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“I’m not even going to respond to that, because I know that’s what you want. You want a fight and I won’t give you one.” I grab one of my T-shirts and stalk out of the room. Before I exit, I turn back to him. “But let me make this clear: if you don’t get your shit together—like now—I’m gone.”
I head to the couch and lie down, grateful for another space to be where he isn’t. I allow a few tears to fall before wiping my face and picking up Hardin’s old copy of Wuthering Heights. No matter how bad I want to go back in there and make him explain everything to me—where he was, who he was with, why he got into a fight, and with whom—I force myself to stay on the couch because that will bother him much more.
Though probably not half as much as the level of control he has over parts of my life is bothering me.
Chapter ninety
I put down my book and check the time on my phone. It’s a little after midnight, so I should try to force myself to go to sleep. He already tried to get me to come to bed earlier, saying he couldn’t sleep without me, but I stuck to my guns and ignored him until he left.
I’m just about to drift into sleep when I hear Hardin scream, “No!!” I jump off the couch without thinking and rush to our bedroom. He is thrashing in the thick blanket and covered in sweat.
“Hardin, wake up,” I say gently and shake his shoulder, moving a soaked curl from his forehead with my other hand.
His eyes snap open—they are full of terror.
“It’s okay . . . shh . . . it was just a nightmare.” I do my best to soothe him. My fingers play in his hair and then brush over his cheek. He is shaking as I climb into bed behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. I feel him relax as I press my face against his clammy skin.
“Please. Stay with me,” he begs. I sigh and stay quiet, tightening my grip around him. “Thank you,” he whispers, and within minutes he is asleep again.
THE WATER DOESN’T SEEM to get hot enough to relax my tense muscles no matter how high I turn it up. I am exhausted from the lack of sleep last night and the frustration that comes from dealing with Hardin. He was asleep when I got into the shower, and I pray he stays that way until I leave for my internship.
Unfortunately, my prayers go unanswered, and he is standing by the kitchen counter when I get out of the bathroom.
“You look beautiful today,” he says calmly.
I roll my eyes and walk past him to grab a cup of coffee before I have to leave.
“So you aren’t speaking to me, then?”
“Not right now, no. I have to go to work and I don’t have the energy to do this with you,” I snap.
“But you . . . you came to bed with me,” he pouts.
“Yeah, only because you were screaming and shaking. That doesn’t mean you are forgiven. I need an explanation for everything, all the secrets, all the fights—even the nightmares—or I’m done,” I surprise him and myself by saying.
He groans and runs his hands through his hair. “Tessa . . . it’s not that simple.”
“Yeah, it is, actually. I trusted you enough to give up my relationship with my mother and move in with you so soon; you should trust me enough to tell me what is going on.”
“You won’t understand. I know you won’t,” he says.
“Try me.”
“I . . . I can’t,” he stutters.
“Then I can’t be with you. I’m sorry, but I have given you a lot of chances and you keep—” I begin.
“Don’t say that. Don’t you dare try and leave me.” His tone is angry, but his eyes are hurt.
“Then give me some answers. What is it that you think I wouldn’t understand? About your nightmares?” I ask.
“Tell me you aren’t going to leave me,” he pleads.
Standing my ground with Hardin is proving to be much harder than I imagined, especially when he looks so broken.
“I have to go. I am already running late,” I tell him and go to the bedroom to get dressed as quickly as I can. Part of me is happy that he doesn’t follow me, but part of me wishes he would.
He is still standing in the kitchen, shirtless, and gripping his coffee mug with white and busted knuckles when I leave.
I mull over everything Hardin said this morning. What could I possibly not understand? I would never judge him for something that causes him to have nightmares. I hope that is what he was talking about, but I can’t ignore the feeling that I am missing something very obvious here.
I feel guilty and tense almost all day, but Kimberly emails me the links to one too many funny YouTube videos for my sour mood to last. By lunch, I almost forget the problem at home.
I’m sorry for everything, please come home after work, Hardin texts while Kimberly and I eat from a muffin basket someone sent Mr. Vance.
“Is that him?” she asks.
“Yeah . . .” I tell her. “I stood up to him, but I feel terrible, for some reason. I know I am right, but you should have seen him this morning.”
“Good. Hopefully he learns his lesson. Did he tell you where he was?” she asks.
“Nope. That’s the problem.” I groan and eat another muffin.
Please answer me, Tessa. I love you, he sends minutes later.
“Just answer the poor guy.” Kimberly smiles and I nod.
I will be home, I respond.
Why is it so hard for me to hold my ground with him? Mr. Vance lets everyone go a little after three, so I decide to stop by a salon and get my hair trimmed and a manicure for the wedding tomorrow. I hope Hardin and I can work this out before the wedding, because the last thing I want to do is take an already angry Hardin to his father’s wedding.