After (The After Series)

“Stop walking away from me!” I yell and he turns around, eyes blazing. “I
said let me take you home!” I scream.
He almost smiles but frowns instead and sighs. “Fine. Where’s your car?”
HARDIN’S SCENT IMMEDIATELY
fills the car, only now there is a hint of
metal mixed in; it’s still my favorite smell in the entire world. I turn the heat on
and rub my arms to warm up.
“Why did you come here?” he asks as I pull out of the parking lot.
“To find you.” I try to remember everything I had planned to say, but my mind
is blank and all I can think about is kissing his busted mouth.
“For what reason?” he asks quietly.
“To talk to you, we have so much to talk about.” I feel like crying and
laughing at the same time and I have no idea why.
“I thought you said we didn’t have anything to talk about,” he says and turns
to look out the window with a coolness I suddenly find beyond irritating.
“Do you love me?” The words come out rushed and strangled. I had not
planned on saying them.
His head snaps to the side to look at me. “What?” His tone is one of shock.
“Do you?” I repeat, worrying that my heart might pop right out of my chest.
He focuses forward. “You are not seriously asking me this while we are
driving down the street.”
“What does it matter where or when I am asking, just tell me,” I practically
beg.
“I . . . I don’t know . . . No, I don’t.” He looks around, almost like he needs to
escape. “And you can’t just ask someone if they love you when they are trapped
in a car with you—what the hell is wrong with you?” he says loudly.
Ouch. “Okay,” is all I can manage to say.
“Why do you even want to know?”

---

“It doesn’t matter.” I’m confused now, so confused, and my plan to talk out
our problems has crashed and burned in front of me, along with any dignity I
still held.
“Tell me why you asked me that, now,” he demands.
“Don’t tell me what to do!” I shout back.
I pull up to his house and he looks out at the crowded lawn. “Take me to my
dad’s,” he says.
“What? I am not a damn taxi.”
“Just take me there, I will get my car in the morning.”
If his car is here, why doesn’t he just drive himself? I don’t want our
conversation to end yet, though, so I roll my eyes, and head off toward his
father’s house.
“I thought you hated it there,” I say.
“I do. But I don’t feel like being around a lot of people right now,” he says
quietly. Then, louder, he goes on: “Are you going to tell me why you asked that?
Does this have something to do with Zed? Did he say something to you?”
He seems really nervous. Why does he always ask if Zed said something to
me?
“No . . . It has nothing to do with Zed. I just wanted to know.” It doesn’t really
have to do with Zed; it has to do with the fact that I love him and thought for a
second, he might love me, too. The longer I am around him, the more ridiculous
that possibility seems.
“Where did you and Zed go when you left the bonfire?” he asks as I pull into
his father’s driveway.
“Back to his apartment,” I say.
Hardin’s body tenses and his bloody fists clench, tearing the skin on his
knuckles further. “Did you sleep with him?” he asks and my mouth falls open.
“What? Why the hell would you assume that? You should know me better
than that by now! And who do you think you are to even ask such a personal
question? You made it clear that you don’t care about me so, what if I did?” I
shout.
“So you didn’t?” he asks again, his eyes like stone.
“God, Hardin! No! He kissed me, but I wouldn’t have sex with someone I
barely know!”
He leans over and turns my car off, clenching his bloody hand over the keys
and pulling them out of the ignition.
“You kissed him back?” His eyes are hooded as he seems to look straight past
me.
“Yeah . . . well, I don’t know, I think I did.” I don’t remember anything except

---

Hardin’s face in my mind.
“How do you not know? Have you been drinking?” His voice is louder now.
“No, I just . . .”
“You what!” he shouts and turns his body to face me. I can’t read the energy
between us, and for a moment I sit there, trying to get a handle on it.
“I-I just kept thinking of you!” I finally admit.
His stone features soften tremendously and he brings his eyes to mine. “Let’s
go inside,” he says and opens the passenger door.

---

chapter sixty-seven
K
aren and Ken are sitting on the couch in the living room and both look up
when we walk in.
“Hardin! What happened?” his father asks, panicked. He jumps up and comes
over to us, but Hardin brushes him off.
“I’m fine,” Hardin grumbles.
“What happened to him?” Ken turns to me.
“He got in a fight, but he hasn’t told me with who or why.”
“I am standing right here—and I just said I am fucking fine,” Hardin says
angrily.
“Don’t talk to your father like that!” I scold him and his eyes widen. Instead
of screaming at me, he takes my wrist in his busted hand and pulls me out of the
room. Ken and Karen discuss Hardin’s bloody appearance as he drags me
upstairs, and I hear his dad openly wonder why Hardin keeps coming here when
he never used to before.
Once we reach his room, he turns me around, pinning both of my wrists to the
wall and steps up close, leaving only a few inches between us.
“Don’t ever do that again,” he says through his teeth.
“Do what? Let go of me, right now,” I tell him.
He rolls his eyes but does let me go and walks over to his bed. I stay close to
the door.
“Don’t tell me how to talk to my father. Worry about your own relationship
with your own father before trying to meddle with mine.”

---

As soon as the words come out of his mouth, Hardin registers what he says,
and he immediately looks apologetic. “I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean it like that . . .
It just came out.” He takes a step toward me with outstretched arms, but I take a
step backward into the doorway.
“Yeah—it always just ‘comes out,’ doesn’t it?” I can’t help the tears pricking
my eyes. Bringing my father into this is just way too much, even for Hardin.
“Tess, I . . .” he begins but stops himself when I hold up one hand.