Our matched breathing is the only sound on the line for seconds or minutes, I can’t keep track.
“That was . . .” she begins, panting and out of breath.
I open my eyes and rest my elbows on the desk in front of me. My chest moves up and down as I try to catch my own breath. “Yeah.”
“I need a moment.” She giggles. A slow smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, and then she adds, “And here I thought we had done close to everything.”
“Oh, there are plenty of other things I want to do to you. However, alas, we have to be in the same city to do them.”
“Come here, then,” she says quickly.
I put the phone on speaker and examine my hand, front and back. “You said you didn’t want me there. We need space, remember?”
“I know,” she says a little sadly. “We do need space . . . and this seems to be working for us. Don’t you think?”
“No,” I lie. But I know she’s right: I’ve been trying to be better for her, and I’m afraid that if she’s quick to forgive me again, I’ll slip and lose the motivation. If we . . . when we find our way back to each other, I want it to be different, for her. I want it to be permanent so I can show her that the pattern—the “endless cycle,” as she calls it—will end.
“I do miss you, so much,” she says. I know she loves me, but each time I’m given a sliver of reassurance, it’s like a weight’s been lifted from my chest.
“I miss you, too.” More than anything.
“Don’t say ‘too.’ It sounds like you’re just agreeing with me,” she says sarcastically, and my small smile grows, overtaking my entire being.
“You can’t use my ideas; way to be original,” I playfully scold her and she laughs.
“Can, too,” she childishly fires back. If she were here, I’d be greeted with her tongue sticking out at me in mock defiance.
“God, you’re feisty tonight.” I roll off the bed; I need a shower.
“That I am.”
“And incredibly daring. Who knew I could convince you to get yourself off over the phone?” I chuckle and walk into the hallway.
“Hardin!” she squeals in horror, like I knew she would. “And by the way, you should know by now that you can get me to do just about anything.”
“If only that were true . . .” I murmur. If it was, she would be here now.
In the hallway, the floor is cold on my bare feet, and I wince. But when I hear a voice start to speak, I drop my phone to the ground.
“Sorry, man,” Richard says close to me. “It was getting a little warm in here earlier, so I—”
He stops when he sees me scramble to pick up my phone, but it’s too late.
“Who was that?” I hear Tessa exclaim through the speaker on my phone. The drowsy, relaxed girl she’d been so recently is gone, and she’s on high alert. “Hardin, who was that?” she asks more forcefully.
Fuck. I mouth a quick “way to fucking go” to her father and grab the phone, removing it from speaker and hurrying to the bathroom. “It’s—” I begin.
“Was that my father?”
I want to lie to her, but that would be fucking stupid, and I’m trying not to be so damn stupid anymore. “Yeah, it was,” I say, and wait for her to scream into the receiver.
“Why is he there?” she questions.
“I . . . well . . .”
“Are you letting him stay with you?” She releases me from the panic of having to find the right words to say in order to explain this fucked-up situation.
“Something like that.”
“I’m confused.”
“So am I,” I admit.
“For how long? And why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m sorry . . . it’s only been like two days.”
The next thing I hear is the sound of water running in a tub, so she must be feeling okay to start that up. But still she asks, “Why did he come there in the first place?”
I can’t bring myself to tell her the whole truth, not right now. “He doesn’t have anywhere else to go, I guess.” I start the shower myself as she sighs.
“Okay . . .”
“Are you mad?” I ask.
“No, I’m not mad. I’m confused . . .” she says, her voice full of wonder. “I can’t believe you’re actually allowing him to stay at your apartment.”
“Neither can I.”
The small bathroom fills with a thick cloud of steam, and I wipe the mirror with my palm. I look like a fucking ghost, a shell, really. Under my eyes, dark rings have already appeared from my lack of sleep. The only thing that gives me life is Tess’s voice coming through the line.
“It means a lot to me, Hardin,” she finally says.
“It does?” This is going much, much better than I expected.
“Yes, of course it does.”
I feel giddy all of the sudden, like a puppy that’s been rewarded with a treat from its owner . . . and surprisingly, I’m perfectly fucking okay with that.
“Good.” I don’t know what else to say to her. I feel slightly guilty for not telling her about her father’s . . . habits, but this isn’t the time, and over the phone isn’t the way.
“Wait . . . so my father was there when you were . . . you know?” she whispers, and a small roar sounds on the other line. She must have turned on the fan in the bathroom to drown out her voice.
“Well, he wasn’t in the room; I’m not into that type of thing,” I tease, to lighten the mood, and she responds with a giggle.