Chapter 45 (1/2)

Chapter twenty-eight

TESSA

He’s been pestering me for the last hour, staring into the mirror, watching me apply my makeup and curl my hair, groping me every chance he gets.

“Tess, baby,” Hardin groans for the second time, “I love you, but you have got to hurry up or we will be late to our own party.”

“I know, I just want to look decent. Everyone will be there.” I give him an apologetic smile, knowing he won’t stay annoyed long and secretly loving the unpleasant expression on his face. I love the way a dimple appears on his right cheek when he has that adorable grumpy scowl.

“Decent? You’ll be the center of everyone’s attention,” he whines, his jealousy clear.

“What’s the party for, again?” I swipe a thin layer of gloss across my lips. I can’t remember what’s going on—I only know everyone is excited, and we are going to be late if I don’t finish grooming myself soon.

Hardin’s strong arms wrap around me, and just like that I suddenly remember what everyone’s celebrating. It’s such a horrible thought, I drop the tube of gloss into the sink and let out a little gasp just as Hardin whispers, “Your father’s funeral.”

I SIT UP and, finding myself wrapped around Hardin, quickly untangle myself from him.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he exclaims.

Hardin’s here, right beside me, and my legs were intertwined with his. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep—why did I do that? I don’t even remember falling asleep; the last thing I remember was Hardin’s warm hands on mine, covering my ears.

“Nothing,” I croak. My throat burns, and I take in my surroundings while my brain catches up with me. “I need water.” I rub my neck and attempt to stand. Stumbling, I glance down at Hardin.

His face is tight and his eyes are red. “Did you have a dream?”

The nothing quickly creeps back inside me, settling just below my breastbone and setting up camp there, in the deepest and emptiest spot.

“Sit down.” He reaches for me, but his fingers burn on my skin and I pull away.

“Please, don’t,” I quietly beg. The grumpy, adorable Hardin from my dream was just that, a pointless dream, and I am now faced with this Hardin, the one who keeps coming back for another hit after tossing me aside. I know why he does it, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to deal with it right now.

He lowers his head in defeat and drops his hand to the ground to lift himself up. His knee slides farther into the mud, and I look away while he catches himself on the railing. “I don’t know what to do,” he says softly.

“You don’t have to do anything,” I mutter and attempt to pull all of my strength into forcing my legs to take me out of here and into the pouring rain.

I’m halfway across the yard when I hear him behind me. He’s keeping a safe distance behind me, and I’m grateful. I need space from him, I need time to think and breathe, and I need him not to be here.