After We Fell (6 page)

“We?”

“You said you'd go . . .”

“I'm still trying to recover from this Seattle shit, Tessa.” I know I'm being an asshole, but this is so fucked up. “And let's not forget you calling Zed,” I add, doubling down.

Tessa stays silent as I drive. I have to look over at her multiple times to make sure she's still awake.

“Are you not speaking to me now?” I finally ask her as we approach the parking lot of our . . .
my
apartment.

“I don't know what to say.” Her voice is quiet, defeated.

I park, and it hits me.
Shit.
“You're dad's still here, isn't he?”

“I don't know where else he would go . . .” she says without looking at me.

We get out of the car, and I say, “Well, when we get upstairs, I'll ask him where he needs to be dropped off at.”

“No, I'll take him,” she mumbles.

Even though my girl's walking next to me, she seems miles away.

I
'm too disappointed in Hardin to argue, and he's too pissed at me to speak without screaming. He actually handled the news better than I thought he would, but how could he make me choose? He knows how important Seattle is to me, and it's not like he has a problem with me giving something up for him—that's what hurts me the most. He always says he can't be away from me, that he can't live without me, yet he's giving me an ultimatum, and it's not fair.

“If he took off with any of our shit . . .” Hardin begins as we get to the door.

“Enough.” Hopefully my exhaustion is heard through my soft dismissal, so he won't press it.

“Just saying.”

I push my key into the lock and twist, momentarily considering the possibility of what Hardin has mentioned. I don't know the man, really.

Any paranoia I have disappears when we walk inside. My father's body is slumped over the arm of the couch. His mouth is wide open, and deep snores escape from his parted lips.

Without another word, Hardin walks into the bedroom and I go to the kitchen for a glass of water and a minute to think about my next step. The last thing that I want to do is fight with Hardin, but I'm beyond sick of him only thinking of himself. I know he has changed so much, tried so hard, but I've given him chance after chance, resulting in an endless breakup-makeup cycle that
would make even Catherine Earnshaw cringe. I don't know how long I can keep my head above water when I'm fighting off the tidal wave that we call a relationship. Every time I feel like I've learned to tread its waters, I'm sucked back under by yet another conflict with Hardin.

After a few moments, I get up and look over at my father: still snoring in a way I would find amusing if I wasn't so preoccupied. Deciding on a course of action, I head into the bedroom.

Hardin is lying on his back, his arms tucked under his head as he stares at the ceiling. I'm about to speak when he breaks the silence.

“I got expelled. Just in case you were wondering.”

I turn to him quickly, my heart racing. “What?”

“Yep. Sure did.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“I'm so sorry. I should have asked earlier.” I thought for sure Ken could get his son out of this mess. I'm devastated for him.

“It's okay. You were otherwise occupied with Zed and plans for Seattle, remember?”

I sit on the edge of the bed, as far from him as possible, and try my best to bite my tongue. It's a wasted effort. “I was trying to find out about the charges against you. He says he's still—”

He interrupts me with his eyebrows raised in mockery. “I heard him. I was there, remember?”

“Hardin, I've had enough of your attitude. I know you're upset, but you need to stop being so disrespectful.” I speak slowly, hoping the words sink in.

He's dumbfounded for a moment, but he quickly recovers. “Excuse me?”

I try to keep the most neutral, if stern, expression I can manage. “You heard me: stop talking to me like that.”

“I'm sorry—I get kicked out of school, then find you with
him
, then learn you're going to Seattle. I'd say I'm entitled to be a little angry.”

“Yes, you are, but you aren't entitled to be a jerk. I was hoping we could actually talk about this and work it out like adults . . . for once.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” He sits up, but I keep my distance.

“It means that after six months of this back-and-forth, I thought we could possibly solve a problem without one of us leaving or breaking things.”

“Six months?” His jaw drops.

“Yes, six months.” Awkwardly, I avoid his eyes. “Well, since we met.”

“I hadn't realized it's been that long.”

“Well, it has.”
It feels like a lifetime to me.

“It doesn't feel like that long . . .”

“Is that a problem for you? We've been seeing each other too long?” I finally meet his green eyes.

“No, Tessa, it's just odd to think about, I guess. I've never been in an actual relationship, so six months is a long time.”

“Well, we haven't been dating the entire time. Most of it was spent fighting or avoiding one another,” I remind him.

“How long, exactly, were you with Noah?”

His question surprises me. We've had a few talks regarding my relationship with Noah, but they usually last less than five minutes, ending abruptly because of Hardin's jealousy.

“We were best friends since I can remember, but only started dating halfway through high school. I think we'd basically been dating before then but we just didn't realize it.” I watch Hardin with careful eyes, waiting for a reaction.

Talking about Noah makes me miss him—not in a romantic way, but in that way you miss your family after not seeing them for an extended period.

“Oh.” He rests his hands in his lap, making me want to reach across and hold them. “Did you fight?”

“Sometimes. Our fights were over things like what movie to watch, or him being late to pick me up.”

He doesn't look up from his hands. “Not like we fight, then?”

“I don't think anyone fights like we do.” I smile in an attempt to reassure him.

“What else did you do? With him, I mean,” he says, and I swear that sitting in Hardin's place on the bed there is now a small child, green eyes bright, hands nearly shaking.

I give a gentle shrug. “We didn't do much, really, outside of studying and watching hundreds of movies. We were more like best friends, I guess.”

“You loved him,” the child reminds me.

“Not the way that I love you,” I tell him, just like I have countless times before.

“Would you have given up Seattle for him?” He picks at the rough skin around his fingernails. When he looks at me, his insecurity shines through his eyes.

So this is why we're talking about Noah: Hardin's low self-esteem has once again taken his thoughts there, to that place where he compares himself to whatever or whomever he thinks that I need.

“No.”

“Why not?” I reach for his hand to comfort the childlike worry inside of him.

“Because I shouldn't have to choose at all, and he always knew about my plans and dreams, so I wouldn't have had to choose.”

“I don't have anything in Seattle.” He sighs.

“Me . . . you'd have me.”

“That's not enough.”

Oh . . .
I turn away from him.

“I know that's fucked up, but it's true. I have nothing there, and you'll have this new job, and you'll make new friends—”

“You'd have a new job, too. Christian said he'd give you a job—and we would make new friends together.”

“I don't want to work for him—and the people you'd choose as friends are more than likely not going to be the same people I would choose. It would just be so different out there.”

“You don't know that. I'm friends with Steph.”

“Only because you were roommates. I don't want to move there, Tessa, especially now that I've been expelled. It makes more sense for me to just go back to England and finish university there.”

“This shouldn't only be about what makes sense for you.”

“Considering that you went behind my back and saw Zed yet again, you aren't exactly in any position to be calling the shots.”

“Really? Because you and I haven't even established that we're together again. I agreed to move back in, and you agreed to treat me better.” I stand up from the bed and begin to pace across the concrete floor. “But you went behind my back and beat him up, resulting in your expulsion—so if anyone isn't in a position to call the shots, it's you.”

“You were hiding this from me!” He raises voice. “You've been planning to leave me and didn't tell me!”

“I know! I'm sorry for that, but instead of arguing over who's the
most
wrong here, why don't we try to fix it or come to some sort of compromise?”

“You . . .” He stops and stands up from the bed. “You don't . . .”

“What?” I press.

“I don't know, I can't even think straight because of how mad I am at you.”

“I'm sorry for you finding out that way, but I don't know what else to say.”

“Say that you won't go.”

“I'm not making that choice right now. I shouldn't have to.”

“When then? I won't wait around—”

“What are you going to do, then—leave? What happened to ‘I never wish to be parted from you from this day on'?”

“Really? You're going to bring that up? You don't think an ideal time to bring up Seattle would be before I got a fucking tattoo for you? The irony isn't lost on me.” He steps closer to me, challenging me.

“I was going to!”

“But you didn't.”

“How many times are you going to mention that? We can go back and forth all day, but I really don't have the energy. I'm over it,” I say.

“Over it? You're
over
it?” He half laughs.

“Yes, over it.” It's true, I'm over fighting with him about Seattle. It's suffocating and frustrating, and I've had just about enough.

He grabs a black sweatshirt from the closet and pulls it over his head before slipping his boots onto his feet.

“Where are you going?” I demand.

“Away from here,” he huffs.

“Hardin, you don't have to leave,” I call as he opens the door, but he ignores me.

If my father wasn't in the living room, I'd chase after him and force him to stay.

But honestly, I'm tired of chasing him.

T
essa's father is awake now, sitting on the couch with his arms crossed in front of his chest and staring blankly out the window.

“Do you need a ride somewhere?” I ask him. I'm not thrilled with the idea of taking him anywhere, but I sure as hell despise the idea of leaving him alone with her.

He snaps his head my direction as if startled. “Um, yeah, is that okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I quickly answer.

“Okay, I just want to say goodbye to Tessie.” He looks toward our bedroom.

“Fine. I'll be in the car.”

I head out the door, unsure of exactly where I'm going after I drop the old fool off, but I know it's not good for either of us if I stay here. I'm so angry with myself. I know she's not the only one to blame here, but I'm used to lashing out at people, and she's always with me, making her an easy target. Which makes me a pathetic motherfucker, I know. I keep my eyes trained on the entrance to our apartment building, waiting for Richard. If he doesn't come soon, I'll leave his ass here. But then I sigh at the thought, since I really don't want to leave him here with her.

At last, the Father of the Year steps through the door and pulls down the sleeves of his shirt. I had expected him to wear the clothes of mine that Tessa gave him, but he's dressed in his clothes from yesterday, only now they're clean. Damn Tessa, she's too fucking nice.

I turn the volume up on the radio as he opens the passenger door, hoping that the music will halt any conversation he might try to make.

No luck. “She said to tell you to be careful,” he says as soon as he gets in, then buckles his seat belt like he's trying to show me how to do it. Like he's some airline hostess. I give him a small nod and pull onto the street.

“How did your meeting go today?” he asks.

“Really?” I raise my brow at him.

“Just wondering.” He taps his fingers on his leg. “I'm glad she went with you.”

“Okay.”

“She seems to be a lot like her mother.”

I shoot a look at him. “The hell she is. She's nothing like that woman.”
Is he trying to get himself thrown out onto the highway?

He laughs. “The good qualities only, of course. She's very headstrong, just like Carol. She wants what she wants, but Tessie is much sweeter, gentler.”

Here we go with the Tessie bullshit again.

“I heard the two of you fighting. It woke me up.”

I roll my eyes. “Excuse us for waking you up at noon while you were sleeping on our couch.”

Again, I'm met with a chuckle. “I get it, man—you're angry at the world. I was, too. Hell, I still am. But when you find someone who's willing to put up with your shit, you don't have to be so angry anymore.”

Well, old-timer, what do you suggest I do when your daughter is the one making me so goddamn angry?
“Look, I'll admit you aren't as bad as I thought you were, but I didn't ask for your advice, so don't waste your time giving it to me.”

“I'm not giving you advice, I'm speaking from experience here. I'd hate to see the two of you end things.”