After We Fell (62 page)

Christian pulls a heavy navy-blue pea coat from the rack next to the door. “Here, wear this. It's like a damn heater in and of itself.”

“Hell no,” Hardin scoffs, and I can't help but laugh.

“Don't be an idiot; it's twenty degrees outside. Your lady may need you to keep her warm,” Christian teases, and Hardin's eyes assess my thick purple sweater, purple coat, and purple beanie, which he hasn't stopped teasing me about since I pushed it onto my head. I wore this same outfit the night that he took me ice skating, and he teased me then, too. Some things never change.

“Fine,” Hardin grumbles and pushes his long arms into the coat. I'm not surprised to find that he pulls off the look; even the large bronze buttons that line the front of the jacket somehow assume a masculine edge when mixed with Hardin's simple style. His new jeans, which I have grown really fond of, and his plain black T-shirt, black boots, and now this coat, make him look like he was plucked straight from the pages of a magazine. It's simply not fair the way he looks so effortlessly perfect.

“Stare much?”

I jump slightly at Hardin's words. In turn, I'm granted a smirk and a warm hand wrapped around mine.

Just then, Kimberly rushes through the living room and into the foyer, followed by Smith, calling, “Wait! Smith wants to ask you something.” She looks down at her soon-to-be stepson with a loving smile. “Go ahead, sweetie.”

The blond boy looks directly at Hardin. “Can you take a picture for my school thing?”

“What?” Hardin's face slightly pales, and he looks at me. I know how he feels about being photographed.

“It's sort of a collage he's doing. He said he wants your picture, too,” Kimberly tells Hardin, and I look over to him, pleading with him not to deny the boy who clearly idolizes him.

“Um, sure?” Hardin shifts on his heels and looks at Smith. “Can Tessa be in the picture, too?”

Smith shrugs. “I guess so.”

I smile at him, but he doesn't seem to notice. Hardin shoots me a he-likes-me-more-than-you-and-I don't-even-have-to-try look, and I discreetly elbow him as we walk into the living room. I pull the beanie from my head and use the band on my wrist to pull my hair back for the picture. Hardin's beauty is so unforced and natural; all he has to do is stand there with his uncomfortable frown on his face, and he looks perfect.

“I'll take it quickly,” Kimberly says.

Hardin moves closer to me and lazily hooks his arm around my waist. I give my best smile while he attempts to smile without showing his teeth. I nudge him, and his smile brightens just in time for Kimberly to take the shot.

“Thank you.” I can see that she's genuinely pleased.

“Let's go,” Hardin says, and I nod, giving Smith a small wave before following Hardin through the foyer to the front door.

“That was so nice of you,” I tell him.

“Whatever.” He smiles and covers my mouth with his. I hear
the small click of a camera and pull away from him to find Kimberly with the camera again held to her face. Hardin turns his head to hide in my hair, and she takes another shot.

“Enough, shit.” He groans and drags me out the door. “What is with this family and their videos and pictures,” he rambles on, and I close the heavy door behind me.

“Videos?” I ask.

“Never mind.”

The cold air whips around us, and I quickly put my hair down and pull my hat back over my head.

“We'll take your car and get an oil change first,” Hardin says over the howling wind. I dig into the front pockets of my coat to retrieve my keys to give to him, but he shakes his head and dangles his key chain in front of my face. It's now furnished with one key bearing a familiar green band.

“You didn't take your key back when you left all your gifts,” he says.

“Oh . . .” My mind fills with the memory of leaving my most precious possessions in a pile on the bed we once shared. “I'd like those things back soon, if that's okay.”

Hardin climbs into the car without another glance my way, mumbling over his shoulder, “Um, yeah. Sure.”

Once we're inside the car, Hardin turns the heat all the way up and reaches across to grab my hand. He rests both of our hands on my thigh, and his fingers trace a thoughtful pattern over my wrist, where the bracelet would normally rest.

“I hate that you left it there . . . It should be here.” He presses against the base of my wrist.

“I know.” My voice is barely a whisper. I miss that bracelet every day; my e-reader, too. I want the letter he wrote me back as well. I want to be able to read it over and over.

“Maybe you can bring them when you come back next weekend?” I ask, hopeful.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, but his eyes stay focused on the road.

“Why are we getting an oil change, anyway?” I ask him. We finally make it out of the long driveway and turn onto the residential road.

“You need one.” He gestures toward the small sticker on the windshield.

“Okay . . .”

“What?” He glowers at me.

“Nothing. It's just an odd thing to do, to take someone's car to get an oil change.”

“I've been the only one taking your car for an oil change for months; why would it surprise you now?”

He's right; he's always the one to take my care for any type of maintenance it may need, and sometimes I suspect he's being paranoid and has things fixed or replaced that don't need to be.

“I don't know. I guess I forget that we were a normal couple sometimes,” I admit, fidgeting in my seat.

“Explain.”

“It's hard to remember the small, normal things like oil changes or the time you let me braid your hair.” I smile at the memory. “When we always seem to be going through some sort of crisis.”

“First of all . . .”—he smirks—“don't ever mention that hair-braiding fiasco again. You know damned well that the only reason I let that happen was because you bribed me with head and cookies.” He gently squeezes my thigh, and a rush of heat flares under my skin. “Second, I guess you're right in a way. It would be nice if your memories of me weren't tainted by my constant habit of fucking everything up.”

“It's not only you; we both made mistakes,” I correct him. Hardin's mistakes usually caused much more damage than mine, but I'm not innocent either. We need to stop blaming ourselves or each other and try to reach some sort of middle ground—together.
That can't happen if Hardin continues to beat himself up over every mistake he's made in the past. He has to find a way to forgive himself . . . so he can move on and be the person I know he really wants to be.

“You
didn't,” he retorts, fighting back.

“Instead of the two of us going back and forth over who made mistakes and who didn't, let's decide what we're going to do with our day after the oil change.”

“You'll get an iPhone,” he says.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don't want an iPhone . . . ?” I grumble. My phone is slow, yes, but iPhones are expensive and complicated—two things I can't afford to add to my life right now.

“Everyone wants an iPhone. You're just one of those people who don't want to give in to the trend.” He looks over at me, and I see his dimples pucker evilly. “That's why you were still wearing floor-length skirts in college.” Finding himself absolutely hilarious, he fills the car with his laughter.

I playfully scowl at his overused dig. “I can't afford one right now anyway. I have to save my money for an apartment and groceries. You know, the
necessities.”
I roll my eyes, but smile back at him to soften the blow.

“Imagine the things we could do if you had an iPhone, too. There'd be even more ways for us to communicate, and you know I'd get it for you, so don't mention the money again.”

“What I can imagine is doing things like tracking my phone so you could see where I go,” I tease, ignoring his overpowering need to buy me things.

“No, like we could video-chat.”

“Why would we do that?”

He looks at me as if I've grown another set of eyes and shakes his head. “Because, imagine being able to see me each day on your shiny new iPhone screen.”

Images of phone sex and video chats immediately spring into mind, and I shamelessly run through shots of Hardin touching himself on the screen.
What is wrong with me?

My cheeks heat, and I can't help but glance at his lap.

With one finger under my chin, Hardin tilts my face up to look at him. “You're thinking about it . . . going over all the dirty shit I could do to you via iPhone.”

“No, I'm not.” Holding tight to my stubborn refusal to get a new cell phone, I change the subject. “My new office is nice . . . the view is incredible.”

“Is it?” Hardin's tone immediately turns somber.

“Yes, and the view from the lunchroom is even better. Trevor's office has—” I stop myself from finishing the sentence, but it's too late. Hardin is already glaring at me, expecting me to finish.

“No, no. Continue.”

“Trevor's office has the best view,” I tell him, my voice coming out much more clear and steady than I'm feeling on the inside.

“Just how often are you
in
his office, Tessa?” Hardin's eyes flicker to me and then back to the road.

“I've been there twice this week. We have lunch together.”

“You
what
?” Hardin snaps. I knew I should have waited until after dinner to bring up Trevor. Or not brought him up at all. I shouldn't even have mentioned his name.

“I have lunch with him, usually,” I admit. Unfortunately for me, at that moment my car is stopped at a red light, leaving me no choice but to be at the receiving end of Hardin's glare.

“Every day?”

“Yes . . .”

“Is there a reason behind it?”

“He's the only person I know that has the same lunch hour as me. Kimberly's so busy helping Christian that she hasn't even been taking a lunch hour.” Both of my hands move in front of my face to aid in my explanation.

“So have your lunch hour changed.” The light turns green, but Hardin doesn't step on the gas pedal until an angry horn sounds from behind us in the line of traffic.

“I'm not having my lunch hour changed. Trevor is my coworker, end of story.”

“Well,” Hardin breathes, “I would prefer you not to eat lunch with
fucking Trevor.
I can't stand him.”

Laughing, I reach down onto my lap and place my hand on top of Hardin's. “You're being irrationally jealous, and it happens that there's no one else for me to have lunch with, especially when the other two women that share the same lunch hour have been mean to me all week.”

He glances sideways at me while switching lanes smoothly. “What do you mean, they've been mean to you?”

“They haven't been mean exactly. I don't know, maybe I'm just paranoid.”

“What happened? Tell me,” he urges.

“It's nothing serious, I just get the feeling that they don't like me for some reason. I always catch the two of them laughing or whispering while staring at me. Trevor said they like to gossip, and I swear I heard them say something about how I got the job.”

“They said
what
?” Hardin sneers. His knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel.

“They made a comment, something like ‘we know how she got the job anyway.' ”

“Did you say something to them? Or to Christian?”

“No, I don't want to cause any problems. I've only been there a week, and I don't want to run and tattle on them like a schoolgirl.”

“Fuck that. You need to tell those women to fuck off, or I'll tell Christian myself. What are their names? I may know them.”

“It's not that big of a deal,” I say, trying to deactivate the bomb I've clearly assembled myself. “Every office has a set of
catty women. The ones in mine just happen to have targeted
me.
I don't want this to be a thing; I just want to blend in there and maybe even make some friends.”

“Not likely to happen if you continue to let them act like bitches and hang out with fucking Trevor all day.” He licks his lips and takes a deep breath.

I take an equally deep breath and look at him, debating whether or not to defend Trevor.

Fuck it.

“Trevor is the only person there that makes any type of effort to be kind to me, and I already know him. That's why I spend my lunch hour with him.” I stare out the window and watch my favorite city in the world pass by as I wait for the bomb to explode.

When Hardin doesn't respond, I look over at him and his laser stare at the road ahead, then add, “I really miss Landon.”

“He misses you, too. So does your dad.”

I sigh. “I want to know how he is, but if I ask one question, it'll lead to thirty. You know how I am.” Worry blooms inside my chest, and I do my best to push it back down and lock it away.

“I do know, that's why I won't answer them.”

“How's Karen? And your father? Is it sad that I miss those two more than I miss my own parents?” I ask.

“No, considering who your parents are.” He scrunches his nose. “To answer your question, they're good, I guess. I don't really pay attention.”

“I hope this place starts to feel like home soon,” I say without thinking and sink back into the leather seat.

“You don't seem to like Seattle so far, so what the hell are you doing here?” Hardin pulls my car into the lot of a small building. Plastered on the front is a massive yellow sign promising fifteen-minute oil changes and friendly service.

I don't know how to answer him. I'm afraid to share my fears and doubts about my recent move with Hardin. Not because I
don't trust him, but because I don't want him to use them as an opening to push me to leave Seattle. I could really use a big pep talk right now, but, frankly, would settle for silence over the “I told you so” I'm most likely to hear from Hardin.