I need to get out and see Seattle tomorrow after work. I need to be reminded of what I loved so much about this city, because right now, in this strange bedroom, hours away from everything I’ve ever known, it just feels so . . . lonely.
Chapter seventy-two
HARDIN
I watch Logan down the entire pint of beer, foamy head and all. Put the glass on the table and wipe his mouth. “Steph’s a psycho. No one knew she was going to do that to Tessa,” he says. And then burps.
“Dan knew. And if I find out that anyone else did . . .” I warn him.
He looks at me solemnly and nods. “No one else knew. Well . . . not that I know of. But you know no one tells me shit anyway.” A tall brunette appears at his side, and he slides his arm around her. “Nate and Chelsea will be here soon,” he says to her.
“A couples night,” I groan. “Time for me to go.” I move to stand, but Logan stops me.
“It’s not a couples night. Tristan is single now, and Nate isn’t dating Chelsea: they’re just fucking.”
I don’t know why I came here anyway, but Landon would barely speak to me, and Karen looked so sad at dinner I just couldn’t sit there at the table any longer.
“Let me guess: Zed will be here, too?”
Logan shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I think he was even more pissed than you about the shit that went down, because he hasn’t spoken to any of us since then.”
“No one is more pissed than me,” I say through my teeth. Hanging out with my old friends isn’t helping me “better myself.” It’s only making me annoyed. How dare anyone say that Zed cares more about Tessa than I do.
Logan waves his hand in the air. “I didn’t mean it like that . . . my bad. Have a beer and chill out.” He looks around for the bartender.
I look over and see that Nate, she-who-must-be-Chelsea, and Tristan are walking across the floor of the small bar toward us.
“I don’t want a fucking beer,” I say quietly, trying to control my attitude. Logan is only trying to help, but he’s annoying me. Everyone is annoying me. Everything is annoying me.
Tristan smacks me on the shoulder. “Long time no see,” he tries to joke, but it’s only awkward, and neither of us even cracks a smile. “I’m sorry about the shit that Steph did—I had no idea what she was up to, honest,” he finally says, making it even more awkward.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say forcefully, closing the conversation.
While the small group of my friends drinks and talks about shit that I give absolutely no fuck about, I find myself thinking about Tessa. What is she doing right now? Does she like Seattle? Does she feel as uncomfortable at Vance’s house as I suspect she does? Are Christian and Kimberly being nice to her?
Of course they are; Kimberly and Christian are always nice. So really, I’m just avoiding the big question: Does Tessa miss me the way I miss her?
“Are you going to have one?” Nate interrupts my thoughts and waves a shot glass in front of my face.
“No, I’m good.” I gesture to my soda on the table, and he shrugs before tipping his head back to take the shot.
This is the last thing I want to be doing right now. This adolescent, drinking-until-they-throw-up-or-black-out shit may be good enough for them, but it’s not for me. They haven’t had the luxury of having someone’s voice nagging in the back of their mind, telling them to be better, to do more with their lives. They haven’t had anyone love them enough to make them want to be better.
I want to be good for you, Tess, I once told her. What a great job I’ve done so far.
“I’m going,” I announce, but no one even notices as I stand from my seat and leave. I’ve made up my mind that I will no longer waste my time hanging out at bars with people who really don’t give a shit about me. I have nothing against most of them, but in all actuality none of them really know me or care enough to. They only liked the drunk, rowdy, fucking-random-girls me. I was only another prop at one of their massive parties. They don’t know shit about me—they didn’t even know that my father is the fucking chancellor at our college. I’m sure they don’t know what a chancellor does either.
No one knows me the way she does, no one has ever even cared to get to know me the way Tessa does. She always asks the most intrusive and random questions: “What are you thinking?” “Why do you like that show?” “What do you think that man across the room is thinking right now?” “What is your first memory?”
I always acted as if her need to know everything was obnoxious, but really it made me feel . . . special . . . or like someone cared about me enough to want to know the answers to these ridiculous questions. I don’t know why my mind won’t connect with itself; one half is telling me to get over myself and take my pathetic ass to Seattle, knock down Vance’s door, and promise to never let her leave again. It’s not that easy, though. There’s a bigger, stronger, other part of me, the half that always wins, telling me how fucked up I am. I’m so fucked up, and all I do is ruin every fucking thing in my life and everyone else’s, so I would be doing Tessa a favor by leaving her alone. That’s the only side I can believe, especially without her here to tell me that I’m wrong. Especially since it’s always proven to be true in the past.
Landon’s plan for me to become a better person sounds good on paper, but then what? I’m supposed to believe that I can actually stay that way forever? I’m supposed to believe that I’ll be good enough for her just because I decide not to down a bottle of vodka when I got mad?