“I’m okay, just feeling a little off,” he says.
I never thought I’d see the day he’d lie to her.
“Are you sure, because you’ve been acting so—”
“Tessa . . .” He reaches up, and I swear, if he puts his hand on hers . . . “I’m fine.” He smiles, lowering his hand from the table. I quickly reach for her hand and them on my lap, covered with my own.
The boring table chat fades in and out. I don’t participate, and all too soon it’s time for me to drive Tessa back to Seattle. I’m once again reminded of what a fucking idiot I am for not moving there in the first place.
“I’ll see you again before you leave, right?” Tessa’s eyes water as Landon hugs her goodbye. I look away.
“Yeah, of course. Maybe I’ll come up there to visit you once you’re back from your visit to the queen?” he quips, making her smile. I appreciate his effort, especially since I’m going to be the one she loses her shit on when she finds out that him and Dakota broke up and I kept it from her.
Ten minutes later, I’m practically dragging Tessa’s ass out of the house. Karen is much more upset than you would expect any reasonable person to be, and she tells Tessa that she loves her, which is pretty fucking weird.
“Does it make me a horrible person that I feel more comfortable around your family than my own?” Tessa asks me after fifteen minutes of driving in silence.
“Yes.”
She glares at me, making me roll my eyes at her pretend anger. “Both of our families are fucked up,” I say, and she nods, returning to her silence.
The closer my car gets to Seattle, the stronger the current of anxiety that’s flowing through my chest. I don’t want to spend the entire week away from her. Four days away from Tessa is a fucking lifetime.
The moment I get back, I’m heading straight to the gym.
chapter
one hundred and twenty-nine
TESSA
On Monday morning I arrive for my appointment half an hour early and take a seat in one of the mass-produced, blue-checkered chairs in the waiting room, which, I can’t help but notice, is nearly full, crying children and coughing women crowding the space. I try to keep myself occupied by flipping through a magazine, but the only one available is a parenting journal, full of diaper ads and “revolutionary” breast-feeding tips.
“Young? Theresa Young?” An elderly woman calls my name as she looks up from a clipboard. I stand quickly, sidestepping a toddler who’s scooting around on the floor with a toy truck in his hand. The truck rolls over my shoe, and he giggles. I smile down at him, earning an adorable grin in return.
“How far along are you?” a woman, the boy’s mother, I assume, asks. Her eyes dart to my stomach, and I instinctively place my hand on it.
An uncomfortable laugh escapes. “Oh! I’m not . . .”
“I’m sorry!” She flushes. “I just assumed, you don’t look it . . . I just thought . . .” The fact that she’s as uncomfortable as I am makes me feel lighter. Asking a woman how far along she is never ends well, especially when she isn’t pregnant. The woman laughs. “Well, now you know for future reference when you’re a mother yourself . . . the filter disappears!”
I don’t allow my mind to go there; I don’t have time to ponder the future and the fact that if I want a life with Hardin, I’ll never be a mother. I’ll never have an adorable toddler running a toy truck over my shoes or climbing onto my lap. I turn back to look at him one last time.
I smile politely and make my way to the nurse, who immediately hands me a small cup and instructs me to go to the restroom down the hall to complete the pregnancy test. Despite my period, I’m battling nerves at the idea. Hardin and I have been so careless lately, and the last thing we need is an unplanned pregnancy. It would push him over the edge. It could completely upend everything I want to do with my life, to have a baby now.
When I hand the full cup back to the nurse, she guides me into an empty room and wraps a blood-pressure cuff around my arm. “Uncross your legs, dear,” she sweetly instructs, and I do as I’m told. After taking my temperature, the woman disappears, and a few minutes later I hear a knock on the door, and a distinguished-looking middle-aged man with mostly gray hair enters. He removes a pair of thick glasses and reaches a hand out to me.
“Dr. West. It’s nice to meet you, Theresa,” he introduces himself amiably. I was hoping for a female doctor, but he seems nice enough. I do wish he was less attractive, though; it would make things less awkward for me during this already uncomfortable experience.
Dr. West asks a lot of questions, most of which are absolutely horrifying. I have to tell him about Hardin and me having unprotected sex—on more than one occasion—during which I force myself to maintain eye contact with him. Halfway through the embarrassing ordeal, the nurse returns and places a piece of paper on top of the desk. Dr. West glances at it, and I hold my breath until he speaks.
He gives me a warm smile. “Well, you’re not pregnant, so now we can begin.”
And I let out the deep breath I didn’t realize I was even holding.
He reels off many options, some of which I’ve never even heard of, before we settle on the shot.
“Before I give you the shot, I’ll need to do a brief pelvic exam; is that okay?”
I nod and swallow my nervousness. I don’t know why I’m so uncomfortable; he’s only a doctor, and I’m an adult. I should have scheduled this appointment for after my period. I didn’t think about the actual exam when I called for the appointment. I only wanted Hardin off my back.
“ALMOST FINISHED,” Dr. West announces. The exam is proving to be quick and not nearly as awkward as I assumed it would be, which is a blessing.
He pops up, a deep line forming across his forehead. “Have you had a pelvic exam before?”
“No, I don’t think so,” I answer quietly. I know I haven’t, but the last part of my response was a nervous add-on. My eyes turn to the screen in front of him, and he moves the probe around the bottom of my belly, across my pelvis.
“Hmm,” he says to himself. My unease grows—was the test wrong, and there really is a baby in there after all? I begin to panic. I’m too young, and I haven’t finished college, and Hardin and I are in such an in-between place and—
“I’m a little concerned about the size of your cervix,” he finally says. “It’s nothing to worry about at the moment, but I’d like to see you again to do further testing.”
“ ‘Nothing to worry about’?” My mouth is dry, and my stomach is in knots. My palms start sweating. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing as of now . . . I can’t be sure,” he says—in a very unconvincing tone.
I pull myself up, pushing the gown back down. “What could it mean?”
“Well . . .” Dr. West pushes his thick glasses back up his nose. “Worst case would be infertility, but without further testing, there’s no way to know just from this exam. I don’t see any cysts, and that’s a really good sign.” He gestures to the screen.
My heart drops onto the cold tile floor. “What . . . what are the chances?” I can’t hear my own voice or thoughts.
“I can’t say. This isn’t a diagnosis, Miss Young. What I mentioned is the worst-case scenario; please don’t fret over it until we get some testing done. I want to go ahead with your shot today, get some blood drawn for some tests, and schedule a follow-up.” After a moment he adds, “Okay?”
I nod, unable to speak. I just heard him say it wasn’t a diagnosis, but it sure feels like one. I felt the dreadful, empty flutter of my nerves crawling up my spine at the first mention of a problem. Only the hammering of my heart can be heard in the quiet room. I’m sulking, and I know it, but I don’t care.
“This happens all the time; don’t trouble yourself over it. We’ll clear it up; it’s nothing, I’m sure,” he says rather stiffly, and then exits the room, leaving me to deal with the cruel, sharp edges of the situation on my own. He isn’t sure, nothing is certain; he see
ms fairly blasé about it—so why can’t I shake the anxiety gnawing at me?
I’m given the birth-control shot by the nurse, who has suddenly turned into a mother hen, talking about her grandchildren and their love of her homemade cookies. I stay quiet mostly, only speaking enough to be polite. I feel nauseous.
She gives me a thorough briefing about my new contraceptive, going over the pros and cons that I’ve already heard from Dr. West. I’m thrilled to not have to deal with a period anymore, slightly concerned over the weight gain, but figure it’s an even trade.
She tells me that since I’m on my period now, the shot will be effective immediately, but to wait three days to have unprotected sex, just to be safe. Then she reminds me that this won’t protect me from STDs, only pregnancy.
After scheduling the dreaded follow-up appointment, I head straight downtown to take my passport photo and finalize the paperwork. Of course, it has already been paid for by Mr. Vance. I cringe at the amount of money everyone around me seems to have no problem spending on me.
Every single person I pass on the street seems to be pregnant or carrying a child in their arms. I shouldn’t have pressed the doctor for information; now I’m going to be paranoid until my follow-up, which of course isn’t for another three weeks. Three weeks to drive myself mad, three weeks to obsess over the chance that I might not be able to get pregnant. I don’t know why the idea is so painful; I thought I had somewhat come to terms with the idea of not having children. I can’t mention this to Hardin yet, not until I know for sure. Not that it will make a difference to his plans anyway.
I text Hardin when I get back to my car, telling him that my appointment went well, and head back to Christian and Kimberly’s house. By the time I arrive, I’ve convinced myself that I’ll spend the week avoiding the topic. There’s no reason to worry myself when Dr. West assured me that nothing was definite at this point. The hollowness in my chest says otherwise, but I have to ignore it and move on for now. I’m going to England. For the first time in my life, I’m going to be traveling outside of the state of Washington, and I couldn’t be more excited. Nervous, but excited.
chapter
one hundred and thirty
HARDIN
Tessa looks like she could pass out any minute. She’s shoved an ink pen between her teeth as she looks over her checklist again. Apparently traveling across the globe kicks her neurotic tendencies into high gear.
“Are you sure you have everything?” I sarcastically ask.
“What? Yes,” she huffs, focused on the task of rechecking her carry-on bag for the tenth time since we arrived at the airport.
“If we don’t go inside now, we’re going to miss our flight,” I warn her.
“I know.” She looks up at me, her hand still digging around that damn bag. She’s crazy—adorable as hell, but fucking nuts. “You’re sure about leaving your car here?” she asks.
“Yes. That’s what this parking lot is for: cars.” I point up at the Long-Term Parking sign above our heads and say, “It’s for cars with no commitment issues.”
Tessa stares at me blankly, as if I’ve said nothing at all.
“Just give me the bag,” I say, pulling the hideous thing from her shoulder. It’s too heavy for her to be carrying around. The woman has packed half of her shit in this bag alone.
“I’ll pull the case, then.” She reaches for the handle of the wheelie suitcase.
“No, I’ve got it. Relax, would you? It’ll be fine,” I assure her. I’ll never forget how frantic she was this morning. Folding and refolding, packing and repacking our clothes until they fit perfectly in the case. I took it easy on her, because I know how beyond her element this trip is. Even though she’s being as annoying as ever, I can’t help but feel excited. Excited to be taking her on her first trip abroad, excited at the prospect of watching her blue-gray eyes widen at the clouds as we fly through them. I made sure she had a seat next to the window for that reason alone.
“Ready?” I ask her as the automatic doors open as if to greet us.
“No.” She smiles nervously, and I lead her through the crowded airport.
“YOU’RE GOING TO PASS OUT on me, aren’t you?” I lean over and whisper to Tessa. She’s pale, and her small hands are shaking on her lap. I gather them in one of mine and offer her an assuring squeeze. She smiles at me, a nice change from the scowl that covered her face the entire time from the ticket kiosk until now.
That TSA agent was hitting on her; I recognized the stupid fucking grin on his face when she smiled at him. I have the same fucking grin. I had every right to tell him to fuck off, but of course she didn’t agree, and she’d been scowling since she dragged me away, my middle finger high in the air at that asshole. “Thank God that guy’s so nearsighted,” she mumbled, and then kept looking back over her shoulder.
Her attitude only worsened when I pressed for her to do up her cardigan. The old man next to me is a fucking pervert, and Tessa’s lucky she has the window seat and I can shield her from his eyes. Being stubborn, she refused to button the damn thing, leaving her tits on display for everyone to see. Granted, the shirt isn’t that low cut, but when she bends down, you can see straight down it. She ignored my protests and claimed that I can’t control her. I’m not trying to control her, I’m trying to prevent men from ogling over her not-so-subtle chest.
“No, I’m okay,” she hesitantly answers. Her eyes give her away.
“We should be taking off anytime.” I glance up at the flight attendant making her way through the cabin to check the overhead compartments for the third time. They’re all fucking closed, lady; let’s get a move on it before I have to carry Tessa off of this plane. Actually, halting the trip could work in my favor, really.
“Last chance to hop off of the plane. The tickets aren’t refundable, but I’ll go ahead and add them to your tab,” I say, tucking her loose hair behind her ear, and she gives me the smallest smile I’ve ever seen. She’s still mad, but her nerves are causing her to soften up toward me.
“Hardin,” she quietly whines. She rests her head against the window and closes her eyes. I hate to see her so nervous; it makes me anxious, and this trip has me on fucking anxiety overload as it is. I lean across and pull the cover down over her window, hoping that will help.
“How much longer?” I impatiently bark at the flight attendant as she passes our row.
Her eyes move from Tessa to me, and she raises a snooty brow. “A few minutes.” She forces a smile for the sake of her job. The man next to me shifts uncomfortably, and I wish I had purchased an extra ticket so I wouldn’t have to worry about sitting this close to an obnoxious asshole. He smells like stale tobacco.
“It’s been longer than a few—” I begin.
Tessa’s hand reaches over to mine; her eyes are now open, pleading with me not to cause a scene. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes to heighten the drama of the act.
“Fine,” I say, turning away from the attendant, who continues down the aisle.
“Thank you,” Tessa mouths. Instead of resting her head against the window, she gently rests it against my arm. I tap her thigh and signal for her to lift up so I can put my arm around her. She nuzzles into me and sighs in contentment as I gently tighten my arm around her body. I love that sound.
The plane begins to move slowly down the runway, and Tessa’s eyes screw shut.
By the time the plane is in the air, she has the window cover raised and her eyes are wide with wonder as she stares out at the rapidly shrinking landscape. “This is amazing.” She grins. All the color has now seeped back into her face. She’s glowing with excitement, and it’s contagious as hell. I try to fight my grin, but it’s impossible, as she babbles on about how everything “just looks so small.”
“See, it wasn’t so bad. We haven’t crashed yet,” I disdainfully remark.
In response, murmers and annoyed coughs start wafting through the nearly silent cabin, but I don’t give a shit. Tessa understands my humor, for the m
ost part at least, and she shoots me an eye roll and gives me a playful jab in the chest.
“Hush,” she warns, and I chuckle.
After three hours, she’s restless. I knew she would be; we’ve watched some of the shitty programming the airline sponsors and gone through the SkyMall magazine twice, both of us agreeing that a dog crate disguised as a television stand is certainly not worth two thousand dollars.
“It’s going to be a long nine hours,” I say to her.
“Only six now,” she corrects me. Her fingers trace the infinity-heart tattoo above my wrist.
“Only six,” I repeat. “Take a nap.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
She looks up at me. “What do you think my father is doing? I mean, I know Landon watched him last time you were away, but we’ll be gone for three days this time.”
Fuck. “He’ll be fine.” He’s going to be annoyed, but he’ll get over it and thank her later.
“I’m glad we declined your father’s offer,” she says.
Fucking hell. “Why?” I choke, searching her face.
“The rehab place is too expensive.”
“And?”
“I don’t feel comfortable with your father spending that amount of money on my father. It’s not his responsibility, and we don’t know for sure that my father is even—”
“He’s a drug addict, Tessa.” I know she still doesn’t want to admit it, but she knows it’s true. “And my father might as well pay for his treatment.”
I need to call Landon as soon as we land to find out how the “intervention” went. As much as I hope her shitbag of a dad agreed to it, I feel guilty that Tessa wasn’t in on the plan. I spent hours punching and kicking that bag at the gym, pondering this shit. At the end of it, the solution was simple. Either Richard takes his ass to rehab on my father’s dime, or he’s out of Tessa’s life for good. I won’t have his fucking addiction being a burden on her. I cause her enough fucking problems, and if anyone is going to cause her stress, it will be me. I sent Landon to do the intervention, to tell the man that he had to choose one or the other: rehab or no Tessa. I figured things wouldn’t turn violent if Landon, as opposed to me, was in charge. As much as it eats at me that my father will be the one who’s actually helping Tessa, since he’s the one paying, I couldn’t turn him down. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.