Chapter 74

I was just so angry—still am—but it’s not her fault. It never has been her fault.

“I love you, Mum,” I repeat, a little embarrassed.

She pulls me into her arms and hugs me tighter, tighter than I usually allow.

“Oh, Hardin, I love you, too. So much, son.”

Chapter forty-six

TESSA

I decide to wear my hair straight, to try something different. But when I finish, it looks odd, so I end up curling it as usual. I’m taking too long to get ready, and it’s probably getting close to time to leave. Perhaps I’m taking longer because part of me is stalling, nervous about how today will go.

I hope Hardin is on his best behavior, or at least tries to be.

I go with simple makeup, only wearing a little foundation, black eyeliner, and mascara. I was going to use eye shadow as well, but I’ve had to remove the messy line from my top eyelid three times before finally getting it right.

“You alive in there?” Hardin’s voice calls through the door.

“Yes, I’m almost done,” I reply and brush my teeth once more.

“I’m going to take a quick shower, but then we need to go if you want to be there on time,” Hardin says when I open the door.

“Okay, okay, I’ll get dressed while you shower.”

He disappears into the bathroom, and I head for the closet, grabbing the sleeveless forest-green dress I bought to wear today. The dark-green material is thick, and the neckline is high. The bow covering my waist is much bigger than it looked when I tried it on the other day, but I’ll have a cardigan over it anyway. I retrieve my charm bracelet from the dresser, and my stomach flutters as I read and reread the perfect inscription.

I can’t decide on what shoes to wear; if I wear heels, I’ll probably look too dressy. I go with black flats, and am pulling my white cardigan over the dress just as Hardin opens the door wearing only a towel tied around his waist.

Oh. No matter how many times I see him, I still lose my breath at the sight of him. Staring at Hardin’s half-naked body, I do not understand how tattoos were not my thing before.

“Holy shit,” he says as his eyes rake up and down my body.

“What? What?” I look down to see what’s wrong.

“You look . . . incredibly innocent.”

“Wait, is that good or bad? It’s Christmas, I didn’t want to look indecent.” I suddenly feel unsure of what I chose to wear.

“Oh, it’s good. Very good.” His tongue snakes over his bottom lip, and I finally get it, blushing and looking away before we start something that we should not finish. Not right now, at least. “Thank you. What are you wearing?”

“What I always wear.”

I look back at him. “Oh.”

“I’m not dressing up to go to my dad’s house.”

“I know . . . maybe you could wear that shirt your mother got you for Christmas?” I suggest, even though I know he won’t.

He barks out a laugh. “Not happening.” He goes to the closet and pulls his jeans off the hanger, which falls to the ground, not that he notices such things. I decide not to say anything; instead I walk away from the closet as Hardin’s towel falls to the floor.

“I’m going to go out there with your mom,” I squeak out, trying to force myself not to look at his body.

“Suit yourself.” He smirks, and I leave the room.

When I find Trish in the living room, she’s wearing a red dress and black heels, much different from her usual tracksuit.

“You look so beautiful!” I tell her.

“You’re sure? Is it too much, with the makeup and all?” she asks nervously. “It’s not that I care, really—I just don’t want to look bad when I see my ex-husband after all these years.”

“Trust me, bad is the last thing you look,” I tell her, which gets her to smile a little.

“You two ready?” Hardin asks when he joins us in the living room. His hair is still wet, but somehow it manages to look perfect. He’s wearing all black, including the black Converses he wore in Seattle that I love.

His mother doesn’t seem to notice the all-black attire, likely because she’s still focusing on her own appearance. As we get into the elevator, Hardin looks at his mother as if for the first time, then asks, “Why are you so dressed up?”

She blushes a little. “It’s a holiday, why wouldn’t I be?”

“It just seems weird—”

I cut him off before he says something to ruin his mother’s day. “She looks lovely, Hardin. I’m just as dressed up as she is.”

During the drive, everyone is quiet, even Trish. I can tell she’s anxious, and who could blame her? I’d be incredibly nervous, too. In fact, for different reasons, the closer we get to Ken’s house, the more I feel it. I really just want a calm holiday.

When we finally arrive and park at the curb, I hear Trish gasp. “This is his house?”

“Yep. I told you it was big,” Hardin says and turns off the car.

“I didn’t think you meant this big,” she says quietly.

Hardin hops out and opens his mother’s door, since she’s just sitting there in shock. I get out myself, and as we walk up the steps leading to the large house, I see the apprehension on his face. I take his hand in mine to try to calm him, and he looks down at me with a small but noticeable smile. He doesn’t ring the doorbell—he just opens the door and walks inside.

Karen is standing in the living room with a beaming, welcoming smile that’s so infectious it makes me feel a little better. Hardin walks through the foyer first with his mom, and I follow behind him, my hand still in his.