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“Fuck that! Fuck all of you!” Hardin screams, and his fist drives down against the cheap countertop, snapping it in two.
“I’m sure Mike won’t mind if you two use the premises tomorrow.” Hardin’s voice lowers; each word is deliberately measured and cruel. “I’m sure he’d let you, seeing as he probably wasted a shitload of his money on this joke of a wedding.” He half laughs.
A chill sets deep in my spine and I stare at the ground. There’s no stopping him when he’s like this; no one tries. Everyone is silent as Hardin continues.
“What a nice couple the two of you make. The engaged ex-wife of a drunk and his loyal best friend,” he scoffs. “I’m sorry, Mike, but you’re about five minutes late to the show. You missed the part where your bride had her tongue down his throat.”
Christian tries to grab hold of Hardin again, but Trish leaps in front of him. Hardin and Christian eye each other like panthers.
I’m seeing an entirely new side to Christian. He’s not playful or witty; anger is radiating from him in thick waves. The Christian that holds Kimberly by the waist and whispers how beautiful she is is nowhere to be found.
“You disrespectful little—” Christian says through his teeth.
“I’m disrespectful? You’re the one going on and on to me about the glories of marriage, yet you’ve been having an affair with my mum!”
My mind can’t wrap itself around this. Christian and Trish? Trish and Christian? It doesn’t make sense. I know they’ve been friends for many years, and Hardin told me that Christian had taken Trish and him in, taken care of them, after Ken left. But an affair?
I never thought of Trish as the type who’d do such a thing, and Christian has always seemed so deeply in love with Kimberly. Kimberly . . . My heart aches for her; she loves him so much. She’s in the middle of planning her dream wedding with her dream man, and now it’s pretty clear that she doesn’t know him at all. She’ll be devastated. She has built a life with Christian and his son. No matter what I have to do, I will not let Hardin be the one to tell her. I will not let him humiliate and mock her the way he just did Mike.
“It’s not like that!” Christian’s temper is just as hot as Hardin’s. His green eyes are glowing, burning with rage, and I know he wants nothing more than to wrap his hands around Hardin’s neck.
Mike is silent, his eyes focused on his fiancée and her tearstained cheeks.
“I’m so sorry, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I don’t know—” Trish’s voice breaks into a heartbreaking sob, and I look away.
Mike shakes his head, clearly rejecting her apology, and he stays silent as he strides across the small kitchen and walks out, slamming the back door behind him. Trish falls to her knees, her hands covering her face to muffle her cries.
Christian’s shoulders slump, his anger momentarily replaced by concern as he kneels next to her, drawing her into his arms. Next to me, Hardin’s breathing picks up again, his fists tighten at his sides, and I step in front of him, bringing my hands to his cheeks. My stomach turns at the sight of the blood, which has now reached his chin. His lips are stained crimson . . . so much blood.
“Don’t,” he warns me, pushing my hands away. He’s staring behind me at his mother, wrapped in Christian’s arms. The two of them seem to have forgotten that we’re here—either that or they just don’t care. I’m so confused.
“Hardin, please,” I cry and raise my trembling hands to his face once more.
He finally looks at me, and I see the guilt rising behind his eyes.
“Please, let’s go upstairs,” I plead with him. His gaze stays on my face, and I force myself not to look away from his eyes as his anger slowly passes.
“Get me away from them,” he stammers. “Get me out of here.”
I drop my hands and wrap one around his arm, gently leading him from the kitchen. When we reach the staircase, Hardin halts.
“No . . . I want to leave this house,” he says.
“Okay,” I quickly agree. I want to leave the house, too. “I’ll grab our bags; you go out to the car,” I suggest.
“No, if I go out there . . .” He doesn’t have to finish his sentence. I know exactly what will happen if he’s left alone with his mother and Christian.
“Come upstairs—it won’t take long,” I promise him. I’m trying my best to keep calm, to be strong for him, and so far, it’s working.
He lets me take the lead and follows me up the staircase and down the hall to the small bedroom. I hastily shove our things into our bags, not taking the time to pack them properly. I jump and stifle a scream when Hardin knocks over the dresser, and the heavy piece of furniture lands with a loud thud against the floor. Hardin kneels down and pulls out the first empty drawer. He tosses it to the side before grabbing the next. He’s going to destroy everything in this room if I don’t get him out of here.
Just as he flings the last drawer against the wall, I wrap my arms around his torso. “Come to the bathroom with me.” I lead him down the hallway and close the door behind us. Grabbing a towel from the rack, I turn the faucet on and instruct him to sit on the toilet seat. His silence is chilling and I don’t want to push him.
He doesn’t speak or even flinch when I bring the hot towel to his cheek, dragging it across the blood pooled under his nose, across his lips, and down his chin.
“It’s not broken,” I quietly note after briefly examining his nose. His busted bottom lip is already swollen but no longer bleeding. My mind is still racing, flashing angry images of the two men assaulting each other.
