After We Fell (After 3)

As I hang up, a movement on the balcony catches my attention and I look up to see Hardin. He’s dressed now, in his normal black T-shirt and black jeans. His feet are bare, and his eyes are focused on me.

“Who was that?” he asks.

“My mother,” I respond and pull my knees up to my chest in the chair.

“Why did she call?” He grabs the back of the empty chair, and it squeaks as he pulls it closer to me before sitting down.

“I called her,” I answer without looking at him.

“Why is my phone out here?” He grabs it from my lap and scans it.

“I was using the internet.”

“Oh,” he says as if he doesn’t believe me.

If he doesn’t have anything to hide, why would he care?

“Who were you talking about when you said you were going to call him?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the hot tub.

I look over at him. “Noah,” I respond drily.

His eyes narrow. “Like hell you are.”

“Well, I am.”

“Why do you need to talk to him?” He places his hands on his knees and leans forward. “You don’t.”

“So you can spend hours with someone else and come back drunk, but—”

“He’s your ex-boyfriend,” he interrupts.

“And how do I know she isn’t one of your ex-girlfriends?”

“Because I don’t have any ex-girlfriends, remember?”

I huff in frustration; my earlier resolve has now faded, and I’m getting angry again. “Okay, all the girls you fucked around with, then. In any case,” I continue, my voice low and clear, “you don’t get to tell me who I am allowed to call. Ex-boyfriend or not.”

“I thought you weren’t mad at me.”

I sigh, staring out onto the water and away from his piercing green eyes. “I’m not, I’m really not. You did exactly what I expected you to do.”

“Which was . . . ?”

“Running off for hours, then returning with liquor on your breath.”

“You told me to leave.”

“That doesn’t make it okay that you came back drunk.”

“And here it is!” he groans. “I knew you wouldn’t stay quiet like you did last night.”

“Stay quiet? See, that’s your problem; you expect me to stay quiet. I’m over it.”

“Over what?” He leans toward me, his face too close to mine.

“This . . .” I wave my hand dramatically and rise to my feet. “I’m just over all of it. You go ahead and do whatever the hell you want, but you can find someone else to sit here beside you and not take note of your antics and remain quiet—because I’m not doing it anymore.” I turn away from him.

He jumps to his feet and hooks his fingers around my arm to gently pull me back. “Stop,” he orders. One large hand spreads across my waist while the other goes to my arm. I think about twisting free, but then he pulls me to his chest. “Stop fighting me—you’re not going anywhere.”

His lips press into a hard line as I pull my arm from his grasp.

“Let me go, and I’ll sit down,” I huff. I don’t want to give in, but I also refuse to ruin anyone else’s time on this trip. If I go downstairs, Hardin will surely follow, and we’ll end up staging a big blowout in front of his family.

He swiftly lets go of me, and I plop myself into the chair again. He sits back down across from me and stares at me expectantly with his elbows on his thighs.

“What?” I snap.

“So you’re leaving me, then?” he whispers, which softens my harsh demeanor a little.

“If you mean leaving to Seattle, yes.”

“Monday?”

“Yes, Monday. I’ve gone over this with you again and again. I know you thought that little stunt you pulled would discourage me,” I say, seething, “but it didn’t, and nothing you can do will.”

“Nothing?” He looks up at me through his thick lashes.

I’ll marry you, he told me while he was drunk. Does he mean it now? As much as I want to ask him right here, right now, I can’t. I don’t think I’m ready for his sober answer.

“Hardin, what is it in Seattle that you’re so eager to avoid?” I ask instead.

His eyes dart away from mine. “Nothing important.”

“Hardin, I swear, if there’s something that you’ve kept from me, I will never speak to you again,” I say, and mean it. “I’ve had enough of this shit, honestly.”

“It’s nothing, Tessa. I have some old friends there that I don’t particularly care for because they’re part of my old life.”

“?‘Old life’?”

“My life before you: the drinking, the parties, fucking every girl that passed my way,” he says. When I cringe, he mumbles “Sorry” but continues. “There’s no big secret, just bad memories. But that’s not why I don’t want to go, anyway.”

I wait for him to get to the heart of the matter, but he doesn’t say anything else. “Okay, then tell me why. Because I don’t get it.”

His face is devoid of any emotion as he looks into my eyes. “Why do you need an explanation? I don’t want to go and I don’t want you to go without me.”

“Well, that’s not enough of an explanation. I’m going,” I say and shake my head. “And you know what? I don’t want you to come with me anymore.”

“What?” His eyes darken.

“I don’t want you to come.” I stay as calm as possible and stand up from the chair. I’m proud of myself for having this discussion without yelling. “You’ve tried to ruin this for me—this has been my dream since I can remember, and you tried to ruin it for me. You’ve turned something that I should be looking forward to into something that I can barely stand. I should be excited and ready to go meet my dreams. But instead you’ve made sure I have nowhere to live and no support system at all. So no, I don’t want you to go.”