I have loved slow and deep with Dakota . . . it was—still is—a steady kind of love. We had our share of complications and fights, but nine times out of ten, it was her and me fighting against the world. It was me, sword drawn, cannon loaded, ready to charge at any enemy who crossed a line. Mostly the foe was her dad, the biggest, nastiest troll of all. I spent many a night rescuing my princess from the yellow-stained walls and worn Cinderella-printed curtains tacked over the windows of her house. I climbed the dirty, sun-damaged siding and opened the dust-covered window, and pulled her to the safety of warm chocolate chip cookies and the soft voice of my mother.
Times were rough at her house, and when Carter was gone, even the best cookies, the softest voices, and the tightest hugs couldn’t comfort Dakota. We shared pain and pleasure, but the more I think about it and the more I compare it to the relationships I see around me and the ones I read about in my books, the more I realize that while Dakota and I were family, we were also nothing but kids.
Is someone even supposed to spend his whole life with the one who helps him grow? Or is that person simply a stop along the way to who he will become, their role ending when he learns what he needs to make it to the next stop? I once felt like Dakota was my entire journey and my destination, but I’m starting to feel like I was no more than a stop along the way for her.
Do I, Landon Gibson, Amateur Relationship Participant, even know what the hell I’m talking about?
I grab my phone as it goes to voicemail. I call Hardin right back and he answers on the first ring.
“Hey,” I say, looking at Tessa as she pulls the blanket up to her neck like it’s protecting her from something.
“I’m about to book my flight. It’s next month,” he says, loud enough for Tessa to hear. And with every word from Hardin’s mouth, she visibly shudders.
She stands up and walks to her room without a word.
I whisper so she doesn’t hear me: “I don’t know if it’s a good—”
“Why?” he interrupts. “What’s going on, where’s Tess?”
“She just went into her room after shaking like someone was screaming at her the moment she overheard your voice.” It’s harsh to say it like that, I know, but it’s honest.
Hardin makes a noise that pains me. “If she would just speak to me . . . I fucking hate this shit.”
I sigh. I know he hates it. So does she. So do I. But he did this to himself, to her, and it’s not fair of me to push her toward him if she doesn’t want to go.
“Try to give her the phone,” he demands.
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Fuck, man.”
I can picture him running his fingers through his hair.
He hangs up the phone, and I don’t call him back.
I wait a few minutes and knock on Tessa’s door. She opens almost immediately and I take a step back into the hallway. I glance at the tabby cat picture and wonder again how I managed to never pay attention to these weird little pictures before.
“You okay?” I ask my friend.
She looks down at her feet, then back up at me. “Yeah.”
“You’re a terrible liar,” I say.
She steps back into her room and leaves the door open, gesturing for me to come inside. She sits on the edge of her bed and I look around her room. It’s spotless as usual, and she’s done a little more decorating since I’ve last been in it. Her TV is no longer on the dresser; in its place are stacks of books, organized by author’s last name. Three worn copies of Pride and Prejudice catch my eye.
Tessa lies back on her bed and stares up at the ceiling. “I really am okay with him coming to visit. He’s your family and I won’t keep you from seeing him.”