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I know it’s probably too late for this, especially now that you know all of the fucked-up shit I’ve done. I can only pray that you will love me the same after reading this. If not, that’s okay. I will understand. I know you can do better than me. I’m not romantic, I won’t ever write you poetry or sing you a song.
I’m not even kind.
I can’t promise that I won’t hurt you again, but I can swear that I will love you until the day that I die. I’m a terrible person, and I don’t deserve you, but I hope that you will allow me the chance to restore your faith in me. I am sorry for all the pain I have caused you, and I understand if you can’t forgive me.
Sorry. This letter wasn’t supposed to be this long. I guess I’ve fucked up more than I thought.
I love you. Always.
Hardin.
I SIT AND STARE at the paper in a daze, then reread it twice. I had no idea what I expected, but this was not it. How can he say he isn’t romantic? The charm bracelet on my wrist and this beautiful, somewhat disturbing, but mostly beautiful letter shows otherwise. He even used the first paragraph of Darcy’s letter to Elizabeth.
Now that he’s bared himself to me, I can’t help but love him more. He has done a lot of things that I would never do, terrible things that hurt many people—but the thing that matters most to me is that he doesn’t do them anymore. He hasn’t always done the right thing, but I can’t ignore all the effort he’s made to show me that he’s changing, trying to change. That he loves me. I hate to admit it, but there is a sort of poetry to him never caring for anyone except me.
I stare at the letter a little longer until there is a knock at the bedroom door. Folding the sheet up, I put it in the bottom drawer of the dresser. I don’t want Hardin to try to make me throw it away or tear it up now that I’ve read it.
“Come in,” I say and walk over to the door to meet him.
He opens the door, already staring at the ground. “Did you . . .”
“I did . . .” I reach up and lift his chin to look at me, the way he usually does to me.
His bloodshot eyes are so wide and sad. “It was stupid . . . I knew I shouldn’t have . . .” he begins.
“No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t stupid at all.” I move my hand from under his chin, but he keeps his red eyes on mine. “Hardin, it was everything that I’ve been wanting you to say to me for so long.”
“I’m sorry that I took so long, and that I wrote it down . . . It was just easier. I’m not good at saying things.” The red of his weary eyes is beautiful against the vibrant green of his irises.
“I know you aren’t.”
“Did you . . . should we talk about it? Do you need more time, now that you know how fucked up I truly am?” He frowns and looks at the floor again.
“You aren’t. You were . . . You’ve done a lot of things . . . bad things, Hardin.” He nods in agreement; I can’t stand to see him feel so bad about himself, even with his history. “But that doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. You’ve done bad things, but you aren’t a bad person anymore.”
He looks up. “What?”
I take his face between my hands. “I said you aren’t a bad person, Hardin.”
“You really think that? Did you read what I wrote?”
“Yes, and the fact that you wrote it proves that you aren’t.”
Confusion is clear on his perfect face. “How can you say that? I don’t understand—you wanted me to give you space, and you read all that shit, and you still say that? I don’t understand . . .”
I run my thumbs over his cheeks. “I read it, and now that I know everything that you’ve done, my mind hasn’t changed.”
“Oh . . .” His eyes become glossy.
The idea of him crying again, especially in front of me, pains me. He’s obviously not getting what I’m trying to say.
“I already made my mind up while you were gone to stay. And after reading what you wrote, I want to stay more than ever. I love you, Hardin.”
Chapter forty-four
TESSA
Hardin takes my hands and holds them for a second before wrapping his arms around me as if I’ll disappear should he let go.
As I said the words I want to stay, I realized how freeing this all is. I no longer have to worry that secrets from Hardin’s past will come back to haunt us. I no longer have to wait for someone to drop a huge bombshell on me. I know everything. I finally know everything he’s been hiding. I can’t help but think of the phrase Sometimes it is better to be kept in the dark than to be blinded by the light. But I don’t think that applies me to right now. I’m disturbed by the things he has done, but I love him and have chosen to not let his past affect us any longer.
Hardin pulls back and sits on the edge of the bed. “What are you thinking? Do you have any questions about anything? I want to be honest with you.” I move to stand between his legs. He flips my hands over in his and traces small patterns on my palms as he searches my face for clues to how I am feeling.
“No . . . I do wish I knew what happened to Natalie . . . but I don’t have any questions.”
“I am done being that person—you know that, don’t you?”
I’ve already told him I do, but I know he needs to hear it again. “I know that. I really do, babe.”
His eyes dart to mine at the use of the word. “Babe?” He arches his eyebrow.
“I don’t know why I said that . . .” I flush. I’ve never called him anything other than Hardin, so it does feel a little odd to call him “babe” like he does me.