“Is that why you had me accepted into WCU in the first place?” We’ve never discussed the fact that I know he used his position to get me into this damn school. I know he did. I didn’t do shit in high school, and my transcripts prove it.

“That, and the fact that your mother was at her breaking point with you. I wanted you to come here so I could get to know you. You aren’t the same boy you were when I left.”

“If you wanted to know me, you should have stuck around longer. And drunk less.” Fragments of memories that I’ve tried so hard to forget push their way into my mind. “You left, and I never had the chance to just be a boy.”

I used to occasionally wonder how it felt to be a happy child with a strong and loving family. While my mum worked from sunup to sundown, I would sit in the living room alone, just staring at the dingy and slanted walls for hours. I would make myself some shitty meal that was barely edible and imagine that I was sitting at a table full of people who loved me. They would laugh and ask how my day went. When I’d get into a fight at school, I’d sometimes wish I had a father around to either pat me on the back or bust my ass for starting trouble.

Things got much easier for me as I grew up. Once I was a teenager and I realized I could hurt people, everything was easier. I could get back at my mum for leaving me alone while she worked by calling her by her first name and denying her the simple joy of hearing her only child say “I love you.”

I could get back at my father by not speaking to him. I had one goal: to make everyone around me as miserable as I felt; that way, I would finally fit in. I used sex and lies to hurt girls, and made a game of it. That backfired when my mum’s friend spent too much time around me; her marriage was ruined, along with her dignity, and my mum was heartbroken that her fourteen-year-old son had done such a thing.

Ken looks like he catches on, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “I know that, and I’m sorry for all the things you were subjected to because of me.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” I push the chair back and stand up.

My father stays seated, and I can’t help the thrill of power that I get from standing over him this way. I feel so . . . above him in every way possible. He’s haunted by his guilt and regrets, and I’m finally coming to terms with mine.

“So much happened that you wouldn’t understand. I wish I could tell you, but it wouldn’t change anything.”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’ve already had a shitty day, and this is too much. I get it; you regret leaving us and all that shit. I’m over it,” I lie, and he nods. It’s not a full-on lie, really. I’m much closer to being over it than I’ve ever been before.

When I reach the door, a thought pops into my mind, and I turn around to face him. “My mum’s getting married. Did you know that?” I ask out of curiosity.

From his blank stare and the way his brows lower, it’s clear that he had no fucking clue.

“To Mike . . . you know, the neighbor guy?”

“Oh.” He frowns.

“In two weeks.”

“That soon?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Is that a problem or something?”

“No, not at all. I’m just a little surprised, that’s all.”

“Yeah; me, too.” I lean my shoulder against the doorframe and watch as my father’s expression transforms from sullen to relieved.

“Will you be attending?”

“No.”

Ken Scott rises to his feet and walks around his massive desk to stand in front of me. I have to admit, I’m slightly intimidated. Not by him, of course, but by the raw emotion in his eyes when he says, “You have to go, Hardin. It will break her heart if you don’t. Especially because she knows that you attended my wedding to Karen.”

“Yeah, well, we both know why I attended yours. I didn’t have a choice, and your wedding wasn’t halfway across the damn planet.”

“It might as well have been, given how we never really talked. You have to go. Tessa knows about it?”

Fuck. I hadn’t considered this.

“No, and you don’t need to tell her either. Or Landon; he won’t keep his mouth shut if he knows.”

“Is there a reason that you’re hiding it from her?” he asks, judgment filling his voice.

“It’s not that I’m hiding it. I just don’t want her to worry about going. She doesn’t even have a passport. She’s never even left the state of Washington.”

“You know she’ll want to go. Tessa loves England.”

“She’s never even been there!” I raise my voice and take a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself down. It drives me insane the way he acts as if she’s his own daughter, as if he knows her better than I do.

“I won’t say anything,” he says, raising his hands slightly as if to placate me.

I’m glad he doesn’t press the topic. I’ve done enough talking already, and I’m fucking exhausted. I got absolutely no sleep last night after I got off of the phone with Tessa. My nightmares came back full fucking force, and I made myself stay awake after I woke up dry-heaving for the third time.

“You should go by and see Karen soon. She was asking about you last night,” he says just before I walk out of his office.

“Um, yeah,” I mumble and close the door behind me.

chapter

one hundred and nine

TESSA

In class, the guy I’ve determined is a future politician leans over and whispers to me, “Who did you vote for in the election?”

I feel slightly uncomfortable around my new classmate. He’s charming, too charming, and his dressy clothes and brown skin make for a very distracting sight. He’s not attractive in the same way that Hardin is, but he’s certainly attractive, and he knows it.

“I didn’t,” I reply. “I wasn’t old enough to vote.”

He laughs. “Right.”

I didn’t really want to talk with him, but in the last few minutes of class our professor instructed us to talk among ourselves while he took a phone call. I’m relieved when the clock strikes ten and it’s time to go.

The future politician’s attempt to continue making small talk with me as we exit the classroom fails miserably, and after a few seconds he dismisses himself and walks the other way.

I’ve been distracted all morning. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what Steph must have said to Hardin to get him so worked up. I know he believed me about the rumors about Zed, but whatever else it was that she said to him bothered him enough that he didn’t want to repeat it.

I hate Steph. I hate her for what she did to me and for getting into Hardin’s head and hurting him—by using me, in a way. By the time I make it to my art history class, I’ve planned ten different scenarios of how to murder that horrible girl in my mind.

I sit next to Michael, the blue-haired boy from the first class with the good sense of humor, and spend the entire hour of art history laughing at his jokes, which is a good distraction from my homicidal thoughts.

At last the day’s over, and I’m heading to my car. Right as I reach it and start to climb in, my phone starts vibrating. I expect it to be Hardin, but looking down, I see it’s not. I have three text messages, two of which just showed up.

I decide to read my mother’s first: Call me. We need to talk.

Next is Zed’s. I take a deep breath before pressing the small envelope-shaped button. I’ll be in Seattle Thurs-Sat. Let me know when you’re free :)

I rub my temples, grateful that I saved Kimberly’s message for last. Nothing she has to say could possibly be as stressful as telling Zed that I take back my offer of seeing him or having a conversation with my mother. Did you know Loverboy is going to London next weekend?

I spoke too soon.

England? Why would Hardin be going to England? Is he moving there after he graduates? I reread her text message . . .