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Gathering all my strength and my phone in my hand, I check my reflection in the mirror one last time and then cross the hall. Just as I lift my hand to knock, the door opens, and there stands Hardin, shirtless and looking down at me.
“What’s wrong?” he immediately asks.
“Nothing, I—” I ignore the twist in my stomach as his brows pull together in worry. His hands touch me, thumbs gently pressing into my cheeks, and I just stand in the doorway, blinking up at him, not a coherent thought within reach.
“I need to talk to you about something,” I finally say. The words come out muffled, and he’s looking down at me with confusion clouding his brilliant green eyes.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” he remarks somberly and drops his hands from my face.
Going to sit on the edge of the bed, he beckons for me to join him. I don’t trust the lack of distance between us, and even the thick air in the stuffy room seems to be taunting me.
“So? What is it?” Hardin spreads his hands out behind his head and leans back into them. His athletic shorts are tight; the waistband of them hangs so low that I can tell he is not wearing boxers underneath.
“Hardin, I’m sorry that I’ve been so distant from you. You know I just need some time to figure everything out,” I say by way of a preamble. That wasn’t what I had planned to talk to him about, but my mouth apparently has different plans than my head.
“It’s okay. I’m glad you came to me because we both know that I’m shit at giving you space, and it’s been driving me fucking crazy.” He seems relieved now that the words are between us. His eyes rest on mine, and I can’t look away from the intensity behind them.
“I know.” I can’t deny the control he has seemed to gain over his own actions during the past week. I like that he’s become a little less unpredictable, but the shield that I’ve built is still present, still lurking in the background, waiting for him to turn on me, the way he always does.
“Have you talked to Christian?” I ask, needing to move back to the topic at hand before I’m too far lost in the endless mess of us.
Immediately he tenses, scoffing, “No.” He squints at me.
This isn’t going well. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be insensitive. I just want to see where your head is right now.”
He doesn’t respond for a few moments, and the silence stretches between us like a never-ending road.
Chapter forty-four
HARDIN
Tessa’s eyes are on me. The worry in them builds a gnawing worry in me in return. She’s been through so much, a lot of which was at my hand, so worrying about me is the last thing she should be doing. I want her to focus on herself, on being herself again and not putting any more effort into fretting over me. I love the way her compassion for others, especially me, overrides her own troubles.
“You aren’t being insensitive. I’m lucky you’re even speaking to me.” It’s the truth, but whatever’s supposed to come next in this conversation, I’m unsure of.
Tessa nods slowly. And pauses before gently asking the question that I’m sure was her main reason for coming in here. “So, do you plan on telling Ken about everything from London?”
I lie back on the bed with my eyes closed and think about her question before answering. I have been thinking over this a lot the last few days, going back and forth between telling him in a rushed confession or doing the opposite and keeping the information to myself. Does Ken need to know? And if I tell him, am I willing to accept the changes that will come from this? Will there be any changes, or am I just being a bitch about it? It seems fitting that the moment I start to tolerate and possibly forgive the man, I find out he’s not my father to forgive after all.
I open my eyes and sit up. “I’m still deciding. Actually, I sort of wanted to get your opinion on that.”
My girl’s blue-gray eyes aren’t shining the way I’ve become so used to, but they hold more life today than the last time I saw her. It was pure fucking torture being under the same roof with her without being near her, not in the way I need to be.
Everything has seemed to shift in an ironic twist of fate, and I’m now the one begging for attention, begging for simply anything that she will offer me. Even now, the thoughtful expression in her eyes is enough to soothe the constant ache that I refuse to learn to live with no matter how far she pushes herself away from me.
“Would you like to have a relationship with Christian?” she asks softly, her small fingers tracing the frayed stitching on the comforter.
“No,” I quickly respond. “Hell, I don’t know,” I backtrack. “I need you to tell me what I should do.”
She nods, and her eyes meet mine. “Well, I think you should only tell Ken if you think it will help you deal with some of the pain from your childhood. I don’t think you should tell him if your only reason to do so is out of spite or anger; and as far as Christian goes, I think you have a little bit of time to make that decision. Just see where things go, you know?” she suggests in that understanding tone she has.
“How is it that you do that?”
She tilts her chin, confused. “Do what?”
“Always say the right thing.”
“I don’t.” A soft laugh falls between us. “I don’t say the right things.”
“You do.” I reach my hand out for her, but she pulls away. “You do say the right things; you always have. I just couldn’t hear you before.”