After We Fell - Chapter 229

“Hardin!” my mum yells.

“Don’t you fucking yell at me!” I nearly scream. I hear the rush of footsteps above me, a signal that our voices have woken Tessa up, and I know she’s on her way to find me.

“Don’t talk to your mother like that.” Vance’s voice isn’t loud, but the threat in his tone is clear.

“You don’t get to tell me what the fuck to do! You’re no one—who the fuck are you?” My nails dig into my palms, and my anger grows, gathering into a large mass, ready to explode.

“I’m—” he begins, but my mum’s hand wraps around his shoulder and pulls him back.

“Christian, don’t,” she begs him.

“Hardin?” Tessa’s voice calls from the stairs, and she enters the kitchen only seconds later. She looks around the room, at the unexpected guest first, then her eyes settle on me as she comes to stand next to me. “Is everything okay?” she nearly whispers, wrapping her small hand around my arm.

“Everything is just fine! Perfect, really!” I pull my arm out of her grip and wave it in front of me. “Although you may want to warn your friend Kimberly that her beloved fiancé has been shagging my mum.”

Tessa’s eyes nearly fall out onto the floor at my words, but she remains silent. I wish she’d stayed upstairs, but I know if I were her, I wouldn’t have either.

“Where is your lovely Kimberly? Staying at a nearby hotel with your son?” I ask Vance, sarcasm screaming through my words. I don’t like Kimberly, she’s fucking nosy and obnoxious, but she loves Vance, and I was under the strong impression that he was just as much in love with her. Clearly, I was wrong. He doesn’t give a fuck about her or their upcoming wedding. If he did, this wouldn’t be happening.

“Hardin, everyone just needs to calm down.” My mum tries to defuse the situation. Her hand has dropped from Vance’s shoulder.

“Calm down?” I scoff. She’s unbelievable. “You’re getting married tomorrow, and I find you here, in the middle of the night, laid out on the kitchen counter like a whore.”

The moment the words hit the air, he’s on me. Vance’s body collides with mine, and my head smacks against the tile floor of the kitchen as he tackles me to the ground.

“Christian!” I hear my mum scream. He uses the weight of his body to hold me there, but I manage to get my hands out from under his grip. The moment that his fist connects with my nose, my adrenaline courses through me, taking me over, and all I see is red.

Chapter one hundred and thirty-seven

TESSA

Am I dreaming? Please let this be a nightmare . . . what’s happening surely can’t be real.

Christian is on top of Hardin. When his fist connects with Hardin’s nose, it makes the most awful sound. The sound burns my ears, and my heart plummets. Hardin’s fist reaches up between them, delivering a blow of equal force to Christian’s jaw, causing Christian’s hold on him to slip.

Within seconds, Hardin rolls from under him and shoves his shoulders, pushing him back to the floor. I can’t keep track of how many punches they exchange, and I can’t tell who has the upper hand.

“Stop them!” I scream to Trish. Every part of me wants to step between them, knowing that if Hardin sees me he’ll immediately stop, but the slight fear is there that he may be too angry, too out of control, and accidently do something that would later drive him mad with guilt.

“Hardin!” Trish grabs Hardin’s bare shoulder in an attempt to pull him from the violence, but she goes unnoticed by the both of them.

Adding to the chaos, the back door is yanked open, revealing a panicked Mike. Oh God. “Trish? What is—” He blinks his eyes under his thick glasses as he registers what’s happening.

Less than a second later, he joins the rumble, stepping behind Hardin and grabbing him by both of his arms. Large man that he is, Mike lifts him effortlessly and pushes him toward the wall. Christian scrambles to his feet, and Trish pushes him against the opposite wall. Hardin is shaking, fuming, breathing so heavily that I’m afraid he’ll somehow damage his lungs. I rush to him, unsure what to do but needing to be close to him.

“What the hell is going on?” Mike’s voice commands attention, demands it.

Everything is happening so quickly: the terror in Trish’s brown eyes, the angry bruises covering Christian’s face, the deep red trail of blood running from Hardin’s nose to his mouth . . . it’s all too much.

“Ask them!” Hardin shouts, tiny drops of red splattering onto his chest. He gestures to a frightened Trish and an angry Christian.

“Hardin,” I gently say. “Let’s go upstairs,” I reach for his hand, trying to keep my own emotions at bay. I’m trembling and I feel the hot tears on my cheeks, but this isn’t about me.

“No!” He jerks away from me. “Tell him! Tell him what you were fucking doing!” Hardin tries to lunge toward Christian again, but Mike quickly steps between them. I close my eyes for a moment, praying that Hardin won’t assault him, too.

I’m in my old dorm room again, Hardin and Noah on either side of me, as Hardin forces me to confess my infidelity to the boy who I spent half of my life with. The look on Noah’s face wasn’t nearly as heartbreaking as the one I’m looking at right now. Mike’s expression is a mixture of realization, confusion, and pain.

“Hardin, please don’t do this,” I beg.

“Hardin,” I repeat, pleading with him not to embarrass this man. Trish needs to tell him in her own way, not in front of an audience. This isn’t right.