“So, Tessa, how are you liking Washington Central so far?” Ken asks.
I chew my food quickly so I can answer. “I really enjoy it. It’s only my first semester, though, so ask me again in a few months,” I joke and everyone laughs, except Hardin.
“Well, that’s great. Are you in any clubs on campus?” Karen asks and wipes her mouth with her napkin.
“Not yet, I plan on joining the Literary Club next semester.”
“Really? Hardin used to be a member,” Ken adds and I look at Hardin. His eyes are narrowed and he looks annoyed.
“So how do you like living near WCU?” I ask to divert attention from Hardin. His eyes soften and I imagine that’s his way of thanking me.
“We enjoy it. When Ken first became chancellor, we lived in a much smaller place until we found this house and we fell in love with it immediately.”
My fork drops against the glass plate. “Chancellor? Of WCU?” I gasp.
“Yes. Hardin never mentioned it?” Ken asks, looking over at his son.
“No . . . I didn’t.”
Karen and Landon follow Ken’s eyes to Hardin and he shifts nervously.
For his part, Hardin looks back at his father with a glaring hatred. He launches to his feet, shouting, “No! Okay, no, I didn’t tell her—I don’t know why it fucking matters. I don’t need to use your name or position!” As he storms away from the table, Karen looks like she might cry, and Ken’s face is red.
“I am so sorry, I didn’t know he . . .” I start.
“No, don’t apologize for his poor behavior,” Ken tells me.
I hear the back door slam. “Excuse me,” I say, and stand up from the table to go find Hardin.
chapter forty-seven
I rush out the back door and see Hardin pacing back and forth on the deck. I’m not sure what I can do to help the situation, but I know I would rather be out here with Hardin than face his family in the dining room after that outburst. I feel responsible for this whole thing anyway, since I agreed to come here when Hardin didn’t want to. If he started suddenly hanging out with my mother, I know I would feel weird about it.
Ha, like she would ever let that happen, my subconscious points out.
As if he heard my thoughts, Hardin shoots me an annoyed look. When I approach him he turns away from me.
“Hardin . . .”
“No, Tessa, don’t,” he says sharply. “I know you’re going to say that I need to go back in there and apologize to them. But there is no way in hell that is happening, so don’t waste your breath! Why don’t you just go back in there and enjoy your dinner and leave me the hell alone.”
I take a step closer, but all I can manage to say is “I don’t want to go back in there.”
“Why not? You fit in perfectly with their prudish and boring personalities.”
Ouch! Why am I here again? Oh, yeah, that’s right: to be Hardin’s punching bag.
“You know what? Fine! I will leave—I don’t know why I just can’t stop trying with you!” I shout, but hope they can’t hear me inside.
“Because you just can’t take a hint, I guess.” As the words leave his mouth, I feel the lump growing in my throat.
“The hint is well-taken.” I stare at the stone patio and try to swallow the sting from his words, but it’s impossible. When I look up at Hardin, his cold eyes meet mine.
“That’s it? That’s your defense?” He laughs and rakes his hands through his hair.
“You don’t deserve any more of my time. You don’t deserve for me to even speak to you, or those nice people in there to spend their time setting up this dinner to have you ruin it! That’s what you do: ruin things, everything! And I am done being one of those things.” My tears soak my face as Hardin steps toward me. I back away, my feet tripping on something. Hardin reaches out to steady me, but I grab hold of a patio chair instead. I don’t want or need his help.
Looking up, I see that his expression is one of exhaustion. His voice is, too, when he says softly, “You’re right.”
“I know I am.” I turn away from him.
Faster than I could have imagined, he snakes his fingers around my wrist and pulls me to his chest. I lean into him without hesitation, wanting to touch him so badly. But I