Songs for this chapter are:
Love Me Or Leave Me- Little Mix

All You Never Say- Birdy

Where The Story Ends- The Fray

(The published version of Before has a playlist page and it makes me cry and it's just another reason that Before is my Favorite book so far)

Hardin's POV. (I'm sorry I keep putting Hardin :'( I'm so used to it now *sobs*)

A few minutes later, the creak of the screen door has me to my feet. Tessa is standing in the doorway in front of Landon. She walks toward me and with every step, the bottle in my hand feels heavier.

Is she real? I think so, unless this bottle is laced with something, she must be. "How did you get here?" I ask her. I follow her eyes to Landon and freeze. That fucker.

"Landon, he..." she begins.

"You fucking called her?" Landon ignores me, walks through the doorway, and closes the screen door behind him. 

Tessa points a finger at me, "You leave him alone Hardin- he's worried about you," she defends her friend.

The perfect brother has the perfect friend. She's soft spoken but not when she's mad. Her eyes are so pretty, too perfect for such a soft face. I can't keep staring at her, she's giving me a headache. I have to guess what she's thinking and I've had a long enough night.

I sit down at the patio table and gesture for her to sit across from me. When she sits down, I take another drink and she stares, pure judgment in her eyes. I slam the heavy bottle down on the glass table and she jumps out of her seat. She should leave, she shouldn't be here. Landon should have never called her here. Why would she come anyway?

Her boyfriend is here this weekend and I'm sure he's penciled in for cuddle time. The thought makes me cringe.  Landon had no fucking right calling her to come here.

"Aww, aren't you two something. You both are so predictable. Poor Hardin is upset, so you gang up on me and try to make me feel bad for breaking some shitty china," I smile at her, letting her know I'm playing the villain tonight.

"I thought you don't drink?" she questions my character. She's trying to get a sense of who I am. I confuse her and she hates it.

"I don't. Until now, I guess. Don't try to patronize me; you're no better than me." I point a finger at her, using her old scolding technique.

She doesn't look phased by my move. I step closer to her and take another drink. "I never said I was better than you. I just want to know what made you drink now?" She asks. I'll never understand what makes this girl think she can ask people whatever the hell she wants. Boundaries? She has none.

"What does it matter to you? Where's your boyfriend?" I burn the question into her. She looks away, unable to keep up with my stare.

"He's back in my room. I just want to help you, Hardin." Tessa's hand reaches for mine and I flinch away before she can touch me. What is she doing? This must be some sick joke. Landon must have told her to come here and be all gentle, tame the lion bullshit. She wouldn't touch me for no reason.

"Help me," I can't help but laugh. "If you want to help me, then leave." I wave the bottle and my hand toward the door.

"Why won't you just tell me what's going on?" she pushes. I knew she would. Her hair is down, resting over her shoulders in waves. She's wearing casual clothes, looking younger than ever. Her eyes release mine and she looks down at her hands on her lap.

Out of habit, I pull the hat off of my head and run my hand over my hair. I can smell the scotch seeping from my pores and I can hear Tessa's heavy breaths coming out in long draws. I match my breathing to her and then wonder what the fuck I'm doing.

I would rather get her talking than sit here in tense silence. "My father decided to tell me just now that he is marrying Karen—and the wedding's next month. He should have told me long ago, and not over the phone. I'm sure perfect little Landon's known for a while."

Tessa's eyes dart to me and she looks a little surprised that I answered so openly. I hadn't planned to go into that much detail, I blame the scotch.

"I am sure he had his reasons not to tell you," she defends him. Of course she does. Ken Scott is like her, polished and pretty and always the good guy.

"You don't know him; he doesn't give a shit about me. You know how many times I have talked to him in the last year? Maybe ten! All he cares about is his big house, his new soon-to-be wife, and his new, perfect son," I take a drink from the bottle and wipe my lips with the back of my hand.

"You should see the dump that my mum lives in in England. She says she likes it there, but I know she doesn't. It's smaller than my dad's bedroom here! My mum practically forced me to come here for university, to be closer to him—and we see how that worked out!"

"How old were you when he left?" she asks. I can't tell if she's being nosy, pitying me, or just wondering.

I hesitate before answering, "Ten. But even before he left, he was never around. He was at a different bar every night. Now he's Mr. Perfect and he has all this shit," I gesture toward the house. Pots of bright flowers line the ledge of the deck, adding to the scenery.

"I'm sorry that he left you guys, but—"

"No, I don't need your pity," I stop her there. She's always making excuse after excuse for everyone around her. It's fucking frustrating. She doesn't know him, she didn't have to put up with his shit until she didn't anymore but then missed it when he was gone.

"It's not pity. I'm just trying to—"

Judge me?

"Trying to what?" I push her to respond.

"Help you. Be here for you."

It sounds nice when she says it. Too bad she doesn't know anything about me. She doesn't know who she's trying to help. She needs to understand that I'm not fixable and she's wasting her time here. She needs to leave and never speak to me again.

"You are so pathetic. Don't you see that I don't want you here? I don't want you to be here for me. Just because I messed around with you doesn't mean I want anything to do with you. Yet here you are, leaving your nice boyfriend—who can actually stand to be around you—to come here and try to 'help' me. That, Theresa, is the definition of pathetic," I say, watching her gray eyes turn to stone.

"You don't mean that." She doesn't know me, though she can read me well.

"I do, though; go home," I deliver the final blow. I lift the bottle in victory and open my mouth. The bottle is snatched from my grip and is being tossed across the yard.

"What the hell?" I shout at her. Is she mad? Tossing an aged bottle of scotch across a lawn like that? I look between her and the bottle and decide to follow her after grabbing the bottle and leaving it on the edge of the deck, near the table. I have to catch my balance, but I manage to step in front of her.

"Where are you going?" I look down at her, stopping her from going inside. The porch light catches her eyelashes as they dust the top of her cheek as she stares at her feet.

"I am going to help Landon clean up the mess you made and then I am going home." Her voice is sure and leaves no room for arguing. Except that I'm a master of the art and always find a crevice of space to argue my way into.

"Why would you help him?" He betrayed me by calling her in the first place and now she's leaving me to help him?

"Because he, unlike you," her voice low, steady and strong, "deserves for someone to help him," she says.

I feel the impact of her words sinking into my chest as she stares into my eyes, challenging me. She's right.

He's the guy everyone wants to be around. He doesn't break shit and throw a fit when he gets bad news. He deserves her time and attention, just like he deserves to walk into that big house and go into his own room where he's welcomed.

He deserves a home-cooked meal, he shouldn't have to eat takeout in an empty room inside a house full of strangers who all secretly hate him.

She's right about that and that's why I let her walk past me and back into the house without another word.

(Wahhh this whole scene from last chapter to the next, is my one of my favorites. I'm updating again tomorrow! Before is published in 3 days! How crazy!)