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Hardin nods as if he knew exactly what my response would be. “Okay, so next to that, what is the worst thing I’ve done?”
“When you ruined that apartment for me in Seattle,” I answer easily.
“Really?” He sounds surprised by my response.
“Yes.”
“Why that? What was it about me doing that that pissed you off so bad?”
“The fact that you completely took control of a decision that was mine and you hid it from me.”
He nods, then shrugs. “I won’t try to justify that shit, because I know it was fucked-up.”
“Okay?” I hope he has more to say on that.
“I do understand where you are coming from with that. I shouldn’t have done that; I should have talked to you instead of trying to keep you from going to Seattle. I was fucked in the head at the time, still am, but I’m trying, and that’s something different than before.”
I’m unsure how to respond to that. I agree that he shouldn’t have done it, and I agree that he is trying now. I look into his very earnest, very brilliant green eyes, and it’s hard to remember what my point behind this entire conversation is supposed to be.
“You have this idea in your head, baby, an idea that someone planted there, or maybe you saw it on some shitty television show, or maybe in one of your books, I don’t know. But real life is fucking hard. No relationship is perfect, and no man is ever going to treat a woman exactly how he should.” He lifts a hand in the air to stop me from interrupting. “I’m not saying it’s right, okay? So hear me out: I’m only saying that I think if you and maybe some other people in this fucked-up, criticizing world would just pay closer attention to the shit behind the scenes, you would see things differently. We aren’t perfect, Tessa. I’m not fucking perfect, and I love you, but you are far from perfect, too.” He winces at that, letting me know that he means that in the least terrible way possible. “I have done a lot of shit to you, and, fuck, I’ve made this speech one thousand damn times, but something inside of me has changed—you know it’s true.”
When Hardin stops speaking, I stare into the sky behind him for a few seconds. The sun is setting just below the trees, and I wait for it to disappear before responding. “I’m afraid we are too far gone. We have both made so many mistakes.”
“It would be a waste to give up instead of fixing those mistakes, and you fucking know it.”
“A waste of what? Time? We don’t have much time to waste now,” I say, inching into the inevitable train wreck.
“We have all the time in the world. We’re still young! I’m about to graduate, and we’ll live in Seattle. I know you are sick of my bullshit, but I’m selfishly counting on your love for me to convince you that I should have one last chance.”
“What about all the things I’ve done to you? I’ve called you names, all the stuff with Zed?” I bite my lip and look away at the mention of Zed.
Hardin’s fingers tap against the glass countertop of the table. “First off, Zed doesn’t have a place here, in this conversation. You’ve done stupid shit; so have I. Neither of us had any damn clue how to be in a relationship. You may have thought you did because you were with Noah for so long, but let’s be real here: the two of you were basically kissing cousins. That shit wasn’t real.”
I glare at Hardin, waiting for him to continue digging this hole he’s working on.
“And as far as you calling me names, which is hardly ever”—he smiles, and I begin to wonder who this man sitting across from me actually is—“everyone calls each other names. I’m sorry, but even your mum’s pastor’s wife is calling her husband an asshole sometimes. She probably doesn’t say it to his face, but it’s the same shit.” He shrugs his shoulders. “And I would much rather you call me an asshole to my face.”
“You have an explanation for everything, don’t you.”
“No, not everything. Not much, really, but I know you’re sitting across from me looking for a way out of this, and I’m going to do my damn best to make sure you know what you’re saying.”
“Since when do we communicate this way?” I can’t help but be astonished at the lack of yelling and screaming coming from both of us.
Hardin crosses his arms in front of his chest, picks at the frayed edges of his cast, and shrugs. “Since now. Since, I don’t know, since the other shit didn’t seem to work for us. So why not try this way?”
I feel my mouth fall open in surprise at the nonchalance of his statement. “Why do you make it sound so easy? If it was this easy, we could have done it before.”
“No; I wasn’t the same before, and neither were you.” He stares at me, waiting for me to speak again.
“It’s not that simple; the time it took for us to get here matters, Hardin. It matters that we went through that, and I need time to myself now. I need time to find out who I am and what I want to do with my life, and how I’m going to get there, and I need to do that on my own.” I say the words with full bravado, but they taste like acid as they leave my mouth.
“You’ve made your mind up, then? You don’t want to live with me in Seattle? Is that why you’re so closed off and unwilling to actually listen to what I’m saying?”
“I am listening, but I’ve already made up my mind . . . I can’t keep doing this back-and-forth, back-and-forth. Not just with you, but with myself.”