After We Collided (The After Series) (19 page)

“Yeah, he’s okay now. I’m just getting him some water,” I say to her and fill up a glass in the sink. When I turn back around, she pulls me into a hug and kisses my cheek.

“Can we talk tomorrow?” she asks.

Suddenly I’m too nervous to speak, so I just nod, which makes her smile, though she sniffles as I walk off.

Back in our room, Hardin looks slightly relieved when I return and thanks me as he takes the water from my hand. He gulps down the entire glass while I watch him and join him back on the bed. I can see how uneasy he is, likely from the nightmare, but I know part of it is because of me.

“Come here,” I tell him and see the relief in his eyes as he scoots his body toward mine, and I wrap my arms around him and put my head on his chest. It feels just as comforting to me as I imagine it does to him. Despite everything he has done, I feel like home in this flawed boy’s arms.

“Don’t let me go, Tess,” he whispers and closes his eyes.

I
wake up sweating. Hardin’s head is on my stomach, and his arms are in a bear hug around me. Surely his arms must be numb from my body weight. His legs are intertwined with mine, and he’s snoring lightly.

Taking a deep breath, I carefully lift my hand to brush his luscious hair from his forehead. I feel like I haven’t touched his hair in so long, but in reality it’s only been since Saturday. My mind replays the events in Seattle like a movie as I run my fingers through his soft mess of hair.

His eyes flutter open, and I jerk my hand away quickly. “Sorry,” I say, embarrassed to be caught in the act.

“No, it felt good,” he says, his voice thick from sleep.

After gathering himself and breathing against my skin for a moment, he lifts himself up from me—too soon—and I wish I hadn’t touched his hair so he would still be asleep, holding me.

“I have some work to do today, so I’ll be going to town for a little while,” he says and grabs a pair of black jeans from the closet. He grabs his boots and slips them on quickly. I get the feeling that he’s rushing out of here.

“Okay . . .”
What?
I thought he’d be happy that we slept together, and that we held each other for the first time in a week. I thought something would have changed—not completely, but I thought maybe he could see that my resolve was wearing down, that I was a few steps closer to reconciling with him than I was yesterday.

“Yeah . . .” he says and twists his eyebrow ring between two fingers before pulling the white T-shirt over his head and grabbing a black one from the dresser. He doesn’t say anything before he exits the room, leaving me confused once again. Of all the things I expected to happen, him running out like this wasn’t one of them. What work could he possibly have to do right now? He reads manuscripts, the same as I do—only he has much more freedom to work from home, so why would he want to do it today? The memory of what Hardin was doing the last time he had to “work” makes my stomach turn.

I hear him talking to his mother briefly before the front door opens and closes. I plop back onto the pillows and kick my feet in a childish manner. But hearing the siren song of caffeine, I finally climb out of bed and pad out into the kitchen to make some coffee.

“Good morning, sweetie,” Trish chirps as I pass where she sits at the counter.

“Good morning. Thank you for making coffee,” I say and grab the freshly brewed pot.

“Hardin said he had some work to do,” she says, though it really sounds like she’s asking, not telling.

“Yeah . . . he said something about that,” I reply, unsure what else to say.

But she seems to ignore that and says, “I’m glad he’s okay after last night,” her voice full of worry.

“Yeah, me, too.” Then, without thinking, I add, “I shouldn’t have made him sleep on the floor.”

Her brows knit together in question. “He doesn’t have the nightmares when he isn’t on the floor?” she asks carefully.

“No, he doesn’t have them if we . . .” I trail off, stirring the sugar into my coffee and trying to think of a way to talk myself out of this.

“If
you’re
there,” she finishes for me.

“Yeah . . . if I’m there.”

She gives me a hopeful look that—so I’m told—only a mother can give when talking about her children. “Do you want to know why he has them? I know he’ll hate me for telling you, but I think you should know.”

“Oh, please, Mrs. Daniels.” I swallow. I don’t really want to hear her tell me that story. “He told me . . . about that night.” I swallow when her eyes widen in surprise.

“He
told
you?” she gasps.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just say it that way. And the other night, I thought you knew . . .” I apologize and take another drink of coffee.

“No . . . no . . . Don’t apologize. I just can’t believe he told you. Obviously you knew about the nightmares, but this . . . this is astounding.” She dabs her eyes with her fingers and smiles a smile straight from the heart.

“I hope it’s okay. I’m so sorry for what happened.” I don’t want to intrude on their family secrets, but I also have never had to deal with anything like this before.

“It’s more than okay, Tessa dear,” she says and begins full-on sobbing. “I’m just so happy he has you . . . They were so bad—he would scream and scream. I tried to send him to therapy, but you know Hardin. He wouldn’t speak to them. At all. As in not one word, he would just sit there and stare at the wall.”

I set my mug down on the counter and wrap my arms around her.

“I don’t know what it was that made you come back yesterday, but I’m glad that you did,” she says into my shoulder.

“What?”

She pulls back and gives me a wry expression and dabs at her eyes. “Oh, honey, I’m old, but not that old. I knew something was
going on between the two of you. I saw how surprised he was to see you when we arrived and I could tell something was off when he said you weren’t going to make it to England.”

I had a feeling that she was onto us, but I didn’t know how transparent we were to her. I take a big gulp of my now lukewarm coffee and consider this.

Trish tenderly grabs on to my other arm. “He was so excited . . . well, as excited as Hardin gets . . . to bring you to England, and then a few days ago he said you were going out of town, but I knew better. What happened?” she asks.

I take another drink and make eye contact with her. “Well . . .” I don’t know what to tell her, because
Oh nothing, your son just took my virginity as a part of a bet
doesn’t exactly feel helpful right now.

“He . . . he lied to me” is all I say. I don’t want her to be upset with Hardin, and I don’t really want to get into all of it with her, but I don’t want to completely lie either.

“A big lie?”

“A massive lie.”

She looks at me then like I’m a landmine. “Is he sorry?”

Talking to Trish about this is strange. I don’t even know her, and she’s his mother, so she’ll feel inclined to take his side no matter what. So I reply delicately, “Yeah . . . I think he is,” and drain the rest of my coffee.

“Has he said that he is?”

“Yeah . . . a few times.”

“Has he shown it?”

“Sort of.”
Has he?
I know he broke down the other day, and he’s been calmer than usual, but he hasn’t actually said what I want to hear.

The older woman looks at me, and for a moment I really fear what her response is going to be. But then she surprises me by saying, “Well, as his mother, I have to put up with his antics. But
you don’t. If he wants you to forgive him, then he needs to work for it. He needs to show you that he’ll never again do anything like whatever it is that he did—and I figure it must have been a pretty big lie if you moved out. Try to keep in mind that emotion is not a place he goes to often. He’s a very angry boy . . .
man
now.”

I know the question sounds ridiculous—people lie all the time—but the words tumble out before my brain can process them: “Would you forgive someone for lying to you?”

“Well, it would depend on the lie, and how sorry they were. I will say that when you allow yourself to believe too many lies, it’s hard to find your way back to the truth.”

Is she saying I shouldn’t forgive him?

She taps her fingers on the counter lightly. “However, I know my son, and I can see the change in him since the last time I saw him. He’s changed the last few months, so much, Tessa. I can’t even tell you how much. He laughs and smiles. He even engaged in conversation with me yesterday.” Her smile is bright despite the serious subject. “I know that if he lost you he would go back to how he was before, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to be with him because of that.”

“I don’t . . . feel obligated, I mean. I just don’t know what to think.” I wish I could explain the whole story to her so I could have her honest opinion. I wish my mother was as understanding as Trish seems to be.

“Well, that’s the hard part, you have to be the one to decide. Just take your time and make him work it, things come easily to my son, they always have. Maybe that’s part of his problem, he always gets what he wants.”

I laugh because that statement couldn’t be more true. “That he does.”

I sigh and go to the pantry and grab a box of cereal. But Trish interrupts my plan by saying, “How about you and me get dressed and go get some breakfast and do some girl things? I could use
a haircut, myself.” She laughs and shakes her brown hair back and forth.

Her sense of humor is nice, just like Hardin’s is, when he allows it to show. He’s more raunchy, yes, but I see where he gets his humor.

“Great. Let me just take a shower first,” I say and put back the box.

“Shower? Its snowing outside, and we’ll be getting our hair washed anyway! I was going to just wear this.” She gestures to her black tracksuit. “Throw on some jeans or something, and let’s go!”

This is so different than if I was going anywhere with my mother. I would have to have ironed clothes, my hair curled, and makeup on—even if we were just going to the grocery store.

I smile and say, “Okay.”

In the bedroom, I grab a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt from the closet, then pull my hair into a bun. Slipping on my Toms, I head to the bathroom and quickly brush my teeth and splash cold water on my face. When I join Trish in the living room, she’s ready and waiting by the door.

“I should leave Hardin a note or text him,” I say.

But she smiles and pulls me toward the door. “That lad will be fine.”

AFTER SPENDING THE REST
of the morning and the majority of the afternoon with Trish, I feel much more relaxed. She is kind, funny, and great to talk to. She keeps the conversation light and has me laughing almost the entire time. We both get our hair done, and Trish adds bangs, daring me to do the same, but I refuse with a smile. I do, however, let her talk me into buying a black dress for Christmas. I have no idea what I’m doing for Christmas, though. I don’t want to intrude on Hardin and his mother, and I haven’t bought any presents or anything. I think I may take
Landon up on the invitation to his house. It seems a little too much to spend Christmas with Hardin when we’re not together. We’re in this alien in-between stage: we aren’t together, but I’d been feeling like we were getting closer to each other until he left this morning.

By the time we return to the apartment, Hardin’s car is in the lot, and I start to feel nervous. When we get up to the apartment, we find him sitting on the couch with papers spread out across his lap and the coffee table. He has a pen between his teeth and looks deep into whatever it is that he’s doing. Working, I suspect, but I have only actually seen him work a few times in the months I’ve known him.

“Hello, son!” Trish says in a cheery voice.

“Hey,” Hardin responds flatly.

“Did you miss us?” she teases, and he rolls his eyes before gathering up the loose pages and shoving them into a binder.

“I’ll be in the bedroom,” he huffs and stands from the couch.

I shrug at Trish, then follow Hardin into our bedroom.

“Where’d you guys go?” he asks and sets down his binder on the dresser. A page falls out, and he quickly shoves it back inside, closing the tab with a snap.

I sit on the bed with my legs crossed. “To breakfast, then we got haircuts and did some shopping.”

“Oh.”

“Where did you go?” I ask him. He looks down at the floor before answering.

“To work.”

“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I’m not buying that,” I say with a tone that tells me Trish must have worn off on me.

His green eyes blaze at me. “Well, I don’t really care if you’re not
buying that
,” he says in a mocking tone and sits down on the opposite side of the bed.

“What’s your problem?” I snap.

“Nothing. I don’t have a problem.” His walls are up; I can feel them guarding him.

“Obviously you do. Why did you leave this morning?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I already told you.”

“Lying to me isn’t going to help anything, that’s what got you . . . us into this mess in the first place,” I remind him.

“Fine! You want to know where I was? I was at my dad’s!” he shouts and stands up.

“Your dad’s? Why?”

“Talking to Landon.” He sits down on the chair.

I roll my eyes. “I believed the work story more than this.”

“I was. Go on and call him, if you don’t believe me.”

“Okay, and what were you talking with Landon about?”

“You, of course.”

“What about me?” I raise my hands in front of me.

“Just everything. I know you don’t want to be here.” He looks over at me.

“If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.”

“You have nowhere else to go, I know you wouldn’t be here if you did.”

“What makes you so sure? We slept in the bed together last night.”

“Yeah, and you know why—if I hadn’t had a nightmare, you wouldn’t have agreed to it. That’s the only reason you did, and the only reason you’re talking to me now. Because you feel sorry for me.” His hands are shaking, and his eyes are piercing. I can see the shame behind the green.