After We Fell (70 page)

BY THE TIME
I get to my room, it's past nine o'clock. I purposely powered off my cell phone so that I could have a few uninterrupted hours with Kimberly. I told her about Hardin's plan to come to Seattle on Wednesday instead of Friday, and she laughed, telling me she knew he wouldn't stay gone long.

My hair is still damp from a shower, and I've been taking my time picking out my outfit for work tomorrow. I'm stalling, and I
know it. I'm sure that when I turn on my phone, I'll have to deal with Hardin, and confront him, or not, about the wedding. In a perfect world, I'd just casually bring it up, and Hardin would invite me, explaining that he waited to ask because he was trying to think of the right way to convince me to come. But this isn't a perfect world, and I'm growing more anxious by the second. It hurts me to know that whatever Steph said to him bothered him so much that he's back to keeping things from me. I hate her. I love Hardin so much, and I just want him to see that nothing she, or anyone else, says will ever change that.

Hesitantly, I take my phone out of my bag and power it back on. I have to call my mother back and text Zed, but I want to talk to Hardin first. The notifications on the top of my small screen appear, and the envelope icon flashes, text message after text message appearing, all from Hardin. Before I read any of them, I just call.

He answers on the first ring. “Tessa, what the hell!”

“Have you tried to call?” I ask timidly, as innocently as I can, trying to keep the mood as calm as possible.

“Have I tried to call? You're joking, right? I've been calling you nonstop for the last three hours,” he huffs. “I even called Christian.”

“What?” I say, but then, not wanting things to escalate, I follow up quickly with “I was just hanging out with Kim.”

“Where?” he immediately demands.

“Here, at the house,” I say and begin to fold my dirty clothes and place them in the hamper; I figure I'll do a load of laundry before I go to bed.

“Well, next time you really need . . .” He lets out a groan of frustration, and his voice softens as he begins again: “Maybe next time you could just send me a text or something if you're going to have your phone off.” He releases a big breath, then adds, “You know how I get.”

I appreciate the change in his tone and the fact that he stopped himself from saying whatever it was he had originally planned to say, which I'd rather not find out. Unfortunately, the small buzz I got from the wine has mostly disappeared, and the revelation of Hardin's plans to go to England rests heavily on my chest.

“How was your day today?” I ask him, hoping that if I give him an opportunity to bring the wedding up, he will.

He sighs. “It was . . . well, long.”

“Mine, too.” I don't know what to say to him without coming out and asking point-blank. “Zed texted me today.”

“Did he?” Hardin's voice is calm, but I can detect a note of harshness that would usually intimidate me.

“Yeah, this afternoon. He says he's coming to Seattle on Thursday.”

“And what did you say back to him?”

“Nothing yet.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Hardin asks.

“Because, I want us to be open with one another. No more secrets, no more
hiding
things.” I emphasize the last part of the sentence, hoping it will elicit the truth from him.

“Well . . . thanks for telling me. I appreciate it,” he says. And then says nothing more.

Seriously?

“Yeah, so . . . is there anything you want to tell me?” I ask, still clinging to the dwindling hope that he'll reciprocate my honesty.

“Um, I talked to my dad today.”

“Really? About what?” Thank goodness, I knew he would come around.

“Transferring to the Seattle campus.”

“Really!” The word comes out sounding more like a squeal than I intended, and Hardin's deep laugh resonates through the line.

“Yeah, but he says it will postpone my graduation, so it wouldn't make sense to move, this late in the semester.”

“Oh.” I feel myself pouting. I hesitate a moment before asking, “But after graduation?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Yeah sure? That's it? That easy?” The smile that overcomes me crowds out everything else. I wish he were here; I'd grab him by his T-shirt and kiss him, hard.

Then he says, “I mean, why stall the inevitable?”

My smile fades. “You're speaking like moving to Seattle is a jail sentence.”

He stays quiet.

“Hardin?”

“I don't think of it like that. I'm just annoyed by the whole thing—all this time has been wasted, and it frustrates me.”

“I get that,” I say. His words aren't elegant, but they mean he's missing me. My head is still spinning from his agreeing to finally move to Seattle to be with me. We've been battling over this issue for months, and he's suddenly given in without so much as a final fight. “So, Seattle it is, then? Are you sure?” I have to ask again.

“Yeah. I'm ready to start fresh somewhere, may as well be Seattle.”

I hug my arms around my body in excitement. “No England, then?” I give him one last chance to bring up the wedding.

“Nope. No England.”

I've already won the Great Battle of Seattle, so when the niggling irritation about the wedding flares up again, I don't push my guy any further tonight. Whatever's going on with that, I'm going to get what I want: Hardin in Seattle, with me.

W
hen my alarm sounds the next morning, I'm exhausted. I barely slept at all. I spent hours tossing and turning, always on the brink of sleep but never achieving it.

I don't know if it was the excitement over Hardin agreeing to move to Seattle, or if it was the looming discussion we're bound to have about England, but either way, I got no sleep, and now I look like hell. Dark shadows aren't as easy to hide with concealer as the cosmetics companies would have you believe, and my unruly hair looks as if I stuck my finger into a light socket. Apparently the joy I felt about him moving here couldn't completely eliminate the underlying anxiety about his lying by omission.

I take Kimberly up on her offer to ride to work together this morning, buying myself a few extra minutes to apply another coat of mascara while she recklessly whips in and out of lanes on the freeway. She reminds me of Hardin, cursing at nearly every car and honking more often than any reasonable person needs to do.

Hardin hasn't mentioned whether or not he's still planning on coming to Seattle today. When I asked him just before we got off the phone last night, he told me he'd let me know in the morning. It's close to nine now, and I haven't heard from him. I can't shake the feeling that something is happening within him, something that if not handled properly will cause us more turmoil. I know Steph got to him; I can tell by the way he's doubting everything
I say. He's keeping things from me again, and I'm terrified of the problems this could lead to.

“Maybe you should go back this weekend instead of having him coming to you,” Kimberly suggests between cursing out a semi and a MINI.

“It's that obvious?” I ask, lifting my cheek from the cold window.

“Yes, very obvious.”

“Sorry, I'm being such a downer.” I sigh.

Going back this weekend isn't a bad idea. I miss Landon terribly, and it would be nice to see my father again.

“You are.” She grins at me. “But that's nothing a little coffee and some red lipstick won't fix.”

When I nod my agreement, she quickly exits the highway, makes a U-turn in the middle of a busy intersection, and says, “I know a great little coffee shop nearby.”

BY LUNCHTIME,
my morning blues have disappeared, although I still haven't heard from Hardin. I texted him twice but ultimately stopped myself from calling him. Trevor is waiting for me at an empty table in the break room, two plates of pasta in front of him.

“They sent double my order, so I figured I'd save you from a microwave meal for at least one day.” He smiles, sliding a packet of plastic eating utensils across the table.

The pasta tastes as savory as it smells. The delicious Alfredo sauce reminds me that I skipped breakfast this morning, and I flush when a small moan falls from my mouth as I take my first bite.

“Good, huh?” Trevor beams, wiping his thumb across the corner of his mouth to capture a drop of the creamy sauce. He brings his thumb to his mouth, and I can't help but think how odd the causal gesture looks on a man who's wearing a suit.

“Mmm . . .” I can barely answer, because I'm too busy shoving noodles in my face.

“I'm glad . . .” Trevor's deep blue eyes dart away from mine, and he shifts in his seat.

“Is everything all right?” I ask him.

“Yeah . . . I . . . well . . . I wanted to talk to you about something.”

And like that, I begin to ask myself if the double meal wasn't in fact purposely ordered.

“Okay . . .” I respond, hoping this isn't going to be too awkward.

“It may be a little awkward.”

Great.
“Go on,” I say with an encouraging smile.

“Okay . . . here goes.” He pauses and runs his fingertip over a silver cuff link. “Carine has asked me to attend Krystal's wedding with her.”

I take the opportunity to shovel a forkful of pasta into my mouth so I don't have to speak just yet. Really, I'm not sure why he's telling me this, or what I'm supposed to say. I nod, pushing him to continue, and try not to laugh thinking the funny Carine imitation Kimberly was doing yesterday.

“And I was wondering if there was any reason that I should say no to her,” Trevor says. He pauses to look at me like he expects a response.

I'm positive that the choking sound I make frightens him, but when he shoots me a look of concern, I hold up one finger and continue chewing, thoroughly, then swallow rather dramatically before responding. “I don't see any reason for it.”

I hope that's the end of that. But when he goes on to say “What I mean is . . .” all I can hope is that he magically guesses that I, in fact, know exactly what he means and will just sort of let that sentence trail off without further explanation.

No such luck.

“I know you're on and off with Hardin, and I also know this is one of those ‘off' times, so I just wanted to be sure before I accept her proposal that I can give her my full affection. Without distractions.”

I'm not sure what to say, so I quietly ask, “Am I a distraction?”

I feel so uncomfortable, but Trevor is so sweet, and his cheeks have turned such a deep shade of red, that I feel an overwhelming urge to comfort him at the same time.

“Yes, you have been since you came to Vance,” he says, rushing the words out. “I don't mean that in a bad way; it's just that I've been waiting in the background, and I wanted my intentions to be clear before I explored the possibility of a relationship with someone else.”

My very own Mr. Collins sits in front of me—a much more handsome version, of course—and I feel just as awkward and embarrassed for him as Elizabeth Bennett did in
Pride and Prejudice.

“Trevor, I'm sorry I—”

“It's okay, really.” The sincerity in his eyes is almost overwhelming. “I get it. I just wanted to confirm it one last time.” He pokes at his pasta a little, then adds, “I guess the last few times hadn't done it for me.” He laughs quietly, a nervous laugh, and I join in sympathetically.

“She's lucky to have you as a date to the wedding,” I say, hoping to numb the embarrassment I know he feels. I shouldn't have compared him to Mr. Collins; he's not nearly as aggressive or obnoxious. I take a long drink of water, hoping that will end things.

“Thank you,” he says, but then he adds with a little smile, “Maybe now Hardin will stop calling me ‘fucking Trevor.' ”

I smack my hand against my mouth to stop the water from spewing from my mouth. I swallow quickly, then say, “I didn't know you knew about that!” My horrified laugh fills the small room.

“Yeah, I've noticed.” Trevor's eyes shine with humor, and I'm so relieved that we can share a laugh, as friends, with no confusion.

My momentary bliss is cut short when Trevor's smile disappears, and I turn around to follow his gaze to the doorway.

“It smells so good in here!” one of the gossips says to the other as she enters. I feel petty for the level of dislike I feel for them, but I can't help it.

“We should go,” Trevor whispers, eyeing the shorter woman.

I stare back at him, puzzled, but get to my feet and toss the empty Styrofoam box into the trash can.

“You look stunning today, Tessa,” the taller of the two says. I can't read her expression, but I'm positive that she's mocking me. I know I look like hell today.

“Um, thank you.”

“It's such a small world, you know? Is Hardin still working for Bolthouse?”

My purse slips off of my shoulder, and I quickly grab the leather strap before it hits the floor.
She knows Hardin?

“Yup, still is,” I say and straighten my back in an attempt to appear completely unfazed at the mention of his name.

“Tell him I said hey, would you?” She smirks, and with that, she turns on her heel and disappears, along with her evil sidekick.

“What the hell was that?” I ask Trevor after checking the hall to be sure the two aren't lurking around nearby. “Did you know they were going to say something to me?”

“I wasn't sure, but I suspected it. I overheard them talking about you.”

“What about me? They don't even know me.”

He's uncomfortable again. Trevor is easier to read than anyone I've ever met. “It wasn't about you, exactly . . .”