After We Collided (The After Series) (65 page)

“There’s the birthday boy.” She smiles and walks into the house before me.

“Scott!” Tristan calls from the kitchen; he’s already been drinking, I can tell.

“Where’s Tessa?” Steph asks.

All of my friends are standing in a small circle basically staring me down as I try to think of something on the spot. The last thing I need is for them to know I’m trying to persuade her to come back to me.

“Wait . . . more importantly, where the hell are your rings?” Steph puts her hand under my chin and tilts my head to examine me like I’m a fucking lab rat.

“Get off,” I groan and pull away from her.

“Holy shit! You’re turning into one of them,” Molly says and points to a group of preppy douche bags across the room.

“No, I’m not.” I glare at her.

She cackles and presses on: “Yes, you are! She told you to take them out, didn’t she?”

“No, she didn’t, I took them out because I fucking felt like it. Mind your own damn business,” I snap, and she rolls her eyes.

“Whatever you say.” She walks away, thank God.

“Ignore her. Anyway, is Tessa coming?” Steph asks me, and I shake my head. “Well, I miss her! I wish she would hang out more.” She takes a drink from her red cup.

“Me, too,” I say under my breath and fill a cup with water.

Much to my misery, the music and voices get louder as the night goes on. Everyone is wasted before eight o’clock. I still haven’t decided if I want to drink or not. I went a long time without drinking until that night at my father’s when I destroyed all of Karen’s china. I used to go through these lame-ass parties without drinking . . . well, for the most part. I barely remember my early college days, bottle after bottle, slut after slut—it’s a blur, and I’m glad. Shit didn’t make sense before Tessa came around.

I find a spot on the couch next to Tristan and zone out to thoughts of Tessa while my friends play another dumb-ass drinking game.

H
ey
, the text from Hardin reads.

The butterflies that appear in my stomach are ridiculous.

How’s your party?
I send, and shove another handful of popcorn into my mouth. I’ve been staring at the screen of my e-reader for two hours straight, and I need a break.

Lame. Can I come over?
he responds.

I nearly jump off the bed. I made the decision earlier after spending hours finding a decent gift for him that my “space” can wait until after his birthday. I don’t care how needy or pathetic that is. If he chooses to spend time with me over his friends, I’ll take it. He really is trying and I need to acknowledge that; granted, we need to discuss his not wanting a future with me and how that will affect my career.

But that can wait until tomorrow.

Yeah, how long until you’ll be here?
I write.

I dig through the dresser and grab a blue sleeveless shirt that Hardin once told me looks nice on me. I’ll have to wear jeans; otherwise I’ll look like an idiot sitting in this bedroom in a dress. I wonder what he’ll be wearing. Will his hair be pushed back like it was yesterday? Was his party boring without me and he wanted to see me instead? He really is changing and I love him for it.

Why am I so giddy?

Thirty minutes.

I rush to the bathroom to brush the popcorn kernels from my teeth. I shouldn’t be kissing him, should I? It
is
his birthday . . . one kiss won’t be so bad, and let’s be honest: he deserves a kiss for all the effort he’s put into this so far. One kiss won’t hurt anything I’m trying to do.

I touch up my makeup and run the hairbrush through my hair before pulling it into a ponytail. I clearly have no sense of judgment where Hardin is involved, but I’ll scold myself tomorrow. I know he doesn’t do much for birthdays, but I want this one to be different—I want him to know that his birthday is important.

I grab the gift I bought and begin to wrap it quickly. The paper I bought is covered in music notes and would make a good book cover. I’m getting nervous and sidetracked even though I shouldn’t be.

Okay, see you soon,
I send, and head downstairs after scribbling his name on the small gift tag.

Karen is dancing to an old Luther Vandross song, and I can’t help but laugh when she turns around with flushed cheeks. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were there,” she says, clearly embarrassed.

“I love this song. My father used to play it all the time,” I tell her, and she smiles.

“He has good taste, then.”

“He did.” I smile at the somewhat decent memory of my father twirling me around the kitchen . . . before the sun fell and he gave my mother a black eye for the first time.

“So what are you up to tonight? Landon’s at the library again,” she tells me, though I already knew.

“I was actually going to see if you could help me make a cake or something for Hardin. It’s his birthday and he’s going to be here in about a half hour.” I can’t help but smile.

“He is? Well, of course, we can make a quick sheet cake . . . or actually, let’s do a two-layer circle cake. What does he like better, chocolate or vanilla?”

“Chocolate cake and chocolate icing,” I tell her. No matter how much I feel I don’t know him sometimes, I know him better than I think I know myself.

“Okay, get the pans out for me?” she asks, and I jump to it.

Thirty minutes later I’m waiting for the cake to cool the rest of the way so that we can ice it before Hardin gets here. Karen has dug out some old candles; she could only find a one and a three, but I know he’ll find humor in that.

I walk to the living room and look out the window to see if he’s here yet, but the driveway is empty. He’s probably just running a little late. It’s only been forty-five minutes.

“Ken’ll be home in an hour or so, he had a dinner with some colleagues. Being a terrible person, I claimed to have a stomachache. I just hate those dinners.” She laughs and I giggle as I attempt to smooth the chocolate icing along the edges of the cake.

“I don’t blame you,” I tell her and place the numbers on the top of the cake.

After arranging them to say thirty-one, I decide to have them say thirteen instead. Karen and I laugh at the corny candles and I struggle with the thick icing to write Hardin’s name below the candles.

“It looks . . . nice,” she lies.

I cringe at my terrible icing skills. “It’s the thought that counts. Or at least it better be . . .”

“He’ll love it,” Karen assures me before heading upstairs so Hardin and I can have some privacy when he gets here.

It’s now been an hour since he texted, and I’m sitting in the kitchen alone waiting for him to show. I want to call him, but if he isn’t coming he should be the one to call me and tell me.

He’ll come. It was his idea to come, anyway. He will come.

F
or a third time, Nate tries to hand me his cup. “C’mon, man. Just one drink, it’s your twenty-first birthday, dude—it’s illegal
not
to!”

Because it will get me out of here smoother, I finally relent. “Fine, one drink. But that’s it.”

Smiling, he pulls his cup back and grabs the bottle of liquor out of Tristan’s hand. “Okay, then. At least have a proper one,” he says.

I roll my eyes before taking a swig of the dark liquid. “All right, that’s all. Now you can leave me alone,” I tell him, and he nods in agreement.

I head to the kitchen to get another cup of water, and Zed, of all fucking people, stops me. “Here,” he says, handing me my phone. “You left it on the couch when you got up.”

Then he wanders back into the living room.

A
fter two hours, I leave the cake on the counter and head upstairs to take my makeup off and change back into my pajamas. This is what happens every single time I let myself give him another chance. Reality smacks me in the face.

I really thought he was coming; I’m so foolish. I was downstairs baking him a cake . . . God, I’m an idiot.

I grab my headphones before I allow myself to cry again. The music pours into my ears as I lie back on the bed and do my best to not be too hard on myself. He acted so different last night—mostly in a good way, but I do miss his perverted and rude remarks that I always pretend to hate but secretly love.

I’m glad Landon didn’t come to say hello when I heard him get home. I was still holding a little hope and I would have looked even more ridiculous, not that he’d ever tell me that, of course.

I reach over and turn off the light on the nightstand, then turn down the music slightly. If this were a month ago, I would jump into my car and drive to that stupid house and ask him why the hell he stood me up, but it’s now, and now I just don’t have it in me to fight him. Not anymore.

I’M WOKEN UP
by my phone ringing in my ears, and the noise coming through my headphones startles me.

It’s Hardin. And it’s almost midnight.
Don’t answer it, Tessa.

I literally have to force myself to ignore his call and shut off my phone. I reach over and set the alarm clock on the nightstand and close my eyes.

Of course he’d be drunk, dialing me after standing me up. I should have known better.

T
essa isn’t answering my calls, and it’s pissing me off. It’s my damn birthday for fifteen more minutes, and she doesn’t answer the phone?

Yeah, I probably should have called her sooner, but still. She hasn’t even responded to my text from hours ago. I thought we had a nice time yesterday, and she even tried to get me naked. It killed me to say no, but I knew what would happen if we went there. I don’t need to take advantage of her right now, even though I really fucking want to.

“I think I’m going to go,” I tell Logan, prompting him to unwrap himself from the dark-skinned brunette he’s obviously taken a liking to.

“Nah, you can’t leave yet, not until—oh, there they are!” he calls and points.

I turn around to see two girls in trench coats coming toward us.
No fucking way.

The crowded living room bursts into clapping and cheering.

“I don’t do strippers,” I tell him.

“Oh, come on! How’d you even know they were strippers?” He laughs.

“They’re in fucking trench coats and high heels!” This is so fucking stupid.

“Come on, man, Tessa won’t care!” Logan adds.

“That’s not the point,” I growl, even though it is. It’s not the only point, but it’s the biggest.

“Is this the birthday boy?” one of the girls says.

Her bright red lipstick is giving me a headache already. “No, no, no. I’m not,” I lie and bolt out the door.

“Come on, Hardin!” a few voices call.

Hell no, I’m not turning around. Tessa will lose her shit if she thought I was around strippers. I can practically hear her screaming at me about it now. I wish she’d answered when I called. I try to call her one more time as Nate attempts to call my other line. I’m not going back in there, no way in hell. I’ve participated in the birthday festivities long enough.

I bet she’s mad at me right now for not calling her earlier, but I never know when I should call and when I shouldn’t. I don’t want to push her, but I don’t want to give her too much space either. It’s a difficult line to walk, and I have no fucking balance.

I check my phone one more time, and see that the
Hey
I sent her is the last message sent or received. Looks like it’s me and that lonely-ass apartment again.

Happy fucking birthday to me.

I
wake up to a strange alarm, and it takes me a few seconds to remember I shut my phone off last night because of Hardin. Then I remember how I’d sat at the kitchen counter, my excitement dying a little with each passing minute, only to have him never show up at all.

I wash my face and get myself ready for the long drive to Vance; the one thing I really miss about the apartment is the shorter drive. And Hardin. And the bookshelves that cover the wall. And the small but perfect kitchen. And that lamp. And Hardin.

When I walk downstairs, Karen is the only one in the kitchen. My eyes go directly to the cake with the number thirteen in candles and the stupid scribble that used to say
Hardin
but now has shifted as a result of sitting out all night and looks like it says
Hell
.

Maybe it does.

“He wasn’t able to make it,” I tell her without meeting her eyes.

“Yeah . . . I deduced.” She gives me a sympathetic smile and wipes her glasses on her apron.

She’s the perfect housewife, she’s always cooking or cleaning something, but more than that, she’s so kind and she loves her husband and family, even her rude stepson, dearly.

“It’s fine.” I shrug and fill a mug with coffee.

“You know you don’t always have to be fine, honey.”

“I know. But it’s easier to be fine,” I tell her, and she nods.

“It’s not supposed to be easy,” she tells me, and I nearly laugh at the irony of her using the words that Hardin always uses against me.

“Anyway, we’re thinking of taking a trip to the beach next week. If you want to come, that would be lovely.” One of the things I love about Landon’s mother is that she never pushes me to talk about anything.

“The beach? In February?” I ask.

“We have a boat that we like to take out before it gets too warm. We go whale watching, and it’s really neat; you should come.”

“Really?” I’ve never been on a boat before, and the thought terrifies me, but whale watching does sound interesting. “Yeah, okay.”

“Great! We’ll have a really nice time,” she assures me, and heads into the living room.

I finally turn my phone back on when I get to Vance. I need to stop turning it off when I’m angry. I can just ignore Hardin’s calls next time. If something happened with my mother and she couldn’t get ahold of me, I’d feel terrible.