After We Fell (7 page)

We aren't ending things, Dick.
I'm just trying to get my point across.
I want to be with her, and I will be; she just needs to give in and come with me. I'm beyond fucking angry that she'd bring Zed into this shit again, regardless of her reasoning.

I turn the damn radio off. “You don't even know me—or her, for that matter. Why would you care?”

“Because I know you're good for her.”

“Do you?” I reply, sarcasm in full bloom. Thankfully we're getting closer to his side of town, so this horrid conversation will be ending soon.

“Yes, I do.”

Then it strikes me, and I'll never admit it to anyone, but it's actually sort of nice to have someone say I'm good for her, even if it's her drunk asshole of a father. I'll take it.

“Are you going to be seeing her again?” I ask, and then quickly add, “And where exactly am I taking you?”

“Just drop me near the shop where we met yesterday; I'll figure it out from there. And yes, I hope to be seeing her again. I have a lot of shit to make up for.”

“Yeah, you do,” I agree.

The parking lot next to the tattoo parlor is empty, which makes some sense, since it's not even one in the afternoon yet.

“Can you drive me to the end of this street?” he asks.

I nod and pass the shop. The only thing at the end of this street is a bar and a run-down Laundromat.

“Thanks for the ride.”

“Yep.”

“Do you want to come inside?” Richard asks, nodding toward the small bar.

Getting a drink with Tessa's homeless drunk father doesn't sound like the most intelligent thing to do at the moment.

However, I'm not known for making good decisions. “Fuck it,” I mumble and turn the car off and follow him inside. It's not like I had anywhere in mind to go anyway.

The bar is dark and smells like mold and whiskey. Following him to the small counter, I grab a stool, leaving an empty seat between us. A middle-aged woman wearing what I
pray
are her teenage daughter's clothes walks toward us. Without a word she slides Richard a small glass filled with whiskey and ice.

“And for you?” she asks me, her voice raspy and deeper than mine.

“Same as him.”

Tessa's voice warning me not to do this is clear as a bell between my ears. I push it away, push her away.

I raise the glass, and we toast and each take a sip. “How can you afford to be a drunk if you don't work?” I ask.

“I clean the place every other day, so I drink for free.” Shame is clear in his voice.

“Why not be sober and get paid, then?”

“I don't know; I tried and tried.” He stares at his glass with hooded eyes, and for a second they resemble mine. I can see a shadow of myself in them. “I'm hoping now it'll get easier if I can see my daughter more often.”

I nod, not even bothering to hit him with a snide remark, and instead wrap my fingers around the cool glass. I welcome the familiar burn of scotch as I tip my head back and finish the rest. When I push it across the semipolished bar top, the woman makes eye contact and then starts pouring me another.

Y
our
da
d
?” Landon says incredulously through the phone.

I forgot that I hadn't had a chance to tell him about my father's return.

“Yeah, we ran into him yesterday . . .”

“How is he? What did he say? What was it like?”

“He's . . .” I don't know why, but I feel embarrassed to tell Landon that my father is still drinking. I know he'd never judge me, but I'm still apprehensive.

“Is he still . . .”

“Yeah, he is. He was drunk when we saw him, but we brought him back here and he stayed the night.” I twirl a lock of hair around my index finger.

“Hardin let him?”

“He didn't have a say in it; it's my place, too,” I snap. But then I immediately feel bad and apologize. “I'm sorry, I've just had it with Hardin thinking he controls everything.”

“Tessa, do you want me to leave campus and come over?” Landon's so kind; you can hear it in how he talks.

“No, I'm just being dramatic.” I sigh and look around the bedroom. “I think I'll come there, actually. I can still make my last class.” I could really use some yoga right about now, and some coffee.

I listen to Landon as I dress myself for yoga. It seems like a waste to drive all the way to campus for one class, but I don't
want to sit around this apartment and wait for Hardin to come home from wherever he ran off to.

“Professor Soto asked about your absence today, and Ken said he wrote a character witness statement for Hardin. What's up with that?” he asks.

“Soto did? I don't know . . . He offered to help him before, but I didn't think he meant it. I guess he just likes him or something?”

“Likes him? Likes
Hardin
?” Landon laughs, and I can't help but join him.

My phone drops into the sink as I pull my hair into a ponytail. I curse at myself and get it back to my ear just in time to hear Landon say he's headed to the library before his next class. After our goodbyes, I hang up and start to text Hardin, to let him know where I'll be. But then I close the app instead.

He'll come around about this whole Seattle thing; he has to.

By the time I get to school, the wind has picked up yet again and the sky has turned an ugly shade of gray. After grabbing a coffee, I still have thirty minutes before yoga. The library is on the other side of campus, so I don't have time to go there and see Landon. Instead I end up waiting outside Professor Soto's classroom. His class should be ending any—

My thoughts are cut off by the crowd of students practically rushing out the doors and into the hall. I lift my bag farther up my shoulder and push my way through them to get inside. The professor is standing with his back turned toward me as he pulls his leather jacket over his arms.

When he turns, he greets me with a smile. “Ms. Young.”

“Hi, Professor Soto.”

“What brings you by? Did you need the topic for today's journal that you missed?”

“No, Landon gave it to me already. I came by to thank you.” I shift uncomfortably on the heels of my gym shoes.

“For what?”

“Writing that character witness statement for Hardin. I know he hasn't been that pleasant to you, so it's very appreciated.”

“It's nothing, really. Everyone deserves a quality education, even hotheads.” He laughs.

“I guess so.” I smile at him and look around the classroom, unsure what to say next.

“Besides, Zed deserved what he got, anyway,” he says suddenly.

What?

I look back at him. “What do you mean?”

Professor Soto blinks a few times before collecting himself. “Nothing, I'm just . . . I'm sure Hardin had a good reason for going after him, that's all. I better get going, I have a meeting to get to, but thanks for coming by. I'll see you in class Wednesday.”

“I won't be here Wednesday; I'm going on a trip.”

With a light hand he waves this off. “Well, have fun, then. I'll see you when you return.” He quickly walks off, leaving me bewildered by what he could have meant.

M
y unlikely drinking partner, Richard, has escaped to the rest­room for the fourth time since we've arrived. I get the feeling that Betsy the Bartender may taken have a slight liking toward the man, which makes me really fucking uncomfortable.

“Another?” she asks.

With a nod, I dismiss the burly woman. It's now after two in the afternoon, and I've had four drinks, which wouldn't be so bad if they weren't straight scotch with a smidgen of ice.

My thoughts are cloudy and my anger has yet to subside. I don't know who or what to be more mad about, so I've given up on reasoning things out and have decided to just run with a general state of pissed-the-fuck-off.

“Here ya go.” The bartender slides my drink in front of me as Richard takes the stool directly next to me. I was under the impression he understood the importance of the empty stool between us. Guess not.

He turns to me, raking his hand over the rough whiskers of his beard. The sound is disgusting. “Did you order me another?”

“You should shave that.” I offer my somewhat intoxicated opinion.

“This?” He does that thing with his hand again.

“Yes, that. It's not a good look,” I say.

“It's okay—keeps me warm.” He laughs, and I take a drink to stop myself from joining him.

“Betsy!” he calls. She nods and pulls his empty glass from the
counter. Then he looks at me. “Are you going to tell me what it is you're drinking over?”

“Nope.” I move my scotch in a circle, causing the solitary ice cube to clink against the glass.

“Fine; no questions, then. Only booze,” he says with some glee.

My hatred toward him has dissolved for the most part. That is, until I picture the blond ten-year-old girl hiding in her mum's greenhouse. Her blue-gray eyes are wide, fearful almost . . . and then the blond boy in the fucking cardigan shows up to save the day.

“One question,” he presses, jarring me from my thoughts.

I take a deep breath and an even deeper drink to keep myself from doing something idiotic. I mean, more idiotic than drinking with my girlfriend's alcoholic father. This family and their fucking questions. “One,” I say.

“Did you really get kicked out of college today?”

I look over at the neon Pabst sign, thinking over the question, wishing I hadn't had four . . . no,
five
drinks. “No. But she thinks I did,” I admit.

“And why does she think that?”
Nosy fucker.

“Because I told her that I did.” I swing my gaze to him and say with dead eyes, “That's enough confessions for one night.”

“Have it your way.” He smiles and raises his glass to hit mine but I pull away, shaking my head. I can tell by his laughter that he hadn't expected me to toast with him anyway and he finds me very amusing, the same way that I find him very annoying.

A woman around his age appears at his side and takes the stool next to him. She wraps her thin arm around his shoulder and he greets her warmly. She doesn't strike me as the homeless type, but she obviously knows him. He probably spends the majority of his time in this shithole of a bar. I use this distraction to check my phone for messages or calls from Tessa: nothing.

I'm relieved but annoyed that she hasn't attempted to talk to me. Relieved because I'm drunk, but annoyed because I miss her already. Each glass of scotch that slides down my throat makes me want her more, makes the hollowness of her absence grow.

Fuck, what has she done to me?

She's so damn infuriating, always trying to push my buttons. It's like she literally sits around and devises new ways to enrage me. Matter of fact, she probably does. She's probably sitting cross-legged on the bed with that stupid fucking planner on her lap, a pen between her teeth and another behind her ear, coming up with things to do or say that will drive me insane.

Six months we've been together now—six months. That's a long-ass time, longer than I ever thought I could stand to spend with one person. Granted, we haven't been dating the entire time, and a lot of those months were spent—no,
wasted
—with my trying to stay away from her.

Richard's voice breaks my thoughts. “This is Nancy.”

I nod at the woman and stare back down at the dark wood of the bar top.

“Nancy, this well-mannered young man is Hardin. He's Tessie's boyfriend,” he proudly says.

Why would he be proud of me dating his daughter?

“Tessie has a boyfriend! Is she here? I'd love to finally meet her. Richard here has told me so much about her!”

“She isn't here,” I grumble.

“That's too bad; how did her birthday party go? It was last weekend, right?” she asks.

What?

Richard looks to me, clearly imploring me to go along with some lie he's obviously told. “Yeah, it was nice,” he answers for me before gulping down the rest of his drink.

“That's nice,” Nancy says, then points toward the entrance. “Oh, there she is!”

My eyes dart to the door, and for a moment I think she's talking about Tessa, but that wouldn't make sense. She's never met her. Instead a too-thin blonde walks across the small room and over to us. This dive bar is getting too damn crowded.

I hold my empty glass in the air. “Another.”

After an eye roll and a whispered “Asshole,” I'm given another drink.

“This is my daughter, Shannon,” Nancy informs me.

Shannon looks me up and down with eyes that appear to have spiders stuck to them. This chick is wearing way too much makeup.

“Shannon, this is Hardin.” Richard speaks, but I don't make any motion toward greeting her.

Many months ago I probably would have paid at least a little attention to the desperate girl. I maybe would have even let her blow me in the disgusting bathroom here, but now I just want her to stop fucking staring at me.

“I don't think it'll go any lower without taking it off,” I say regarding the obnoxious way she keeps tugging at the hem of her shirt to show off the small bit of cleavage she can manage.

“
Excuse
me?” she huffs, placing her hands on her narrow hips.

“You heard me.”

“Okay, okay. Let's all just settle down here,” Richard says, putting his hands in the air.

With that, Nancy and her slutty daughter walk away to find a table.

“You're welcome,” I say to him, but he shakes his head.

“You're an unpleasant son of a bitch.” Before I can react, he adds, “Just how I like 'em.”