After Ever Happy (After #4) (9 page)

“All of my clothes are in the rental car at that bar,” I tell her. I want nothing more than a shower, but I don’t have any clothes to wear.

“You can wear something of mine,” she suggests, even though we both know I could never fit into her clothes. “Or Christian’s. He has some shorts and a shirt you—”

“No, hell no,” Hardin interrupts, throwing Kimberly a hard glare as he stands. “I’ll go get your shit. You
aren’t
wearing his clothes.”

Kimberly opens her mouth to argue, but closes it before the words can come. I look at her with thankful eyes, grateful that a war won’t be started in the kitchen of her hotel suite.

“How far is Gabriel’s from here?” I ask, hoping one of them knows the answer.

“Ten minutes.” Hardin holds his hand out for the keys to the car.

“Can you drive?” I made the drive back from Allhallows because the alcohol was still in his system, and his eyes are still glassy.

“Yes,” he says tersely.

Wonderful. Kimberly’s suggestion that I borrow Christian’s clothing has turned Hardin from sullen to pissed-off in under a minute.

“Do you want me to come? I could drive the rental back since you are driving Christian’s car—” I begin, but I’m quickly cut off.

“No. I’ll be fine.”

I don’t like his impatient tone, but I bite my tongue, literally, to keep from telling him off. I don’t know what has gotten into me lately, but I find it harder and harder to keep my mouth shut. This can only be a good thing for me—maybe not for Hardin, but certainly for me.

He leaves the suite without another word or so much as a glance back to me. I stare at the wall for long, silent minutes before Kimberly’s voice breaks my trance.

“How is he handling it?” She leads me over to the table.

“Not well.” We both grab a seat.

“I can see that. Burning a house down probably isn’t the healthiest way to deal with anger,” she says without a single hint of judgment in her words.

I stare at the dark wood on the table, not willing to meet the eyes of my friend. “It’s not his anger that I’m afraid of. I can feel him withdrawing with every breath he takes. I know it’s childish and selfish of me to even mention this to you, because you are going through all of this and Christian is in trouble . . .”

It’s probably best that I keep my selfish thoughts to myself.

Kimberly places her hand on mine. “Tessa. There’s no rule that says only one person can feel pain at a time. You’re going through this just as much as I am.”

“I know, but I don’t want to bother you with my prob—”

“You aren’t bothering me. Spill.”

I look up at her with the intent to stay quiet, to keep my complaints to myself, but she shakes her head as if she can read my mind.

“He wants to stay here in London, and I know if I let him, we will be finished.”

She smiles. “You two seem to have a different definition of
finished
than the rest of us.” I want to throw my arms around her neck for giving me such a warm smile in the middle of hell.

“I know it’s hard to believe me when I say that given our . . . history, but this whole thing with Christian and Trish will either be the nail in our coffin, or our saving grace. I don’t see any other outcome, and now I guess I’m afraid of which it’ll be.”

“Tessa, you have too much weighing on you. Vent to me. Vent and vent some more. Nothing you say will make me think any less of you or anything. Like the selfish bitch I am, I need someone else’s problems to distract me from my own issues right now.”

I don’t wait for Kimberly to change her mind. Instead, the floodgates open and the words pour from my mouth like uncontrollable, rushing waters. “Hardin wants to stay in London. He wants to stay here and send me back to Seattle like some burden that he can’t wait to unload. He’s withdrawing from me, like he always does every single time he’s hurt, and now he’s gone off the deep end and burned that house down and has absolutely no remorse. I know he’s angry, and I would never say this to him, but he’s only making things worse for himself.

“If he would just deal with his anger and admit that he can feel pain—admit that someone other than himself or me is important in this world—he could get through this. He infuriates me, because he tells me that he can’t live without me and would rather die than lose me, but as soon as the going gets tough, what does he do? He pushes me away. I’m not going to give up on him—I’m in far too deep for that now. But sometimes I just feel so tired of battling that I start to think about what my life would have been without him.” I pull my eyes up to Kimberly’s. “But when I start to picture it, I nearly collapse from the pain.”

I grab the half-empty cup of coffee from the table and down it. My voice is better than it was a few hours ago, but my ranting has taken its toll on my sore throat.

“It doesn’t make sense to me still, after all these months, all this turmoil, that I would rather do all of this”—I wave my hand around the room in a dramatic gesture—“than be without him. The worst of times with him have been nothing, compared to the best. I don’t know if I’m delusional or insane. Maybe both. But I love him more than myself, more than I ever thought possible, and I just want him to be happy. Not for me, but for him.

“I want him to look in the mirror and smile, not scowl. I need him to not think of himself as a monster. I need him to see the real him, because if he doesn’t pull himself out of the villain role, it will destroy him, and I’ll just be left with ashes. Please don’t tell him or even Christian any of this. I just needed to get it all out because I feel like I’m drowning, and it’s hard to keep myself above water, especially when I’m fighting against the current to save him rather than myself.”

My voice cracks at that last bit, and I become a coughing mess. Smiling, Kimberly opens her mouth to speak, but I hold up a finger.

I clear my throat. “There’s more. On top of all of this, I went to the doctor to get . . . to get birth control,” I say, nearly whispering the last words.

Kimberly tries her best not to laugh but fails utterly. “No need to whisper—spit it out, girl!”

“Fine.” I flush. “I got on birth control, and my doctor did a quick scan of my cervix. He said that it’s short, shorter than average, and he wants me to come in for more testing, but he mentioned infertility.”

I look over to see sympathy in her blue eyes. “My sister has the same thing; they like to call it cervical incompetence, I think. What a horrible term:
incompetence
makes it sounds like her vagina got an F in math or was a shitty lawyer or something.”

Kimberly’s attempt at humor, and that she knows someone with the same problem I may have, makes me feel better, a little.

“And does she have children?” I ask, but instantly regret it as her face falls.

“I don’t know if you want to hear about her right now. I could tell you another time.”

“Tell me.” I shouldn’t want to hear it, but I can’t help it. “Please,” I beg.

Kimberly takes a deep breath. “She struggled to get pregnant for years; it was terrible for her. They tried fertility treatments. Anything you can find on Google, she and her husband tried.”

“And?” I press her to hurry along, reminding myself of Hardin right now, rudely interrupting her. I hope he’s on his way back. In this state, Hardin can’t be left to his own devices.

“Well, she finally was able to get pregnant, and it was the happiest day of her life.” Kimberly looks away from me, and I know she’s either lying or leaving something out for my sake.

“What happened? How old is the baby now?”

Kimberly clasps her hands together and looks me square in the eyes. “She was four months along when she miscarried. But that is only what happened to
her
—don’t get yourself distraught over her story. You may not even have the same thing. And if you do, things may be different for you.”

With a hollow ringing in my ears I say, “I have this feeling, just this gut feeling, that I won’t be able to get pregnant. The moment the doctor mentioned infertility, it was like it just clicked.”

Kimberly grabs my hand on the table. “You don’t know that for sure. And not to be a downer, but Hardin doesn’t want kids anyway, right?”

Even with the small knife twisting into my chest from her words, I feel better now that I have told someone about my worries. “No. He doesn’t. He doesn’t want children or marriage with me.”

“Were you hoping he would change his mind?” She gives me a little squeeze.

“Yes, sadly I was. I was almost sure he would. Not right now of course but years from now. I thought maybe if he was older and we both were finished with college, he would eventually change his mind. But now that seems even more delusional than before.” I feel my cheeks flush in embarrassment. I can’t believe I’m actually saying these things aloud. “I know I sound ridiculous worrying over children at my age, but being a mother was always something I wanted since I can remember. I don’t know if it’s because my mother and father weren’t the best parents, but I have always felt this urge, this need, to be a mother. Not just a mother, but a really good one—a mother that would love her children unconditionally. I would never judge them or belittle them. I would never pressure them or humiliate them. I wouldn’t try to mold them into a better version of myself.”

At first, talking about this, I felt insane. But Kimberly is nodding along to everything I’m saying, making me feel like maybe I’m not the only one who feels this way. “I think I would be a good mother, if I was ever given the chance, and the idea of a little brown-haired, gray-eyed little girl running into Hardin’s arms brings my heart to my throat. I imagine it sometimes. I know it’s stupid, but sometimes I picture them sitting there, both of them with unruly wavy hair.” I laugh at the ludicrous vision, one that I have imagined far more times than could possibly be considered normal. “He would read to her and carry her on his shoulders, and she would have him wrapped around her finger.”

I force a smile, trying to erase the sweet image from my head. “But he doesn’t want that, and now that he has learned about Christian being his father, I know he never, ever will.”

Tucking my hair behind my ears, I’m surprised, and more than a little proud of myself, that I made it through all that without a single tear.

I
wish you could stay with me forever.”

Tessa had said that against my chest. It’s what I wanted to hear. It’s what I need to hear, forever.

But why would she possibly want forever with me? What would that even be like? Tessa and I in our forties with no children, no marriage—just the two of us?

That would be perfect, for me. That would be my absolute ideal future, but I know that would never be enough for her. We’ve had the same argument too many times to count, and I know that she would be the first to cave, because I never would. Being an asshole means being the most stubborn. And she would give up having children and a marriage for me.

Besides, what kind of father would I be?
A shitty one, that’s for damn sure. I can’t get through the question in my mind without laughing—it’s ridiculous to even consider. As fucked-up as this trip has been, it’s been a giant fucking wake-up call for me when it comes to my relationship with Tessa. I’ve always tried to warn her, tried to keep her from going down with me, but I never tried hard enough. If I’m being honest, I know I could have pushed harder to keep her safe from me, but, selfishly, I couldn’t. Now seeing the way that her life will be with me, I have no other choice. This trip has cleared the romantic fog from my head, and miraculously, I have been granted the opportunity to have an easy way out. I can send her back to America, and she can get on with her life.

Tessa’s future with me is nothing but a lonely, black hole for her. I would get everything I wanted from her—her constant love and affection for years and years—but she would be left unfulfilled, and as every year passes, she will resent me more and more for depriving her of what she truly wanted. I might as well cut out the middleman and save her the wasted time.

When I arrive at Gabriel’s, I quickly throw Tessa’s bag into the backseat and head back to Kimberly’s hotel. I need a plan, a solid fucking plan that I will actually stick to. She is too stubborn and too in love with me to just give up on me.

That’s her problem, she’s one of those people who will give and give without taking, and the fucked-up truth is that people like her are the easiest prey for someone like me, who takes and takes until there is nothing left. That’s what I have done since the beginning, and that’s what I will always do.

She will try to convince me otherwise; I know she will. She will say that marriage isn’t important anymore, but she would just be lying to herself to keep me around. That says a lot about me, that I have manipulated her into loving me so unconditionally. The masochist in me starts to doubt her love as I drive.

Does she love me as much as she says, or is she addicted to me?
There is a heady difference, and the more shit she puts up with from me, the more it seems like an addiction, the thrill of waiting for me to fuck up again so she can be there to fix me.

That’s what this is: she must see me as a project, someone she can fix. The conversation has come up before, more than once, but she refused to admit it.

I fish through my memories for a specific encounter and finally find it floating somewhere in my muddled, hungover brain.

IT WAS RIGHT AFTER MY MUM LEFT
to go back to London after Christmas, and Tessa had looked up at me with worried eyes. “Hardin?”

“Yeah?” I had asked, speaking through the pen between my teeth.

“Will you help me take this tree down when you’re finished working?”

I wasn’t actually working; I was writing, but she didn’t know that. We had had a long and interesting day. I had caught her coming back from lunch with fucking Trevor, and then I’d bent her over her desk and fucked her senseless.

“Yes, just give me a minute.” I tucked the pages away, afraid that she would see them while cleaning up, and stood to help her take down the tiny tree she’d decorated with my mum.