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beast, but I’ve always believed that suffering is one thing people shouldn’t compare.
The biggest difference between my upbringing and Hardin’s is due to our mothers. My mom was fortunate enough to have a good job with the city, and we were able to fall back on my dad’s life insurance from his factory job. Hardin’s mom worked long hours and barely brought in enough money to support the two of them. They had it much, much worse.
It’s hard for me to imagine my stepfather, Ken, the way Hardin knew him. To me, he’ll always be the kind, lighthearted, and sober man he is today—the chancellor of WCU, no less. He’s done so much for my mom and he loves her as much as anyone could. He loves her more than liquor, and Hardin hated that, but now he understands that it was never a competition. If Ken could have, he would have chosen his son over the bottle long ago. But sometimes people just aren’t as strong as we want them to be. All of Hardin’s pain festered and grew into a fire that he couldn’t contain. When everything hit the fan, and Hardin—and the rest of us—found out that Ken isn’t his birth father, the fire took one final massive breath and burned him one last time. He made the choice after that to take control of his life, his actions, and himself.
Whatever his therapist is doing is working, and I’m glad. And it’s done wonders for my mom, who loves that angry boy as if she gave birth to him.
I pass a couple holding hands as they walk their dog and feel even sorrier for myself. Should I be dating? I wouldn’t even know where to start. I want the convenience of having someone around all the time, but I’m not sure I could actually date anyone other than Dakota. The whole dating game just seems so grueling, and it’s only been six months since she broke up with me. Is she dating? Does she want to? I can’t imagine anyone ever knowing me better than her, or making me as happy as she did. She has known me so long and it would take years for anyone to know me as well as she does . . . As she did.
I know I don’t have years to wait; I’m not getting any younger here. But thoughts like that aren’t helping me move on.
The couple stops for a kiss and I look away, smiling because I’m happy for them. I’m happy for the strangers who don’t have to spend their nights alone, jerking off in the shower.
Gah, I sound bitter.
I sound like Hardin.
Speaking of Hardin, I can call him and blow at least five minutes before he hangs up on me. I pull my phone from my pocket and tap on his name.
“Yeah?” he says before the second ring.
“One of your famous warm hellos.” I cross the street, continuing my aimless trek in the general direction of my neighborhood. I should get to know this area better anyway; may as well start today.
“Warm as I’m gonna get. Do you need something in particular?”
An angry cabdriver shouts out of his window at an elderly woman as she slowly crosses the street in front of his car.
“I’m looking at your future self, actually,” I tell him, laughing at my insult. I watch the scene in front of me to be sure the woman makes it across okay.
He doesn’t laugh or ask what the hell I’m talking about.
“I’m bored and wanted to talk about your trip here,” I say into the phone.
“What about it? I haven’t booked the flight yet, but I’ll be there around the thirtieth.”
“Of September?”
“Obviously.”
I can practically see his eyes roll from here. “Are you staying in a hotel, or at my apartment?”
The old woman reaches the other side of the street and I watch as she goes up some steps and into what I assume is her place.
“What does she want me to do?” His voice is low, cautious. He doesn’t have to say her name, hasn’t in a while.
“She says she’s fine with you staying at the apartment, but if she changes her mind, you know you have to go.”
I don’t draw many lines between the two of them, but Tessa is my priority in this situation. She’s the one I hear crying at night. She’s the one who’s trying to become whole again. I’m no fool—Hardin is probably even worse off. But he has found himself a support system and a good
