Nothing Less

Chapter Six.

Songs for this chapter are:

Ghost- Halsey

Someone New- Hozier

Control- Kevin Garrett 

...

I don't want to disturb the pile of clean laundry on my bed, but I also don't want to return to my living room without any clothes on. So I grab a blue t-shirt and gray sweatpants and get dressed. I can't tell if I'm a slob or not. I wear sweatpants a lot, but mostly because they're comfortable. If I were a woman, I could never wear heels and tight dressed. I would be like Tessa, yoga pants and tank tops all the time.

Hardin is sitting on the couch when I return, his laptop is open and he has a pen resting between his teeth.

"Already working?" I ask him.

What the hell is he working on, anyway?

Sitting down on the chair, I watch him ruffle through a stack of papers on the table. A cup of coffee, half empty is sitting next to his shiny laptop. There's a sticker, a band I assume, covering the apple. I glance to my laptop on the edge of the coffee table and compare the two of them. His with a metal band sticker, thorns and roses, and myself with a "Hufflepuff for life" sticker on mine. In my defense, mine is pretty damn cute and also funny because I'm not a Hufflepuff. Some silly online quiz told me I was so I tried to own it, I bought a sticker and everything, but deep down I know I'm a Gryffindor, through and through.

"Yeah. It took you long enough to get dressed," he complains.

Hardin complaining? I'm so surprised. Not.

I toss a pillow at him and he grumbles something under his breath. "Where's Tess?"

"Working. She's staying busy while you're here."

He huffs but stays quiet. I can see the pain haunting his green eyes. I can hear the quickness of his breathing at the mention of her.

"How busy? What time does she get home usually?" He asks.

I hesitate. I need to keep my feet on neutral ground here.

"Tonight, she'll be home around two."

Hardin closes his laptop and leans toward me as if he's going to stand up. "Two? In the morning?"

"Yeah. She's closing tonight. And working a double shift during the day."

"Two in the morning is ridiculous. There's no reason for her to be working until the fucking morning."

Hardin's hands gather the loose pages and he shoves them back into his binder.

"I can't control how much she works," I tell him. "Neither can you." I add.

He sighs and nods, clearly not wanting an argument.

"So, what's up with you. Why was Delilah here looking like someone killed her puppy?"

Such grace Hardin Scott has, let me tell you.

"Her dad's dying," I say and watch his face fall slightly.

"Oh, my bad."

I shake my head and lean my back against the chair. My hair is messy under my fingertips.