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His fumbled words and the look in his eyes make him appear younger and more vulnerable than usual.
He laughs nervously. “Sorry, I was trying to say I was turning the TV on so you could watch it.”
“Thank you,” I say and smile as he takes a seat on the other end of the couch. He rests his elbows on his knees and stares forward.
“If you don’t want to keep hanging out with me, I understand,” I say to break the silence.
He turns to face me. “What? No, don’t think that.” His eyes pour into mine. “Don’t worry about me, I can handle it. A couple beatings aren’t going to make me stay away from you. The only thing that will is if you tell me to. You want me to, then I will. But until you tell me to go, I’m here.”
“I don’t. Want you to go, that is. I just don’t know what to do about Hardin. I don’t want him to hurt you, again,” I tell him.
“He’s a pretty violent guy. I know what to expect, I guess. Don’t worry about me, though. I just hope that after seeing who he really is tonight, you’ll distance yourself from him.”
Sadness creeps in at the thought, but I say, “I am, I definitely am. He doesn’t care anyway, so why should I?”
“You shouldn’t. You’re too good for him, anyway; you always have been,” he assures. I scoot closer to him on the couch, and he lifts my blanket and gets under it, too, before pressing a button to turn on the television. I love the ease between us; he doesn’t say things just for the single purpose of pissing me off, and he doesn’t hurt my feelings on purpose.
“Are you tired?” I ask him after a bit.
“Nah, you?”
“A little.”
“Go to sleep, then. I can go to my room.”
“No. Actually, you can stay out here until I fall asleep?” My tone is more asking than telling.
He looks at me, relief and happiness in his eyes. “Yeah, sure. I can do that.”
Chapter ninety-two
HARDIN
I pound my fist onto the trunk of my car and scream to let out some of my anger.
How did that happen? How did I push her to the ground? He knew what was going to happen the moment he stepped out of that truck, and he ended up getting his ass beat again. I know Tessa—she’s going to pity him and blame herself for his ass-beating, and then she’s going to think she owes him something.
“Fuck!” I scream even louder.
“What are you yelling about?” Christian appears in the snowy driveway.
I look over at him and roll my eyes. “Nothing.” The only person that I will ever love just left with the person I despise the most in the world.
Vance looks at me with bemusement for a second. “Obviously something,” he quips and takes a big sip of his drink.
“I don’t really feel like having a fucking heart-to-heart right now,” I snap.
“Such a coincidence—neither do I. I’m just trying to figure out why there’s an asshole screaming in my driveway,” he says with a smile.
I nearly laugh at that. “Fuck off.”
“I take it she didn’t accept your apology?”
“Who says I gave an apology, or a reason to need one?”
“Because you’re you, and on top of that, you’re a man . . .” He salutes me and downs the rest of what’s in his glass. “We always have to apologize first. It’s the way it is.”
Letting out a hard breath, I say, “Yeah, well, she doesn’t want my apology.”
“Every woman wants an apology.”
I can’t get the image of her looking to Zed for comfort out of my mind. “Not mine . . . not her.”
“Fine, fine, fine,” Christian says, flapping his hands down. “Are you coming back inside?”
“No . . . I don’t know.” I shake the snow from my hair and push it back off my forehead.
“Ken . . . your dad and Karen are getting ready to leave.”
“And I give a shit . . . why?” I reply, and he chuckles.
“Your language never ceases to surprise me.”
I give him a grin. “What? You curse just as much as I do.”
“Exactly.” He puts his arm around my shoulders. And I surprise myself by letting him lead me back inside.
Chapter ninety-three
TESSA
I can’t sleep. I’ve been waking up every thirty minutes to check my phone to see if Hardin’s tried to contact me. Of course there’s nothing. I check my alarm again. I have classes tomorrow, so Zed’s going to take me back to Landon’s early enough to get ready and get to school on time.
When I try to close my eyes again, my mind races, remembering the way the dream Hardin pleaded with me to come home. Hearing it, dream or not, still kills me. After tossing and turning on the small couch, I decide to do what I should have done at the beginning of the night.
When I push Zed’s bedroom door open, I immediately hear his light snoring. He’s shirtless and lying on his stomach, with his arms folded under his head.
I’m waging an internal war with myself as he stirs in his sleep. “Tessa?” He sits up. “Are you okay?” He sounds panicked.
“Yeah . . . I’m sorry for waking you up . . . I was just wondering if maybe I could sleep in here?” I ask timidly.
He looks at me for a second before saying, “Yeah, of course.” Shifting his body a little, he makes sure there is plenty of room for me to lie down.
I try to ignore the fact that his bed doesn’t have a sheet on it. He’s a college boy, after all; not everyone is as neat as I am. He slides a pillow across the mattress, and I lie down next to him, the distance between us being less than a foot.
