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“Tessa, wait! I’m sorry!” he calls behind me, but I’m already opening the front door and rushing out into the rain by the time his voice travels down the hallway, drawing my mother’s attention.
But I’m gone, gone, already gone into the night.
Chapter thirty-seven
TESSA
My bare feet splash along the concrete, and my clothes are soaked by the time I make it to the Porters’ house. I don’t know the time—I couldn’t even guess the hour—but I’m grateful that the lights in the foyer are on. Relief washes over me like the cool rain when Noah’s mother answers my knocking at the door.
“Tessa? My dear! Are you okay?” She rushes me inside, and I cringe at the sound of the water rolling off me and onto their clean hardwood flooring.
“I’m sorry, I just . . .” As I stare around the expansive and practically spotless living room, I instantly regret coming here.
Hardin wouldn’t want to see me anyway—what was I thinking? He isn’t mine to rush to anymore—he isn’t the man I thought he was.
My Hardin disappeared in England, that place of all my fairy tales, and a stranger took his place and ruined us. My Hardin would never get high and touch another woman, let another woman wear his clothes. My Hardin wouldn’t mock me in front of his friends and send me packing back to America, tossing me away like I was nothing. I am nothing—to him, anyway. The more offenses that I list, the more foolish I sound inside my own mind. The truth of the matter is, the only Hardin I knew has done all of the above, over and over again, and even now, when I’m the only one in on the conversation, I’m still defending him.
How pathetic am I.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Porter. I shouldn’t have come here. I’m sorry,” I frantically apologize. “Please don’t tell anyone I was here.” And like the unstable person I’ve become, I rush back into the rain before she can stop me.
By the time I stop running, I’m near the post office. I always hated this corner as a child. The small, brick post office rests alone in the very back of the town. Not a single other house or business is near, and at times like this, when it’s dark and raining, my eyes play tricks on me, and the small building blends into the trees. I always ran past it as a child.
My adrenaline has worn off now, and my feet are aching from repeatedly smacking the concrete. I don’t know what I was thinking, coming this far into town. I wasn’t thinking, I suppose.
My already questionable sanity is at play again as a shadow emerges from underneath the awning of the post office. I begin to back away, slowly, just in case I’m not imagining things.
“Tessa? What the fuck are you doing?” the shadow says in what sounds like Hardin’s voice.
I turn on my heel to run, but he’s quicker than me. His arms wrap around my waist, and he pulls me to his chest before I can take off. A large hand forces me to look up at him, and I try to keep my eyes open and focused, despite the heavy drops of rain clouding my vision.
“Why the hell are you out here in the rain, alone?” Hardin scolds through the noise of the storm.
I don’t know how to feel. I want to take Hardin’s advice and just feel however I want to—but it’s not that simple. I can’t betray the tiny scrap of strength left inside me. If I allow myself to feel the overwhelming relief of Hardin’s hand on my cheek, I will be letting myself down.
“Answer me. Has something happened?”
“No.” I shake my head, lying. I step back from him and try to regain my breathing. “Why are you here this late, out in the middle of nowhere? I thought you were at the Porters’.” For a minute I panic, thinking that Mrs. Porter somehow told him about my embarrassing and desperate lapse in judgment.
“No, I left there about an hour ago. I’m waiting for a cab. The asshole was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.” Hardin’s clothes are saturated, his hair is drenched, and his hand is shaking against my skin. “Tell me why you are out here, barely dressed and barefoot.”
I can tell he’s making a conscious effort to stay calm, but his mask isn’t intact the way he believes it to be. Clear as day, I can see the panic behind the green of his eyes. Even in the dark, I can see the storm brewing behind them. He knows; he always seems to just know everything.
“It’s nothing. Not a big deal.” I take a step away from him, but he isn’t having it. He steps toward me, even closer than before. He’s never been anything less than demanding.
Headlights break through the veil of rain, and my heart begins to pound inside my chest when the shape of a truck comes into view. My brain catches up to my heart, and I realize I know that truck.
When it stops, Zed jumps out and rushes toward me, leaving his truck running. Hardin steps between us, silently warning him not to come any closer. Yet another scene that I’ve become too accustomed to and would rather not see again. Every aspect of my life seems to be a cycle, a vicious one, one that takes a piece of me with it each time that history repeats itself.
Hardin’s voice is loud and clear, even through the rain: “What did you do?”
“What did she tell you?” Zed counters.
Hardin steps closer to him. “Everything,” Hardin lies.
I struggle to make out the expression on Zed’s face. It’s impossible to see clearly, even with the help of his headlights shining on us.
“She told you that she kissed me then?” Zed sneers, his voice an awful mixture of malice and satisfaction.
Before I can defend myself against Zed’s lies, another set of headlights breaks through the night and joins the chaos.