Free After We Fell by Anna Todd Page A

leave my father in the kitchen eating more of Hardin’s Frosted Flakes and head for the bedroom—where most of our arguments seem to begin and end.
    â€œTessa,” Hardin begins as soon as I close the door.
    â€œDon’t,” I say coldly.
    â€œDon’t be mad at me—we were just having a drink.” His tone is playful, but I’m not in the mood for it.
    â€œâ€Šâ€˜Just having a drink’? With my father—an alcoholic who I’m trying to build a relationship with, who I wanted to maybe think about getting sober. That’s who you were ‘just drinking’ with?”
    â€œBaby . . .”
    I shake my head. “Don’t you ‘baby’ me. I’m not okay with this.”
    â€œNothing happened.” He wraps his fingers around my arm to pull me to him, but when I pull away it causes him to stumble to the bed.
    â€œHardin, you got in a fight again!”
    â€œNot a big one. Who cares?”
    â€œI do. I care.”
    He looks up at me from his place on the edge of our bed, his green eyes laced with red, and says, “Then why are you leaving me? If you care so much?”
    My heart sinks a little farther into my chest.
    â€œI’m not leaving you; I’m asking you to come with me.” I sigh.
    â€œBut I don’t want to,” he whines.
    â€œI know, but this is the one thing I have left—apart from you, of course.”
    â€œI’ll marry you.” He reaches for my hand, but I step back.
    My breath hitches. I’m sure I couldn’t have heard that correctly. “ What? ” I raise my hands, blocking him from coming closer.
    â€œI said I’ll marry you if you choose me.” He stands up, stepping toward me.
    The words, even though they’re meaningless because of the amount of alcohol coursing through him, still excite me. “You’re drunk,” I say.
    He’s only offering marriage because he’s drunk, which is worse than not offering at all.
    â€œSo? I still mean it.”
    â€œNo, you don’t.” I shake my head and dodge his touch again.
    â€œYes, I do—not now, of course, but in like . . . six years or so?” He scratches his thumb across his forehead, thinking.
    I roll my eyes. Despite my fluttering heart, this last bit of hedging, offering to marry me in a vague “six years or so,” shows that reality is creeping back into his thoughts, even as he drunkenly tries to convince me otherwise. “We’ll see how you feel about this tomorrow,” I say, knowing he surely won’t remember it tomorrow.
    â€œWill you be wearing those pants?” His lips form a wicked smile.
    â€œNo; don’t even start talking about these damn pants.”
    â€œYou’re the one who wore them. You know how I feel about them.” He looks down at his lap, then points at it and looks up waggling his eyebrows.
    Playful, teasing, drunk Hardin is sort of adorable . . . but not adorable enough to make me lose my ground.
    â€œCome here,” he begs, mock-frowning.
    â€œNo. I’m still upset with you.”
    â€œCome on, Tessie, don’t be mad.” He laughs and rubs his eyes with the back of his hands.
    â€œIf either of you calls me that one more time, I swear—”
    â€œTessie, what’s wrong, Tessie? You don’t like the name Tessie, Tessie?”
    Hardin grins wide, and I feel my resolve fading the longer I stare at him.
    â€œAre you going to let me take those pants off of you?”
    â€œNo. I’ve a lot to do today, and none of those things involve you taking my clothes off. I would ask you to come along, but you decided to get wasted with my father, so I have to go alone.”
    â€œYou’re going somewhere?” His voice is smooth yet raspy, thick from the liquor.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou’re not wearing that, though, right?”
    â€œYes, I am. I can wear whatever the hell I