Chapter 43 (1/2)

“We’re going to go into the room for a little while,” I announce, and my mum nods. I know it’s driving her crazy not being able to talk, but I won’t have her making Tessa feel any worse by prying.

As we go, I pause at the thermostat in the hallway to turn the heat up, since I know she’s freezing. When I step into the room, Tessa’s already sitting on the edge of the bed. Unsure of how close I’m allowed to get, I wait for her to say something.

“Hardin?” she says in a weak voice. The hoarse tone of her voice tells me she had been crying the whole drive, and it makes me feel worse for her.

I go stand in front of her and she surprises me again by grabbing hold of my T-shirt and pulling me to stand between her legs. This is more than her mum saying some rude shit.

“Tess . . . what did she do?” I ask as she starts crying again, smearing her makeup on the bottom of my white shirt. I could give a shit about the mess; if anything, it will give me a reminder of her when she leaves again.

“My dad . . .” she croaks, and I go rigid.

“Your dad?” If he was there . . . “Tessa, was he there? Did he do something to you?” I ask her through my teeth.

She shakes her head no, and I reach down to lift her chin up, forcing her to look at me. She’s never quiet, even when upset. That’s usually when she’s the most vocal.

“He moved back here—but I didn’t even know he left. I mean, I guess I did, but I never thought about it. I never thought about him.”

My voice is not as calm as I mean for it to be when I ask, “Did you talk to him today?”

“No; she did, though. She said he isn’t going to come near me, but I don’t want her making that choice for me.”

“You want to see him?” All of the things she has told me about this man have been negative. He was violent, often smacking her mum around in front of her. Why would she want to see him?

“No . . . well, I don’t know. But I want to be the one to decide.” She dabs at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Not that he would even want to see me . . .”

The instinct to hunt this man down and make sure he doesn’t come near her takes over, and I have to talk myself down before I do something stupid and brash.

“I can’t help but think, what if he’s like your dad?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if he’s different now? What if he doesn’t drink anymore?” The hope in her voice breaks my heart . . . well, what’s left of it.

“I don’t know . . . that usually doesn’t happen,” I tell her honestly. I see the way her mouth turns down at the ends, so I continue: “But it could. Maybe he’s different now . . .” I don’t believe it, but who am I to extinguish her hope? “I didn’t know you had any interest in him.”