After We Collided

by Anna Todd

  Most of the drive is spent in silence, the music saying all of the things I wish we could say to each other. When we near the Macy’s entrance, Hardin says, “I’ll drop you off by the door,” and I nod. I stand under the vent to warm up while he parks and hurries through the cold to me.

  After nearly an hour of looking at baking dishes of all shapes and sizes, I decide to get Karen a set of cake pans. I know she probably has more than enough, but cooking and gardening seem to be her only hobbies, and I don’t have time to think of anything better.

  “Can we take this to the car and then finish shopping?” I ask Hardin and struggle to keep the large box in my hands.

  “Here, I’ll take it. Stay here,” he says and takes the box from me.

  As soon as he walks away, I walk over to the men’s section, where hundreds of ties in large cases mockingly remind me of Landon’s claim about them as an easy gift. I keep browsing, but I’ve never bought a “dad gift” before, so I have no idea what to get.

  “It’s so fucking cold out,” Hardin says when he returns, shivering and rubbing his hands together.

  “Well, maybe wearing a T-shirt in the snow isn’t a good idea.”

  He rolls his eyes. “I’m hungry, are you?”

  We make our way to the food court, where Hardin finds me a seat while he gets us some pizza from the only decent chain there. Minutes later, he joins me at the table with two plates piled full. I grab a slice and a napkin and take a small bite.

  “How elegant of you,” he teases when I wipe my mouth after I chew.

  “Shut up,” I say and take another.

  “This is . . . nice. Isn’t it?” he asks.

  “What? The pizza?” I innocently ask back, even though I know he isn’t talking about the food.

  “Us. Hanging out. It’s been a long time.”

  It does seem like so long . . . “It hasn’t even been two weeks,” I remind him.

  “That’s a long time . . . for us.”

  “Yeah . . .” I take a bigger bite so I can keep silent a little longer.

  “How long have you been thinking about moving forward?” he asks.

  I slowly finish chewing and take a long drink of my water. “A few days, I guess.” I want to keep this conversation as light as I can in order to avoid causing a scene, but I do add, “There’s still so much to talk about.”

  “I know there is, but I’m so . . .” His green eyes go wide as he focuses on something behind me. When I turn around, my stomach drops at the sight of red hair. Steph. And next to her, her boyfriend, Tristan.

  “I want to go,” I tell him and stand up, leaving the tray of food on the table.

  “Tessa, you haven’t gotten any other gifts. Besides, I don’t think they even saw us.”

  When I turn back around, Steph’s eyes meets mine, and the surprise on her face is evident. I can’t tell if she’s more surprised to see me, or that I’m with Hardin. Probably both.

  “Yeah, she did.”

  The pair walk over to us, and I feel like my feet are bolted to the floor.

  “Hey,” Tristan says uncomfortably when they reach us.

  “Hey,” Hardin says and rubs the back of his neck.

  I don’t say anything. I look at Steph, then grab my purse from the table and begin to walk away.

  “Tessa, wait!” she calls after me. The thick heels of her shoes smack against the hard tile as she hurries to catch up with me. “Can we talk?”

  “Talk about what, Steph?” I snap. “How my first and basically only friend here let me be humiliated in front of everyone?”

  Hardin and Tristan look at each other, obviously unsure whether to intervene.

  Steph throws out her hands. “I’m sorry, okay! I know I should have told you—I thought he would tell you!”

  “So that’s supposed to make it okay, then?”

  “No, I know it won’t, but I’m really sorry, Tessa. I know I should have told you.”

  “But you didn’t.” I cross my arms.

  “I miss you, I miss hanging out with you,” she says.

  “I’m sure you do miss having me as the focus of all of your jokes.”

  “It wasn’t like that, Tessa. You are . . . were my friend. I know I fucked up, but I really am sorry.”

  Her apology catches me off guard. But I recover and say, “Well, I can’t forgive you.”

  She frowns. And then her expression turns angry. “But you can forgive him? He’s the one who started it all—and you forgave him. How fucked up is that?”

  I want to snap at her, cuss her out even, but I know she’s right. “I haven’t forgiven him, I’m just . . . I don’t know what I’m doing,” I whine and put my hands over my face.

  Steph sighs. “Tessa, I don’t expect you to just let it go like that, but at least give me a chance. We could hang out, just the four of us. The group is all fucked up, anyway.”

  I look up at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Jace has been an even bigger dick since Hardin beat the shit out of him. So Tristan and I have been keeping our distance from everyone.”

  I look over to where Hardin and Tristan are watching us and then look back at Steph. “Hardin beat up Jace?”

  “Yeah . . . last Saturday.” She scrunches her brows. “He didn’t say anything?”

  “No . . .” I want to hear as much as I can before Hardin walks over and stops her from spilling, but she’s eager to be on my good side, so she starts without my even having to ask.

  “Yeah, well, it’s because Molly told Hardin that Jace planned the whole . . . you know,” she adds quietly, “telling you in front of everyone . . .” But then she laughs a little. “Honestly, he had it coming, and the look on Molly’s face when Hardin basically pushed her off of him was priceless. I mean, seriously, I should have taken a picture!”

  I’m pondering the fact that Hardin turned down Molly and beat up Jace that Saturday before he came to Seattle, when I hear Tristan say, “Ladies,” almost as if in warning that Hardin’s near.

  Hardin joins me and takes my hand, and as Tristan starts to pull Steph away, she stays facing me for a moment and says with wide eyes, “Tessa, just think about it, okay? I miss you.”

  chapter thirty-two

  TESSA

  You okay?” Hardin asks when they disappear.

  “Yeah . . . I’m fine,” I tell him.

  “What did she say?”

  “Nothing . . . just that she wants me to forgive her.” I shrug, and we head off down the main throughway. I need to process everything that Steph just told me before I bring it up to Hardin. He must have been at one of their parties before he came to Seattle, and Molly must have been there. I can’t deny it’s a massive relief to hear Steph’s take on things. It’s almost funny that he had told me he slept with Molly that same night he was actually rejecting her. Almost. The relief and irony are quickly overshadowed by my guilt over kissing that stranger at the club while Hardin was pushing away Molly.

  “Tess?” Hardin stops walking and waves his hand in front of my face. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. I was just thinking about what to get your dad.” I’m a bad liar, and my voice gets more rushed than I’d like. “Does he like sports? He does, right? You two were watching that football game, remember?”

  Hardin eyes me for a moment, then says, “The Packers, he likes the Packers.” I am positive that he wants to ask more about Steph, but he stays quiet.

  We go to a sporting goods store, and I stay fairly quiet as well and Hardin chooses a few things for his father. He refuses to let me pay, so I grab a key chain off the display case near the register and pay for it myself just to annoy him. He rolls his eyes and I stick my tongue out at him.

  “You do know that you grabbed the wrong team, right?” he says when we exit the store.

  “What?” I reach in and grab the small object.

  “That’s the Giants, not the Packers.” He smirks, and I shove the key chain back into the bag.

&nbs
p; “Well . . . good thing no one will know the good gifts are actually from you.”

  “Are we done yet?” he whines.

  “No, I have to get something for Landon, remember?”

  “Oh yeah. He mentioned that he wanted to try a new shade of lipstick. Maybe coral?”

  I put my hands on my hips and face him. “You leave him alone! And maybe I should be getting you the lipstick, since you seem to know the exact shade,” I tease. It feels good to be bickering with Hardin in a playful way instead of a let’s-burn-the-house-down way.

  He rolls his eyes, but I see a small smile appear before he speaks. “You should just get him hockey tickets. Easy and not too expensive.”

  “That’s actually a good idea.”

  “I know,” he says. “Too bad he doesn’t have any friends to go with him.”

  “Um, I would go with him.”

  The way Hardin is teasing about Landon makes me smile because it is so different than before, there is no malice behind his tone now.

  “I wanted to get your mom something, too,” I tell him.

  He gives me a funny, little, harmless look. “Why?”

  “Because it’s Christmas.”

  “Just get her a sweater or something,” he says and gestures at a store meant more for old ladies.

  Eyeing it, I say, “I’m terrible at buying gifts for people. What did you get her?”

  The present he got me for my birthday was so perfect that I imagine the gift he chose for his mother must be equally thoughtful.

  He shrugs. “A bracelet and a scarf.”

  “A bracelet?” I ask and pull him farther down the mall.

  “No, I meant a necklace anyway. It’s just a plain necklace that says Mom or some shit.”

  “How nice of you,” I say as we walk back into Macy’s. I look around, feeling confident. “I think I can find her something here . . . she likes those tracksuits.”

  “Oh God, please, no more tracksuits. She wears them every day.”

  I smile at his sour expression. “So . . . all the more reason to buy her another one.”

  As we look at several racks with various options, Hardin reaches out and feels the sheer fabric on one. I get a good look at his knuckles, and the scabs on them, bringing me back to the information Steph revealed.

  I pretty quickly find a mint-green tracksuit that I’m sensing she’ll like, and we wander off to find the register. En route, a sort of resolve takes over my frantic thoughts about Hardin, partly because I now know he wasn’t actually sleeping with Molly while I was in Seattle.

  As we get to the register and place the outfit on the counter, I suddenly turn to Hardin and say, “We need to talk tonight.”

  The cashier looks back and forth between Hardin and me, confusion evident in her eyes. I want to tell her it’s rude to stare, but Hardin speaks before I get the courage.

  “Talk?”

  “Yeah . . .” I say and watch the cashier remove the security tag. “After we put that tree up that your mom got when you two went out yesterday.”

  “Talk about what, though?”

  I turn to look at him. “Everything,” I say.

  Hardin looks terrified and the implications of that word hang heavy in the air. When the cashier scans the tracksuit’s tag, a beep breaks the silence, and Hardin mumbles, “Oh . . . I’ll go get the car.”

  As I watch the woman bag Trish’s gift, I think, Next year I’ll make sure to get everyone amazing gifts to make up for my terrible gifts this year. But then I think, Next year? Who says there’ll be a next year with him?

  BOTH OF US STAY SILENT during the ride back to the apartment, me because I’m trying to organize my thoughts about everything I should say, and him . . . well, I get the feeling he’s doing the same. When we arrive, I grab the bags and rush through the freezing rain and into the lobby. I’d take the snow over this any day.

  When we step into the elevator, my stomach grumbles. “I’m hungry,” I tell Hardin when he looks down at me.

  “Oh.” He looks like he wants to say something sarcastic but decides against it.

  The sensation is only heightened when we get inside the apartment and the smell of garlic takes over my senses, instantly making my mouth water.

  “I made dinner!” Trish announces. “How was the mall?”

  Hardin grabs the bags from my hands and disappears into the bedroom.

  “It wasn’t too bad. Not nearly as crowded as I’d thought it would be,” I explain.

  “That’s good, I thought maybe you and I could put that tree up? Hardin probably won’t want to help.” She smiles. “He hates fun. But the two of us could do it, if you don’t mind?”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, of course.”

  “You should eat first,” Hardin commands as he strides back into the kitchen.

  I scowl at him and turn my attention back to Trish. Since my dreaded talk with Hardin is on the other end of my assembling the small tree with his mother, I’m in no particular rush. Besides, I need at least an hour to muster up enough strength to be able to say everything that I want to say. It’s probably not the best idea to have such an important talk with his mother here, but I can’t wait any longer. Everything that’s going to be said needs to be said . . . now. My patience is waning; we can’t stay in this in-between place much longer.

  “Are you actually hungry now, Tessa dear?” Trish asks me.

  “Yes, she is,” Hardin answers for me over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, I actually am,” I tell her, ignoring her obnoxious son.

  While Trish makes me a plate of chicken casserole with spinach and garlic, I sit at the table focusing on how delicious it smells. When she brings the plate over, I see it looks even better than it smells.

  As she puts the plate in front of me, Trish says, “Hardin, you could take the pieces out of the tree out of box for us, make it a little easier?”

  “Sure,” he says.

  She smiles at me. “I got a few ornaments, too.”

  By the time I’ve finished eating, Hardin has the branches slid into the slots and the tree assembled.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” his mom says. When he grabs the box of ornaments, she goes over to him. “We’ll help with those.”

  Completely full, I get up from the table, and ponder how putting together a Christmas tree with Hardin and his mother, in an apartment that was ours, is something I’d have never thought I’d be doing. Ever. I enjoy the feeling while we decorate, and in the end, though the ornaments seem randomly hung on the miniature tree, Trish looks very pleased.

  “We should get a photo in front of it!” she suggests.

  “I don’t do pictures,” Hardin grumbles.

  “Oh, come on, Hardin, it’s the holidays.” She bats her lashes and he rolls his eyes at her for the hundredth time since her arrival.

  “Not today,” he replies.

  I know it isn’t fair of me, but I feel for his mother, so I look at him with big eyes and say, “Just one?”

  “Fine, fuck. Just one.” He stands next to Trish in front of the tree and I grab my phone to take a picture of them. Hardin barely smiles, but Trish’s cheerfulness makes up for it. Still, I’m relieved when she doesn’t suggest that Hardin and I take a picture together; we need to figure out what we’re doing before we start romantic pictures in front of Christmas trees.

  I get Trish’s phone number and send a copy of the picture to her and Hardin, who walks back to the kitchen and makes himself a plate of food.

  “I’m going to go wrap some gifts before it gets too late,” I announce.

  “Okay, see you in the morning, sweetie,” Trish says and gives me a hug.

  Going into the bedroom, I see that Hardin has already gathered the wrapping paper, bows, tape, and everything else I could possibly need. I hurry to start wrapping so we can have “the Talk” sooner rather than later. I really want to get it over with, but at the same time am afraid of how it will go. I know that I’ve made up my mind, but I’m not sure
if I’m ready to admit it. I know how foolish it is of me, but I’ve been a fool since I first met Hardin, and that hasn’t always been a bad thing.

  I finish writing Ken’s name on a gift tag just as he walks in.

  “Done?” he asks.

  “Yeah . . . I need to get those tickets printed for Landon before we talk.”

  He cocks his head back. “Why?”

  “Because I need your help, and you’re not helpful when we’re fighting.”

  “How do you know we’ll fight?” he asks.

  “Because it’s us.” I half laugh, and he silently nods in agreement.

  “I’ll get the printer from the closet.”

  As he walks away, I turn on my laptop. Twenty minutes later we have two tickets to the Seattle Thunderbirds printed and wrapped in a small box for Landon.

  “Okay . . . so any other distractions before we . . . you know, talk?” Hardin asks.

  “No. I guess not,” I reply.

  We both go and sit on the bed, him against the headboard with his long legs stretched out, me with my legs tucked under me at the other end. I have no idea where to start or what to say.

  “So . . .” Hardin begins.

  This is awkward. “So . . .” I pick at my nails. “What happened with Jace?” I ask.

  “Steph told you,” he states flatly.

  “Yeah, she did.”

  “He was running his mouth.”

  “Hardin, you have to talk to me or this isn’t going to work.”

  His eyes go wide with indignation. “I am talking.”

  “Hardin . . .”

  “Okay. Okay.” He lets out an angry breath. “He was planning to try to hook up with you.”

  My stomach turns at the thought. Plus, that’s not the reason for the fight that Steph told me at the mall. Is Hardin lying to me again? “So? You know that would never happen.”

  “That doesn’t make a difference, even thinking about him touching you . . .” He shudders and continues: “And also, he’s the one who . . . well. Molly, too, who planned to tell you about the bet in front of everyone. He had no fucking right to humiliate you like that. He ruined everything.”