Chapter 28 (1/2)

These thoughts circle around me like vultures until, finally, having pulled myself back from the abyss of a total breakdown, I dot the corners of my eyes with a tissue and grab my purse. In the elevator I nearly lose it again, but by the time I reach the bottom floor, I’ve regained control.

“Tessa!” Trevor calls from the other side of the lobby. “Good morning,” he says as he hands me a cup of coffee.

“Thank you. Trevor, I’m so sorry for Hardin’s behavior last night—” I start.

“It’s okay, really. He’s a little . . . intense . . . ?”

I almost laugh, but the thought of doing this makes me nauseous again. “Um, yeah . . . intense,” I mumble and take a sip of my coffee.

He looks at his phone then tucks it back into his pocket. “Kimberly and Christian will be down in a few minutes.” He smiles. “So . . . is Hardin still here?”

“No. And he won’t be coming back.” I try to sound like I could care less. “Did you sleep well?” I ask in attempt to change the subject.

“Yeah, but I was worried about you.” Trevor’s eyes travel to my neck, and I move my hair to cover where my mark maybe is showing.

“Worried? Why?”

“Can I ask you something? I don’t want to upset you . . .” His tone is cautious, and it makes me a little nervous.

“Yeah . . . go ahead.”

“Has Hardin ever . . . you know . . . he hasn’t ever hurt you, right?” Trevor looks at the ground.

“What? We fight a lot, so, yeah, he hurts me all the time,” I answer and take another gulp of the delicious coffee.

He looks up at me sheepishly. “I mean physically,” he mutters.

I snap my head to the side to look at him. He didn’t just ask me if Hardin puts his hands on me? I cringe at the thought. “No! Of course not. He would never do that.”

I can tell by the look in Trevor’s eyes that he doesn’t mean to offend me. “I’m sorry . . . he just seems so violent and angry.”

“Hardin is angry, and sometimes violent, but he would never, ever hurt me like that.” I feel an odd wave of anger toward Trevor for accusing Hardin of such a thing. He doesn’t know Hardin . . . but then again, neither do I, apparently.

We stand in silence for a few minutes, and I ponder that until I spot Kimberly’s blond hair coming toward us.

“I really am sorry. I just think you should be treated much better,” Trevor says quietly right before the others join us.

“I feel like shit. Absolute shit.” Kimberly groans.

“Me, too—my head is killing me,” I agree as we all walk down a long corridor toward the conference center.