Free After We Fell by Anna Todd

it.”
    â€œHuh. Of course you will.”
    Ignoring her attitude, I hang up the phone and hastily get directions to the bar. Why the hell are Hardin and my father at a bar at three in the afternoon? Why the hell are Hardin and my father even together?
    This makes no sense to me—and what about the cops? What did they do? I should have asked the woman on the phone. I canonly hope they didn’t get into a fight with each other . That’s the last thing any of us needs.
    My imagination has run wild by the time I make it to the bar, and has concluded that Hardin’s either murdered my father or vice versa. There are no cop cars outside the small bar, which is a good sign, I suppose. I park directly in front of the building and hurry inside, wishing I had worn a sweatshirt instead of a T-shirt.
    â€œThere she is!” my father calls out jubilantly.
    I can tell he’s loaded as he stumbles over to me.
    â€œYou should have seen it, Tessie!” He claps his hands. “Hardin just whooped some serious ass!”
    â€œWhere is he—” I start, but right then a bathroom door opens and Hardin walks out, wiping his bloody hands on a red-stained paper towel.
    â€œWhat happened?” I yell to him from the opposite side of the room.
    â€œNothing . . . calm down.”
    I gape as I walk over to him. “Are you drunk ?” I ask, then twist slightly to look at his eyes: bloodshot.
    He looks off to the side. “Maybe.”
    â€œThis is unbelievable.” I cross my arms as he tries to take my hand.
    â€œHey, you should be thanking me for having your dad’s back. He’d be on the floor right now if it wasn’t for me.” He points to a man sitting on the floor holding a bag of ice against his cheek.
    â€œI won’t be thanking you for anything—you’re drunk in the middle of the afternoon! And with my father, of all people. What the hell is wrong with you?” I storm away from him, back toward the bar, where my father is now sitting.
    â€œDon’t be mad at him, Tessie; he loves you.” My father is defending him.
    What the hell is going on here?
    As Hardin walks over, I ball my fists at my sides and shout,“So what, you two get drunk together and now you’re best friends? Neither of you should even be drinking!”
    â€œBaby,” Hardin says into my ear and attempts to wrap his arm around me.
    â€œHey,” the woman behind the bar says, knocking on the counter to get my attention. “You gotta get them out of here.”
    I nod at her and glare at the drunken idiots who are my lot. My father’s cheek is pink, giving the impression he was hit, and Hardin’s hands are already swelling.
    â€œYou can come to our house for tonight so you can sober up, but this isn’t acceptable behavior.” I want to scold them both, like the children they are. “For either of you.”
    I exit the smelly little space and am at the car before they make it to the door. Hardin scowls at my father as the older man tries to rest an arm on his shoulder. I get into my car, disgusted.
    Hardin’s intoxication puts me on edge. I know how he is when he’s drunk, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him this drunk before, not even that night he destroyed all the china. I miss the days when Hardin didn’t drink anything but water at parties. We have a list of problems right now, and him drinking only adds fuel to the flames.
    APPARENTLY, MY FATHER has graduated from being an angry drunk to one who tells endless jokes, most of which are tasteless and obnoxious. The whole ride home he laughs too hard at his own words, with Hardin joining him every now and then. This isn’t how I envisioned this day at all. I don’t know what it was that made Hardin warm up to my father, but now that they’re both drunk in the middle of the day, I don’t like their “friendship” at all.
    When we get home, I