After We Fell

  “Sometimes. Our fights were over things like what movie to watch, or him being late to pick me up.”

  He doesn’t look up from his hands. “Not like we fight, then?”

  “I don’t think anyone fights like we do.” I smile in an attempt to reassure him.

  “What else did you do? With him, I mean,” he says, and I swear that sitting in Hardin’s place on the bed there is now a small child, green eyes bright, hands nearly shaking.

  I give a gentle shrug. “We didn’t do much, really, outside of studying and watching hundreds of movies. We were more like best friends, I guess.”

  “You loved him,” the child reminds me.

  “Not the way that I love you,” I tell him, just like I have countless times before.

  “Would you have given up Seattle for him?” He picks at the rough skin around his fingernails. When he looks at me, his insecurity shines through his eyes.

  So this is why we’re talking about Noah: Hardin’s low self-esteem has once again taken his thoughts there, to that place where he compares himself to whatever or whomever he thinks that I need.

  “No.”

  “Why not?” I reach for his hand to comfort the childlike worry inside of him.

  “Because I shouldn’t have to choose at all, and he always knew about my plans and dreams, so I wouldn’t have had to choose.”

  “I don’t have anything in Seattle.” He sighs.

  “Me . . . you’d have me.”

  “That’s not enough.”

  Oh . . . I turn away from him.

  “I know that’s fucked up, but it’s true. I have nothing there, and you’ll have this new job, and you’ll make new friends—”

  “You’d have a new job, too. Christian said he’d give you a job—and we would make new friends together.”

  “I don’t want to work for him—and the people you’d choose as friends are more than likely not going to be the same people I would choose. It would just be so different out there.”

  “You don’t know that. I’m friends with Steph.”

  “Only because you were roommates. I don’t want to move there, Tessa, especially now that I’ve been expelled. It makes more sense for me to just go back to England and finish university there.”

  “This shouldn’t only be about what makes sense for you.”

  “Considering that you went behind my back and saw Zed yet again, you aren’t exactly in any position to be calling the shots.”

  “Really? Because you and I haven’t even established that we’re together again. I agreed to move back in, and you agreed to treat me better.” I stand up from the bed and begin to pace across the concrete floor. “But you went behind my back and beat him up, resulting in your expulsion—so if anyone isn’t in a position to call the shots, it’s you.”

  “You were hiding this from me!” He raises voice. “You’ve been planning to leave me and didn’t tell me!”

  “I know! I’m sorry for that, but instead of arguing over who’s the most wrong here, why don’t we try to fix it or come to some sort of compromise?”

  “You . . .” He stops and stands up from the bed. “You don’t . . .”

  “What?” I press.

  “I don’t know, I can’t even think straight because of how mad I am at you.”

  “I’m sorry for you finding out that way, but I don’t know what else to say.”

  “Say that you won’t go.”

  “I’m not making that choice right now. I shouldn’t have to.”

  “When then? I won’t wait around—”

  “What are you going to do, then—leave? What happened to ‘I never wish to be parted from you from this day on’?”

  “Really? You’re going to bring that up? You don’t think an ideal time to bring up Seattle would be before I got a fucking tattoo for you? The irony isn’t lost on me.” He steps closer to me, challenging me.

  “I was going to!”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “How many times are you going to mention that? We can go back and forth all day, but I really don’t have the energy. I’m over it,” I say.

  “Over it? You’re over it?” He half laughs.

  “Yes, over it.” It’s true, I’m over fighting with him about Seattle. It’s suffocating and frustrating, and I’ve had just about enough.

  He grabs a black sweatshirt from the closet and pulls it over his head before slipping his boots onto his feet.

  “Where are you going?” I demand.

  “Away from here,” he huffs.

  “Hardin, you don’t have to leave,” I call as he opens the door, but he ignores me.

  If my father wasn’t in the living room, I’d chase after him and force him to stay.

  But honestly, I’m tired of chasing him.

  chapter seven

  HARDIN

  Tessa’s father is awake now, sitting on the couch with his arms crossed in front of his chest and staring blankly out the window.

  “Do you need a ride somewhere?” I ask him. I’m not thrilled with the idea of taking him anywhere, but I sure as hell despise the idea of leaving him alone with her.

  He snaps his head my direction as if startled. “Um, yeah, is that okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I quickly answer.

  “Okay, I just want to say goodbye to Tessie.” He looks toward our bedroom.

  “Fine. I’ll be in the car.”

  I head out the door, unsure of exactly where I’m going after I drop the old fool off, but I know it’s not good for either of us if I stay here. I’m so angry with myself. I know she’s not the only one to blame here, but I’m used to lashing out at people, and she’s always with me, making her an easy target. Which makes me a pathetic motherfucker, I know. I keep my eyes trained on the entrance to our apartment building, waiting for Richard. If he doesn’t come soon, I’ll leave his ass here. But then I sigh at the thought, since I really don’t want to leave him here with her.

  At last, the Father of the Year steps through the door and pulls down the sleeves of his shirt. I had expected him to wear the clothes of mine that Tessa gave him, but he’s dressed in his clothes from yesterday, only now they’re clean. Damn Tessa, she’s too fucking nice.

  I turn the volume up on the radio as he opens the passenger door, hoping that the music will halt any conversation he might try to make.

  No luck. “She said to tell you to be careful,” he says as soon as he gets in, then buckles his seat belt like he’s trying to show me how to do it. Like he’s some airline hostess. I give him a small nod and pull onto the street.

  “How did your meeting go today?” he asks.

  “Really?” I raise my brow at him.

  “Just wondering.” He taps his fingers on his leg. “I’m glad she went with you.”

  “Okay.”

  “She seems to be a lot like her mother.”

  I shoot a look at him. “The hell she is. She’s nothing like that woman.” Is he trying to get himself thrown out onto the highway?

  He laughs. “The good qualities only, of course. She’s very headstrong, just like Carol. She wants what she wants, but Tessie is much sweeter, gentler.”

  Here we go with the Tessie bullshit again.

  “I heard the two of you fighting. It woke me up.”

  I roll my eyes. “Excuse us for waking you up at noon while you were sleeping on our couch.”

  Again, I’m met with a chuckle. “I get it, man—you’re angry at the world. I was, too. Hell, I still am. But when you find someone who’s willing to put up with your shit, you don’t have to be so angry anymore.”

  Well, old-timer, what do you suggest I do when your daughter is the one making me so goddamn angry? “Look, I’ll admit you aren’t as bad as I thought you were, but I didn’t ask for your advice, so don’t waste your time giving it to me.”

  “I’m not giving you advice, I’m speaking from experience here. I’d hate to see the two of you end things.”

  We aren’t en
ding 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.

  chapter eight

  TESSA

  Your dad?” 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.

  chapter nine

  HARDIN

  My 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 pisse
d-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.