Chapter 88

Dr. West’s voice delivering bad news, the worst news, pushes through my aching head. Did I drunkenly share the news with Hardin? Oh no. I hope not.

“What . . . what did I say last night?” I ask, treading lightly.

He exhales and runs his hand through his hair. “You were going on about Karen and my mum. I don’t even want to know what that meant.” He grimaces, and I assume it matches my own expression.

“Is that all?” I hope it is.

“Basically. Oh, and you were quoting Hemingway.” He smiles a little, and I’m reminded just how charming he can be.

“I wasn’t.” I cover my face with my hands in embarrassment.

“You were.” A soft laugh falls from his lips, and I peek through my hands to look at him as he adds, “You were also saying that you accept my apology and you will give me another chance.”

His eyes meet mine through my fingers, and I can’t seem to look away. He’s good. Really good.

“Liar.” I’m not sure if I want to laugh or cry. Here we are again, in the middle of our same old back-and-forth, push-and-pull. I can’t ignore that it feels different this time, but I also know that I can’t be trusted to judge this. It always seemed to feel different each time he made a promise that he couldn’t keep.

“Do you want to talk about what happened last night? Because I hated seeing you that way. You weren’t yourself. It really scared me when I was on the phone with you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You were plastered. You drank yourself to sleep outside on the patio, and there are empty bottles across the entire house.”

“It’s not fun finding someone that way, huh?” I feel like a jerk as soon as the words are out.

His shoulders drop. “No. It’s really not.”

I’m reminded of the nights (and sometimes even the days) when I found Hardin drunk. Drunk Hardin always brought along with him broken lamps, holes in walls, and nasty words that were sure to cut deep.

“That won’t ever happen again,” he says, answering my thoughts.

“I wasn’t—” I begin to lie, but he knows me too well.

“Yes, you were. It’s okay, I deserve it.”

“Either way, it wasn’t fair of me to throw it in your face.” I need to learn to forgive Hardin or neither of us will ever have peace in our lives after this.

I didn’t realize it had been vibrating, but he lifts his phone from the nightstand and presses it to his ear. I close my eyes to relieve some of the throbbing as he curses Christian out. I wave my hand, trying to get him to stop, but he ignores me, rushing to tell Christian what an asshole he is.

“Well, you should have fucking answered. If something would have happened to her, I would have held you fucking responsible,” Hardin growls into the phone, and I try to block his voice out.

I’m fine, I drank a little too much because I had a bad day, but I’m fine now. What’s the harm in that?

When he hangs up, I feel the mattress dip next to me, and he pushes my hand away from my eyes. “He says he’s sorry for not coming home to check on you,” Hardin says, inches from my face.

I can see the stubble across his jaw and chin. I don’t know if it’s because I’m still a little intoxicated, or just plain crazy, but I reach up and run my finger across the line of his jaw. My action surprises him, and his eyes glaze over, almost crossing, as I caress his skin.

“What are we doing?” He leans even closer.

“I don’t know.” I answer with the only truth that I know. I have no clue what we are doing, what I am doing, when it comes to Hardin. I never have.

Inside, I’m sad and hurt, and I feel betrayed by my own body and the essential nature of karma and life in general, but on the surface, I know that Hardin can make it all go away. Even if only temporarily, he can make me forget all of the worries; he can clear all of the chaos from my mind, the way I used to do for him.

Now I get it. I get what he meant when he said he needed me all of those times. I get why he used me the way he did.

“I don’t want to use you.”

“What?” he asks, confused.

“I want you to make me forget everything, but I don’t want to use you. I want to be close to you right now, but I haven’t changed my mind about the rest,” I ramble out, hoping he will understand what I don’t know how to say.

He leans up on one elbow and looks down at me. “I don’t care how or why, but if you want me in any way, you don’t need to explain. I’m already yours.”

His lips are so close to mine, and I could so easily just lift my head slightly to touch them.

“I’m sorry.” I turn my head. I can’t use him this way, but mostly I can’t pretend that that’s all it would be. It wouldn’t just be a physical distraction from my problems—it would be more, much more. I love him still, even though I sometimes wish I didn’t. I wish I were stronger, that I could brush this off as a simple distraction, no feelings, no wanting more, only sex.

But my heart and conscience won’t allow it. As hurt as I am by my ideal future’s being ripped away from me, I can’t use him this way, especially now that he seems to be making such an effort. It would hurt him so bad.

While I’m battling myself, he rolls his body onto mine and collects both of my wrists into one of his hands. “What are you—”

He lifts my hands above my head. “I know what you are thinking.” He presses his lips to my neck, and my body takes over. My neck rolls to the side, giving him easier access to the sensitive skin there.