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This was a relapse. That’s all it was. This was a terrible lapse in judgment, and I’m harshly reminded of that by the silence of the room.
I’m dressed and in my room by the time I hear him opening the bathroom door. His footsteps grow louder as he passes by, and it only takes him a few seconds to realize that I’m no longer in his room.
He doesn’t knock—I knew he wouldn’t—before he enters my room.
I’m sitting on the bed, legs crossed and held in front of me, protecting myself. I must look pathetic to him: my eyes are burning with regretful tears and my skin smelling of him.
“Why did you leave?” His hair is wet, dripping water down his forehead, and his hands are resting on his bare hips, his shorts hanging too low.
“I didn’t. You did,” I stubbornly point out.
He blankly stares at me as a few seconds pass. “I guess you’re right. Come back?” He forms the demand like a question, and I fight myself not to get up from the bed.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I look away from his gaze, and he treads across the room to sit across from me on the bed.
“Why’s that? I’m sorry I freaked out, I just didn’t know what to think, and if I’m being totally fucking honest, I didn’t trust myself not to say the wrong thing to you, so I figured I would leave the room and clear my head.”
Why couldn’t he have behaved this way before? Why couldn’t he be honest and levelheaded when I needed him to be? Why did it take me finally pulling away for him to want to change?
“I wish you would have at least indicated that instead of just leaving me alone in there.” I nod, gathering the tiny scrap of strength inside me. “I don’t think we should be alone together.”
His eyes go wild. “What are you talking about?” he growls. So much for levelheaded.
I keep my arms crossed. “I want to be here for you, and I will be—if you need to talk about anything or vent, or if you just want someone to be there—but I really think we should stay in common areas. Like the living room or the kitchen.”
“You’re not serious,” he scoffs.
“I am.”
“Common areas? Like with Landon serving as our Eleanor Tilney? This is ridiculous, Tess. We can be in the same room without a damn chaperone.”
“I didn’t say anything about chaperones. I just think with how everything is now”—I sigh—“I think I’m going back to Seattle for a few days.” I hadn’t fully decided that until now, but now that I’ve spoken the words, they make sense. I have to get my things ready to move to New York, and I miss Kimberly. I have a doctor’s appointment that I’ve been trying not to think about, and I don’t see any good coming from playing house at the Scott residence. Yet again.
“I’ll come with you,” he offers plainly, like it’s the simplest solution.
“Hardin . . .”
Without asking, he takes a seat on the bed, bare chested and all. “I was going to wait to bring this up, but I’m moving out of that apartment and am moving to Seattle, too. That’s what you wanted all along, and I’m ready to do it. I don’t know what took me so long.” He swipes his hand across his hair, pushing the drying strands so they stand up in a messy wave.
I shake my head at him. “What are you talking about?” Now he wants to move to Seattle?
“I’ll get us a nice place. It won’t be a mansion like you’re used to at Vance’s, but it will be nicer than anywhere you can afford on your own.”
Though I know his words weren’t meant as an insult, that’s how they feel, and instantly I’m on edge. “You don’t get it,” I accuse, flinging my arms up. “You’re missing the entire point of everything!”
“What point? Why does there have to be a point to any of this?” He scoots a little closer. “Why can’t we just be, and why can’t you just let me show you who I can be for you? It doesn’t have to be about points and keeping score and making yourself miserable because you love me and won’t allow yourself to be with me.” He covers my hand with his own.
I pull mine away. “I want to agree with you, and I would love to buy into this fantasy world where we could work, but I’ve done that for too long and I can’t do it anymore. You tried to warn me before, and you gave me chance after chance to see the inevitable, but I was in denial. I can see it now, though—I see that we have been doomed from the start. How many times will we have this conversation?”
He looks at me with those penetrating green eyes. “As many times as it takes to change your mind.”
“I never could change yours; what makes you think you could change mine?”
“What just happened between us didn’t make it obvious to you?”
“I want you to be a part of my life, just not in that way. Not as my boyfriend.”
“Husband?” His eyes are full of humor and . . . hope?
I stare at him, amazed that he would dare . . . “We aren’t together, Hardin! And you can’t throw marriage in my face because you think it will change my mind—I wanted you to want to marry me, not offer it as a last resort!”
His breathing accelerates, but his voice comes out smooth. “It’s not a last resort. I’m not playing games with you—I’ve learned my lesson there. I want to marry you because I can’t imagine living my life any other way, and you can go ahead and tell me I’m wrong, but you know we may as well get married now. We won’t be apart, and you know it.”