Is that a compliment from her? A backhanded one . . . but, hell, I’ll take it, especially considering the circumstances. “Well . . .” I begin.

She holds her hand up to silence me. “I wasn’t finished. I don’t blame you for everything that’s wrong in the world.” She gestures to the sleeping, or half-conscious, girl lying on the small bed. “Just her world.”

“I won’t argue with that.” I sigh in defeat. I know she’s right; there’s no denying that I’ve ruined nearly everything in Tessa’s life.

He’s been my hero, my tormentor at times, but mostly my hero, she had said in her journal. A hero? I’m far from a fucking hero. I would give anything to be one for her, but I just don’t know how to go about it.

“Well, at least we can agree on something.” Her full lips turn up in a half smile, but she blinks it away and looks down at her feet. “Well, if that was all you needed, you can go.”

“Okay . . .” I take one last look at Tessa and then turn back to her mum, who is staring at me again.

“What are your plans in regard to my daughter?” she asks with some authority, but also maybe a little fear. “I have to know what your long-term intentions are, because every time I turn around, something else is happening with her, and not something good. What do you plan to do with her in Seattle?”

“I’m not going to Seattle with her.” The words are thick and heavy on my tongue.

“What?” She begins to walk down the hallway, and I follow her.

“I’m not going. She’s going without me.”

“As happy as that makes me, may I ask why?” A perfectly arched brow rises, and I look away.

“I’m just not, that’s why. It’s better for her that I don’t go, anyway.”

“You sound just like my ex-husband.” She swallows. “Sometimes I blame myself for Tessa attaching herself to you. I worry that it’s because of the way her father was, before he left us.” Her manicured hand lifts up to smooth her hair, and she tries to appear unaffected by her mention of Richard.

“He has nothing to do with her relationship with me; she barely knows him. The few days they’ve spent together lately shows just that: she doesn’t remember enough about him to affect her choice in men.”

“Lately?” Carol’s eyes widen in surprise, and I watch in horror as the color drains from her face. And any small understanding we had been creating seems to disappear along with it.

Shit. Fuck. Fucking shit. “She . . . um, we ran into him a little over a week ago.”

“Richard? He found her?” Her voice breaks, and she places her hand on her neck.

“No, she ran into him.”

Her fingers start running nervously over the pearls around her neck. “Where?”

“I don’t think I should be telling you any of this.”

“Excuse me?” Her arms drop, and she stands there gaping in shock.

“If Tessa wanted you to know that she’d seen her dad, she would have told you herself.”

“This is more important than your dislike for me, Hardin. Has she been seeing him often?” Her gray eyes are now glazed over, threatening to spill tears at any moment, but knowing this woman, she would never in a million years shed a tear in front of anyone, especially me.

I sigh, not wanting to betray Tessa, but reluctant to cause any more shit with her mum. “He stayed with us for a few days.”

“She wasn’t going to tell me, was she?” Her voice is thin and hoarse while she picks at her red fingernails.

“Probably not. You aren’t the easiest person to talk to,” I remind her. I wonder if this is a good time to bring up my suspicion about him breaking into the apartment.

“And you are?” She raises her voice, and I step closer. “At least I care about her well-being; that’s more than I can say for you!”

I knew the civil conversation between us wouldn’t last long. “I care about her more than anyone, even you!” I fire back.

“I am her mother; no one loves her more than I do. The fact that you think you possibly could just shows how demented you really are!” Her shoes click against the floor as she paces back and forth.

“You know what I think? I think that you hate me because I remind you of him. You hate the constant reminder of what you ruined, so you hate me so you don’t have to hate yourself . . . but do you want to know something?” I wait for her sarcastic nod before continuing: “You and I are a lot alike, too. More alike than Richard and I, really: we both refuse to take any responsibility for our mistakes. Instead we blame everyone else. We isolate the ones we love and force them—”

“No! You’re wrong!” she cries out.

Her tears and histrionics somehow keep me from finishing that thought: that she will spend the rest of her days alone. “No, I’m not wrong. But what I am is leaving. Tessa’s car is still around school somewhere, so I’ll bring it back tomorrow unless you want to make the drive yourself.”

Carol wipes at her eyes. “Fine, bring the car. At five tomorrow.” She looks up at me through bloodshot eyes and smeared mascara. “That doesn’t change anything. I’ll never like you.”

“And I’ll never care if you do.” I walk toward the front door, momentarily debating whether I should go back down the hallway, get Tessa, and bring her with me.

“Hardin, despite the way I feel toward you, I do know that you love my daughter. I just want to remind you again that if you love her—truly love her—you will stop interfering in her life. She’s not the same girl that I dropped off at that devil school half a year ago.”

“I know.” As much as I hate this woman, I feel pity for her, because, like me, she’ll probably be alone for the rest of her miserable life. “Can you do me a favor?” I ask.

She eyes me suspiciously. “What would that be?”

“Don’t tell her that I was here. If she doesn’t remember, don’t tell her.” Tessa is so out of it she probably won’t remember a thing. I don’t think she even knows that I’m here now.

Carol looks at me, looks through me, and nods. “That I can do.”

chapter

sixty-four

TESSA

My head is heavy, so heavy, and the light shining through the yellow curtains is bright, too bright.

Yellow curtains? I reopen my eyes to find the familiar yellow curtains of my old bedroom covering the windows. Those curtains always drove us both crazy, but my mother couldn’t afford to buy a matching set, so we learned to live with them. And the last twelve hours come flooding back in pieces, broken and jumbled memories that make little sense to me.

Nothing makes sense. It takes seconds, minutes maybe, for my mind to even attempt to comprehend what happened.

Steph’s betrayal is my strongest memory from the night, one of the most painful memories I have ever had to experience. How could she do that to me? To anyone? The whole situation is just so wrong, so twisted, and I never saw it coming. I remember the strong sense of relief I felt when she walked into the room, only to slip back into a panic when she admitted she had never been a friend to me after all. Her voice was so clear, despite the state I was in. She put something in my drink to slow me down, or worse, to make me pass out—all so she could get some sort of unwarranted revenge on me and Hardin. I was so afraid last night, and she went from being my safety to being a predator so quickly that I could barely comprehend the shift.

I was drugged, at a party by someone who I thought was my friend. The reality of this hits me hard, and I swipe angrily at the tears soaking my cheeks.

Humiliation replaces the sting of betrayal when I remember Dan and his camera. They took off my dress . . . the small red camera light in the dim room is something I don’t think I’ll ever forget. They wanted to violate me, tape it, and show it to an audience. I hold my stomach, hoping to not get sick, again.