After Ever Happy (After #4) (4 page)

“Tessa’s coming with and is going to watch out for Hardin at the wedding,” she begins to explain. Then she meets Christian’s eyes. “So that while we’re all inside, she can make sure nothing else interrupts this precious day.” The venom in her tone is clear, but she remains calm.

Christian shakes his head at his fiancée. “We aren’t going to that damn wedding. Not after all this shit.”

“Why not?” Kimberly asks with dead eyes.

“Because this”—Vance gestures back and forth between the two of us—“and because both of my sons are more important than any wedding, especially this one. I don’t expect you to sit there with a smile in the same room as her.”

Kimberly looks surprised, but at least partially placated by his words. I watch and keep quiet. Christian’s referral to Hardin and Smith as his “sons” for the first time has rattled me. There are so many things I could say to this man—so many hateful words I desperately want to sling at him—but I know I shouldn’t. It won’t help anything, and my focus needs to stay on figuring out Hardin’s whereabouts and how he is handling the news.

“People will talk. Especially Sasha.” Kimberly scowls.

“I don’t give a shit about Sasha or Max, or anyone. Let them talk. We live in Seattle, not Hampstead.” He reaches for her hands, and she lets him gather them between his. “Fixing my mistakes is the only priority I have right now,” he says, his voice shaky. The cold anger I feel toward him begins to melt, but only slightly.

“You shouldn’t have let Hardin out of the car,” Kimberly says, her hands still in Christian’s.

“I couldn’t exactly stop him. You know Hardin. And then my seat belt got stuck, and I couldn’t tell where he went . . . goddammit!” he says, and Kimberly softly nods in agreement.

I finally sense it’s time for me to speak. “Where do you think he went? If he doesn’t show up at the wedding, where should I look?”

“Well, I just checked both bars I know that are open this early,” Vance says with a frown. “Just in case.” His expression softens when he looks at me. “I know now I shouldn’t have separated him from you while I told him. It was a huge mistake, and I know that you’re what he needs right now.”

Unable to think of anything remotely polite to say to Vance, I give him a simple nod and pull my phone from my pocket to try Hardin yet again. I know his phone won’t be on, but I have to try.

While I call, Kimberly and Christian look at each other silently, hand in hand, each searching the other’s eyes for some sign. When I hang up, he looks at me and says, “The wedding is starting in twenty minutes. I can drive you there now, if you want.”

Kimberly holds up a hand. “I can drive her. You take Smith and go back to the hotel.”

“But—” he begins to argue, but given the look on her face, he wisely chooses not to continue. “You’ll come back to the hotel, won’t you?” he asks, his eyes filled with fear.

“Yes.” She sighs. “I’m not going to leave the country.”

Relief replaces Christian’s panic, and he lets go of Kimberly’s hands. “Be careful and call me if you need anything. You know the address of the church, right?”

“Yes. Give me your keys.” She holds out one hand. “Smith’s fallen asleep, and I don’t want to wake him.”

I silently applaud her strong demeanor. I would be a mess if I were her. I
am
a mess now, on the inside.

LESS THAN TEN MINUTES LATER,
Kimberly drops me off in front of a small church. Most of the guests have already gone inside, leaving only a few stragglers on the outside steps. I take a seat on a bench and watch the streets for any sign of Hardin.

From where I’m sitting, I can hear the wedding march start up inside the church and picture Trish in her wedding gown, walking down the aisle to meet her groom. She’s smiling and bright and beautiful.

But the Trish in my mind doesn’t coincide with the mother who lies about the father of her only son.

The steps empty, and the last few guests go inside to watch Trish and Mike wed. Minutes tick by, and I can hear nearly every sound coming from inside the small building. A half hour later, the guests cheer as the bride and groom are pronounced husband and wife, which I take as my cue to leave. I don’t know where I’ll go, but I can’t just sit here and wait. Trish will be exiting the church soon, and the last thing I need is an awkward run-in with the new bride.

I begin walking back the way we arrived, at least I think. I don’t remember exactly, but it’s not like I have anywhere to go. I pull out my phone again and redial Hardin, but his phone is still off. My battery is less than half-full, but I don’t want to power it off, in case Hardin tries to call.

As I continue my search, aimlessly walking the neighborhood and looking inside at restaurant bars here and there, the sun begins to set in the London sky. I should have asked Kimberly to borrow one of their rentals, but I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time and she has other things to worry about right now. Hardin’s rental is still parked at Gabriel’s, but I don’t have a spare key.

The beauty and grace of Hampstead diminishes with each step I take into the other side of town. My feet are aching, and the spring air is growing colder as the sun sets. I shouldn’t have worn this dress or these stupid shoes. If I had known how today was going to turn out, I would have worn workout clothes and sneakers to make it easier to chase Hardin down. In the future, if I ever leave town with him again, that will be my standard uniform.

After some time, I can’t tell if my mind is playing tricks on me or if the street I’ve wandered onto is actually familiar. It’s lined with small houses much like Trish’s, but I had been drifting in and out of sleep when Hardin drove us into town, and I don’t trust my mind right now. I’m thankful that the streets are mostly empty and all the residents seem to be inside for the night. Otherwise, sharing the streets with the people leaving the bars would make me even more paranoid. I nearly burst into tears of relief when I see Trish’s house a little ways off. It’s grown dark, but the streetlamps are on, and as I get closer, I’m increasingly positive it’s her house. I don’t know if Hardin will be there, but I pray that if he isn’t, the door will at least be unlocked, so I can sit down and have some water. I’ve been walking aimlessly around block after block for hours. I’m lucky that I ended up on the only street in this village that could be of any use to me.

As I near Trish’s house, a tattered glowing sign in the shape of a beer distracts me. The small bar is set in between a house and an alley. A chill runs through me. It must have been hard for Trish to stay in the same house, so close to the bar her assailants came from to find Ken. Hardin told me once that she simply couldn’t afford to move. The way he shrugged it off surprised me. But, sadly, money is vicious that way.

This is where he is, I know it.

I go up to the little place, and when I pull open the iron door, I’m immediately embarrassed by my attire. I look like a complete madwoman walking into this type of bar in a dress and barefoot, my shoes in my hands. I gave up on wearing them an hour ago. I drop my heels onto the floor and slide my feet back into them, wincing at the pain of the straps rubbing against the raw patches of skin on my ankles.

The bar isn’t crowded, and it doesn’t take me long to scan the room and find Hardin, sitting at the bar with a glass raised to his mouth. My heart plummets to the floor. I knew I would find him this way, but my faith in him is taking a beating right now. I had hoped, with everything in me, that he wouldn’t resort to drinking his pain away. I take a deep breath before approaching him.

“Hardin.” I tap his shoulder.

He swivels the barstool around to face me, and my stomach turns at the sight in front of me. His eyes are bloodshot, deep, red lines mapping across them so fiercely that the white has nearly disappeared. His cheeks are flushed, and the smell of liquor is so heavy that I can taste it. My palms begin to sweat, and my mouth goes dry.

“Look who it is,” he slurs. The glass in his hand is nearly empty, and I cringe at the sight of three empty shot glasses on the bar before him. “How’d you find me, anyway?” He tilts his head back and gulps down the rest of the brown liquor before calling to the man behind the bar, “Another!”

I move my face so that it’s directly in front of Hardin’s, so he can’t look away. “Baby, are you
okay
?” I know that he isn’t, but don’t know how I should handle him until I can gauge his mood and how much alcohol he’s consumed.

“Baby,” he says mysteriously, like he’s thinking about something else as he talks. But then he snaps to and gives me a killer smile. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Have a seat. Want a drink? Have a drink—barkeep,
another
!”

The bartender looks at me, and I shake my head no. Not noticing that, Hardin pulls out the stool next to him and pats the seat. I glance around the small bar before climbing up onto the stool.

“So how’d you find me?” he asks again.

I’m confused and put on edge by his behavior. He’s clearly drunk, but that’s not what is bothering me; it’s the eerie calm behind his voice. I’ve heard it before, and it never brings with it good things.

“I’ve been walking around for hours, and I recognized your mum’s house across the street, so I knew . . . well, I knew I should look here.” I shiver at the reminder of Hardin’s stories of Ken’s spending night after night at this exact bar.

“My little detective.” Hardin softly says while raising a hand to tuck my hair behind my ear. I don’t flinch or pull away, despite the growing anxiety bubbling inside me.

“Will you come with me? I want us to go back to that hotel for the night, and then we can leave in the morning,”

Right then, the bartender brings him his drink, and Hardin gives it a serious look. “Not yet.”

“Please, Hardin.” I meet his bloodshot eyes. “I’m so tired, and I know you are, too.” I try to use my weakness against him without bringing up Christian or Ken. I lean closer to him. “My feet are killing me, and I’ve missed you. Christian tried to find you and couldn’t. I’ve been walking for a while, and I really want to go back to the hotel. Together.”

I know him well enough to be certain that if I start rambling about anything too heavy, he’ll lose it and this calmness will evaporate in seconds.

“He didn’t look that hard. I started drinking”—Hardin holds up his glass—“at the bar right across from where he left me.”

I lean into him, and he begins talking again before I can come up with anything to say. “Have a drink. My friend is here—she’ll buy you a shot.” He waves a hand at the glasses on the bar. “We ran into each other at that other fine establishment, but then since it seemed like an evening from the past, I decided to bring us here. For old times’ sake.”

My stomach drops. “Friend?”

“An old friend of the family.” He nods toward a woman emerging from the bathroom. She appears to be in her late thirties, early forties and has bleached-blond hair. I’m relieved that she isn’t a young woman, since it appears that Hardin has been drinking with her for a while now.

“I really think we should go,” I press, and reach for his hand.

He jerks away. “Judith, this is Theresa.”

“Judy,” she corrects him, at the same time that I say “Tessa.”

“Nice to meet you.” I force a smile and turn back to Hardin. “Please,” I beg again.

“Judy knew that my mum was a whore,” Hardin says, and the smell of whiskey bombards my senses again.

“I didn’t say that.” The woman laughs. She’s dressed too young for her age. Her top is low cut, and her flared jeans are too tight.

“She did say that. My mum hates Judy!” Hardin smiles.

The strange woman returns his smile. “Wonder why?”

I begin to feel as if I’m on the outside of a private joke between them. “Why?” I ask without thinking.

Hardin gives her a warning glare and waves his hand, dismissing my question. It takes everything in me not to knock him from the barstool. If I weren’t aware that he’s only trying to mask his pain, I would do just that.

“Long story, doll.” The woman waves for the bartender. “Anyway, you look like you could use some tequila.”

“No, I’m okay.” The last thing I want is a drink.

“Lighten up, baby.” Hardin leans closer to me. “You aren’t the one who just found out his entire life is a fucking lie, so lighten up and have a drink with me.”

My heart aches for him, but drinking isn’t the answer. I need to get him out of here. Now.

“Do you prefer your margaritas frozen or on the rocks? This isn’t no fancy place, so you don’t have many choices,” Judy tells me.

“I said I didn’t
want
a
fucking drink
,” I snap.

Her eyes widen, but she recovers quickly. I’m almost as surprised by my outburst as she is. I hear Hardin chuckle next to me, but I keep my eyes on this woman, who clearly enjoys her secrets.

“Okay, then. Someone needs to relax.” She digs her hands into her purse. She pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the oversize bag and lights up. “Smoke?” she asks Hardin.

I look at him, and to my surprise he nods. Judy reaches behind me to hand him the lit cigarette from her mouth. Who the hell is this woman?

The disgusting stick is placed between Hardin’s lips, and he takes a puff. Tendrils of smoke swirl between us, and I cover my mouth and nose.

I glare at him. “Since when do you smoke?”

“I’ve always smoked. Just not since I started at WCU.” He takes another drag. The glowing red fire at the end of the cigarette taunts me, and I reach over and snatch it from Hardin’s mouth and drop it into his half-full glass.

“What the fuck?”
he half yells and stares down at his ruined drink.

“We are leaving. Now.” I step down from the barstool, grabbing hold of Hardin’s sleeve and pulling at him.

“No. We aren’t.” He twists away from my grip and attempts to get the bartender’s attention.

“He doesn’t want to leave,” Judy chimes in.

My anger is boiling, and this woman is just pissing me off. I stare deep into her mocking eyes, which I can barely find through the anthill of mascara she’s caked on. “I don’t remember
asking
you. Mind your own business, and find a new drinking partner, because we are
leaving
!” I shout.