After We Fell

by Anna Todd

  “I don’t know.” She sighs, looking out the window. “I need to think about it.”

  “Well . . .” I begin, and she frowns at the tone of my voice.

  “What did you do?” She narrows her eyes and pulls away from me. She can’t go far; she’s stuck sitting with me until we land.

  “We’ll talk about it later.” I glance at the man next to me. These airlines should really make these seats wider. If the armrest between Tessa and me wasn’t lifted, I’d be sitting on top of the guy.

  Her eyes go wide. “You sent him, didn’t you?” she whispers forcefully, careful not to cause a scene.

  “I didn’t send your father anywhere.” It’s true. I don’t know whether he agreed to go or not.

  “You tried, though, didn’t you?”

  “Perhaps,” I admit.

  She shakes her head in disbelief and leans back against the headrest, staring off into space.

  “You’re mad, huh?” I ask her.

  She ignores me.

  “Theresa . . .” My voice is too loud and has the effect on her that I intend it to have. Her eyes snap open, and she turns to me.

  “I’m not mad,” she whispers. “I’m just surprised, and I’m trying to figure out how I feel about it, okay?”

  “Okay.” Her reaction was much better than I had anticipated.

  “I can’t stand when you keep things from me. You do it, my mother does it . . . I’m not a child. I am capable of handling things that are thrown at me, wouldn’t you say?”

  I stop myself from uttering the first thought that comes to my mind. I’m getting better and better at this shit. “Yes,” I calmly reply, “but that doesn’t mean that I won’t try and filter out the bullshit for you.”

  Her eyes soften, and she nods once. “I understand that, but I need you to stop keeping things from me. Anything that involves you, Landon, or my father, I need to know about. I always end up finding out anyway. Why prolong the inevitable?” she asks.

  “Okay,” I agree without elaborating. “From now on I won’t keep shit from you.” What I don’t mention is that nothing from the past that I’ve kept from her counts; I’m only agreeing that from this moment on I will try not to keep her in the dark.

  A flash of emotion moves over her face, but I can’t read it. I almost think it is guilt. “Unless it’s something that I’m better off not knowing,” she softly adds.

  Okay . . .

  “What kind of things are we talking about here?” I ask her.

  “Something that you would be better off not being told also counts. For example, the fact that my gynecologist is a male,” she informs me.

  “What?” Tessa’s doctor being a male never crossed my mind. I didn’t know that dude doctors did such things.

  “See, you were better off not knowing that, weren’t you?” She isn’t even trying to hide her little smart-ass grin at my irritation and jealousy.

  “You’ll get a new doctor.”

  She slowly shakes her head at me, telling me she’ll do no such thing. I lean over and whisper into her ear, “You’re lucky the bathrooms on this thing are too small to fuck you in.” Her breathing hitches, and she immediately squeezes her thighs together. I love her reaction to my filthy mouth; it’s always instantaneous. Plus, I needed to distract her and change the subject for both of our sakes.

  “I would press you against the door and fuck you against the wall.” I move my hand farther up her closed thighs. “I would cover your mouth to muffle your screams.”

  She gulps.

  “It would feel so fucking good, your legs wrapped around my waist, your fingers tugging at my hair.”

  Her eyes are wide, pupils blown, and fuck, I wish the bathrooms weren’t so damn small. Literally, I can’t even stretch out my arms in the tiny space. Here I paid over a thousand dollars per round-trip ticket—you’d think I could at least fuck my girl in the damn bathroom during the long flight.

  “Squeezing your legs together won’t make the ache disappear,” I continue whispering into her ear. I lower her tray table so I can bring my hand to the juncture of her thighs. “Only I can.” She looks like she’s about to come from my words alone. “The rest of the flight is going to be pretty uncomfortable for you, what with soaking panties and all.” I press a kiss beneath her ear, using my tongue to tease her further, and the man next to me coughs.

  “Problem?” I ask him, not giving a fuck if he heard anything I said to her. He quickly shakes his head and returns his attention to the e-reader in his hand. I lean over, noting the first paragraph on the dimly lit page. I spot the name “Holden” and immediately chuckle. Only pretentious middle-aged men and bearded hipsters actually enjoy reading The Catcher in the Rye. What is so appealing about an overprivileged, teenage fucking stalker? Nothing.

  “Shall I continue?” I lean back over to Tessa, who is now panting.

  “No.” She lifts her tray table, clicking it closed and ending my fun.

  “Only five more hours now.” I grin at her, ignoring how hard I am from the thought of how wet she must be right now.

  “You’re an asshole,” she whispers. The smile that I love plays on her lips.

  “And you love me,” I counter, making that smile grow.

  NAVIGATING THROUGH HEATHROW wasn’t as bad as I remembered. We got our bags quickly. Tessa was quiet most of the time, and her hand in mine was the only assurance I needed that she wasn’t too upset about the rehab shit. The rental car was ready for us, and I watched in amusement as Tessa promptly walked to the wrong side of the vehicle.

  By the time we make it to Hampstead, she’s asleep. She tried to stay awake and stare out the window, taking it all in, but she couldn’t keep her eyes open. The old town looks the same as it did the last time I was here—of course it does, why wouldn’t it? It’s only been a few months. For some reason I feel like the moment that I drove past the official Hampstead welcome sign with Tessa in the passenger seat, the village would have altered somehow.

  As I pass the historic homes and tourist attractions, I finally arrive in the residential part of town. Contrary to popular belief, not everyone in Hampstead lives in a historic mansion and is rolling in wealth. All that is clear as I pull into my mum’s gravel driveway. The old house looks like it could topple over any day now, and I’m glad to see the Sold sign on the lawn. Her future husband’s house, just next door, is in much better shape than this shithole and about twice the size.

  “Tessa.” I call her out of her deep sleep. She’s probably drooled all over the damn window.

  My mum appears at the front door only seconds after the headlights hit her windows. She pushes open the screen door and rushes down the small steps like a madwoman. Tessa’s eyes open, and she focuses on my mum, who now is pulling at the passenger-door handle to get to her. What is it with everyone liking her so much?

  “Tessa! Hardin!” My mum’s voice is high and overly excited as Tessa unbuckles her seat belt and climbs out of the car. Womanly hugs and greetings are exchanged while I grab the bags from the trunk.

  “I’m so glad you two are here.” My mum smiles, wiping a tear from her eyes. This is going to be a long weekend.

  “Us, too.” Tessa answers for me and allows my mum to pull her by the hand into the small house.

  “I don’t like tea, so there won’t be any stereotypical English welcome here, but I made some coffee. I know you both love your coffee,” my mum hums.

  Tessa laughs, thanking her. My mum is keeping her distance from me, obviously trying not to set me off during the weekend of her wedding. The two women disappear into the kitchen, and I take the stairs to my old bedroom to get rid of these bags. I hear their laughter travel through the house, and I try to convince myself that nothing catastrophic will happen this weekend. Everything will be fine.

  The room is empty except for my old twin bed and a dresser. The wallpaper has been stripped off, leaving a hideous trail of glue along the walls. My mum is obviously trying to get the place ready for the
new owner, but seeing the place like this actually makes me feel a little strange.

  chapter

  one hundred and thirty-one

  TESSA

  I still can’t believe you both came,” Trish says to me. She hands me a cup of coffee—black, just the way I like it—and I smile at her thoughtfulness. She’s a beautiful woman, with bright eyes and an equally bright smile—and she’s dressed in a deep blue tracksuit.

  “I’m so glad we could make it,” I tell her. I take a glance at the clock on the oven; already 10 p.m. The long flight and time change have thrown me off.

  “Me, too. If it wasn’t for you, I know he wouldn’t be here.” She places her hand over mine. Unsure how to respond, I smile. She catches on to my discomfort and changes the subject.

  “How was the flight? Did Hardin behave?” Her laugh is gentle, and I don’t have the heart to tell her that her son was a complete tyrant throughout the security scan and half of the flight.

  “He was fine.” I take a sip of the steaming coffee just as Hardin joins us in the kitchen. The house is old and cramped, too many walls close off too much of the space. The only decorations are brown moving boxes piled in the corners, but I feel oddly comfortable and at ease in Hardin’s childhood home. I can tell by the look on his face when he leans down to walk under the archway leading to the kitchen that he doesn’t feel the same way about this house. These walls hold too many memories for him, and instantly my impression of the place begins to dim.

  “What’s with the wallpaper?” he asks.

  “I was removing it all to paint before selling, but the new owners are planning to tear the house down anyway. They want to build an entirely new home on the lot,” his mother explains. I like the idea of the house being demolished.

  “Good, it’s a shit house anyway,” he grumbles and picks up my coffee cup to take a sip. “Are you tired?” He turns to me.

  “I’m fine,” I say, meaning it. I enjoy Trish’s humor and warm company. I’m tired, but there’ll be plenty of time to sleep. It’s still fairly early.

  “I’ve been staying at Mike’s house, next door. I assumed you wouldn’t want to stay there.”

  “Obviously not,” Hardin replies. I take my coffee back from him, giving him a silent plea to be polite to his mother.

  “Anyway”—Trish ignores his rude remark—“I have plans for her tomorrow, so I hope you can occupy yourself.”

  It takes me a moment to realize she’s referring to me.

  “What sort of plans?” Hardin doesn’t seem pleased with the idea.

  “Just prewedding things. I have an appointment for us at a spa in town, and then I’d love it if she’d go with me to the last fitting of my wedding dress.”

  “Of course,” I say at the same time that Hardin asks, “How long will that take?”

  “Just the afternoon, I’m sure,” Trish assures her son. “That’s only if you want to accompany me, Tessa. You don’t have to, I just thought it would be nice for us to spend some time together while you’re here.”

  “I’d love to.” I smile at her. Hardin doesn’t argue, which is good, because he would have lost.

  “I’m glad.” She smiles, too. “My friend Susan will be joining us for lunch. She’s dying to meet you, she’s been hearing about you for so long that she doesn’t believe you exist, she—”

  Hardin begins to choke on his coffee, interrupting his mother’s excited rambling.

  “Susan Kingsley?” He eyes Trish, his shoulders tight and his voice shaky.

  “Yes . . . well, her name is no longer Kingsley, she’s remarried.” Trish stares back at him in a way that makes me feel like I’ve wandered into some sort of private conversation where I’m not wanted. Hardin stares back and forth between his mother and the wall before turning on his heel and leaving us alone in the kitchen.

  “I’m going to head next door now for bed. If you need anything, let me know.” The excitement in her voice has faded; she sounds drained. Trish leans over and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek before opening the back door and stepping outside.

  I stand alone in the kitchen for a few minutes, finishing my coffee, which is pointless, because I need to go to sleep, but I finish it anyway and rinse the cup out in the sink before heading up the staircase to find Hardin. The upstairs hall is empty; torn wallpaper hangs on one side of the narrow passageway, and I can’t help but compare Ken’s magnificent house to this one; the differences are impossible to ignore.

  “Hardin?” I call for him. All the doors are closed, and I don’t feel comfortable opening them without knowing what’s on the other side.

  “Second door,” he calls back. I follow his voice to the second door along the hallway and push it open. The handle sticks, and I have to use my foot to get the wood to budge.

  Hardin is sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, when I enter. He looks up at me, and I walk over to him.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, running my fingers through his messy hair.

  “I shouldn’t have brought you here,” he says, taking me by surprise.

  “Why?” I sit down on the bed next to him, keeping a few inches between our bodies.

  “Because”—he sighs—“. . . I just shouldn’t have.” He lies back against the mattress and throws his arm over his face, so I’m unable to read his expression.

  “Hardin . . .”

  “I’m tired, Tessa, go to sleep.” His voice is muffled by his arm, but I know that this is his way of ending the conversation.

  “Aren’t you going to change?” I press, not wanting to go to bed without his shirt.

  “No.” He rolls over onto his stomach and reaches up to shut off the light.

  chapter

  one hundred and thirty-two

  TESSA

  When my alarm sounds at nine, I have to force myself to get out of bed. I barely slept; I was tossing and turning all night. The last time I checked the time it was three in the morning and I wasn’t sure if I had gotten any sleep or if I had been awake the entire time.

  Hardin is asleep, his arms crossed over his stomach. He didn’t hold me last night, not once. The only contact we had consisted of his hands reaching for me in his sleep, just to make sure I was still there, before they went back to his stomach. His mood change doesn’t completely surprise me. I know he didn’t want to come here for the wedding, but the high level of his anxiety doesn’t make much sense to me, especially since he refuses to talk to me about it. I’d like to ask him just how he expected to deal with me moving here with him if he doesn’t even want me here for one weekend.

  I brush my hand over his forehead, pushing the mass of hair away, and move down to touch the light stubble that darkens his jawline. His eyelids flutter and I quickly pull away and stand to my feet. I don’t want to wake him, his sleep wasn’t the least bit peaceful either. I wish I knew what was haunting him. I wish he hadn’t closed down so abruptly. He revealed everything to me in the letter that he wrote me—and later destroyed—and while most of the things he referred to concerned terrible mistakes he’d made, I’ve dealt with them and moved on. Nothing he did in his past will cause any damage to our future. He needs to know this. He has to know this, or it will never work.

  The bathroom isn’t hard to find, and I wait patiently for the water to turn from brown to clear. The shower is loud and the water pressure is very strong, almost painful, but it does wonders for the tension I’ve accumulated in my back and shoulder muscles.

  I’m fully dressed in a pair of jeans and a cream tank top, but I hesitate before pulling on a floral-print lace sweater. It doesn’t have buttons, which means Hardin can’t demand that I close it; he’s lucky I’m not wearing the tank top alone. It’s spring now, and here in Central London it feels like it.

  Trish didn’t give me a specific time for our little jaunt today, so I head downstairs to make a pot of coffee. An hour later, I return upstairs to grab my e-reader so I can read for a while. Hardin has turned over onto his back, and his f
ace is set in a full frown. Without disturbing him, I quickly leave the room and find my way back to the kitchen table. A couple of hours pass, and I’m relieved when Trish comes walking through the back door. Her brown hair is pulled back, just like mine, in a low bun, and she’s dressed in—what else—a tracksuit.

  “I was hoping you’d be awake, I wanted to give you some time to sleep in after the long day you had yesterday.” She smiles. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

  I glance toward the narrow staircase one last time, hoping that Hardin will stroll down it with a smile and a kiss goodbye, but that doesn’t happen. I grab my purse and follow Trish out the back door.

  chapter

  one hundred and thirty-three

  HARDIN

  When I reach for Tessa, she isn’t in the bed. I don’t know what time it is, but the sun is too damn bright, pouring through the uncovered windows like it’s trying to force me awake. I slept like shit all night, and Tessa kept tossing and turning in her sleep. I was awake most of the night, keeping my distance from her restless body. I need to get a grip before I ruin this entire weekend for her, but I just can’t seem to shake my paranoia. Not after my mum had the nerve to invite Susan Kingsley to have lunch with her and Tessa.

  I don’t bother changing my clothes, just brush my teeth and toss some water onto my hair. Tessa has taken a shower already; her toiletry bag is tucked away neatly in the otherwise empty cabinet.