After Ever Happy (After 4)

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.

“Tessa.” 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.