“Okay . . . well, here goes,” he says nervously before continuing. “One night, when I was around seven, my father was out at the bar across the street from our home. He went there almost every night and everyone knew him there, which is why it was a terrible idea for him to piss anyone off there. This night, he did just that. He started a fight with some soldiers who were just as plastered as him and he ended up smashing a beer bottle over one of their heads.”
I have no idea where this is going, but I know it won’t be pleasant.
“Keep eating, please . . .” he begs and I nod and try not to stare at him as he continues.
“He left the bar, and they came across the road to our house, to pay him back for smashing the guy’s face, I guess. The problem was that he didn’t come home—they just thought he did, and my mum was asleep on the couch, waiting up for my dad.” His green eyes meet mine. “Sort of how you were last night.”
“Hardin . . .” I whisper and grab his hand across the table.
“So when they found my mum first . . .” He trails off and stares at the wall for what feels like forever. “When I heard her screaming, I came downstairs and tried to get them off her. Her nightgown was ripped open and she just kept screaming for me to go . . . she was trying to keep me from seeing what they were doing to her, but I couldn’t just leave, you know?”
When he blinks back a tear, my heart breaks for the seven-year-old boy who had to watch those horrendous things happen to his mother. I climb onto his lap on the chair and put my face against his neck.
“Long story short, I tried to fight them off, but it didn’t do any good. By the time my father stumbled through the door, I had put an entire box of Band-Aids all over her body to try to . . . I don’t know . . . fix her or something. How stupid is that?” he asks into my hair.
I look up at him and he frowns. “Don’t cry . . .” he whispers, but I can’t help it. I never imagined his nightmares were from something so terrible.
“I’m sorry I made you tell me,” I sob.
“No . . . baby, it’s okay. It actually felt good to tell someone,” he assures me. “As good as it can feel.”
He pets my hair and winds part of it around his finger, lost in thought. “After that, I would only sleep downstairs on the couch, so if someone came in . . . they would get to me first. Then the nightmares came . . . and they just kind of stuck. I went to a few therapists once my father left, but nothing seemed to help, until you.” He gives me a weak smile. “I’m sorry I was out all night. I don’t want to be that guy. I don’t want to be him,” he says and hugs me tighter.
Now that I have a few more pieces of the puzzle that is Hardin, I can understand him more. And just as suddenly as my mood has shifted about him, my opinion of Ken has changed just as drastically. I know people change, and he obviously has improved himself from the kind of man he used to be, but I can’t help the anger bubbling inside me. Hardin is the way he is because of his father, because of the drinking, the negligence, and the terrible night that his father provoked an attack against his wife and son, and then wasn’t there to protect them. I didn’t get all the answers I wanted, but I got much more than I ever expected.
“I won’t do it again . . . I swear . . . Just please tell me you won’t leave me . . .” he mutters.
Every ounce of anger and entitlement I felt has evaporated. “I won’t leave you, Hardin. I won’t leave you.” And because he looks at me like he needs to hear it, I say it a few more times.
“I love you, Tessa, more than anything,” he says and wipes my tears.
Chapter ninety-one
We haven’t moved from our spot in the chair for at least thirty minutes, when finally Hardin lifts his head from my chest and says, “Can I eat now?”
“Yes.” I give him a weak smile and start to climb off his lap, but he pulls me back.
“I didn’t say for you to move. Just slide my plate over.” He smiles.
I slide his plate over and reach for mine across the small table. I am still reeling from this new information and now I feel a little uneasy about going to the wedding in the morning.
Sensing Hardin doesn’t want to discuss his confession further, I take a bite off my plate and say, “You are a much better cook than I expected. Having shown your hand, I expect you’ll cook for me more often.”
“We will see,” he says with his mouth full and we eat the rest of the meal in a comfortable silence.
Later, when I’m loading the dishwasher, he walks up behind me and asks, “Are you still mad?”
“Not exactly,” I tell him. “I am still not happy about you being out all night, and I do want to know who you fought, and why.” He opens his mouth to speak, but I stop him. “But not tonight.” I don’t think either of us can handle any more tonight.
“Okay,” he says softly. Worry flashes in his eyes but I choose to let it go.
“Oh, and I didn’t appreciate you throwing my internship in my face, either. That really hurt my feelings.”
“I know. That’s why I said it,” he answers, a little too honestly.
“I know. That’s exactly why I don’t like it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t do it again, okay?” I tell him and he nods. “I’m exhausted,” I groan in a small attempt to change the subject.
“Me, too; let’s lie down for the rest of the evening. I got the cable turned on.”
“I was supposed to be doing that.” I scowl at him.
He rolls his eyes and sits next to me on the bed. “You can just give me the money for it . . .”
I stare at the wall. “What time are we leaving here tomorrow for the wedding?”
“Whenever we feel like it.”
“It starts at three, so I think we should be there by two,” I say.
“An hour early?” he whines and I nod. “I don’t know why you insist—” he says but is cut off by my phone ringing.
The look on Hardin’s face as he leans over and grabs it tells me immediately who it is. “Why is he calling?” he huffs.
“I don’t know, Hardin, but I think I should answer.” I grab the phone from his hand.
“Noah?” My voice is soft and shaky as Hardin’s glower burns a hole through the apartment.
“Hey, Tessa, I’m sorry to call you on a Friday night but . . . well . . .” He sounds panicked.
“What?” I push, since he always takes longer than necessary to explain stressful situations.
When I look over to Hardin he mouths, “Speaker.”
I give him an are-you-kidding look, but end up putting Noah on speaker anyway so Hardin can eavesdrop.
“Your mom got a call from the dorm supervisor about your final bill being paid for the room, so she knows you moved out. I told her I have no idea where you live now, which is the truth, but she refused to believe me. And so she’s coming there.”
“Coming here? To campus?”
“Yeah, I guess. I don’t know, but she said she’s going to find you, and she’s being irrational and is really pissed-off. I just wanted to warn you, you know, that she’s coming.”