After Ever Happy

  Her eyes roll, and she lifts her arm to cover her face.

  “It’s true.” I laugh and playfully drag her from the bed.

  “What are you doing?” she screeches when I lift her over my shoulder. “You’re going to hurt yourself lifting me!” She tries to wiggle off me, but I tighten my arm around the back of her legs.

  I don’t know if Landon is here or not, so I call out a warning just in case. The last thing he needs to see is me carrying a naked Tessa down the hallway of this matchbox apartment. “Landon! If you’re here, stay in your damn room!”

  “Put me down!” She kicks her legs again.

  “You need a shower.” I slap my palm against her ass, and she yelps, swatting mine in return.

  “I can walk to the shower!” She is laughing now, giggling and screeching like a schoolgirl, and I fucking love it. I love that I can still make her laugh, that she grants me such beautiful sounds.

  I finally place her, as gently as possible, on the bathroom floor and turn on the water.

  “I’ve missed you.” She stares up at me from the floor.

  My chest tightens; I fucking need to spend my life with this woman. I need to tell her everything that I’ve been doing since she left me, but now isn’t the time. Tomorrow, I’ll tell her tomorrow.

  Tonight, I will enjoy her sassy remarks, savor her laughs, and try to earn as many forms of affection from her as possible.

  chapter seventy-two

  TESSA

  When I wake up on Monday morning, Hardin isn’t in my bed. I know he has some sort of interview or meeting, but he hasn’t mentioned exactly what it’s about or which part of the city it’s in. I have no clue if he will return before I have to leave for work.

  I roll over, clinging to the sheets that still smell of him, and press my cheek against the mattress. Last night . . . well, last night was amazing. Hardin was amazing; we were amazing. The chemistry, explosive chemistry, between us is still as undeniable as ever, and now we are finally at a place in our lives where we can see our faults, each other’s faults, and accept them and work through them in a way we couldn’t in the past.

  We needed this time apart. We needed to be able to stand alone before we could stand together, and I’m so thankful that we made it through the darkness, the fighting, the pain, and emerged hand in hand, stronger than ever.

  I love him, Lord knows that I love this man; through all the separations, through all the chaos, he has crawled into my soul and marked it as his, never to be forgotten. I couldn’t have if I tried, and I did try. I tried for months to move along, day by day, keeping myself busy in an attempt to keep my mind from him.

  Of course, it didn’t work, and thoughts of him never strayed too far from my mind. Now that I have agreed to work things out, in our own way, I finally feel as though everything could work out for us. We could be what I once wanted more than anything else.

  “You had to know that I would always love you. You made me . . . me, Tessa, and I will never forget that,” he’d said while pushing inside me.

  He was breathless, gentle, and passionate. I was lost in his touch, in the way his fingers traveled down the length of my spine.

  The sound of the front door opening finally brings me out of my daydreaming and remembering last night. I climb out of bed, reach for my shorts from the floor, and pull them up my legs. My hair is a matted mess; letting it air-dry after the shower with Hardin was a terrible idea. It’s tangled and frizzy, but I brush my fingers over it the best I can before pulling it back into a ponytail.

  Hardin is standing in the living room, his phone pressed to his ear, when I reach the entrance. He’s dressed in his usual style of all black, and his long hair is a wild mess, like mine, yet it looks perfect on him.

  “Yeah, I know. Ben will let you know what I decide,” he says while noticing me standing near the couch. “I’ll call you back.” His tone is short, impatient almost, and he ends the call. The annoyed expression disappears as he takes steps toward me.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” He nods, looking down at his phone again. His hand runs over his hair, and I wrap my hand around his wrist.

  “Are you sure?” I don’t want to be pushy, but he seems off. His phone rings in his hand, and he looks down at the screen.

  “I need to take this.” He sighs. “I’ll be right back.” Kissing my forehead, he steps out into the hallway and closes the front door behind him.

  My eyes travel to the binder on the table. It’s open, and the edges of a stack of papers are sticking out from the sides. I recognize the binder as the one I bought for him and smile at his still having it.

  Curiosity gets the best of me, and I find myself opening the binder. On the first page is printed:

  AFTER: BY HARDIN SCOTT

  I flip to the second page.

  It was the fall when he met her. Most people were obsessing over the way the leaves were turning and the smell of burning wood that always seems to linger in the air during this time of year; not him, he was only worried about one thing. Himself.

  What? I brush through page after page, looking for some sort of explanation to calm the chaotic thoughts and confusion. This couldn’t be what I think it is . . .

  Her complaining felt overwhelming to him, he didn’t want to hear the worst parts of himself thrown at him. He wanted her to think he was perfect, the way she was to him.

  Tears fill my eyes, and I flinch when some of the papers fall to the floor.

  In a Darcy-inspired gesture, he funded her father’s funeral the way Darcy covered Lydia’s wedding. In this case, he was attempting to mask a family embarrassment caused by a drug addict, not an underage sister marrying spontaneously, but the ending was the same. If his life would become one from the novels, his kind gesture would bring his Elizabeth back to his arms.

  I can feel the room spinning around me. I had no idea that Hardin had paid for my father’s funeral. The small possibility of it crossed my mind back then, but I had assumed that my mother’s church had helped with the expenses.

  Even though she was unable to bear children of her own, she couldn’t let go of the dream of them. He knew that, and he loved her even so. He tried his hardest not to be selfish, but he couldn’t help thinking about the little versions of him that she couldn’t give him. He felt for her more than himself, but he couldn’t help but cry over their loss many more nights than he could remember.

  Just as I decide I cannot take any more, the front door opens and Hardin walks in. His eyes go directly to mess of white paper printed with disgusting black words, and his phone falls to the floor, joining the chaos.

  chapter seventy-three

  HARDIN

  Complications.

  Life is full of them; mine seems to be chocked-fucking-full of them, overflowing and spilling out of the top in a never-ending surge. Wave after wave of complications collide with the most important moments and things in my life, and this moment is one that I can’t allow to be drowned.

  If I stay calm, if I stay fucking calm and try to explain myself, I can hold back the tidal wave that is bound to crash through this small living room at any moment.

  I can see it brewing behind the blue-gray of her eyes. I can see the confusion swirling with anger, creating a heavy storm, just like the sea before the lightning flashes and the thunder rolls. The water is calm, resting, just barely rippling on the surface, but I can see it coming.

  A sheet of white paper clenched between trembling hands and Tessa’s ominous expression warn me of the danger ahead.

  I have no fucking idea what to say to her, where to start. It’s such a complicated story, and I am pure shit at problem solving. I have to get a grip, I have to make more of an effort to mold and shape my words, to form an explanation that will keep her from running, again.

  “What is this?” Her eyes move across a page before she tosses it into the air with one hand and crumples the corners of the small stack left in her grasp.

  “Te
ssa.” I take a cautious step toward her.

  She stares. Her face is hard, guarded in a way that I’m not used to, as her feet shuffle backward.

  “I need you to listen to me,” I beg, searching her clouded features. I feel like shit, complete and utter shit. We had just gotten back to us, and I had finally gotten back to her, and now this, after such a short time together.

  “Oh, I’m listening, all right.” Her voice is loud, her tone sarcastic.

  “I don’t know where to start; just give me a minute and I’ll explain.”

  My fingers run over my hair, tugging at the roots, wishing I could trade her pain for mine and rip my hair straight from the scalp. Yeah, a fucked-up image.

  Tessa stands, impatiently patient, her eyes moving from page to page. Her brows lift and drop, her eyes tighten and widen, as I begin.

  “Stop reading it.” I take a step and grab the manuscript from her hands. The pages fall to the floor, joining the other bullshit pooling at her feet.

  “Explain it. Now,” she urges, her eyes cold, a thunderous gray that terrifies me.

  “Okay, okay.” I shift on my heels. “Okay, I have been writing.”

  “How long?” She steps toward me. I’m surprised by the way my body retracts as if it’s afraid of her.

  “A long time.” I avoid the truth.

  “You’ll tell me, and you’ll tell me now.”

  “Tess—”

  “Don’t Tess me, motherfucker. I’m not the same little girl you met a year ago. You’re going to tell me now or you’ll get the hell out of here.” She purposely steps on a page, and I can’t find it in me to blame her. “Well, I can’t kick you out, because it’s Landon’s place, but I will leave if you don’t explain this shit. Now,” she adds, showing that, despite her anger, she’s still sweet.

  “I’ve been writing for a long time, since the very beginning of us, but I didn’t have any intention of doing anything with it. I was only venting, using the paper to figure out what the fuck was going on in my head, but then I had this idea.”

  “When?” Her finger presses against my chest, jabbing at me in what she must think is a forceful way, but she couldn’t be more wrong. I won’t tell her that, not right now.

  “I started it after we kissed.”

  “The first time?” Her hands spread, shoving my chest, and I wrap my fingers around them as they push against me again. “You were playing me.” She wrenches her hands from mine and digs her open hands into her long hair.

  “No, I wasn’t! It wasn’t like that!” I say, trying not to raise my voice. It’s hard but I manage to keep a somewhat subdued tone.

  She paces the small living room, fuming and whirling.

  Her hands clench at her sides before she throws them into the air, again. “So many secrets, too many secrets. I’m over it.”

  “You’re over it?” I gape at her. Her body is still moving restlessly around the room. “Talk to me; tell me how you feel about all of this.”

  “How I feel?” She shakes her head, her eyes wild. “I feel like this was a wake-up call, the string that pulled me back into reality and away from the ridiculous hopes of the last few days. This is us.” She waves her hand back and forth. “There is always some bomb waiting to explode, and I’m not foolish enough to wait to be destroyed. Not anymore.”

  “This isn’t a bomb, Tessa. You act as if I was writing this to purposely hurt you!”

  She opens her mouth to speak before closing it again, at a loss for words, I’m sure. When she collects herself, she says, “And just how did you think I would feel when I saw this? You knew I would find out eventually; why didn’t you just tell me about it? I hate the way this feels.”

  “The way what feels?” I ask with caution.

  “This feeling, it’s like a burning in my chest when you pull stuff like this, and I hate it. I haven’t felt this way in so long, and I never wanted to feel it again, yet here we are.” The sound of defeat is clear in her soft voice, and my skin rises in bumps when she turns away from me.

  “Come here.” I reach for her arm and pull her as close to me as she will allow. Her arms cross in front of her as I crush her against my chest. She doesn’t fight me off, but she doesn’t hug me. She stands still, and I’m not sure if the worst is over.

  “Tell me what you are feeling.” My voice comes out awkward and short. “What you are thinking?”

  She pushes against my chest again, with less force this time, and I let her go. She bends down at her knees and picks up one of the pages.

  I had originally starting writing this as a form of expression, and, honestly, because I’d run out of shit to read. I was in between books, and Tessa, Theresa Young at the time, had started to intrigue me. She started to annoy me and piss me off, and I found myself thinking about her more and more.

  When she was in my head, there didn’t seem to be room for anything else. She became an obsession, and I convinced myself that it was a part of the game, but I knew better than that, I just wasn’t ready to admit it yet. I remember the way I felt the first time I saw her, the way her lips looked so pouty, and the way I cringed at her outfit.

  The skirt she wore had touched the floor, and her flat shoes were causing the damn thing to drag across it awkwardly. She stared down at the floor when she spoke her name for the first time—“Um, yeah . . . my name is Tessa”—and I remember thinking she had an odd name. I hadn’t paid much attention after that. Nate was nice to her, and I was irritated by the way she stared at me, judging me with those gray eyes.

  She nagged at me every day, even when she didn’t speak to me, especially then.

  “Are you even listening to me?” Her voice breaks through the memory, and I look over at her to find her fuming again.

  “I was . . .” I hesitate.

  “You weren’t even listening,” she accuses, rightfully so. “I can’t believe you would do this. This is what you were doing all of those times I came home, and you would put your binder away. This is what I found in the closet just before I found my father . . .”

  “I won’t make excuses, but half of the shit in there is from my intoxicated mind.”

  “ ‘Trash’?” Her eyes scan the page in her hand. “ ‘She couldn’t hold her liquor, she stumbled through the room in a messy way, the way tasteless girls move when they drink too much to impress others.’ ”

  “Stop reading that shit, that part isn’t about you. I swear it and you know it.” I pull the page from her, but she quickly snatches it back.

  “No! You don’t get to write my story and tell me that I can’t read it. You still haven’t explained anything.” She moves across the living room, lifting a shoe from the rug near the front door. She pushes both feet into her shoes and adjusts her shorts.

  “Where are you going?” I’m prepared to follow her.

  “I’m going for a walk. I need air. I need to get out of here.” I can tell she’s mentally cursing herself for giving me any bit of information.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No. You won’t.” Her keys are in her hands, and she gathers her messy hair above her head, twisting it and tying it back to control it.

  “You are barely dressed,” I point out.

  She sends me a murderous glare. Without a word, she leaves the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

  Nothing was accomplished just now, nothing solved. The plan I had to control the complications turned into a fucking disaster, and now shit’s even more complicated. I kneel down on the floor, forcing myself not to follow her, throw her over my shoulder while she’s kicking and screaming, and lock her in her room until she’s ready to talk to me.

  No, I can’t do that. That would be backtracking on all the “progress” I’ve made. Instead, I gather the scrambled pages from the floor and read over some of the words, reminding myself why I decided to try to do something with this shitty writing in the first place.

  “What is that you keep trying to hide over there?” Nate leaned ove
r, being nosy as ever.

  “Nothing, man, mind your business.” Hardin scowled, staring across the courtyard. He didn’t know how he started sitting here every day, at this exact time. It had nothing to do with Tessa and annoying-ass Landon meeting at the coffee shop every morning. Nothing at all to do with that.

  He didn’t want to see the obnoxious girl. He really didn’t.

  “I heard you and Molly last night in the hallway, you sick fuck.” Nate flicked the ashes off his cigarette and made a face.

  “Well, I wasn’t going to let her in my room, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Hardin laughed, proud that she was so willing to blow him at any moment, even in the hallway next to his room.

  What he didn’t tell them was that he’d turned her down and ended up jerking off while thinking of a certain blonde.

  “You’re an asshole.” Nate shook his head. “Isn’t he an asshole?” he asked Logan as the third boy approached the run-down picnic table.

  “Yeah, he is.” Logan held his hand out for a cigarette from Nate, and Hardin tried not to look at the girl in the potato-sack skirt waiting to cross the street.

  “One of these days you’re gonna fall in love, and I’m going to laugh my fucking ass off. You’ll be the one giving oral in the hallway, and the chick won’t let you in her room.” Nate got a kick out of mocking him this way, but he could barely hear him.

  Why does she dress that way? he found himself wondering as she rolled up the sleeves of her long-sleeved shirt. Hardin watched, pen in hand, as she walked closer, her eyes focused on the sidewalk in front of her, and she apologized too many times when she bumped into a puny boy, causing a book to fall from his hands.

  She bent down to help and smiled at him, and Hardin couldn’t help remembering how soft her lips were when she forced herself on him the other night. He was surprised as fuck—he didn’t take her as the type to make the first move and was fairly positive that she had only kissed her lame-ass boyfriend before. Her gasping and the way her hands were so eager to touch him made that pretty clear.