After We Fell (80 page)

“And . . .”

“I'm just saying. My mom misses Tessa.”

“So . . . your mum can see her some other time.” Then I realize this might get Tessa's mind off that damned letter. “You know what?
Fine,”
I say before he can get his response out. “I'll take her by tomorrow.”

My stepbrother tilts his head. “Is she crying?”

“She's . . . it's not really any of your business, is it?” I snap.

“You've been back here for less than twenty minutes, and she's already locked herself in the bathroom,” he says, crossing his arms.

“This isn't the time to start shit with me, Landon,” I growl. “I'm already at the point of explosion; the last thing I need is you butting your damn nose in where it doesn't belong.”

But he just rolls his eyes in a very Tessa-like way. “Oh, so I'm only allowed to butt in when it involves doing a favor for you?”

What the fuck is his problem, and why do I keep referring to him as my stepbrother?
“Fuck off.”

“She's probably already overwhelmed, so the two of us need to stop this before she lets herself out of that bathroom.” He's trying to reason with me.

“Fine, then stop talking shit to me,” I say.

Before he can respond, the bathroom door clicks open, and
Tessa, looking put together but very exhausted, shuffles into the hallway, worry on her face. “What's going on?”

“Nothing. Landon is going to order pizza, and we're all going to spend the remainder of the night as one big happy family.” I glance at him. “Isn't that right?”

“Yes,” he agrees—for Tessa's sake, I know. I miss the days when Landon wouldn't smart off to me. They were few and far between, but he's grown ballsier as the months have dragged on. Or maybe I've grown weaker . . . I haven't a damn clue, but I don't like the shift.

Tessa lets out a little sigh. I need her to smile, I need to know she can get over this. So I say, “I'm going to take you by my father's house tomorrow; maybe Karen can share some recipes or some shit with you?”

Her eyes lighten, and she grins, finally. “Recipes or ‘some shit'?” She chews on the corner of her bottom lip to keep from grinning further. The pressure in my chest dissolves.

“Yeah, or some shit.” I smile back at her and lead her to the living room, where we are set to enjoy a torturous night of entertaining Richard and Landon.

RICHARD IS LYING
across the span of the couch. Landon is in the chair. And Tessa and I are sitting on the floor.

“Can you pass me another supreme?” Richard asks for the third time since we started this hideous movie. I look at Tessa and Landon, who, of course, are completely fascinated by the email love affair that's going on between Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. If this were a modern movie, they would have fucked after the first email, not waited until the last scene to even kiss. Hell, they would have been on one of those hookup apps and maybe only known each other by screen names. How depressing is that?

“Here,” I groan, sliding the pizza box to Richard. He's already taking up the entire couch, and now he's interrupting me every ten minutes for more fucking pizza.

“This last part used to make your mom cry every time she saw it.” Richard's hand reaches out and squeezes Tessa's shoulder. I try my best not to scoot between them or bat his hand away. If she had any idea what her father has been doing the last week, if she had watched the drugs leave his system in a mess of vomit and convulsing withdrawals, she'd push his hand away herself and then sanitize her shoulder.

“Really?” Tess looks up at her father with glossy eyes.

“Yes. I still remember you two watching it every time it was on. More around the holidays, of course.”

“Was that—” I begin but halt my vicious words before I utter them.

“What?” Tessa asks me.

“Was that . . . um, dog supposed to be there?” I dumbly ask. It makes no sense, but Tessa, being Tessa, goes into full discussion mode about the last scene of the movie and that the dog, Barkley or Brinkley, I believe she said his name is, is essential to the success of the movie.

Blah, blah, blah . . .

A knock at the door stops Tessa's explanation and Landon gets up to answer.

“I got it,” I say and push past him. This is my fucking place, after all.

I don't bother to look through the peephole, but once I pull the door open, I wish that I had.

“Where's he?” the foul-smelling junkie asks.

I step out into the hallway and close the door behind me. Tessa will
not
be bothered by this shit. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I hiss.

“I'm just here to see my buddy, that's all.” Chad's teeth are
even browner than before, and his facial hair is matted to his skin. He can only be in his thirties, but he possesses the face of a man pushing fifty. The watch my father got me is hanging from his filthy wrist.

“He's not coming out here, and no one is giving you anything, so I suggest you take your ass back where you came from before I bash your face against that railing,” I say matter-of-factly and point toward the metal bar in front of the hallway fire extinguisher. “Then, while you're bleeding out, I'll call the police and have you arrested for possession and trespassing.” I know he has drugs on him, the fucking asshole.

His eyes focus in on me, and I take a step toward him. “I wouldn't test my patience, not tonight,” I warn.

His mouth opens just as the door to the apartment opens behind me. Fucking hell.

“What's going on?” Tessa asks, moving in front of me.

I instinctively jerk her back, and she asks again. “Nothing, Chad here was just leaving.” I stare at Chad, so help him God, if he fucking—

Tessa's eyes narrow in on the shiny object dangling from his thin wrist. “Is that your watch?”

“What? No—” I begin to lie, but she already knows. She isn't stupid enough to think it's coincidence that this drug-addict fuck has the same exact expensive-ass watch as I do.

“Hardin . . .” She glares at me. “So what, you've been hanging out with this guy or something?” She crosses her arms and puts more distance between us.

“No!” I half shout. Why would that be the conclusion she draws from this little scene?

I'm conflicted between calling her father out and defending myself or making up yet another lie. “I'm not friends with him, he's leaving.” I shoot Chad one more warning.

This time he takes it and backs away down the hall. I suppose
it's only Landon who isn't intimidated by me anymore. Maybe I haven't lost my edge after all.

“Who's there?” Richard joins us in the hallway.

“That man . . . Chad,” Tessa answers, inquisition clear in her tone.

“Oh . . .” Richard pales and looks helplessly at me.

“I need to know what's going on.” Tessa is getting upset. I shouldn't have let her come back here. I saw it on her face the moment she stepped into this damned place.

“Landon!” Tessa calls for her best friend, and I look at her father. Landon will tell her everything; he won't lie to her face the way I have so many times.

“Your dad owed him money, and I gave him that watch for payment,” I admit. She gasps and turns to Richard.

“You owed him money for what? Hardin's father gave him that watch as a gift!” she shouts.

Okay . . . this isn't exactly the reaction I was expecting. She's more focused on the stupid watch than the whole your-father-owed-this-creep-money aspect.

“I'm sorry, Tessie. I didn't have any money, and Hardin—”

Before I realize what she's doing, she's halfway to the elevator.
What the fuck!

I panic, running after her, but she slides into the steel cage just before I reach her. Those doors move with torturous slowness any other time, yet when she's escaping from me, they close instantly.

“Goddammit, Tessa!” I pound my fist once against the metal. Does this place even have a staircase? When I look back down the hall, Landon and Richard are both staring blankly, unmoving. Thanks for the fucking help, assholes.

I move quickly and find the staircase, taking two stairs at a time to get to the bottom. I reach the lobby and glance around for Tessa. When I don't see her, I begin to panic again. Chad could
have friends with him . . . they could approach Tessa or hurt her . . .

The elevator opens with a ding, and Tessa steps out of it; the most determined face imaginable covers her features, until she spots me.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” I shout at her, my voice filling the lobby.

“He's giving that damn watch back, Hardin!” she shouts back. She stalks toward the glass doors, and I wrap my arm around her waist, yanking her back against my chest.

“Get off of me!” She claws at my arms, but I don't relent.

“You can't just chase after him. What're you thinking?”

She keeps fighting me.

“If you don't stop moving, I will literally carry your ass back up to the apartment. Now listen to me,” I say.

“He can't have that watch, Hardin! Your father gave it to you, and it meant a lot to him and to you—”

“That watch didn't mean shit to me,” I say.

“Yes, it did. You'll never admit it, but it did. I know it.” Her eyes are watering again. Fuck, this weekend is going to be hell.

“No, it didn't . . .”

Did it?

Her hands stop moving, and she settles down slightly. I gently coax her back toward the elevator, her drug-dealer-chasing mission aborted, much to her chagrin.

“It's not fair to you that he took that watch because of some stupid bar tab my father ran up! How much freaking alcohol does one consume that they actually owe people money?” Her temper is flaring, and I'm torn between thinking it's amusing and feeling terrible for what I have to tell her.

“It wasn't alcohol, Tess.” I watch as she tilts her head to the side, looking anywhere and everywhere but at my eyes.

“Hardin, I know my father and his drinking—don't make
excuses for him.” Her chest is moving up and down at an unhealthy pace.

“Tessa, Tessa, you have to calm down.”

“Then tell me what's going on, Hardin!”

I don't know what else to say. I'm sorry—sorry that I couldn't shield her from her fuckup of a father, just like I couldn't shield my mother from the devastation of mine. So I do something rather alien for me. I say something brutally honest. “It's not alcohol. It's drugs.”

Tessa's reaction seems at first like no reaction at all. But after a second, she shakes her head and says, “No, he's not . . . He's not doing drugs.”

Quickly she steps into the elevator and punches the button for our floor. I jump on right after her, but she just stares into space as the doors close us in.

A
s Hardin and I walk back into the apartment, it feels like the air has become stale and awkward.

“Are you okay?” Landon asks when Hardin closes the door behind him.

“Yeah,” I state simply, lying.

I'm confused, hurt, angry, and exhausted. It's only been a few hours since we arrived, and already I'm ready to go back to Seattle. Any thought I had of wanting to live here again vanished somewhere during the silent walk from the elevator to the apartment door.

“Tessie . . . I didn't mean for any of this to happen,” my father says as he follows me into the kitchen. I need a glass of water; my head is throbbing.

“I don't want to talk about it.” The sink creaks when I pull at the faucet, and I wait patiently for the glass to fill.

“I think we should at least talk—”

“Please . . .” I turn to face him. I don't want to talk. I don't want to hear the hideous truth, or some well-intentioned lie. I only want to go back to when I was cautiously excited about trying out a relationship with my father that I never had as a child. I know that Hardin has no reason to lie about my father's addictions, but perhaps he's somehow mistaken.

“Tessie . . .” my father pleads.

“She said she doesn't want to talk about it,” Hardin insists, suddenly appearing in the room. He walks farther into the kitchen and stands between my father and me. I'm thankful for his intrusion this time, but I'm slightly worried over the quick movements of his chest as his breaths become more shallow and labored. I'm grateful when my father sighs in defeat and leaves me alone with Hardin in the kitchen.

“Thank you.” I sag against the counter and take another drink of the lukewarm tap water.

A worried line forms along Hardin's forehead, and he doesn't attempt to hide his deep scowl. His fingers press against his temples, and he leans against the opposite counter. “I shouldn't have let you come here; I knew this would happen.”

“I'm fine.”

“You always say that.”

“Because I always have to be. Otherwise, when the next disaster occurs, I won't be prepared.” The adrenaline coursing through me only minutes ago has disappeared, evaporated along with the hope that for once, something could go right for an entire weekend. I don't regret coming here, because I've missed Landon so much and I wanted to pick up my letter, e-reader, and bracelet. My heart still aches over the letter; it doesn't seem rational for an object to hold such significance to me, but it does. It was the first time Hardin had ever been so open with me—no more hiding, no more secrets about his past, all of his cards were on the table—and I didn't have to force the confessions from him. The thought that he put into writing it and the way his hands shook as he held it out to me will always remain in my mind. I'm not upset with him, really; I wish he hadn't destroyed it, but I know his temper, and I'm the one who left it here, somehow sensing that he probably would destroy it. I won't allow myself to dwell on it anymore, though it still hurts to think about the shred
of paper that was left; that small piece could never hold all of the emotion packed into the words he had scribbled across the page.