He did.

I burst through the doors to the deck. “You sick, selfish bastard!” I scream, the first words that come to mind.

Hardin spins to me, face paling, mouth opening wide. His phone tumbles to the floor, and he just stares at me like I’m some terrible creature who’s come to destroy him.

“Hello?” Sandra’s voice says through the speaker, and he reaches down to grab his phone to silence her.

Anger courses through me. “How could you? How could you do that?”

“I—” he begins.

“No! Don’t even waste my time with an excuse! What the hell were you thinking?” I yell with one arm sweeping in his direction violently.

I storm back into the bedroom, and he follows me, pleading, “Tessa, listen to me.”

I turn around, feeling wounded, and strong, and hurt, and enraged. “No! You listen to me, Hardin,” I say through my teeth, trying to lower my voice. But I can’t. “I’m so sick of this, I’m sick of you trying to sabotage everything in my life that doesn’t revolve around you!” I scream, balling my fists tightly at my sides.

“That’s not what I—”

“Shut up! Shut the hell up! You are the most selfish, arrogant—you’re just . . . ugh!” I can’t think straight; angry words fly from my mouth, my hands moving through the air in front of me.

“I don’t know what I was thinking. I was trying to clear it up just now.”

I shouldn’t be so surprised, really. I should have known that Hardin was behind Sandra’s sudden disappearance. He doesn’t know when to stop meddling in my life, my career, and I’m sick of it.

“Exactly; this is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re always doing something. You’re always hiding something. You’re always finding new ways to try to control every single thing I do, and I can’t take it anymore! This is too much.” I can’t help but pace back and forth across the room, and Hardin watches me with cautious eyes. “I can handle you being a little overprotective, and I can handle you getting in a fight now and then. Hell, I can even handle you being a complete asshole half the time, because deep down I always knew you were doing what you thought was best for me. But not this. You’re trying to ruin my future—and I won’t fucking have it.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. And I know that he means it, but—

“You’re always fucking sorry! It’s always the same shit: you do something, hide something, say something, I cry, you say you’re sorry, and bam! All is forgiven.” I point a harsh finger at him. “But not this time.”

I have the urge to slap Hardin right across his face, but I look around for something to take my anger out on instead. I grab a frilly pillow from the bed and throw it onto the floor. Then I throw a second one. It doesn’t do much for the anger flaming inside me, but I’d feel even worse if I destroyed anything of Karen’s.

This is so exhausting. I don’t know how much more I can take before I break.

Fuck that, I won’t break. I’m sick of breaking—that’s all I ever do. I need to pick up my own pieces, put them back together neatly, and hide them away from Hardin to keep them from ending up in a pile at his feet again.

“I’m sick of the endless cycle. I’ve told you before, and you don’t listen. You find new ways to continue the cycle, and I’m done, I’m so fucking done!”

I don’t know if I’ve ever been this angry at him. Yes, he’s done worse things, but I’ve always moved on from that. We were never in a place like this before, a place where I thought he was done hiding things from me, and I thought he understood that he can’t mess with my career. This chance means everything to me. I’ve spent my life watching what happens to a woman who has nothing of her own. My mother never had anything that she herself earned, anything that was hers, and I need that. I need to do this. I need this chance to prove that even though I’m young, I can make a life for myself that my mother never could make for herself. I can’t let anyone take this from me, the way my mother let it slip from her.

“Done . . . with me?” His voice is shaky, and it cracks. “You said you’re done . . .”

I don’t know what I’m done with. It should be him, but I know myself better than to answer that right now. Normally I would be crying by this point and forgiving him with a kiss . . . but not tonight.

“I’m so fucking exhausted, and I can’t stand it. I can’t keep doing this like this! You were going to let me move to Seattle without anywhere to live just to try to force me not to go!”

Hardin stands before me in silence, and I take a deep breath, expecting my anger to diminish, but it doesn’t. It grows and grows until I am literally seeing red. I grab the rest of the pillows, imagining that they’re actually glass vases that shatter to the floor, leaving a mess for someone else to clean up. The problem is that I would be the one doing the cleaning—he wouldn’t take the chance of cutting himself in order to spare me.

“Get out!” I scream at him.

“No, I’m sorry, okay, I—”

“Get the fuck out. Now,” I spit, and he looks at me like he has no idea who I am.

Maybe he hasn’t.

He hunches over and leaves the room—and I slam the door behind him before going back out to the balcony. I sit down on the wicker chair and stare out at the sea, trying to calm myself down.

No tears come, only memories. Memories and regrets.

chapter

twenty-seven

HARDIN

I know she’s exhausted—I can see it on her face each time I fuck up. The fight with Zed, the lie about the expulsion . . . every infraction takes a toll on her; she thinks I don’t notice, but I do.

Why did I have to put Sandra on speakerphone? If I hadn’t done that, I could have cleaned this shit up and told her about my fuckup after I fixed it. That way she couldn’t be as upset.

I wasn’t thinking about what Tessa would do when she found out, and I sure as hell wasn’t thinking about where she’d live if she didn’t change her mind about moving. I suppose I thought that being the control freak that she is, she’d postpone her trip if she didn’t have anywhere to stay.

Way to fucking go, Hardin.

I meant well—well, I didn’t at the time, but now I do. I know it’s fucked up for me to mess with her apartment in Seattle, but I’m grasping at straws here, trying to get her not to leave me. I know what will happen in Seattle, and it’s not going to end well.

True to my nature, I take a swing at the wall next to the staircase.

“Fuck!”

True to my luck, I find out it’s not drywall. It’s real fucking wood, and hurts so much worse. I cradle my fist with my other hand and have to stop myself from repeating my idiotic reaction. I’m lucky it didn’t break anything. Sure, it will bruise, but what else is new.

I’m sick of the endless cycle. I’ve told you before and you don’t listen. I stomp down the stairs and throw myself on the couch like a temperamental child. That’s what I am really, a fucking child. She knows it, I know it—hell, everyone fucking knows it. I should just print the shit on a goddamn T-shirt.

I should just go up there and try to explain myself again, but honestly, I’m a little scared. I’ve never seen her so mad before.

I need to get the hell out of here. If Tessa hadn’t forced me to ride with the entire fucking Partridge family, I could leave now and end this stupid-ass trip early. I didn’t even want to come in the first place.

I guess the boat was sort of okay . . . but the trip in general is bullshit, and now that she’s mad at me, there’s literally no point in me being here. I stare up at the ceiling, unsure what I’m supposed to do now. I can’t just sit here, and I know if I do, I’ll end up back upstairs pushing Tessa further.