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“We’ll figure it out, we will,” I promise him.
“Theresa!” My mother’s voice resounds from outside the door. I had been too wrapped up in Hardin to notice that the noise in the living room had dissipated. “Theresa, I’m coming in.”
The door opens on the last word, and I stand behind Hardin. This seems to be a pattern.
“We need to talk about this, all of this.” She eyes Hardin and me with equal intensity. Hardin’s head turns, and he looks down at me, raising an eyebrow for approval.
“I don’t think there’s much to discuss,” I say from behind my shield.
“There’s plenty to discuss. I’m sorry for my behavior tonight. I lost my mind when I saw your father here, after all these years. Please give me a little time to explain. Please.” The word “please” sounds foreign coming from my mother’s lips.
Hardin steps away, exposing me to her. “I’m going to go clean this up.” He lifts his battered hand in the air and exits the room before I can stop him.
“Sit down, we have a lot to discuss.” My mother runs her palms down the front of her dress and pushes her thick blond waves to one side before she sits down on the edge of the bed.
Chapter one hundred and twenty-three
HARDIN
The cold water blasts from the faucet onto my torn flesh. I stare down at the sink, watching as the red-stained water swirls around the metal drain.
Again? This shit happened again? Of course it did; it was only a matter of time.
I leave the bathroom door open so I can easily access the room across the hall if I hear any screaming. I have no fucking idea what I was thinking when I called that bitch. I shouldn’t call her that . . . but she is one, so . . . bitch it is. At least I’m not saying it in front of Tessa. When I called her, I could only think of Tessa’s blank expression and naive remarks, saying things like “he’s not doing drugs” as she tried to convince herself of what was obviously not true. I knew she’d come undone at any moment, and for some stupid fucking reason I thought her mum being here could possibly be of help.
This is precisely why I don’t try to help people. I have no experience in it. I’m pretty damn excellent at fucking shit up, but I’m no savior.
A flash of movement in the mirror catches my eye, and I look up to see Richard’s reflection staring back at me. He’s leaning against the narrow doorframe, his expression wary.
“What? Did you come to try and shank me or something?” I say flatly.
He sighs and runs his hands over his clean-shaven face. “No, not this time.”
I scoff, half wishing that he would try and come at me. I’m certainly wound up enough for a brawl, or two.
“Why didn’t either of you tell me?” Richard asks, obviously referring to the bet.
Is he fucking serious?
“Why would I tell you? And you sure as hell aren’t stupid enough to believe Tessa would tell her father—her absentee father—some shit like that.” I turn the faucet off and grab a towel to apply pressure to my knuckles; they’ve stopped bleeding, for the most part. I should learn to switch hands, punch with my right from now on.
“I don’t know . . . I feel blindsided, I thought you two were just opposites attracting, but now . . .”
“I’m not asking for your approval. Nor do I need it.” I walk past him and hurry down the hallway. I go and grab the bag of burned popcorn that still rests on the floor.
“Let hers be the only voice in your head.” Landon’s words echo through my mind. I wish it were that easy, and maybe it will be one day . . . I sure as hell hope so.
“I know you don’t; I just want to understand all this shit. As her dad, I feel obligated to beat your ass.” He shakes his head.
“Right,” I say, wanting to remind him again that he hasn’t been her father for over nine years.
“Carol was a lot like Tessa when she was young,” he says, following me into the kitchen.
I recoil, and the bag nearly slips from my fingers. “No, she wasn’t.”
There is no way in hell that this could be true. Honestly, I used to think Tessa was just like that prudish, bitchy woman, but now that I actually know her, I’m sure that it couldn’t be further from the truth. Her struggle to appear perfect is certainly the result of having the woman as her mother, but otherwise Tessa is nothing like her.
“It’s true. She wasn’t quite as nice, but she wasn’t always . . .” He trails off, grabbing a bottled water from my fridge.
“A bitch?” I finish his sentence for him. His eyes dart down the empty hallway as if he’s afraid she’s going to appear and toss him around again. I’d like to see that happen, actually . . .
“She was always smiling . . . Her smile was something else. All the men wanted her, but she was mine.” He grins at the memory. I didn’t sign up for this shit . . . I’m no fucking counselor. Tessa’s mum is hot as hell, but she’s got a constant stick up her ass that someone needs to remove, or maybe the complete opposite . . .
“Okay . . .” I don’t get the point here.
“She had so much ambition and compassion then. It’s really fucked up, because Tessa’s grandma was just like Carol, if not worse.” He laughs at the thought, but I cringe. “Her parents hated, I mean hated me. They never hid it, either. They wanted her to marry a stockbroker, a lawyer—anyone except me. I hated them, too; may they rest in peace.” He looks up at the ceiling. As fucked up as it is to say, I’m grateful that Tessa’s grandparents aren’t around to judge me.