He grabs my bag from my shoulder as we walk down the driveway. “Nothing, but I know you two; if you start talking, we’ll never make it out of there, and when you add Karen into the mix, I’d starve to death before you shut up.” He opens the car door for me before walking around to open his own and climb in.
“True.” I smile.
We debate over IHOP or Denny’s for at least twenty minutes before deciding on IHOP. Hardin claims that they have the best French toast, but I refuse to believe it until I eat it.
“It’ll be ten to fifteen minutes before you can be seated,” a short woman with a blue scarf around her neck tells us when we walk inside.
“Okay,” I say at the same time that Hardin says, “Why?”
“We’re busy and there aren’t any tables open at the moment,” she explains sweetly. Hardin rolls his eyes and I pull him away from her to sit at the bench in the entryway.
“It’s nice to see you’re back,” I tease.
“What’s that mean?”
“I just mean you’ve still got your edge.”
“When didn’t I?”
“I don’t know, when we went on our date and a little last night.”
“I trashed that bedroom and cussed you out,” he reminds me.
“I know, I’m trying to make a joke.”
“Well, try making a good one next time,” he says, but I see the glint of a smile appear.
When we’re finally seated, we give our order to a young guy with a beard that seems to be a little too long for someone who’s working as a waiter. After he walks off, Hardin complains and swears that if he finds a hair in his food, he’s going to lose it. “Just had to show you that I still have my edge,” he reminds me, and I giggle.
I love that he’s trying to be a little nicer, but I also love his attitude and the way he doesn’t care what people think of him. I wish more of those qualities would rub off on me. He runs through a list of other things that are bothering him about the place until our food arrives.
“Why can’t you just miss the entire day?” Hardin asks as he shovels a forkful of French toast into his mouth.
“Because . . .” I begin. Oh, you know, because I’m transferring to another campus and I don’t want to complicate things by losing any participation points before I transfer in the middle of the semester.
“I don’t want to lose my A’s,” I tell him.
“This is college, no one goes to class,” he tells me for the hundredth time since I met him.
“Aren’t you excited about yoga?” I laugh.
“No. Not at all.”
We finish breakfast, and the mood is still light as Hardin drives toward the campus. His phone vibrates on the console but he ignores it. I want to answer for him but we’re getting along so well. The third time it rings, I finally speak up.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” I ask him.
“No, it’ll go to voicemail. It’s probably my mum.” He lifts the phone to show me the screen.
“See, she left a voicemail. Can you check it?” he asks.
My curiosity gets the best of me and I snatch the phone from his hands.
“Speakerphone,” he reminds me.
“You have seven new voicemails,” the robotic voice announces as he parks the car.
He groans. “This is why I never check them.”
I press the numeral one to listen to them. “Hardin? . . . Hardin, it’s Tessa . . . I . . .” I try to press the end button but Hardin grabs the phone from my hand.
Oh God.
“Well, I need to talk to you. I’m in my car and I’m so confused . . .” My voice is hysterical and I want to jump out of the car.
“Please turn it off,” I beg him but he shifts the phone into his other hand so I can’t reach it.
“What is this?” he asks, staring at the phone.
“Why haven’t you even tried? You just let me leave and here I am pathetically calling you and crying into your voicemail. I need to know what happened to us? Why was this time different, why didn’t we fight it out? Why didn’t you fight for me? I deserve to be happy, Hardin.” My idiotic voice fills the car, trapping me inside.
I sit in silence and stare down at my hands in my lap. This is humiliating; I had nearly forgotten about the voicemail and I wish he hadn’t heard it, especially not now.
“When was this?”
“While you were gone.”
He lets out a deep breath and ends the call. “What were you confused about?” he asks.
“I don’t think you want to talk about it.” I pull my lip between my teeth.
“Yes, I do.” Hardin unbuckles his seat belt and turns to face me.
I look up at him, and try to think of how to phrase this. “That hideous voicemail is from the night . . . the night I kissed him.”
“Oh.” He turns his face away from me.
Breakfast went so well, only to be ruined by my stupid voice-mail that I left in the middle of an emotional tidal wave. I shouldn’t be held accountable.
“Before or after you kissed him?”
“After.”
“How many times did you kiss him?”
“Once.”
“Where?”
“My car,” I squeak.
“Then what? What did you do after you left this?” He holds the phone in the air between us.
“Went back to his apartment.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, Hardin rests his forehead against the steering wheel.
“I . . .” I begin.
He raises his finger to silence me. “What happened at his apartment?” He closes his eyes.
“Nothing! I cried and we watched television.”
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not. I slept on the couch. The only time I slept in his room was the time you showed up there. I haven’t done anything with him except kiss him, and a few days ago when I met him for lunch, he tried to kiss me and I pulled away.”
“He tried to kiss you again?”
Shit. “Yes, but he understands the way I feel about you. I know I made a huge mess of all of this and I’m sorry for even spending time with him. I don’t have a good reason or excuse but I’m sorry.”
“You remember what you said, right? That you’ll stay away from him?” His breathing is controlled, too controlled, as he lifts his head from the wheel.
“Yes, I remember.” I don’t like the idea of being told who I can be friends with, but I can’t say I wouldn’t expect the same from him if the roles were reversed, which they have been a lot lately.
“Now that I know the details, I don’t want to talk about it again, okay? I mean it . . . like I don’t even want to hear his fucking name come out of your mouth.” He’s trying to stay calm.
“Okay,” I agree and reach across to grab his hand in mine. I don’t want to talk about it anymore either; we’ve both said all we can say about the subject, and going back over it will only cause more unnecessary problems for us and our already damaged relationship. It’s sort of a relief to be the cause of the problem this time, because the last thing Hardin needs is another reason to despise himself.
“We better get to class,” he finally says.
My heart sinks at his cool tone, but I keep my mouth shut as he withdraws his hand from mine. Hardin walks me to the philosophy building, and I scan the street for Landon but don’t see him. He must be inside already.
“Thank you for breakfast,” I say and take my bag from Hardin’s hand.
“It’s nothing.” He shrugs, and I attempt a smile before turning to walk away.
A hand presses into my arm, and even before his mouth forcefully presses against mine, he’s claimed me in the way only he can.
“I’ll see you after class. I love you,” he breathes and withdraws, leaving me panting and smiling as I head inside.
chapter one hundred and eighteen
HARDIN
I listen to that voicemail for the fifth time as I walk down the campus sidewalk. She
sounds so miserable and upset. In a fucked-up way it makes me happy to hear it, to hear the anguish and pure sadness in her voice as she cries into my ear. I wanted to know if she was as miserable without me as I was without her, and here is the proof that she was. I know I forgave her quickly for kissing that asshole, but what else was I supposed to do? I can’t be without her, and we’ve both done some fucked-up shit—not only her.
This is his fault, anyway; he knew how fucking vulnerable she would be when we split. I know he fucking knew that: he saw her crying and shit, then he goes and kisses her a week after she left me? What kind of fucking dickhead does that?
He took advantage of her, of my Tessa, and I won’t fucking have it. He thinks he’s so smooth and he gets away with shit, but not any fucking more.
“Where’s Zed Evans?” I ask a short blond girl sitting by a tree near the environmental studies building.
Why the fuck is there a giant-ass tree in the middle of this stupid-ass building, anyway?
“In the plant room, number two eighteen,” she informs me with a shaky voice.
I finally reach the room with “218” printed on the door and open it before I can think about my promise to Tessa. I wasn’t actually going to leave him alone anyway, but hearing how distraught she was on the night she was with him made it ten times worse for him.
THE ROOM IS FULL of rows of plants. Who would want to mess with this shit all day for a living?
“What are you doing here?” I hear him before I lay eyes on him.
He’s standing next to a large box or some shit; when he steps out I take a step toward him.
“Don’t play fucking stupid, you know exactly what I’m doing here.”
He smiles. “No, sorry, I don’t. The study of botany doesn’t require psychic powers.”
He mocks me with those dumb fucking goggles on his head. “You actually have the nerve to be a smug asshole about it?”
“About what?”
“Tessa.”
“I’m not being a dick at all. You’re the one treating her like shit, so don’t get pissed when she runs to me because of it.”
“Are you that fucking stupid to mess with what is mine?”
He backs away and walks down the aisle next to me. “She isn’t yours. You don’t own her,” he challenges.
I reach across the boxes of plants to wrap my hand around his neck—and slam his face into the metal barrier between us. I hear a crisp snap, so I already know what happened. But when he lifts his head up and shouts “You broke my fucking nose!” while struggling to get out of my grip, I have to admit that the amount of blood pouring from his face is a little alarming.
“I already warned you over and over for fucking months now to stay away from Tessa, but then what do you do? You fucking kiss her, have her sleep in your goddamn bed?” I stride down the aisle to get to him again.
His hand is covering his broken nose as blood pours down his face. “And I already fucking told you that I don’t give a fuck what you’ve got to say,” he snarls, taking a step toward me. “You just broke my fucking nose!” he yells again.
Tessa is going to fucking kill me.
I should just leave now. He deserves to get his ass beat, again, but she’s going to be furious.
“You’ve done worse shit to me, you keep messing with my girlfriend!” I shout back.
“She isn’t your girlfriend, and I haven’t even begun to mess with her yet.”
“Are you actually fucking threatening me right now?”
“I don’t know, am I?”
I take another step toward him, and he surprises me by swinging on me. His fist connects with my jaw and I stagger backward, knocking into a wooden box of plants. They crash to the ground, and as I recover, he swings again in a fury, but this time I’m able to block him and stumble to the side.
“You thought I was just a bitch, didn’t you?” He grins a deranged and bloody grin and continues to walk toward me. “You really thought you were a badass, didn’t you?” He laughs, pausing to spit blood onto the white tile floor.
My fingers wrap around the material of his lab coat, and I push him into another row of plants; the plants and our bodies hit the ground. I climb on top of him, making sure not to let him be in control. Out of the corner of my eye I see him raise his arm, but by the time I realize what’s happening, he’s slammed one of the small pots against the side of my head.
My head jerks and I blink rapidly to restore my vision. I’m stronger than him, but it seems he’s a better fighter than he had led me to believe.
But there’s no way in hell I’m letting him get the best of me.
“I already fucked her, anyway,” he chokes as I grab hold of his hair and slam his head into the floor. At this point I don’t give a fuck if I kill him or not.
“No, you didn’t!” I scream.
“Yes, I did, she was . . . nice and t-tight, too.” His voice is strangled and choppy, spitting out its venom with my hands still on his face.
My fist snaps his head to the side and he half screams from the pain, and for a brief moment I consider gripping his broken nose between my fingers to cause him even more. His feet kick frantically under me to try to lift my body from his. Images of Zed touching Tessa are fueling me, pushing me further than I’ve ever been pushed before.
His hands grip my arms, trying to lift my body from his. “You will never fucking touch her again,” I say and bring a hand to his throat. “If you think you’re going to take her from me, you’re fucking wrong.”
I tighten my grip around his neck. His bloody face is turning red and he tries to speak, but I only hear broken gasps for air.
“What the hell is going on in here?” a male voice shouts behind me.
When I turn my head around to see who the voice belongs to, Zed attempts to wrap his hands around my neck. Not fucking happening. Another punch to his cheek is all it takes for his arms to drop to the floor next to his sides.
A hand wraps around my arm, and I shove it off. “Call campus security!” the voice says, and I hurry to climb off of Zed.
Fuck. “No, don’t,” I say and stumble to my feet.
“What’s going on? Get out of here! Go wait in the other room!” the middle-aged man yells, but I don’t move. I assume he’s a professor. Fuck.
“He came in here and attacked me,” Zed says, then starts to cry. He literally starts to cry.
His hand is covering his swollen and crooked nose as he stands to his feet. His face is bloody, his lab coat is splattered with red, and his smug smile has evaporated.
With an air of authority, the man points at me and commands, “Stand against the wall until the police arrive! I mean it, don’t move an inch!”
Fuck, the campus police are coming. I’m so fucking screwed. Why the fuck did I come here in the first place? I promised to stay away from him if she would.
Now that I’ve broken another one of my promises, will she break hers?
chapter one hundred and nineteen
TESSA
When my pen presses to the paper, I have every intention of writing about my grandmother and how she dedicated her life to Christianity, but somehow Hardin’s name appears in black ink.
“Ms. Young?” Professor Soto’s voice says gently, though loudly enough for everyone in the first row to hear.
“Yes?” I look up, and my attention is immediately brought to Ken. Why is Ken here?
“Tessa, I need you to come with me,” he says, and the annoying blonde behind me makes an “oohhh” sound like we’re back in the sixth grade. She most likely doesn’t even know who he is, that Ken is the chancellor of the college.
“What’s going on?” Landon asks Ken as I get to my feet and begin to gather my things.
“We can talk about it outside.” Ken’s voice is unsteady.
“I’m coming,” Landon says and stands as well.
Professor Soto looks at Ken. “Is that okay with you?”
“Yes, he’s my son,” he tells him and
our teacher’s eyes go wide.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that; she’s your daughter?” he asks him.
“No,” Ken says tersely. He appears panicked, which is starting to scare me.
“Is Hardin . . .” I begin to ask, but Ken guides me out the door with Landon behind me.
“Hardin’s been arrested,” Ken tells us as soon as we get outside.
I can’t breathe. “He’s what?”
“He’s been arrested for fighting, and for vandalizing campus property.”
“Oh my God” is the only thing I can think to say.
“When? How?” Landon asks.
“About twenty minutes ago. I’m trying my best to keep this matter within the campus jurisdiction, but he isn’t making it easy.” Ken hurries across the street, and I nearly have to run to catch up with him.
My mind is racing: Hardin, arrested? Oh my God. How could he get arrested? Who did he fight?
But I already know the answer to that question.
Why couldn’t he just keep his cool, for once? Is Hardin okay? Will he go to jail? Real jail? Is Zed okay?
Ken unlocks his car’s doors, and the three of us get inside.
“Where are we going?” Landon asks.
“To campus security.”
“Is he okay?” I ask.
“He’s got a cut across his cheek and another on his ear, or so I’ve heard.”
“You ‘heard’? You haven’t seen him yet?” Landon asks his stepfather.
“No, I haven’t. He’s throwing a fit, so I knew it would be better to get Tessa first.” He nods his head in my direction.
“Yeah, good idea,” Landon agrees, and I stay quiet.
A cut across his head and face? I hope he isn’t in pain. Oh my God, this is all so crazy. I should have just agreed to spend the entire day with him. If I had, he wouldn’t have even been on campus today.
KEN ZOOMS DOWN several backstreets, and within five minutes we’re parking in front of the small brick building that houses campus security. There’s a No Parking sign directly in front of where he parks, but I suppose parking wherever you like is one of the perks of being the chancellor.