To ask for help.”

Worry builds inside of me. “Help? With what? Is he okay?”

“Yeah . . . well, no. He asked for help with
you
. He was completely distraught, Tessa. I mean, he came to his father’s house, of all places.”

“What did he say?” I can’t picture Hardin knocking on Ken’s door to ask for relationship advice.

“That he loves you. That he wants me to help him persuade you to give him another chance. I wanted you to know; I don’t want to keep things from you.”

“I . . . well . . . I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe he came to you. To anyone, really.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, he isn’t the same Hardin Scott that he was when I first met him. He even joked about hugging me.” He laughs.

I can’t help but join him. “He did
not
!” I don’t know how I feel about any of this, but that thought is definitely funny. When I stop laughing, I look at Landon and dare to ask, “Do you really believe that he loves me?”

“Yes, I do. I don’t know if I think you should forgive him, but if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that he does love you.”

“It’s just that he lied to me, made me a
joke
—even after he told me he loved me, he still went and told them all what happened between us. Then, as soon as I begin to think I could possibly consider trying to move past that, he sleeps with Molly.” Tears prick my eyes, and I grab the water bottle on the nightstand and take a drink in an attempt to distract myself.

“He didn’t sleep with her.”

I look over at him. “Yes, he did. He told me he did.”

Landon puts the food container down and shakes his head. “He just said that to hurt you. I know that’s not much better, but you two are both known to fight fire with fire.”

Looking at Landon, the first thing I think is that Hardin is
good
. He even has his stepbrother believing his lies. The second thing I think is:
But what if Hardin didn’t actually sleep with Molly?
Absent that, could I move toward forgiving him? I had my mind made up that I never would, but I can’t seem to shake that boy.

As if the universe is mocking me, my phone lights up with a message from Trevor that says
Happy Birthday, Beautiful.

I send him a quick thanks, then say to Landon, “I need more time. I don’t know what to think.”

He nods. “Fair enough, so what are you doing for Christmas?”

“This.” I gesture to the empty takeout box and e-reader.

He grabs the remote. “You aren’t going to go home?”

“This is more of a home than my mother’s house,” I say and try not to think about how pathetic I am.

“You can’t just stay in a hotel alone on Christmas, Tessa. You should come to our place. I think my mother got you a few things before . . . you know.”

“My life went down the drain?” I half laugh and he nods playfully.

“Actually, I was thinking that since Hardin is leaving tomorrow, I would stay at the apartment . . . just until I get into the dorms, which hopefully will be before he returns. If not, then I can always come back to this lovely abode.” I can’t help but joke about how ridiculous of a situation I’m in right now.

“Yeah . . . you should do that,” Landon says with his eyes focused on the television.

“You think? What if he shows up or something?”

He still doesn’t take his eyes from the screen but agrees. “He’ll be in London, right?”

“Yeah. You’re right. My name is on the lease, after all.”

Landon and I watch television and talk about Dakota leaving for New York. He’s considering transferring to NYU next year if she decides to stay out there. I’m happy for him, but I don’t want him to leave Washington—not that I tell him that, of course. Landon stays until nine, and after he leaves I curl onto the bed and read until I fall asleep.

THE NEXT MORNING
I get ready for my return to the apartment. I can’t believe I’m actually going back there, but I don’t have many options. I don’t want to take advantage of Landon, I definitely don’t want to go to my mother’s, and I’ll run out of money if I stay here. I feel guilty for not going to my mother’s, but I don’t want to listen to her snide comments all week. I still may go there for Christmas, but not today. I have five days to decide.

Once my hair is curled and my makeup is done, I put on a long-sleeved white shirt and dark jeans. I want to stay in my pajamas, but I need to go to the store to get some food for the next few days. If I eat whatever food Hardin has in the apartment, he’ll know I was there. I pack my few belongings in my bags and hurry to my car, which, to my surprise, has been vacuumed and smells faintly of mint. Hardin.

It starts to snow as I make my way to the grocery store. I buy enough food to last me until I decide what I want to do on Christmas. As I wait in line to check out, my mind wanders to what Hardin would have gotten me for Christmas. My birthday gift was so thoughtful, who knows what he’d have came up with. I hope it would be something simple, not expensive.

“Are you going to move up?” a woman’s voice barks from behind me.

When I look up, the cashier is waiting impatiently with a scowl on her face. I didn’t notice the line moving or disappearing in front of me.

“Sorry,” I mumble, placing my groceries on the belt.

My heart begins to race as I pull into the parking lot of the apartment. What if he hasn’t left yet? It’s only noon. I look frantically around the lot, and his car is gone. He probably drove himself to the airport and left his car there.

Or Molly drove him.

My subconscious doesn’t know when to shut up. Once I determine that he isn’t here, I park and grab the groceries. The snow
is coming down harder and covers the cars around me in a thin layer. At least I’ll be in the warm apartment soon. When I reach the door, I take one last breath before unlocking the door and stepping inside. I really love this place—it’s so perfect for us . . . for him . . . or me, separately.

When I open the cabinets and fridge, I’m surprised to find them stocked full of food. Hardin must have gone shopping in the last few days. I shove the food that I bought wherever it will fit and head back down to get my belongings.

I can’t stop thinking about what Landon said. I’m floored by the fact that Hardin would go to anyone for advice, and that Landon professed to think Hardin loves me—a fact that I’ve known but buried and locked away for fear it would give me hope. If I allow myself to admit that he loves me, it will only make all of this worse.

As soon as I get back into the apartment, I lock the door and put my bags in the room. I take out most of my clothes and hang them up so they won’t be too wrinkled, but using the closet that was intended for Hardin and me only makes the knife inside of me twist once again. He only has a few pairs of black jeans hung up on the left side. I have to force myself not to hang up his T-shirts, they are always slightly wrinkled, although somehow he still manages to look perfect. My eyes travel to the black dress shirt hanging sloppily in the corner, the shirt he wore to the wedding. I hastily finish my task and walk away from the closet.

I make myself some macaroni on the stove and turn on the television. I turn the volume up so that I can hear an old episode of
Friends
that I have seen at least twenty times, and go into the kitchen. I speak along with the characters as I load the dishwasher; I hope Hardin hasn’t noticed, but I can’t stand to have dishes in the sink. I light a candle and wipe off the counters. Before I know it, I’m sweeping the floor, vacuuming the couch, and making the bed. Once the entire apartment is clean, I do a load
of my laundry and fold the clothes Hardin had left in the dryer. Today is actually the most peaceful and calm day that I’ve had in the last week. That is, until I hear a set of voices and watch in slow motion as the lock turns.

Shit.
He’s here, again. Why does he always show up at the apartment when I’m there! Hopefully it’s just that he gave an extra key to one of his friends to check on the place . . . Maybe it’s Zed with a girl?
Anyone but Hardin—please, let it be anyone but Hardin.

A woman I’ve never seen before steps through the doorway, but I somehow instantly know who she is. The similarities are undeniable, and she is beautiful.

“Wow, Hardin, this flat is beautiful,” she says, her accent just as thick as her son’s.

This. Is. Not. Happening. I’m going to look like a complete psychopath in front of Hardin’s
mom
—with my food in the cabinets, my clothes in the washer, and the entire apartment cleaned from top to bottom. I stand completely frozen and panicked as she looks up at me.

“Oh, my goodness! You must be Tessa!” She smiles and rushes over to me.

As Hardin steps through the doorway, he cocks his head to the side and drops her floral-print luggage from his hands. The surprise on his face is beyond evident. I tear my eyes from him and focus on the woman coming toward me with open arms.

“I was so disappointed when Hardin said you’d be out of town this week!” she gushes and wraps her arms around me. “What a cheeky boy, fibbing just to try and surprise me!”

What?

She puts her hands on my shoulders and pulls me to look at her. “Oh, you are so lovely, look at you!” She squeals and hugs me again.

I stay silent and hug her once more. Hardin looks terrified and extremely caught off guard.

Join the club.

A
s his mother hugs me for the fourth time, Hardin finally mumbles, “Mum, let’s give her a little space. She’s a bit shy.”

“You’re right, and I’m sorry, Tessa. I’m just so happy to finally meet you. Hardin has told me so much about you,” she says warmly. I feel my cheeks flame as she steps back and nods in acknowledgment. I’m surprised she even knows that I exist—I would have figured he would have kept me a secret, as usual.

“It’s okay,” I manage to say through my horror.

Mrs. Daniels smiles brightly and looks over at her son, who says, “Mum, why don’t you grab a drink of water in the kitchen for a minute?” When she leaves, Hardin comes over to me with gentle movements. “Can . . . I, um . . . talk to you in the bedroom for a mo-moment?” he stammers.

I nod and glance toward the kitchen before following him into the bedroom that we once shared.

“What the hell?” I say quietly as I close the door.

Hardin winces and sits on the bed. “I know . . . I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell her what happened. I couldn’t tell her what I did.

“Are you here . . . you know, to stay?” His voice holds more hope than I can bear.

“No . . .”

“Oh.”

I sigh and run my fingers through my hair, a habit I picked up from Hardin, I suspect. “Well, what am I supposed to do?” I ask him.

“I don’t know . . .” he says with a long sigh. “I don’t expect you to go along with it or anything . . . I just need a little time to tell her.”

“I didn’t know you would be here either, I thought you were going to London.”

“I changed my mind, I didn’t want to go without . . .” He trails off, and pain is evident in his eyes.

“Is there a reason why you didn’t tell her that we aren’t together?” I don’t know if I want to hear his answer.

“She was just so happy that I found someone . . . I don’t want to ruin that for her.”

I recall Ken telling me that he never thought Hardin was capable of being in a relationship, and he was right. However, I do not want to ruin Hardin’s mother’s time here. I certainly don’t say what I say next for his sake: “Okay. You can tell her whenever you are ready. Just don’t tell her about the bet.” I look down, thinking that his mom knowing the details of how her son ruined his first and only love would surely hurt her.

“Really? You’re okay with her thinking we’re together?” He sounds more surprised than he should be. When I nod, he lets out a deep breath. “Thank you. I thought for sure you’d call me out right in front of her.”