“Hardin?” Tessa’s voice travels through the dark silence, and I try to make a quick decision whether to talk to her. I’m just too fucking mad to deal with her shit and be scolded for picking on Landon.

“He started this shit,” I say, stepping out into the open space between two large trees.

So much for hiding. See, I can’t even fucking do that correctly.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice light and nervous.

“What do you think?” I snap, looking past her and into the darkness.

“I’m—”

“Save it. Please, I know you’re going to say you’re right and I’m wrong, and I shouldn’t have slammed Landon against the wall.”

She steps toward me, and I can’t help but notice the way I take a step closer to her at the same time. As angry as I am, I am fucking drawn to her—always have been, always fucking will be.

“Actually, I was going to apologize. I know how wrong it was to keep that from you. I want to take ownership for my mistake, not blame you,” she says softly.

What? “Since when?”

I remind myself yet again that I’m pissed off. But it’s hard to remember how pissed off I am when I just want her to hug me, to remind me that I’m not as big of a fuckup as I think I am.

“Can we talk again? You know, how we did on the patio?” Her eyes are wide and hopeful even in the dark, even after my blowup.

I want to tell her no, that she had her damn chance to talk every day since she decided to move across the fucking country to “put some space between us.” Instead, I huff and nod in agreement. I don’t give her the satisfaction of answering, but I nod again and lean against the trunk of the tree behind me.

I can tell by the look on her face that she didn’t expect me to acquiesce so easily. The childish little shit inside me smiles at my having caught her off guard.

She kneels down and sits cross-legged on the grass. She rests her hands on her bare feet. “I’m proud of you,” she says, looking up at me. The lights from the patio cast only enough light to make out her small smile, the soft praise in her eyes.

“For what?” I pick at the bark on the tree, waiting for her answer.

“For walking away like that. I know Landon was pushing and pushing, but you walked away, Hardin. That was a huge step for you. I hope you know how much that means to him, that you chose not to hit him.”

Like he fucking cares. He’s been going behind my back for the last three weeks.

“It doesn’t mean shit.”

“Yes, it does. It means a lot to him.”

I pull off a particularly large piece of bark and toss it to the ground at my feet. “And what does it mean to you?” I ask, eyes focused on the tree.

“Even more.” She runs her palm across the grass. “It means even more to me.”

“Enough to keep you from moving? Or ‘even more’ as in you’re really proud of me, I’m a good boy, but you’re still leaving?” I can’t disguise the pathetic whine in my voice.

“Hardin . . .” She shakes her head—trying to think of an excuse, I’m sure.

“Landon out of all people knows exactly what you mean to me. He knows that you are my fucking lifeline, and he didn’t care. He’s going to take you across the country, pulling the cord on me, and that hurts, okay?”

She sighs, biting on her bottom lip. “When you say things like that, it makes me forget why I’m fighting against you.”

“What?” I push my hair back and sit down on the ground, my back resting against the tree.

“When you say things like I’m your lifeline, and when you admit that something hurts you, it reminds me why I love you so much.”

I look at her and notice the way she sounds so sure, despite her claim to be uncertain of our relationship. “You know damn well you are, you know that I’m not shit without you.” Maybe I should have said, I’m nothing without you, love me, but I already blurted out my own version.

“You are, though.” She smiles hesitantly. “You are a good person, even at your worst. I have a really bad habit of reminding you of your mistakes and holding them over you when, in reality, I’m just as bad at this relationship as you are. I had an equal share in dooming it.”

“Dooming it?” I’ve heard this way too many damn times.

“Ruining us, I mean. It was just as much my fault as it was yours.”

“Why is it ruined? Why can’t we just fix our issues?”

She takes another breath and tilts her head back slightly to look at the sky. “I don’t know?” she says, sounding as surprised as I am.

“You ‘don’t know’?” I repeat, a smile on my lips. Fuck, we are insane.

“I don’t know. I just had my mind set, and now I’m confused because you are truly, honestly trying, and I see that.”

“You do?” I try not to sound too interested, but of course my fucking voice breaks and I sound like a damn mouse.

“Yes, Hardin, I do. I’m just not sure what to do about it.”

“New York won’t help us. New York isn’t going to be this new start at life or whatever you think. You and I both know that you’re using that city as an easy way out of this,” I say, waving my hand back and forth between us.

“I know.” She pulls a handful of grass from its roots, and I can’t help but love the way I’ve been with her so long that I know she does this every time she sits on grass.

“How much time?”