Hardin doesn’t respond but stands up and walks past me. I came here to yell at him for being such an idiot and tell him how I feel, and he’s making it very hard—I knew he would.

“Where are you going?” I ask, following him like a lost puppy.

“Home. Well, I’m going to call Emma and see if she will come back and pick me up.”

“She left you here?” I don’t like her at all.

“No. Well, technically, but I told her to.”

“Let me take you,” I say and grab his jacket. He shrugs me off, and I want to slap him. My anger is returning and I am more pissed-off than before. The tables have turned; our . . . whatever this is has shifted. I am usually the one running from him.

“Stop walking away from me!” I yell and he turns around, eyes blazing. “I said let me take you home!” I scream.

He almost smiles but frowns instead and sighs. “Fine. Where’s your car?”

HARDIN’S SCENT IMMEDIATELY fills the car, only now there is a hint of metal mixed in; it’s still my favorite smell in the entire world. I turn the heat on and rub my arms to warm up.

“Why did you come here?” he asks as I pull out of the parking lot.

“To find you.” I try to remember everything I had planned to say, but my mind is blank and all I can think about is kissing his busted mouth.

“For what reason?” he asks quietly.

“To talk to you, we have so much to talk about.” I feel like crying and laughing at the same time and I have no idea why.

“I thought you said we didn’t have anything to talk about,” he says and turns to look out the window with a coolness I suddenly find beyond irritating.

“Do you love me?” The words come out rushed and strangled. I had not planned on saying them.

His head snaps to the side to look at me. “What?” His tone is one of shock.

“Do you?” I repeat, worrying that my heart might pop right out of my chest.

He focuses forward. “You are not seriously asking me this while we are driving down the street.”

“What does it matter where or when I am asking, just tell me,” I practically beg.

“I . . . I don’t know . . . No, I don’t.” He looks around, almost like he needs to escape. “And you can’t just ask someone if they love you when they are trapped in a car with you—what the hell is wrong with you?” he says loudly.

Ouch. “Okay,” is all I can manage to say.

“Why do you even want to know?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I’m confused now, so confused, and my plan to talk out our problems has crashed and burned in front of me, along with any dignity I still held.

“Tell me why you asked me that, now,” he demands.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” I shout back.

I pull up to his house and he looks out at the crowded lawn. “Take me to my dad’s,” he says.

“What? I am not a damn taxi.”

“Just take me there, I will get my car in the morning.”

If his car is here, why doesn’t he just drive himself? I don’t want our conversation to end yet, though, so I roll my eyes, and head off toward his father’s house.

“I thought you hated it there,” I say.

“I do. But I don’t feel like being around a lot of people right now,” he says quietly. Then, louder, he goes on: “Are you going to tell me why you asked that? Does this have something to do with Zed? Did he say something to you?”

He seems really nervous. Why does he always ask if Zed said something to me?

“No . . . It has nothing to do with Zed. I just wanted to know.” It doesn’t really have to do with Zed; it has to do with the fact that I love him and thought for a second, he might love me, too. The longer I am around him, the more ridiculous that possibility seems.

“Where did you and Zed go when you left the bonfire?” he asks as I pull into his father’s driveway.

“Back to his apartment,” I say.

Hardin’s body tenses and his bloody fists clench, tearing the skin on his knuckles further. “Did you sleep with him?” he asks and my mouth falls open.

“What? Why the hell would you assume that? You should know me better than that by now! And who do you think you are to even ask such a personal question? You made it clear that you don’t care about me so, what if I did?” I shout.

“So you didn’t?” he asks again, his eyes like stone.

“God, Hardin! No! He kissed me, but I wouldn’t have sex with someone I barely know!”

He leans over and turns my car off, clenching his bloody hand over the keys and pulling them out of the ignition.

“You kissed him back?” His eyes are hooded as he seems to look straight past me.

“Yeah . . . well, I don’t know, I think I did.” I don’t remember anything except Hardin’s face in my mind.

“How do you not know? Have you been drinking?” His voice is louder now.

“No, I just . . .”

“You what!” he shouts and turns his body to face me. I can’t read the energy between us, and for a moment I sit there, trying to get a handle on it.

“I-I just kept thinking of you!” I finally admit.

His stone features soften tremendously and he brings his eyes to mine. “Let’s go inside,” he says and opens the passenger door.

Chapter sixty-seven

Karen and Ken are sitting on the couch in the living room and both look up when we walk in.

“Hardin! What happened?” his father asks, panicked. He jumps up and comes over to us, but Hardin brushes him off.