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Chapter Fourteen
Landon
WHEN I HIT THE HALLWAY, a string of curse words fly into the air. The voice is too low to recognize at first, but I have an idea . . .
If Hardin is breaking things in my living room, his ass is going right back where he came from. It takes my brain a few seconds to process what’s happening when I finally see the living room. My grandma’s table is knocked over, one leg broken, and the vase that was once atop it is on the floor, fractured into glass shards around some stranger’s feet. Hardin is kneeling down with a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth and his arm wrapped around the stranger’s neck.
The man’s face is red; a thick trail of blood flows down his face and has stained his mouth. The blood adds to the drama of the whole scene. When I pay close attention, I see that he’s small-framed, and probably pissing himself because he thinks Hardin’s going to kill him.
I stop a few feet from them. What the hell is going on? Who is this guy?
I search his face again. He looks a little familiar, but where do I know him from?
“If you don’t plan to kill him, you should let go,” I caution Hardin. Going to jail would definitely throw a wrench into his weekend reunion with Tessa.
He looks down at his new friend and then back up to me. “Fine.” He pulls his arms away from the man.
Gasping, the stranger falls over onto his side and cups his hands around the front of his neck.
“What’s going on?” I demand. Whatever it is, it happened really, really fast. I didn’t even realize Hardin had come in.
Hardin stands up. “Don’t move.” The stranger moves to hold his nose with one hand while his other is on the floor, open palmed.
Hardin doesn’t take his eyes off the intruder. “When I got here, he had his ear pressed against your front door. I don’t know what the fuck he was listening for. He was probably going to try to break in or some shit. I would know.”
“Well, why did you bring him in here?” I look back at my grandma’s ruined table.
Hardin stares at me like I’ve asked him why the sky is neon green. “So he wouldn’t leave?” he says with an eye roll.
The man tries to sit up, and Hardin crushes the free hand under his boot. “I said not to fucking move.” Hardin raises his hand and casually pushes his hair back over his forehead, completely ignoring the shouts of the man on the floor in front of him as he steps on his hand.
“What were you doing here?” I ask the stranger.
Hardin pulls his phone out of his pocket. I assume he’s calling the police. I feel like I’m inside a movie.
“If he calls the police, you’re going straight to jail,” I point out.
The man moves his arm when Hardin takes a step away. Gripping his hand, he lifts himself to his knees. When Hardin returns, the man promises not to move and rests his back against my wall. He looks more and more familiar the more I stare at him.
“I was looking for my friend’s apartment,” he says. “That’s all.”
I don’t know if I believe him. My apartment did get broken into a few weeks ago, so I can’t be too sure. When my eyes register his black coat, his dark eyes, and his gray jacket, a memory pricks at my brain. I’ve seen him before in the hallway here, that’s it.
“I think he’s telling the truth. I’ve seen him here before,” I tell Hardin.
The man stands up, and Hardin puts his phone back into his pocket.
