Chapter 38 (1/2)

“No, but it’s a long story. Right after his dad called and told him, they left town for the weekend to celebrate. I think that’s why Hardin came here, to confront his dad. He never comes here,” he explains and opens the back door.

I see a shadow sitting at a small table on the patio. Hardin.

“I don’t know what you think I can do, but I’ll try.”

Landon nods. He leans down and puts his hand on my shoulder. “He was calling out for you,” he tells me quietly, and my heart stops.

I walk toward Hardin and he looks up at me. His eyes are bloodshot, and his hair is hidden under a gray beanie. His eyes go wide, then darken, and I want to step back. He looks almost scary under the dim patio light.

“How did you get here—” Hardin says loudly and stands up.

“Landon . . . he . . .” I answer, then wish I hadn’t.

“You fucking called her?” he yells toward Landon, who for his part walks back inside.

“You leave him alone, Hardin—he is worried about you,” I scold.

He sits back down, gesturing for me to take a seat, too. I sit across from him and watch as he grabs the mostly empty bottle of dark liquor and puts it to his mouth. I watch his Adam’s apple move as he gulps it down. When he’s finished, he slams the bottle down onto the glass of the patio table and it makes me jump, thinking either the bottle or the table or both might break.

“Aww, aren’t you two something. You both are so predictable. Poor Hardin is upset, so you gang up on me and try to make me feel bad for breaking some shitty china,” he drawls with a sick smirk.

“I thought you don’t drink?” I ask him and cross my arms.

“I don’t. Until now, I guess. Don’t try to patronize me; you’re no better than me.” He points a finger at me, then grabs the bottle for another swig.

And it’s scary, but I can’t deny that being near him, even in his drunken state, breathes life into me. I have missed the feeling Hardin gives me.

“I never said I was better than you. I just want to know what made you drink now?”

“What does it matter to you? Where’s your boyfriend?” His eyes blaze into mine and the emotion behind them is so strong that I am forced to look away. If only I knew what that emotion was; hatred, I suppose.

“He’s back in my room. I just want to help you, Hardin.” I lean a little over the table to reach for his hand, but he recoils from my touch.