After We Collided (The After Series) (70 page)

“Your work, that thing you use, is tearing at the seams and it’s so unorganized. See, this one has tabs for each week—or subject, you can decide.” She smiles.

This gift is humorous because I always take note of the way she cringes when I shove papers into my old binder. I refuse to let her organize it for me despite her multiple attempts, and I know that drives her insane. I don’t want her to see what’s inside.

“Thanks.” I laugh.

“That one wasn’t really a birthday gift. I got it a while ago and I was going to just toss your old one, but I never found an opportunity,” she admits with a laugh.

“That’s because I kept it by my side. I knew what you were up to,” I tease. The small bag is left to open, and once again I’m laughing at her choice.

Kickboxing
is the first word I catch on the small ticket.

“It’s a week’s worth of kickboxing at the gym by our . . . your apartment.” She smiles, clearly proud of her witty gift.

“And why do you think I’d be interested in kickboxing?”

“You know why.”

To let out some of my anger is the obvious reason she got this. “I’ve never done it before.”

“It could be fun,” she says.

“Not as fun as kicking the shit out of someone without padding,” I tell her, and she frowns.

“I’m teasing,” I say and grab the CD that’s still left in the bag. My inner asshole wants to tease her for buying a CD when I could easily download the album. I’ll enjoy hearing her hum along to it; I’m assuming it’s the second one by the Fray.

I’m sure she already knows each word to every song and she’ll be delighted to explain the meaning of them to me as we drive and listen.

S
tay with me tonight?” Hardin asked, his eyes scanning my face. I nod eagerly.

So now that he’s pulling his shirt over his head, I grab at it greedily and bring it to my chest. He watches me as I change, but stays silent. Our relationship is so confusing—it always is—but now especially. At the moment, I’m not sure who holds the upper hand. Earlier I was upset with him for standing me up on his birthday, but now I’m pretty convinced he had nothing to do with that, so I’m back where I was days ago when he so sweetly took me ice skating.

He was so upset with me over Zed, but now I can barely tell how he felt, given the smiles and sarcastic humor he keeps throwing at me. Maybe his anger is overpowered by the fact that he missed me and he’s happy that I’m no longer upset with him? I don’t know the reasoning, but I know better than to question it. I do wish he’d let me talk about Seattle. How will he react? I don’t even want to tell him, but I know that I have to. Will he be happy for me? I don’t think so; actually, I know he won’t be.

“Come here.” He coaxes me onto his chest as he lies back on the bed. His hand finds the remote to the television on the wall, and he flicks through channel after channel before pausing on some sort of historical documentary.

“How was it seeing your mom?” I ask him a few minutes later.

He doesn’t respond, and when I look up at his face, he’s fast asleep.

IT’S HOT. WAY TOO HOT,
when I come back to consciousness. Hardin is lying on top of me, nearly all his weight pinning me down to the mattress. I’m on my back and Hardin’s on his front, his head on my chest; one of his arms is wrapped around my waist and the other stretched across the space next to him. I’ve missed sleeping this way and even waking up sweating from Hardin’s body blanketing mine. When I glance at the clock, I see that it’s seven twenty—my alarm is set to go off in ten minutes. I don’t want to wake Hardin, he looks so serene; a soft smile plays on his sleeping lips. He usually frowns, even in his sleep.

In an attempt to move him without waking him up, I lift his arm from around my waist.

“Mm-hmm . . .” he whines as his eyes flutter and his body stirs, gripping me tighter.

I stare at the ceiling and debate whether or not to just roll him off of me.

“What time is it?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep.

“Almost seven-thirty.” I tell him quietly.

“Dammit. Can we play hooky today?”

“No, but
you
can.” I smile and gently run my fingers over his hair, massaging his scalp softly.

“We could go to breakfast?” He turns his face to look at me.

“You drive a hard bargain, but I can’t.” I really want to, though. He slides his body down slightly so his chin rests just under my chest. “Did you sleep well?” I ask him.

“Yes, very. I haven’t slept like that since . . .” He trails off.

I feel so happy suddenly and smile wide. “I’m glad you got some sleep.”

“Can I tell you something?” He doesn’t seem quite awake yet; his eyes are glossy and his voice is raspier than ever.

“Of course.” I go back to massaging his scalp.

“When I was in England, at my mum’s, I had a dream . . . well, nightmare.”

Oh no.
My heart sinks. I knew his nightmares had come back, but it still hurts me to hear about it.

“I’m sorry those dreams came back.”

“No, they didn’t just come back, Tess. They were worse.” I swear that I feel his body shiver, but his face holds no emotion.

“Worse?”

How could they possibly be worse?

“It was you, they were . . . doing it to you,” he says, and ice replaces the warm blood in my veins.

“Oh.” My voice is weak, pathetic.

“Yeah. It was . . . it was so fucked up. It was so much worse than before because I’m used to the ones with my mum, you know?”

I nod and bring my other hand to his bare arm to caress it like I’m doing to his scalp.

“I didn’t even try to sleep after that. I purposely stayed awake because I couldn’t bear to see it again. The thought of someone hurting you drives me mad.”

“I’m so sorry.” His eyes are haunted, and mine are full of tears.

“Don’t pity me.” He reaches up and captures the tears before they fall.

“I’m not. It makes me upset because I don’t want you to be hurt. I don’t pity you.” It’s true, I don’t pity him. I feel terrible for this broken man who has nightmares about his mother being violated and abused, and the thought of my face replacing Trish’s kills me. I don’t want those thoughts tainting his already anguished mind.

“You know I would never let anyone hurt you, don’t you?” His eyes meet mine.

“Yes, I do, Hardin.”

“Even now, even if we never get back to where we were before. I’d kill anyone who even tried, okay?” His tone is clipped yet soft.

“I know,” I assure him with a small smile.

I don’t want to appear alarmed by his sudden threats, because I know that he means them in a loving way.

“It was nice to sleep.” He lightens the mood slightly, and I nod in agreement.

“Where do you want to go for breakfast?” I ask him.

“You said no, that you—”

“I changed my mind. I’m hungry.”

After his being so open with me about his nightmares, I want to spend the morning with him; maybe he’ll continue the open line of communication. I usually have to fight him for any type of information, but he confessed this willingly and that means the world to me.

“So easily persuaded by my pathetic story?” He raises a brow.

“Don’t say that.” I scowl.

“Why not?” He sits up and climbs off of the bed.

“Because it’s not true. It wasn’t
what
you told me that changed my mind, but
that
you shared that with me. And don’t call yourself pathetic. That’s certainly not true.” My feet hit the floor as he pulls his jeans up over his legs. “
Har
din . . .” I say when he doesn’t reply.

“
Tes
sa . . .” He mocks me in a high-pitched voice.

“I mean it, you shouldn’t think of yourself like that.”

“I know,” he says quickly, abruptly ending the conversation.

I know Hardin is far from perfect and he has his flaws, but so does everyone else, especially me. I wish he was able to see
past his flaws; maybe that would help resolve his issues about the future.

“So anyway, do I have you all day or just for breakfast?” He bends down to push his foot into his shoe.

“I like those shoes, I’ve been meaning to tell you.” I point to the solid black tennis shoes he’s putting on.

“Um . . . thanks . . .” He laces them and stands back up. For someone with such a big ego, he’s terrible at accepting compliments. “You still didn’t answer me.”

“Just breakfast. I can’t miss all my classes.” I pull his shirt over my head and replace it with one of my own.

“Okay.”

“I just need to pull my hair back and brush my teeth,” I say after I’m finished getting dressed. As I begin to scrub my tongue, Hardin knocks at the door.

“Come in,” I mumble through the paste in my mouth.

“It’s been a while since we’ve done this,” he tells me.

“Had sex in the bathroom?” I ask.
Why did I just say that?

“Nooooo . . . I was going to say ‘brushed our teeth together.’ ” He laughs and opens one of the packs of toothbrushes from the cabinet. “However, if bathroom sex is something you want . . .” Hardin teases, and I roll my eyes.

“I don’t know why I said that, it was the first thing that came to my mind.” I have to laugh at my stupidity and quick tongue.

“Well, that’s good to hear.” He dips the brush under the faucet and doesn’t say another word. After both of us brush our teeth and I attempt to comb my hair into a ponytail, we head downstairs. Karen and Landon are in the kitchen, talking over bowls of oatmeal.

Landon gives me a warm smile; he doesn’t seem too surprised by seeing Hardin and me together. Karen doesn’t either. If anything, I think she looks . . . pleased? I can’t tell, because she brings her coffee cup to her mouth to hide her smile.

“I’m taking Tessa to campus today,” Hardin tells Landon.

“Okay.”

“Ready?” Hardin turns to me, and I nod.

“I’ll see you in Religion.” I tell Landon before Hardin drags me, literally, out of the kitchen.

“What’s the rush?” I ask him once we’re outside.

He grabs my bag from my shoulder as we walk down the driveway. “Nothing, but I know you two; if you start talking, we’ll never make it out of there, and when you add Karen into the mix, I’d starve to death before you shut up.” He opens the car door for me before walking around to open his own and climb in.

“True.” I smile.

We debate over IHOP or Denny’s for at least twenty minutes before deciding on IHOP. Hardin claims that they have the best French toast, but I refuse to believe it until I eat it.

“It’ll be ten to fifteen minutes before you can be seated,” a short woman with a blue scarf around her neck tells us when we walk inside.

“Okay,” I say at the same time that Hardin says, “Why?”

“We’re busy and there aren’t any tables open at the moment,” she explains sweetly. Hardin rolls his eyes and I pull him away from her to sit at the bench in the entryway.

“It’s nice to see you’re back,” I tease.

“What’s that mean?”

“I just mean you’ve still got your edge.”

“When didn’t I?”

“I don’t know, when we went on our date and a little last night.”

“I trashed that bedroom and cussed you out,” he reminds me.

“I know, I’m trying to make a joke.”

“Well, try making a good one next time,” he says, but I see the glint of a smile appear.

When we’re finally seated, we give our order to a young guy
with a beard that seems to be a little too long for someone who’s working as a waiter. After he walks off, Hardin complains and swears that if he finds a hair in his food, he’s going to lose it. “Just had to show you that I still have my edge,” he reminds me, and I giggle.

I love that he’s trying to be a little nicer, but I also love his attitude and the way he doesn’t care what people think of him. I wish more of those qualities would rub off on me. He runs through a list of other things that are bothering him about the place until our food arrives.

“Why can’t you just miss the entire day?” Hardin asks as he shovels a forkful of French toast into his mouth.

“Because . . .” I begin. Oh, you know, because I’m transferring to another campus and I don’t want to complicate things by losing any participation points before I transfer in the middle of the semester.

“I don’t want to lose my A’s,” I tell him.

“This is college, no one goes to class,” he tells me for the hundredth time since I met him.

“Aren’t you excited about yoga?” I laugh.

“No. Not at all.”

We finish breakfast, and the mood is still light as Hardin drives toward the campus. His phone vibrates on the console but he ignores it. I want to answer for him but we’re getting along so well. The third time it rings, I finally speak up.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” I ask him.

“No, it’ll go to voicemail. It’s probably my mum.” He lifts the phone to show me the screen.

“See, she left a voicemail. Can you check it?” he asks.

My curiosity gets the best of me and I snatch the phone from his hands.

“Speakerphone,” he reminds me.

“You have seven new voicemails,” the robotic voice announces as he parks the car.

He groans. “This is why I never check them.”

I press the numeral one to listen to them.
“Hardin? . . . Hardin, it’s Tessa . . . I . . .”
I try to press the end button but Hardin grabs the phone from my hand.

Oh God.

“Well, I need to talk to you. I’m in my car and I’m so confused . . .”
My voice is hysterical and I want to jump out of the car.

“Please turn it off,” I beg him but he shifts the phone into his other hand so I can’t reach it.

“What is this?” he asks, staring at the phone.

“Why haven’t you even tried? You just let me leave and here I am pathetically calling you and crying into your voicemail. I need to know what happened to us? Why was this time different, why didn’t we fight it out? Why didn’t you fight for me? I deserve to be happy, Hardin.”
My idiotic voice fills the car, trapping me inside.