The momentary relief I feel that Hardin’s story now matches Steph’s is quickly replaced by anger over his attitude that if only I didn’t know about the bet, everything would have been fine. “Hardin, you ruined it. They just told me about it,” I remind him.
“I know that, Tessa,” he says with annoyance.
“Do you? Do you know that, though? Because you haven’t really said anything about it.”
Hardin pulls his legs back with a sudden move. “Yes, I have—I was crying the other day, for fuck’s sake.”
I feel a scowl etch itself into my features. “You need to stop cursing at me so much, for one thing. And two, that was one time. That’s really the only time you’ve said anything. And it wasn’t much.”
“I tried in Seattle, but you wouldn’t talk to me. And you’ve been ignoring me, so when was I supposed to tell you?”
“Hardin, the point is, if we’re going to even try to move past this, I need you to open up to me, I need to know exactly how you feel,” I tell him.
His green eyes bore into me. “And when do I get to hear how you feel, Tessa? You’re just as closed off as I am.”
“What? No . . . No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are! You haven’t told me how you feel about any of this. You just keep saying you’re done with me.” He waves his hands toward me. “But here you are. It gets a bit confusing.”
I need a moment to think about what he just said. I’ve had so many thoughts jumbled in my head that I’ve forgotten to communicate any of them to him. “I have been so confused,” I say.
“I’m not a mind reader, Tessa. What are you confused about?”
A lump forms in my throat. “This. Us. I don’t know what to do. About us. About your betrayal.” We’ve just started this conversation, and I’m already on the verge of tears.
A little harshly, he says, “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know.”
He calls me out. “Yes, you do.”
There are a lot of things that I need to hear him say before I can be sure of what I want to do. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to stay with me. I want you to forgive me and give me another chance. I know I’ve asked you too many times, but please, just give me one more chance. I can’t be without you. I’ve tried, and I know you have, too. There isn’t anyone else for either of us. If it’s not us, it’s nothing—and I know that you know that, too.” His eyes are glassy when he finishes, and I wipe my tears away.
“You hurt me, so terribly, Hardin.”
“I know, baby, I know I did. I would give anything to take that back,” he says, then looks down at the bed with a strange expression. “Actually I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t change anything. Well, I would have told you sooner, obviously,” he says. I snap my head up. He brings his up and stares right into me. “I wouldn’t take it back, because we wouldn’t have been together if I hadn’t done such a fucked-up thing. Our paths would have never really crossed, not in the way that has bonded us together so tightly. Even though it’s destroyed my life, without that stupid, evil bet, I wouldn’t have had a life at all. I’m sure that makes you hate me even more, but you wanted the truth. And that’s the truth.”
Looking into Hardin through his green eyes, I don’t know what to say.
Because when I think about it—really think about it—I know I wouldn’t change anything either.
chapter thirty-three
HARDIN
I’ve never been so honest with anyone before. But I want everything to be out on the table.
She starts crying and asks softly, “How will I know that you won’t hurt me again?”
I could tell she was trying to hold her tears in the whole time, but I’m glad she can’t anymore. I needed to see some emotion from her . . . she’s been so cold lately. So unlike her. I used to be able to tell what she was thinking by her eyes alone. Now a wall is up, blocking me from reading her the way only I can. I pray to God that the time we spent together today will work in my favor.
That and my honesty. “You won’t. Tessa, I can assure you that I will hurt you again. You will hurt me, too, but I can also assure you that I’ll never keep anything from you or betray you again. You may say some shit that you don’t mean, and God knows that I will, but we can work through our problems because that’s what people do. I just need this one last chance to show you that I can be the man you deserve. Please, Tessa. Please . . .” I beg.
She stares at me with red eyes, chewing on the inside of her cheek. I hate to see her this way, and I hate myself for making her this way.
“You love me, don’t you?” I ask, afraid of her answer.
“Yes. More than anything.” She admits with a sigh.
I can’t hide my stirrings of a smile. Hearing her say that she still loves me brings the life back into me. I’ve been so worried that she was going to give up on me, stop loving me and move on. I don’t deserve her, and I know that she’s aware of that.
But my mind is reeling, and she is being too quiet. I can’t handle the distance. “What can I do, then? What do I need to do so we can get through this?” I ask desperately. I use too much emphasis—I know because of how she looks at me, like she’s suddenly scared, or annoyed, or . . . I don’t know what. “I said the wrong thing, didn’t I.” I bring my hands to my face and wipe the moisture from my eyes. “I knew I would, you know I’m not good with words.”
I’ve never been this emotional in my entire life, and it doesn’t feel good. I’ve never had to or even cared to express my emotions to anyone but I will do anything for this girl. I always fuck everything up, but I have to fix this, or try as hard as I can.
“No . . .” she sobs. “I’m just . . . I don’t know. I want to be with you. I want to forget everything, but I don’t want to regret it. I don’t want to be that girl, the one who gets walked all over and treated like shit and just puts up with it.”
I lean toward her and ask, “To who? Who are you worried will think that?”
“Everyone, my mother, your friends . . . you.”
I knew that’s what it was. I knew that she was more worried about what she should do rather than what she wants to do. “Don’t think about anyone else. Who gives a shit what anyone else thinks? For once just consider what you want—what makes you happy?”
With big, round, beautiful, bloodshot, and crying eyes, she says, “You.” And my heart leaps. “I’m so tired of keeping everything in. I’m exhausted by all of the things I haven’t said and wanted to say,” she adds.
“Then don’t keep it in anymore,” I tell her.
“You make me happy, Hardin. But you also make me miserable, angry, and—most of all—you make me insane.”
“That’s the point, isn’t it? That’s why we’re so good together, Tess, because we are terrible for each other.” She makes me insane, too, and angry, but happy. So happy.
“We are terrible for each other,” she says with a small smile.
“We are,” I repeat and return her smile. “I love you, though. More than anyone ever could, and I swear I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you if you just let me.”
I hope she can hear the rawness in my voice, how badly I want her forgiveness. I need it—I need her like I’ve never needed anything before, and I know she loves me. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t, though I can’t believe I just said “the rest of my life”—that might freak her out.
When she doesn’t say anything else, my heart breaks. And just before I feel more tears coming, I whisper, “I’m so sorry, Tessa . . . I love you so much—”
She catches me completely off guard when she darts across the space between us and climbs onto my lap. I bring my hands to her beautiful face, and she takes a deep breath, leaning her cheek into the palm of my hand.
She looks up at me. “I need it to be on my terms. I won’t be able to make it through another heartbreak.”
“Whatever it takes. I just want to be with you,” I tell her.
“We have to take it slow, I shouldn’t be doing this at all . . . If you hurt me again, I’ll never forgive you, ever,” she threatens.
“I won’t. I swear it.” I’d rather die than hurt her again. I still can’t believe she’s giving me another chance.
“I really have missed you so much, Hardin.”
Her eyes close and I want to kiss her, I want to feel her lips hot against mine, but she just told me she wants to take it slow. “I missed you, too.”
She rests her forehead against mine and I let out a breath that I didn’t know I was holding. “We’re really doing this, then?” I ask, trying not to sound as desperately relieved as I feel.
She sits up and I look into her eyes. The eyes that have haunted me every time I close my own for the last week. She smiles and nods her head. “Yeah . . . I guess we are.”
My arms wrap around her waist and she leans into me once more. “Kiss me?” I practically beg.
She doesn’t try to hide her amusement as she touches my forehead, brushing my hair back. God, I love when she does that.
“Please?” I say.
And she silences me by pressing her lips against mine.
chapter thirty-four
TESSA
My mouth immediately opens, and he doesn’t miss the opportunity to slip his tongue into it. The metal of his lip ring is cool against my lips, and I run my tongue along its smooth surface. The familiar taste of him ignites me, like it always has. No matter how hard I fight it, I need him. I need to be close to him, I need him to comfort me, to challenge me, to annoy me, to kiss me, and to love me. My fingers tangle themselves in his hair, and I tug at the soft strands when his grip on my waist tightens. He said everything I wanted and needed to hear to feel better about my reckless decision to allow him back into my life . . . even though he never actually left. I know I should’ve held out longer, tortured him with waiting the way he tortured me with his lies, but I couldn’t. This isn’t the movies. This is real life—my life—and my life isn’t complete or even tolerable without him. This tattooed, rude, angry boy has gotten under my skin and into my heart, and I know that no matter how hard I try, I can’t get him out.
His tongue skims my bottom lip and I’m slightly embarrassed when a moan escapes my throat. When I pull away, we’re both out of breath and my skin is hot and his cheeks are flushed.
“Thank you for giving me another chance,” he pants and pulls me into his chest.
“You act like I had a choice.”
He frowns. “You do.”
“I know,” I lie. But I haven’t had a choice since I met him. I’ve been completely gone for him since the first time we kissed.
“Where do we go from here?” I ask him.
“That’s up to you. You know what I want.”
“I want to be like we were before . . . well, how we were without all the other stuff,” I tell Hardin, and he nods.
“That’s what I want, too, baby. I’ll make this up to you, I promise.”
Every time Hardin calls me baby my stomach flutters. The mixture of his raspy voice, his British accent, and the gentleness behind his tone makes for the most perfect combination.
“Please don’t make me regret this,” I beg him, and he takes my face into his hands once more.
“I won’t. You’ll see,” he promises and kisses me again.
I know that Hardin and I still have things to sort out, but I feel so resolved now, so calm, so right. I’m worried about everyone’s reaction, especially my mother’s, but I’ll deal with that when the time comes. The fact that I’m not spending Christmas with her for the first time in eighteen years in favor of Hardin and me being together again will only make things worse, but honestly I don’t care. Well, I care, but I can’t keep going to war with her over my life choices, and it’s impossible to make her happy, so I’m done really trying.
I lean my head against Hardin’s chest and he takes the end of my ponytail into his hands and twirls it between his fingers. I’m glad that I got all of the gifts wrapped; it was stressful enough buying them at the very last minute.
Shit. I didn’t get Hardin a gift! Did he get me one? Probably not, but now that we’re together again . . . or sort of for the first time . . . I’m afraid that he did and will feel bad that I didn’t get him anything at all. Actually, what would I even get him?
“What’s wrong?” he asks and moves his hand to my chin, tilting my face to his.
“Nothing . . .”
“You aren’t . . .” he starts, slow and unsure. “You’re not . . . you know . . . changing your mind?”
“No . . . no. I just . . . I didn’t get you a gift,” I admit.
His face breaks into a smile, and his eyes meet mine. “You’re worried about getting me a gift for Christmas?” He laughs. “Tessa, honestly, you’ve given me everything. You worrying about a Christmas gift is ridiculous.”
I still feel guilty, but I love the confidence on his face. “You’re sure?” I ask.
“Positive.” He laughs again.
“I’ll get you something really great for your birthday,” I say, and he moves his hand back to my face. His thumb runs along my bottom lip, causing my lips to part, and I expect him to kiss me again. Instead, his lips touch down on my nose and then my forehead in a surprisingly sweet gesture.
“I don’t really do birthdays,” he tells me.
“I know . . . I don’t either.” This is one of the few things we have in common.
“Hardin?” Trish’s voice calls as I hear a light tap on the door. He groans and rolls his eyes as I climb off his lap.
I give him a little frown. “It wouldn’t kill you to be nicer to her—she hasn’t seen you in a year.”
“I’m not mean to her,” he says. And, honestly, I know he believes that.
“Just try to be a little nicer, for me?” I bat my eyelashes dramatically, making him smile and shake his head.
“You’re the devil,” he teases.
His mom knocks again. “Hardin?”
“Coming!” he says and climbs off the bed. Opening the door, I see his mom, who looks completely bored.
“Do you two want to watch a movie, perhaps?” she asks.
He turns to me and raises his brow just as I say, “Yeah, we do” and climb off the bed.
“Fantastic!” She smiles and ruffles her son’s hair.
“Let me change first,” Hardin says and waves us out.
Trish holds her hand out to me. “Come on, Tessa, let’s make some snacks.”
As I follow his mom into the kitchen, I realize it’s probably not a good idea for me to watch Hardin change anyway. I want to take things slow. Slow. With Hardin, I don’t know if that’s possible. I wonder if I should tell Trish that I’ve decided to forgive him, or least try to.
“Cookies?” she asks, and I nod and open the cabinets.
“Peanut butter?” I ask her and grab the flour.
She raises her eyebrows, impressed. “You’re going to make them? I was okay with Break ’n Bake, but if you can make them homemade, so much the better!”
“I’m not the best cook, but Karen taught me an easy peanut butter cookie recipe.”
“Karen?” she asks, and my stomach drops. I didn’t mean to bring up Karen. The last thing I want to do is make Trish uncomfortable. I turn away to turn on the oven and hide my embarrassed expression.
“You’ve met her?”
I can’t read her tone, so I tread carefully. “Yeah . . . her son Landon is my friend . . . my best friend, really.”
Trish hands me some bowls and a spoon, asking in a purposely neutral manner, “Oh . . . what is she like?”
I level off flour in a measuring cup and add it to the large mixing bowl, all the while trying to avoid eye contact. I don’t know how to answer her. I don’t want to lie, but I don’t know how she feels about Ken or his new wife.
“You can tell me,” Trish prods.
“She’s lovely,” I admit.
Sh
e nods sharply. “I knew she would be.”
“I didn’t mean to bring her up, it just slipped out,” I apologize.
She hands me a stick of butter. “No, honey, don’t worry about it. I have no hard feelings toward that woman at all. Granted, I would love to hear that she’s a dreadful troll.” She laughs and relief washes through me. “But I’m glad Hardin’s father is happy. I just wish Hardin would let go of his anger toward him.”
“He has—” I begin, but stop abruptly when Hardin enters the kitchen.
“He has what?” she asks.
I look to Hardin, then back to Trish. It’s not my place to tell her if Hardin hasn’t. “What are you guys talking about?” he asks.
“Your father,” she answers, and his face pales. I can tell by his expression that he didn’t intend to tell her about his budding relationship with his father.
“I didn’t know . . .” I try to tell him, but he puts his hand up to silence me.
I hate how secretive he is; this is a problem we will always have, I assume.
“It’s fine, Tess. I’ve been . . . sort of spending a little time with him.” Hardin’s cheeks flush.
Without thinking, I walk over to stand next to him. I’d expected him to be angry with me and lie to his mother, but I’m glad that he proved me wrong.
“You have?” Trish gasps.
“Yeah . . . I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t go near him until a few months ago, I got drunk and trashed his living room . . . but then I stayed the night a few times and we went to the wedding.”
“You’ve been drinking again?” Her eyes begin to water. “Hardin, please tell me you haven’t been drinking again?”
“No, Mum, only a couple times. Not like before,” he promises.
Not like before? I know Hardin used to drink way too much, but Trish’s reaction makes it seem like it was worse than I was led to believe.