After Ever Happy (After #4) (22 page)

Zed breaks the silence ten minutes into the walk through my small hometown. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know. Anything that I say probably won’t make any sense.” I shake my head, not wanting Zed to know just how crazy I’ve become during the last week. He hasn’t asked about my relationship with Hardin, and for that I’m thankful. Anything involving Hardin and me isn’t open for discussion.

“Try me,” Zed challenges with a warm smile.

“I’m mad.”

“Upset mad or crazy mad?” he teases, playfully touching his shoulder to mine as we wait for a car to pass before crossing a street.

“Both.” I try to smile. “Mostly just upset mad. Is it wrong that I feel sort of angry at my father for dying?” I hate the way the words sound. I know it’s wrong, but it feels so right. The anger feels better than the nothing, and the anger is a distraction. A distraction that I’m in desperate need of.

“It’s not wrong to feel that way, but then again it sort of is. I don’t think you should be mad at him. I’m sure he didn’t know what he was doing when he did what he did.” Zed looks down at me, but I look away.

“He did know what he was doing when he brought those drugs into that apartment. Sure, he didn’t know he was going to die, but he knew it was a possibility, and all he cared about was getting high. He didn’t think about anyone except himself and his high, you know?” I swallow the guilt that comes with the words. I loved my father, but I need to be truthful. I need to let my feelings out.

Zed frowns. “I don’t know, Tessa. I don’t think it was like that. I don’t think I could be mad at someone who died, especially my parent.”

“He didn’t raise me or anything. He left when I was a little girl.”

Did Zed already know that? I’m not sure. I’m so used to talking to Hardin, who knows everything about me, that sometimes I forget that other people only know what I let them.

“Maybe he left because he knew it was better for you and your mom?” Zed says, trying to comfort me, but it’s not working. It’s only making me want to scream. I’m tired of hearing this same exact excuse from mouth after mouth. Those same people claim they want the best for me, yet they make excuses for my father, who left me, acting like he was doing it for my own good. What a selfless man, leaving his wife and daughter all alone.

“I don’t know.” I sigh. “Let’s just not talk about it anymore.”

And we don’t. We stay silent until we arrive at my mother’s house, and I try to ignore the annoyance in her voice when she scolds me for taking so long to get home.

“Luckily Karen is here to help,” she says as I walk past her and enter the kitchen.

Zed stands uncomfortably, unsure whether to help. Quickly though, my mother hands him a box of crackers, ripping open the top and pointing wordlessly to an empty tray. Ken and Landon have already been put to work chopping vegetables and arranging fruit on my mother’s best serving trays. The ones she uses when she wants to impress people.

“Yeah, luckily,” I say under my breath. I thought the spring air would help cool my anger, but it hasn’t. My mother’s kitchen is too small, too stuffy, and it’s filling with overly dressed women with something to prove.

“I need air. I’ll be back, just stay here,” I say to Zed when my mother rushes down the hallway for something. As thankful as I am that he drove all the way here to comfort me, I can’t help but hold our conversation against him. I’m sure once I clear my head I’ll see it differently, but right now I just want to be alone.

The back door opens with a creak, and I curse at myself, hoping that my mother doesn’t come flying out into the yard to drag me back into the house. The sun has worked magic on the thick mud that covered the floor of the greenhouse. Dark, wet patches still cover half the space, but I’m able to find a dry spot to stand. The last thing I need is to ruin these high-heeled shoes my mother couldn’t afford to buy me in the first place.

A movement catches my eye, and I begin to panic until Hardin comes into view from behind a shelf. His eyes are clear, and beneath them dark circles shadow his pale skin. The usual glow, the warm tan, of Hardin’s skin has vanished and been replaced with a fragile, haunted ivory.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were here,” I say, quick to apologize and immediately backing out of the small space. “I’ll go.”

“No, it’s fine. It was
your
hiding space to begin with, remember?” He gives me a small smile, and even the tiniest of smiles from him feels more real than the countless fakes I’ve received today.

“True, but I need to go inside anyway.”

I grab the handle of the screen door, but he reaches out to stop me from opening it. I jerk away the moment his fingers graze my arm, and he sucks in a harsh breath from my rejection. He quickly recovers and reaches past me to hold on to the door handle, making sure I can’t leave.

“Tell me why you came out here,” he softly demands.

“I just . . .” I struggle for the words. After my conversation with Zed, I lost the urge to discuss my terrible thoughts about my father’s death. “It’s nothing.”

“Tessa, tell me.” He knows me well enough to know that I’m lying, and I know him well enough to know he isn’t going to let me leave this greenhouse until I tell him the truth.

But can I trust him?

My eyes look him over, and I can’t help but focus on the new dress shirt he’s wearing. He must have purchased it solely for the funeral because I know every shirt he owns, and there is no way he could fit into Noah’s clothes. Not that he would ever wear them . . .

The black sleeve of the new shirt is ripped open from the cuff, making room for his cast.

“Tessa,” he presses, bringing me from my inner distraction. The top button on his shirt is undone and the collar is crooked.

I take a step back from him. “I don’t think we should do this.”

“Do what?
Talk?
I just want to know what it is you’re hiding from.”

What a simple yet loaded demand. I’m hiding from everything. I’m hiding from too many things to name, him being the most important of those things. I want to vent my feelings to Hardin, but it’s just too easy to slide back into our pattern, and I’m not willing to play these games anymore. I can’t take another round. He has won, and I’m learning to be okay with that.

“You and I both know you’re not leaving this greenhouse until you spill, so save us both the time and energy and tell me.” He attempts this line as a joke, but I can see the flicker of desperation behind his eyes.

“I’m mad,” I finally admit.

He nods sharply. “Of course you are.”

“I mean I’m really mad, like pissed-off.”

“You should be.”

I look over at him. “I should be?”

“Hell yeah, you should be. I’d be pissed off, too.”

I don’t think he gets what I’m trying to say.
“I’m mad at my father, Hardin. I’m so mad at him,” I clarify and wait for Hardin’s response to change.

“So am I.”

“You are?”

“Hell yeah, I am. And you should be, too; you have every right to be pissed-off at his ass. Dead or not.”

I can’t stop the laugh that falls from my lips at the serious expression covering Hardin’s face while he speaks such ridiculous words. “You don’t think it’s wrong that I can’t even be sad anymore because I’m so damn mad at him for killing himself?” I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and pause before continuing, “That’s what he did. He killed himself, and he didn’t even think about how it would affect anyone. I know that’s selfish of me to say that, but that’s how I feel.”

My gaze drops to the dirt floor. I’m ashamed to say these things, to mean them, but I feel so much better now that they are out there floating around. I hope the words stay here, in this greenhouse, and I hope that if my father is up there somewhere, he can’t hear me.

Hardin’s fingers press under my chin and he tilts my head up. “Hey,” he says, and I don’t flinch from his touch, but I am grateful when he drops his hand. “Don’t be ashamed to feel that way. He did kill himself, and it’s no one’s fault but his own. I saw how fucking excited you were when he came back into your life, and he’s an idiot for throwing that away just to get high.” Hardin’s tone is harsh, but his words are exactly what I need to hear right now.

He softly chuckles. “But I’m one to talk, right?” He closes his eyes and slowly shakes his head back and forth.

I quickly direct the conversation away from our relationship. “I feel bad for feeling this way. I don’t want to disrespect him.”

“Fuck that.” Hardin waves his cast-covered hand through the air between us. “You are allowed to feel how you want to fucking feel, and no one can say shit about it.”

“I wish everyone felt that way.” I sigh. I know confiding in Hardin isn’t healthy, and I have to tread lightly here, but I just know he’s the only one who actually understands me.

“I mean it, Tessa. Don’t you let any of those snobby fuckers make you feel bad for how you feel.”

I wish it were that simple. I wish I could be more like Hardin and not care what anyone thought of me or how other people feel, but I can’t. I’m just not made that way. I feel for others, even when I shouldn’t, and I would like to think that eventually that trait will stop being my downfall. Caring is a good trait to have, but it hurts me too often.

In the few short minutes I’ve been in the greenhouse with Hardin, almost all of my anger has disappeared. I’m not sure what has replaced it, but I no longer feel the burn of fury, just the steady burn of pain that I know will be a longtime companion of mine.

“Theresa!” my mother’s voice sounds through the yard, and Hardin and I both wince at the interruption.

“I have no problem telling any of them, her included, to fuck off. You know that, don’t you?” His eyes search mine, and I nod. I know he doesn’t, and part of me wants to unleash him on the crowd of chatty women who have no business being here.

“I know.” I nod again. “I’m sorry for venting like this. I just—”

The screen door opens and my mother steps into the greenhouse. “Theresa, please come inside,” she says authoritatively. She’s trying her best to mask her anger toward me, but her façade is slipping, and fast.

Hardin looks from my mother’s angry face to mine before stepping past both of us. “I was just leaving anyway.”

The memory of my mother’s finding him in my dorm room all those months ago passes through my mind. She was so mad and Hardin looked so defeated when I left with her and Noah. Those days feel so ancient now, so simple. I had no clue what was ahead, none of us did.

“What are you doing out here anyway?” she asks as I follow her through the yard and up the porch steps.

It’s none of her business what I was doing. She wouldn’t understand my selfish feelings, and I would never trust her enough to reveal them. She wouldn’t understand why I was talking to Hardin after avoiding him for three days. She wouldn’t understand anything that I could tell her, because she fundamentally doesn’t understand me.

So instead of answering her question, I stay quiet and wish that I would have had the chance to ask Hardin what
he
came to my greenhouse to hide from.

H
ardin, please. I’ve got to get ready,” Tessa had whined into my chest one day. Her naked body was sprawled across me, distracting every brain cell I have left.

“You’re not convincing me, woman. If you actually wanted to leave, you would be out of bed by now.” I pressed my lips against the shell of her ear, and she wiggled against me. “You certainly wouldn’t be rubbing yourself against my cock right now.”

She giggled and slid against me, deliberately making contact with my erection.

“Now you’ve done it,” I groaned, wrapping my fingers around her curvy hips. “You’ll never make it to class now.” My fingers slid to the front of her, sliding into her as she gasped.

Fuck, she always felt so fucking tight and warm around my fingers, even more so around my cock.

Without a word, she had rolled onto her side and wrapped her hand around me, jerking slowly. Her thumb swiped across the bead of moisture already present, betraying the cool smirk on my face, as she whined for more.

“More what?” I teased her, praying that she would take the bait. Either way I knew what was coming next; I just loved to hear her say it.

Her desires became more substantial, more tangible, when said aloud. The way she whined and whimpered for me was more than for my satisfaction or a plea of lust. The words signified her trust in me; the movements of her body engraved her loyalty to me; and the promise of her love for me filled me, body and soul.

I was completely consumed by her, completely fucking lost in her, every single time I made love to her, even when I was being dishonest with her. This time was no exception.

I had pressed her for the words that I wanted. The words that I needed. “Tell me, Tessa.”

“More
everything
, just . . . just all of you,” she moaned, running her lips along my chest, and I lifted one of her thighs to wrap it around my own. It would be more difficult this way, but much deeper, and I could watch her easily. I could watch what only I could do to her, and I would fucking revel in the way her mouth fell open and she came, calling my name alone.

You already have all of me,
I should have said. Instead, I reached in front of her and pulled a condom from the nightstand and slid it on, pressing between her legs. Her satisfied groan had me almost burst right then, but I held it together long enough to bring her to the edge with me. She whispered how much she loved me and how good I made her feel, and I should have told her that I felt the same way, even more than she could ever imagine, but instead, I spoke only her name as I emptied myself into the condom.

There were so many things I should have said, could have said, and sure as hell would have said if I had known my days in heaven were numbered.

Had I known that I would be cast out so soon, I would have worshipped her the way she deserves.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay here another night? I heard Tessa telling Carol that she was around one more night,” Noah says, pushing me out of my mind and back into reality in that annoying way he has. After a minute of staring at me like Mr. Rogers, he asks, “Are you okay?”