After We Collided (The After Series) (21 page)

“Tess?” Hardin stops walking and waves his hand in front of my face. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking about what to get your dad.” I’m a bad liar, and my voice gets more rushed than I’d like. “Does he like sports? He does, right? You two were watching that football game, remember?”

Hardin eyes me for a moment, then says, “The Packers, he likes the Packers.” I am positive that he wants to ask more about Steph, but he stays quiet.

We go to a sporting goods store, and I stay fairly quiet as well and Hardin chooses a few things for his father. He refuses to let me pay, so I grab a key chain off the display case near the register
and pay for it myself just to annoy him. He rolls his eyes and I stick my tongue out at him.

“You do know that you grabbed the wrong team, right?” he says when we exit the store.

“What?” I reach in and grab the small object.

“That’s the Giants, not the Packers.” He smirks, and I shove the key chain back into the bag.

“Well . . . good thing no one will know the good gifts are actually from you.”

“Are we done yet?” he whines.

“No, I have to get something for Landon, remember?”

“Oh yeah. He mentioned that he wanted to try a new shade of lipstick. Maybe coral?”

I put my hands on my hips and face him. “You leave him alone! And maybe I should be getting you the lipstick, since you seem to know the exact shade,” I tease. It feels good to be bickering with Hardin in a playful way instead of a let’s-burn-the-house-down way.

He rolls his eyes, but I see a small smile appear before he speaks. “You should just get him hockey tickets. Easy and not too expensive.”

“That’s actually a good idea.”

“I know,” he says. “Too bad he doesn’t have any friends to go with him.”

“Um, I would go with him.”

The way Hardin is teasing about Landon makes me smile because it is so different than before, there is no malice behind his tone now.

“I wanted to get your mom something, too,” I tell him.

He gives me a funny, little, harmless look. “Why?”

“Because it’s Christmas.”

“Just get her a sweater or something,” he says and gestures at a store meant more for old ladies.

Eyeing it, I say, “I’m terrible at buying gifts for people. What did you get her?”

The present he got me for my birthday was so perfect that I imagine the gift he chose for his mother must be equally thoughtful.

He shrugs. “A bracelet and a scarf.”

“A bracelet?” I ask and pull him farther down the mall.

“No, I meant a necklace anyway. It’s just a plain necklace that says
Mom
or some shit.”

“How nice of you,” I say as we walk back into Macy’s. I look around, feeling confident. “I think I can find her something here . . . she likes those tracksuits.”

“Oh God, please, no more tracksuits. She wears them
every
 day.”

I smile at his sour expression. “So . . . all the more reason to buy her another one.”

As we look at several racks with various options, Hardin reaches out and feels the sheer fabric on one. I get a good look at his knuckles, and the scabs on them, bringing me back to the information Steph revealed.

I pretty quickly find a mint-green tracksuit that I’m sensing she’ll like, and we wander off to find the register. En route, a sort of resolve takes over my frantic thoughts about Hardin, partly because I now know he wasn’t actually sleeping with Molly while I was in Seattle.

As we get to the register and place the outfit on the counter, I suddenly turn to Hardin and say, “We need to talk tonight.”

The cashier looks back and forth between Hardin and me, confusion evident in her eyes. I want to tell her it’s rude to stare, but Hardin speaks before I get the courage.

“Talk?”

“Yeah . . .” I say and watch the cashier remove the security tag. “After we put that tree up that your mom got when you two went out yesterday.”

“Talk about what, though?”

I turn to look at him. “Everything,” I say.

Hardin looks terrified and the implications of that word hang heavy in the air. When the cashier scans the tracksuit’s tag, a beep breaks the silence, and Hardin mumbles, “Oh . . . I’ll go get the car.”

As I watch the woman bag Trish’s gift, I think,
Next year I’ll make sure to get everyone amazing gifts to make up for my terrible gifts this year.
But then I think,
Next year? Who says there’ll be a next year with him?

BOTH OF US STAY SILENT
during the ride back to the apartment, me because I’m trying to organize my thoughts about everything I should say, and him . . . well, I get the feeling he’s doing the same. When we arrive, I grab the bags and rush through the freezing rain and into the lobby. I’d take the snow over this any day.

When we step into the elevator, my stomach grumbles. “I’m hungry,” I tell Hardin when he looks down at me.

“Oh.” He looks like he wants to say something sarcastic but decides against it.

The sensation is only heightened when we get inside the apartment and the smell of garlic takes over my senses, instantly making my mouth water.

“I made dinner!” Trish announces. “How was the mall?”

Hardin grabs the bags from my hands and disappears into the bedroom.

“It wasn’t too bad. Not nearly as crowded as I’d thought it would be,” I explain.

“That’s good, I thought maybe you and I could put that tree up? Hardin probably won’t want to help.” She smiles. “He hates fun. But the two of us could do it, if you don’t mind?”

I chuckle. “Yeah, of course.”

“You should eat first,” Hardin commands as he strides back into the kitchen.

I scowl at him and turn my attention back to Trish. Since my dreaded talk with Hardin is on the other end of my assembling the small tree with his mother, I’m in no particular rush. Besides, I need at least an hour to muster up enough strength to be able to say everything that I want to say. It’s probably not the best idea to have such an important talk with his mother here, but I can’t wait any longer. Everything that’s going to be said needs to be said . . . now. My patience is waning; we can’t stay in this in-between place much longer.

“Are you actually hungry now, Tessa dear?” Trish asks me.

“Yes, she is,” Hardin answers for me over his shoulder.

“Yeah, I actually am,” I tell her, ignoring her obnoxious son.

While Trish makes me a plate of chicken casserole with spinach and garlic, I sit at the table focusing on how delicious it smells. When she brings the plate over, I see it looks even better than it smells.

As she puts the plate in front of me, Trish says, “Hardin, you could take the pieces out of the tree out of box for us, make it a little easier?”

“Sure,” he says.

She smiles at me. “I got a few ornaments, too.”

By the time I’ve finished eating, Hardin has the branches slid into the slots and the tree assembled.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” his mom says. When he grabs the box of ornaments, she goes over to him. “We’ll help with those.”

Completely full, I get up from the table, and ponder how putting together a Christmas tree with Hardin and his mother, in an apartment that was ours, is something I’d have never thought I’d be doing. Ever. I enjoy the feeling while we decorate, and in the
end, though the ornaments seem randomly hung on the miniature tree, Trish looks very pleased.

“We should get a photo in front of it!” she suggests.

“I don’t do pictures,” Hardin grumbles.

“Oh, come on, Hardin, it’s the holidays.” She bats her lashes and he rolls his eyes at her for the hundredth time since her arrival.

“Not today,” he replies.

I know it isn’t fair of me, but I feel for his mother, so I look at him with big eyes and say, “Just one?”

“Fine, fuck. Just one.” He stands next to Trish in front of the tree and I grab my phone to take a picture of them. Hardin barely smiles, but Trish’s cheerfulness makes up for it. Still, I’m relieved when she doesn’t suggest that Hardin and I take a picture together; we need to figure out what we’re doing before we start romantic pictures in front of Christmas trees.

I get Trish’s phone number and send a copy of the picture to her and Hardin, who walks back to the kitchen and makes himself a plate of food.

“I’m going to go wrap some gifts before it gets too late,” I announce.

“Okay, see you in the morning, sweetie,” Trish says and gives me a hug.

Going into the bedroom, I see that Hardin has already gathered the wrapping paper, bows, tape, and everything else I could possibly need. I hurry to start wrapping so we can have “the Talk” sooner rather than later. I really want to get it over with, but at the same time am afraid of how it will go. I know that I’ve made up my mind, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to admit it. I know how foolish it is of me, but I’ve been a fool since I first met Hardin, and that hasn’t always been a bad thing.

I finish writing Ken’s name on a gift tag just as he walks in.

“Done?” he asks.

“Yeah . . . I need to get those tickets printed for Landon before we talk.”

He cocks his head back. “Why?”

“Because I need your help, and you’re not helpful when we’re fighting.”

“How do you know we’ll fight?” he asks.

“Because it’s us.” I half laugh, and he silently nods in agreement.

“I’ll get the printer from the closet.”

As he walks away, I turn on my laptop. Twenty minutes later we have two tickets to the Seattle Thunderbirds printed and wrapped in a small box for Landon.

“Okay . . . so any other distractions before we . . . you know, talk?” Hardin asks.

“No. I guess not,” I reply.

We both go and sit on the bed, him against the headboard with his long legs stretched out, me with my legs tucked under me at the other end. I have no idea where to start or what to say.

“So . . .” Hardin begins.

This is awkward. “So . . .” I pick at my nails. “What happened with Jace?” I ask.

“Steph told you,” he states flatly.

“Yeah, she did.”

“He was running his mouth.”

“Hardin, you have to talk to me or this isn’t going to work.”

His eyes go wide with indignation. “I
am
talking.”

“Hardin . . .”

“Okay. Okay.” He lets out an angry breath. “He was planning to try to hook up with you.”

My stomach turns at the thought. Plus, that’s not the reason for the fight that Steph told me at the mall.
Is Hardin lying to me again?
“So? You know that would never happen.”

“That doesn’t make a difference, even thinking about him touching you . . .” He shudders and continues: “And also, he’s the one who . . . well. Molly, too, who planned to tell you about the bet in front of everyone. He had no fucking right to humiliate you like that. He ruined everything.”

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.