Chapter 50 (1/2)

He grins. “Sorry, it’s been a while.” He laughs, and my mood is instantly brightened by the sound. I haven’t been thinking of him—I feel almost guilty that his face hasn’t entered my mind once in the last few weeks—but I’m glad he’s here. His presence is a reminder that the world hasn’t stopped since my incredible loss.

My loss . . . I don’t want to admit even to myself which loss has been harder for me to cope with.

“It has,” I say. Then the reason for the distance between Zed and me pops into my mind, interrupting our greeting, and I cautiously look past him out the front door. The last thing I need is a brawl on my mother’s perfectly groomed lawn.

“Hardin is here. Well, not here in this house, but he’s a few doors down.”

“I know.” Zed doesn’t look the least bit intimidated despite their history.

“You do?”

My mother gives me a quizzical look, then disappears into the kitchen to leave Zed and me alone. My mind begins to catch up with the realization that Zed is here. I haven’t called him—how could he have known about my father? I suppose it’s remotelly possible it could have been on the news and online, but even so, would Zed have noticed that?

“He called me.” At Zed’s words my head snaps up so I can look into his eyes. “He’s the one who told me to come here and see you. You disconnected your phone, so I had to take his word for it.”

I’m not sure what to say to that, so I just look at Zed silently, trying to figure out the secret math involved here.

“That’s okay, right?” He reached out an arm, but stops short of actually touching me. “You don’t mind me coming here, do you? I can go, if it’s too much for you. He just said you needed a friend, and I knew it had to be bad if he was calling me, out of all people.” Zed ends with a little laugh, but I know he’s being serious.

Why would Hardin call him instead of Landon? Actually, Landon is on his way here anyway, so why would Hardin request Zed to come to me?

I can’t help but feel that this is some sort of setup, as if Hardin is testing me in some way. I hate the idea of that, that he would do that type of thing right now, but he’s done worse. I can’t allow myself to forget that he’s done worse things, and there is always some sort of motive behind his actions. He always has an angle, a hidden equation to how he approaches me.

I’m more hurt than anything by his proposal of marriage. He’d denied me the chance of marriage since the beginning of our relationship, only to bring it up twice—two times when he wanted something. Once when he was too drunk to know what he was saying, and once in an attempt to make me stay. If I had woken up next to him the next morning, he would have taken it back just like before. Like he always does. He’s been nothing but broken promises since I’ve met him, and the only thing worse than being with someone who doesn’t believe in marriage is being with someone who would marry me only to win a momentary victory, not because he truly wants to be my husband.

I need to remember that, or I will keep having these ridiculous thoughts. These thoughts that sneak in throughout my days of Hardin in a tuxedo. The image causes me to laugh, and tuxedo Hardin quickly shifts into jeans and boots, even on his wedding day, but I think I would be okay with that.

Would have been. I have got to stop these fantasies; they’re not helping my sanity. Another one creeps in, though. This time Hardin is laughing, holding a glass of wine . . . and I notice a silver wedding band on his ring finger. He’s laughing loudly, his head tilted back in that charming way.