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In an attempt to move him without waking him up, I lift his arm from around my waist.
“Mm-hmm . . .” he whines as his eyes flutter and his body stirs, gripping me tighter.
I stare at the ceiling and debate whether or not to just roll him off of me.
“What time is it?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep.
“Almost seven-thirty.” I tell him quietly.
“Dammit. Can we play hooky today?”
“No, but you can.” I smile and gently run my fingers over his hair, massaging his scalp softly.
“We could go to breakfast?” He turns his face to look at me.
“You drive a hard bargain, but I can’t.” I really want to, though. He slides his body down slightly so his chin rests just under my chest. “Did you sleep well?” I ask him.
“Yes, very. I haven’t slept like that since . . .” He trails off.
I feel so happy suddenly and smile wide. “I’m glad you got some sleep.”
“Can I tell you something?” He doesn’t seem quite awake yet; his eyes are glossy and his voice is raspier than ever.
“Of course.” I go back to massaging his scalp.
“When I was in England, at my mum’s, I had a dream . . . well, nightmare.”
Oh no. My heart sinks. I knew his nightmares had come back, but it still hurts me to hear about it.
“I’m sorry those dreams came back.”
“No, they didn’t just come back, Tess. They were worse.” I swear that I feel his body shiver, but his face holds no emotion.
“Worse?”
How could they possibly be worse?
“It was you, they were . . . doing it to you,” he says, and ice replaces the warm blood in my veins.
“Oh.” My voice is weak, pathetic.
“Yeah. It was . . . it was so fucked up. It was so much worse than before because I’m used to the ones with my mum, you know?”
I nod and bring my other hand to his bare arm to caress it like I’m doing to his scalp.
“I didn’t even try to sleep after that. I purposely stayed awake because I couldn’t bear to see it again. The thought of someone hurting you drives me mad.”
“I’m so sorry.” His eyes are haunted, and mine are full of tears.
“Don’t pity me.” He reaches up and captures the tears before they fall.
“I’m not. It makes me upset because I don’t want you to be hurt. I don’t pity you.” It’s true, I don’t pity him. I feel terrible for this broken man who has nightmares about his mother being violated and abused, and the thought of my face replacing Trish’s kills me. I don’t want those thoughts tainting his already anguished mind.
“You know I would never let anyone hurt you, don’t you?” His eyes meet mine.
“Yes, I do, Hardin.”
“Even now, even if we never get back to where we were before. I’d kill anyone who even tried, okay?” His tone is clipped yet soft.
“I know,” I assure him with a small smile.
I don’t want to appear alarmed by his sudden threats, because I know that he means them in a loving way.
“It was nice to sleep.” He lightens the mood slightly, and I nod in agreement.
“Where do you want to go for breakfast?” I ask him.
“You said no, that you—”
“I changed my mind. I’m hungry.”
After his being so open with me about his nightmares, I want to spend the morning with him; maybe he’ll continue the open line of communication. I usually have to fight him for any type of information, but he confessed this willingly and that means the world to me.
“So easily persuaded by my pathetic story?” He raises a brow.
“Don’t say that.” I scowl.
“Why not?” He sits up and climbs off of the bed.
“Because it’s not true. It wasn’t what you told me that changed my mind, but that you shared that with me. And don’t call yourself pathetic. That’s certainly not true.” My feet hit the floor as he pulls his jeans up over his legs. “Hardin . . .” I say when he doesn’t reply.
“Tessa . . .” He mocks me in a high-pitched voice.
“I mean it, you shouldn’t think of yourself like that.”
“I know,” he says quickly, abruptly ending the conversation.
I know Hardin is far from perfect and he has his flaws, but so does everyone else, especially me. I wish he was able to see past his flaws; maybe that would help resolve his issues about the future.
“So anyway, do I have you all day or just for breakfast?” He bends down to push his foot into his shoe.
“I like those shoes, I’ve been meaning to tell you.” I point to the solid black tennis shoes he’s putting on.
“Um . . . thanks . . .” He laces them and stands back up. For someone with such a big ego, he’s terrible at accepting compliments. “You still didn’t answer me.”
“Just breakfast. I can’t miss all my classes.” I pull his shirt over my head and replace it with one of my own.
“Okay.”
“I just need to pull my hair back and brush my teeth,” I say after I’m finished getting dressed. As I begin to scrub my tongue, Hardin knocks at the door.
“Come in,” I mumble through the paste in my mouth.
“It’s been a while since we’ve done this,” he tells me.
“Had sex in the bathroom?” I ask. Why did I just say that?
“Nooooo . . . I was going to say ‘brushed our teeth together.’?” He laughs and opens one of the packs of toothbrushes from the cabinet. “However, if bathroom sex is something you want . . .” Hardin teases, and I roll my eyes.