He makes a valid point. Which only makes me madder. I hate the fact that I can’t do a fucking thing about it, except literally murder him, which isn’t an option . . . at this point at least.

I take a couple of breaths and try to relax my muscles. I have to offer my last option. One that I didn’t want to have to rely on, but he’s not giving me much room here. “I came here thinking we could come to some sort of agreement,” I say.

He tilts his head to the side in the cockiest way possible. “What type of agreement? Is it another bet?”

“You’re really pushing me . . .” I say through my teeth. “Tell me what it’ll take for you to leave her alone. What can I give you to make you go away? Name it, and it’s yours.”

Zed stares at me, blinking rapidly, as if I’ve grown another head.

“Well, come on, now. Every man has a price,” I murmur drily. It infuriates me that I have to negotiate with someone like him, but there’s nothing else I can do to make him go away.

“Let her see me again, one more time,” he suggests. “I’ll be in Seattle on Thursday.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Is he fucking stupid?

“I’m not asking your permission here. I’m trying to make you feel more comfortable with it.”

“It’s not happening. You two have no reason to spend time together; she isn’t available to you—or any other man—and she never will be.”

“There you go, getting all possessive.” He rolls his eyes, and I wonder what Tessa would say if she could see this side of him, the only side I’ve ever known. What would I be as her man if I weren’t possessive, if I was okay sharing her with someone?

I bite my tongue while Zed stares at the ceiling as if he’s deliberating his next words. This is such fucking bullshit, pure and utter fucking bullshit. My head is spinning, and I’m honestly beginning to wonder just how much longer I can keep my cool.

Finally, Zed looks at me, a smirk slowly overtaking his features. Then he says simply, “Your car.”

My mouth falls open at his audacity, and I can’t help but laugh. “No fucking way!” I take two steps toward him. “I’m not giving you my fucking car. Are you out of your fucking mind?” My hands fly into the air.

“Sorry, then; looks like we can’t come to an agreement after all.” His eyes glitter through their thick lashes, and he rubs his fingers over his beard.

Images from my nightmare float through my head, him thrusting into her, making her come . . .

I shake my head to get rid of them.

Then I dig my keys out of my pocket and toss them onto the coffee table between us.

He gapes, bending down to retrieve the key chain. “You’re serious?” He studies the keys, turning them over in his palm a few times before looking back up at me. “I was fucking with you!”

He tosses me the keys, but I don’t catch them in time; they land only inches from the toe of my boot.

“I’ll back off . . . fuck. I didn’t expect you to actually give me your keys.” He laughs, mocking me. “I’m not as big an asshole as you.”

I glower at him. “You weren’t giving me many options.”

“We were friends once, remember?” Zed remarks.

I stay silent as we both remember how everything used to be, before all of this shit, before I actually gave a fuck about anything . . . before her. His eyes have shifted, his shoulders have tensed along with the air after his question.

It’s hard to recall those supposed days. “I was too shit-faced to remember.”

“You know that isn’t true!” he exclaims, raising his voice. “You stopped drinking after—”

“I didn’t come here to take a walk down memory lane with you. Are you going to back off or not?” I look at him. He’s different somehow, harder.

He shrugs. “Sure, yeah.”

But that was too easy . . . “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he says with a wave of his hand at me.

“This means absolutely no contact with her. None,” I remind him again.

“She’s going to wonder why. I texted her earlier today.”

I choose to ignore this. “Tell her you don’t want to be friends with her anymore.”

“I don’t want to hurt her feelings like that,” he says.

“I don’t give a fuck about hurting her feelings. You need to make it clear that you aren’t going to be pining after her anymore.” The momentary calm I felt has ceased, and my temper is rising again. The possibility that Tessa’s feelings would somehow be hurt by Zed not wanting to be friends with her drives me fucking crazy.

I walk toward the door, knowing myself well enough that I won’t make it another five minutes in this musty apartment. I’m pretty damn proud of myself for remaining peaceful this long in a room with Zed after all the shit he’s done to interfere with my relationship.

As my hand touches the rusted doorknob, he says, “I’ll do what I have to do for now, but it still isn’t going to change the outcome of all this.”

“You’re right. It won’t.” I agree with him, knowing that he means the exact opposite of what I do.

Before his fucking mouth can utter another word, I get out of his apartment and walk down the staircase as quickly as possible.

BY THE TIME I pull into my father’s driveway, the sun is setting, and I still haven’t been able to reach Tessa, each call going straight to voicemail. I’ve even called Christian twice, but he’s yet to answer or return my calls.

Tessa’s going to be mad that I went to Zed’s apartment; she feels something for him that I’m never going to understand or tolerate. After today, I pray that I won’t have to worry about him any longer. Unless she clings to him . . .

No. I stop myself from doubting her. I know Steph was feeding me bullshit, and it seeped into every insecure crack in my stone facade. If Zed had actually fucked Tessa, he’d have used this afternoon as the perfect opportunity to throw it in my face.

I walk into my father’s house without knocking and search the downstairs for Karen or Landon. Karen is in the kitchen, standing over the stove with a wire whisk in her hand. She turns and greets me with a warm smile but also with troubled, tired eyes. An unfamiliar feeling of guilt spreads through me as I remember the planter I accidentally broke in her greenhouse.

“Hi, Hardin. Are you looking for Landon?” she asks, placing the whisk on a plate and wiping her hands on the bottom of her strawberry-print apron.

“I . . . I don’t know, really,” I admit. What am I doing here?

How pathetic is my life right now, that I find comfort in coming to this house, of all places? I know it’s because of the memories that were created when I was here with Tessa.

“He’s upstairs, on the phone with Dakota.”

Something about Karen’s tone throws me off.

“Is . . .” I’m not very good at interacting with people besides Tessa, and I’m particularly bad at dealing with other people’s emotions. “Is he having a bad day or something?” I ask, sounding like a dumb-ass.

“I think so. He’s having a hard time, I think. He hasn’t spoken to me about anything, but he seems upset lately.”

“Yeah . . .” I say, but I haven’t noticed anything different about my stepbrother’s mood. Then again, I’ve been too busy forcing him to babysit Richard to notice.

“When does he leave for New York again?”

“Three weeks.” She tries to hide the pain in her voice that comes along with the words but fails miserably.

“Oh.” I’m growing more and more uncomfortable by the minute. “Well, I’m going to go . . .”

“Don’t you want to stay for dinner?” she asks eagerly.

“Uh, no. I’m okay.”

Between the talk with my father this morning, the time I spent with Zed, and now this awkward shit with Karen, I’m on overload. I can’t take the chance that something is actually wrong with Landon. I won’t be able to deal with him being all emotional and shit, not today. I already have to go home to a recovering drug addict and an empty fucking bed.