After Ever Happy (After #4) (20 page)

“I can’t spend my life waiting for you to come back to me, and it would be selfish of me to want you to spend yours running from me, from us.” But I’m confused again. I’m confused because I don’t remember ever having these thoughts; all of my thoughts have always been geared toward Hardin and what I could do to make him better, to make him stay. I don’t know where these thoughts and words are coming from, but I can’t ignore the resolve I feel when I say them.

“I can’t be without you,” he declares—another sentiment he’s proclaimed a million times, yet he does everything in his power to keep me away, to shut me out.

“You can. You’ll be happier and less conflicted. It would be easier, you said so yourself.” I mean it. He will be happier without me, without our constant back-and-forth. He can focus on himself and his anger toward both of his fathers, and one day he could be happy. I love him enough to want his happiness, even if it’s not with me.

He brings his hands in fists to his forehead and clenches his teeth. “No!”

I love him, I’ll always love this man, but I’ve run out. I can’t continue to be the fuel to his fire when he’s constantly coming back with bucket upon bucket of water to extinguish it. “We’ve fought so hard but I think it’s time to stop.”

“No! No!” His eyes search the room, and I know what he’s going to do before he does it. That’s why I’m not surprised when the small lamp goes flying across the room and shatters against the wall. I don’t move. I don’t even blink. It’s all too familiar, and this is why I’m doing what I’m doing.

I can’t comfort him, I can’t. I can’t even comfort myself, and I don’t trust myself enough to wrap my arms around his shoulders and whisper promises into his ear.

“This is what you wanted, remember? Go back to that, Hardin. Just remember why you didn’t want me. Remember why you sent me back to America alone.”

“I can’t be without you; I need you in my life. I need you in my life. I
need
.
You
. In my life,” he chants.

“I can still be in your life. Just not like this.”

“You’re seriously suggesting we be friends?” he spits out venomously. The green of his eyes is almost gone now, replaced by black as his anger builds. Before I can respond, he continues: “We can’t go back to being friends after everything. I could never be in the same room as you and not be with you. You are everything to me, and you’re going insult me by suggesting
we be friends
? You don’t mean that. You love me, Tessa.” He looks into my eyes. “You have to. Don’t you love me?”

The nothing begins to chip away, and I fight desperately to hold on to it. If I begin to feel this, it will take me down. “Yes,” I breathe.

He kneels down in front of me again.

“I love you, Hardin, but we can’t keep doing this to each other.”

I don’t want to fight with him, and I don’t want to hurt him, but the weight of this is on his back. I would have given him everything. Hell, I did give him everything, and he didn’t want it. When times got hard, he didn’t love me enough to fight his demons for me. He gave up, each and every time.

“How will I survive without you?” He’s crying now, right in front of my face, and I blink back my own tears and swallow the heavy lump of guilt in my throat. “I can’t. I won’t. You can’t just throw this away because you’re going through some shit. Let me be here for you, don’t push me away.”

Once again, my mind detaches from my body and I laugh. It’s not an amused laugh; it’s a sad and broken laugh at the irony of what he’s said. He’s asking of me what I’ve asked of him, and he doesn’t even realize it.

“I’ve been begging for the same since I met you,” I softly remind him. I love him and I don’t want to hurt him, but I’ve got to end this cycle once and for all. If I don’t, I won’t make it out alive.

“I know.” His head falls onto my knees, and his body shakes against me. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

He’s hysterical, and the nothing is slipping too fast for me to stop it. I don’t want to feel this, I don’t want to feel him crying against me after promising and offering the things I’ve waited what feels like an eternity to hear.

“We will be okay. When you snap out of this, we will be okay,” I think he says, but I’m not sure, and I can’t ask him to repeat it, because I can’t handle hearing it again. I hate this about us. I hate that no matter what he does to me, I somehow find a way to blame myself for his pain.

I catch a glimpse of movement at the door, and I nod at Noah, letting him know that I’m fine.

I’m not fine, but I haven’t been for a while, and unlike before, I don’t feel the need to be fine. Noah’s eyes move to the broken lamp, and he looks worried, but I nod again, silently pleading with him to leave, to let me have this moment. This last moment to feel Hardin’s body against mine, to feel his head on my lap, to memorize the black swirls of ink across his arms.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t fix you,” I tell him while softly stroking his damp hair.

“Me, too,” he cries against my legs.

M
other, who
is
paying for the funeral?” I ask.

I don’t want to come off as insensitive or rude, but I have no living grandparents, and both of my parents were born as lone children. I know my mother can’t afford a funeral, especially for my father, and I worry that she has taken this on just to prove a point to her friends at church.

I don’t want to wear this black dress that Mother bought me, I don’t want to wear these black, high-heeled shoes that she surely can’t afford, and most of all I don’t want to see my father buried.

My mother hesitates; the tube of lipstick in her hand floats just above her lips as she makes eye contact with me in the mirror. “I don’t know.”

I turn to her in disbelief—I mean, if I could muster enough energy for the feeling to actually be called disbelief. Maybe it’s more like numb curiosity. “You don’t know?” I watch her. Her eyes are swollen, the evidence that she has been taking his death harder than she will ever admit.

“We don’t need to be discussing financials, Theresa,” she scolds, ending the conversation by walking off into the living room.

I nod in agreement, not wanting to start a fight with her. Not today. Today will be hard enough. I feel selfish and a little twisted that I can’t bring myself to understand what he was thinking when he pushed that last needle into his vein. I know he was an addict, and he was only doing what he’d spent years doing, but I still can’t wrap my mind around what it would take to do that, knowing how deadly it is.

In the last three days since seeing Hardin, I have began to get my sanity back. Not completely, and part of me is terrified that I’ll never be the same again.

He’s been staying at the Porters’ house for the last three nights. This was a massive surprise to me, and to Mr. and Mrs. Porter, I’m sure; they surely haven’t spent much time around anyone who doesn’t have a membership to the country club in town. I would have loved to have seen the expression on Mrs. Porter’s face when Noah brought Hardin home to stay with them. I can’t imagine Hardin and Noah getting along well, or at all, so I know how hurt Hardin must have been by my rejection if he was willing to take Noah up on his hospitality.

The heavy weight of my grief is still there, still hiding behind the barrier of nothingness. I can feel it pushing at the wall, trying desperately to ruin me and push me over the edge. I was terrified that after Hardin’s breakdown, the pain would win, but I am thankful that it’s been the opposite.

It’s an odd thing, knowing that he’s so close to this house but he hasn’t tried to come by. I need the space, and Hardin usually isn’t good at giving me space. Then again, I never wanted it before. Not like this. A knock on the front door has me adjusting my black tights faster, and I glance in the mirror one last time.

I lean in closer, examining my eyes. Something about them is different that I can’t quite describe . . . they look
harder
?
Sadder?
I’m not sure, but they match the pathetic excuse for a smile I try to give. If I weren’t half-mad, I would be more concerned about the difference in my appearance.

“Theresa!” my mother calls in annoyance just as I reach the hallway.

Given the sound of her voice, I expect to see Hardin. He’s given me the space I’ve asked for, but I suspected that he would come by today, the day of my father’s funeral. But when I turn the corner, my body freezes; I’m surprised, pleasantly so, to see in the front doorway none other than Zed.

When his eyes meet mine, he looks unsure of himself, but when I feel my lips turning into a grin, his face splits into a bright smile—the one I love, the one where his tongue appears between his teeth and his eyes shine.

I invite him in. “What are you doing here?” I ask right as my arms wrap around his neck. He hugs me, too tight, and I cough dramatically before he lets up.

He grins. “Sorry, it’s been a while.” He laughs, and my mood is instantly brightened by the sound. I haven’t been thinking of him—I feel almost guilty that his face hasn’t entered my mind once in the last few weeks—but I’m glad he’s here. His presence is a reminder that the world hasn’t stopped since my incredible loss.

My loss . . . I don’t want to admit even to myself which loss has been harder for me to cope with.

“It has,” I say. Then the reason for the distance between Zed and me pops into my mind, interrupting our greeting, and I cautiously look past him out the front door. The last thing I need is a brawl on my mother’s perfectly groomed lawn.

“Hardin is here. Well, not here in this house, but he’s a few doors down.”

“I know.” Zed doesn’t look the least bit intimidated despite their history.

“You do?”

My mother gives me a quizzical look, then disappears into the kitchen to leave Zed and me alone. My mind begins to catch up with the realization that Zed is here. I haven’t called him—how could he have known about my father? I suppose it’s remotelly possible it could have been on the news and online, but even so, would Zed have noticed that?

“He called me.” At Zed’s words my head snaps up so I can look into his eyes. “He’s the one who told me to come here and see you. You disconnected your phone, so I had to take his word for it.”

I’m not sure what to say to that, so I just look at Zed silently, trying to figure out the secret math involved here.

“That’s okay, right?” He reached out an arm, but stops short of actually touching me. “You don’t mind me coming here, do you? I can go, if it’s too much for you. He just said you needed a friend, and I knew it had to be bad if he was calling
me,
out of all people.” Zed ends with a little laugh, but I know he’s being serious.

Why would Hardin call him instead of Landon? Actually, Landon is on his way here anyway, so why would Hardin request Zed to come to me?

I can’t help but feel that this is some sort of setup, as if Hardin is testing me in some way. I hate the idea of that, that he would do that type of thing right now, but he’s done worse. I can’t allow myself to forget that he’s done worse things, and there is always some sort of motive behind his actions. He always has an angle, a hidden equation to how he approaches me.

I’m more hurt than anything by his proposal of marriage. He’d denied me the chance of marriage since the beginning of our relationship, only to bring it up twice—two times when he wanted something. Once when he was too drunk to know what he was saying, and once in an attempt to make me stay. If I had woken up next to him the next morning, he would have taken it back just like before. Like he always does. He’s been nothing but broken promises since I’ve met him, and the only thing worse than being with someone who doesn’t believe in marriage is being with someone who would marry me only to win a momentary victory, not because he truly wants to be my husband.

I need to remember that, or I will keep having these ridiculous thoughts. These thoughts that sneak in throughout my days of Hardin in a tuxedo. The image causes me to laugh, and tuxedo Hardin quickly shifts into jeans and boots, even on his wedding day, but I think I would be okay with that.

Would have been.
I have got to stop these fantasies; they’re not helping my sanity. Another one creeps in, though. This time Hardin is laughing, holding a glass of wine . . . and I notice a silver wedding band on his ring finger. He’s laughing loudly, his head tilted back in that charming way.

I push it back.

His smile creeps through, a vision of him spilling wine on his white T-shirt. He would probably insist on wearing white, instead of the usual black, just to humor himself and horrify my mother. He would gently push my hands away as I patted the stain with a napkin. He would say something like “Should have known better than to wear white anyway.” And he would laugh and bring my fingers to his lips, kissing each fingertip softly. His eyes would linger on my wedding ring, and a proud smile would take over his face.

“Are you all right?” Zed’s voice breaks through my pitiful thoughts.

“Yeah.” I shake my head to rid the perfect image of Hardin smiling at me as I approach Zed. “I’m sorry, I’m a little out of it lately.”

“That’s okay. I would be worried if you weren’t.” He wraps a comforting arm around my shoulders.

When I think about it, I shouldn’t be surprised that Zed came all the way here to support me. The more I think of it, the more I remember. He was always there, even when I didn’t need him to be. He was in the background, always in Hardin’s shadow.

N
oah is so damn annoying. I don’t know how Tessa could stand him for all those years. I’m beginning to think she was hiding from
him
in that greenhouse instead of from Richard.

I wouldn’t blame her, I’m tempted to do the same right now.

“I don’t think you should have called that guy,” Noah says from the couch across the massive living room of his parents’ house. “I really don’t like him. I don’t like you either, but he’s even worse than you.”