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After We Collided (After, #2) by Anna Todd Read Online (FREE)

Oh God.

“Well, I need to talk to you. I’m in my car and I’m so confused . . .” My voice is hysterical and I want to jump out of the car.

“Please turn it off,” I beg him but he shifts the phone into his other hand so I can’t reach it.

“What is this?” he asks, staring at the phone.

“Why haven’t you even tried? You just let me leave and here I am pathetically calling you and crying into your voicemail. I need to know what happened to us? Why was this time different, why didn’t we fight it out? Why didn’t you fight for me? I deserve to be happy, Hardin.” My idiotic voice fills the car, trapping me inside.

I sit in silence and stare down at my hands in my lap. This is humiliating; I had nearly forgotten about the voicemail and I wish he hadn’t heard it, especially not now.

“When was this?”

“While you were gone.”

He lets out a deep breath and ends the call. “What were you confused about?” he asks.

“I don’t think you want to talk about it.” I pull my lip between my teeth.

“Yes, I do.” Hardin unbuckles his seat belt and turns to face me.

I look up at him, and try to think of how to phrase this. “That hideous voicemail is from the night . . . the night I kissed him.”

“Oh.” He turns his face away from me.

Breakfast went so well, only to be ruined by my stupid voice-mail that I left in the middle of an emotional tidal wave. I shouldn’t be held accountable.

“Before or after you kissed him?”


“How many times did you kiss him?”



“My car,” I squeak.

“Then what? What did you do after you left this?” He holds the phone in the air between us.

“Went back to his apartment.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, Hardin rests his forehead against the steering wheel.

“I . . .” I begin.

He raises his finger to silence me. “What happened at his apartment?” He closes his eyes.

“Nothing! I cried and we watched television.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not. I slept on the couch. The only time I slept in his room was the time you showed up there. I haven’t done anything with him except kiss him, and a few days ago when I met him for lunch, he tried to kiss me and I pulled away.”

“He tried to kiss you again?”

Shit. “Yes, but he understands the way I feel about you. I know I made a huge mess of all of this and I’m sorry for even spending time with him. I don’t have a good reason or excuse but I’m sorry.”

“You remember what you said, right? That you’ll stay away from him?” His breathing is controlled, too controlled, as he lifts his head from the wheel.

“Yes, I remember.” I don’t like the idea of being told who I can be friends with, but I can’t say I wouldn’t expect the same from him if the roles were reversed, which they have been a lot lately.