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.
I push it back.
His smile creeps through, a vision of him spilling wine on his white T-shirt. He would probably insist on wearing white, instead of the usual black, just to humor himself and horrify my mother. He would gently push my hands away as I patted the stain with a napkin. He would say something like “Should have known better than to wear white anyway.” And he would laugh and bring my fingers to his lips, kissing each fingertip softly. His eyes would linger on my wedding ring, and a proud smile would take over his face.
“Are you all right?” Zed’s voice breaks through my pitiful thoughts.
“Yeah.” I shake my head to rid the perfect image of Hardin smiling at me as I approach Zed. “I’m sorry, I’m a little out of it lately.”
“That’s okay. I would be worried if you weren’t.” He wraps a comforting arm around my shoulders.
When I think about it, I shouldn’t be surprised that Zed came all the way here to support me. The more I think of it, the more I remember. He was always there, even when I didn’t need him to be. He was in the background, always in Hardin’s shadow.
Chapter thirty-two
HARDIN
Noah is so damn annoying. I don’t know how Tessa could stand him for all those years. I’m beginning to think she was hiding from him in that greenhouse instead of from Richard.
I wouldn’t blame her, I’m tempted to do the same right now.
“I don’t think you should have called that guy,” Noah says from the couch across the massive living room of his parents’ house. “I really don’t like him. I don’t like you either, but he’s even worse than you.”
“Shut up,” I groan and go back to staring at this weird pillow that’s on the plush, oversize chair I’ve claimed these past few days.
“I’m just saying. I don’t understand why you called him if you hate him so much.”
He doesn’t know when to shut up. I hate this town for not having a hotel within twenty miles of Tessa’s mum’s house. “Because”—I let out an annoyed breath—“she doesn’t hate him. She trusts him even though she shouldn’t, and she needs some kind of friend right now, since she won’t see me.”