After Ever Happy (After #4) (30 page)

Anger simmers inside me, humming in my veins, and I’m two breaths away from calling for Tessa. I need her at times like this—well, I need her always—but especially now. I need her soft voice to speak encouraging words. I need her light to push against the shadows inside my mind.

“I want you to be a part of the baby’s life, Hardin. I think this could be a really good thing for all of us.”

“Us?”
I scoff.

“Yes,
all
of us. You’re a part of this family. When I married Karen and took on the role of Landon’s father, I know you felt like I was forgetting about you, and I don’t want you to feel this way because of the baby.”

“Forgetting
me? You forgot about me long before you married Karen.” But I don’t get the same thrill out of throwing shit into his face now that I know the truth about his past with my mum and Christian. I feel for him and the shit those two pulled, but at the same time I’m fucking pissed at him for being such a shitty father up until this last year. Even if he wasn’t my biological dad, he was in charge of taking care of us—he accepted that role and then just gave it up to drink.

So I can’t help myself. I should, but the anger is buzzing in me, and I need to know. I have to know why he would attempt to make amends with me if he isn’t completely positive that he’s my father.

“When did you know that my mum was fucking Vance behind your back?” I ask, releasing the words like a grenade.

All the air leaves the room, and Ken looks as if he will pass out any second.

“How . . .” He stops and rubs a hand across the stubble on his chin. “Who told you that?”

“Cut the shit. I know all about them. That’s what happened in London. I caught them together. He had her on the kitchen counter.”

“Oh God,”
he says, his voice strangled and his chest heaving. “Before or after the wedding?”

“Before, but she still got married anyway. Why did you stay with her if you knew she wanted him?”

He takes a few breaths and looks around the room. Then he shrugs. “I loved her.” He looks me in the eyes, naked honesty seeming to remove any distance between us. “I don’t have a reason aside from that. I loved her, and I loved you, and I kept hoping that one day she would stop loving him. That day never came . . . and it was eating me alive. I knew what she was doing and what he—my
best
friend—was doing, but I had so much hope for us, and I thought she would eventually choose me.”

“She didn’t,” I note. She may have chosen to marry him and spend her life with him, but she didn’t choose him in any way that mattered.

“Clearly. And I should have given up long before I turned to alcohol.” The shame in his eyes is humbling.

“Yeah, you should have.” Everything would be so different if he had.

“I know you don’t understand it, and I know that my poor choices and false hopes ruined your childhood for you, so I don’t expect your forgiveness or understanding.” He puts his hands together as if he were praying and covers his mouth with them.

I stay silent because I can’t think of anything to say. My mind is reeling with horrid memories and the reality of how fucked all three of my . . . parentlike figures are. I don’t even know what to call them.

“I suppose I felt like she would see that he couldn’t offer her the stability that I could. I had a good job, and I wasn’t as much of a flight risk as Christian was.” He pauses, and with his deep breath his vest tightens on his chest and he looks at me. “I reckon if Tessa marries another man, this is how he will feel. He will always be competing with you, and even when you leave her for the hundredth time, he will be competing with the memory of you.” He’s confident in what he’s saying, I can tell by his tone and by the way he’s looking me square in the eyes.

“I’m not leaving her again,” I say through gritted teeth. My fingers are clenching the edge of the desk.

“He said that, too.” He sighs and leans back against the dresser.

“I’m not him.”

“I know you aren’t. I’m in no way saying that you are Christian or that Tessa is like your mum. Lucky for you, it’s only you that Tessa sees. If your mum wouldn’t have fought her feelings for him, they could have been happy together; instead they allowed their toxic relationship to ruin the lives of everyone around them.” Ken brushes his hand over his facial hair again. An annoying habit.

Catherine and Heathcliff come to my mind, and I want to vomit at the easy comparison. Tessa and I may be a huge fucking disaster like the two characters, but I won’t allow us to suffer the same fate.

But none of what Ken is saying makes sense to me. Why would he put up with so much shit from me if he had the slightest inkling that I wasn’t his problem to begin with?

“So it’s true, then? He’s your father, isn’t he?” he asks as if losing some vital force that had been animating him. The strong, scary man from my childhood has disappeared and been replaced by a heartbroken man on the verge of tears.

I want to tell him that he’s a damn idiot for putting up with this shit from me, that my mum and I can’t forget the hell he made my life as a child. It’s his fault that I side with the demons and fight against the angels—it’s his fault that I have a special place in hell and am not welcomed in heaven. It’s his fault that Tessa won’t be with me. It’s his fault that I hurt her too many times to count, and it’s his fault that I’m just now trying to fix twenty-one years of mistakes.

When instead of all that I don’t say anything, Ken lets out a breath. “I knew from the first time I saw you that you were his.”

His words nearly knock the wind from my chest along with the angry thoughts in my mind.

“I knew it.” He’s trying not to cry, but failing. I cringe and look away from the tears on his cheeks. “I knew. How could I not have? You looked just like him, and as each year passed, your mum would cry a little harder, she would sneak off with him a little more. I knew. I didn’t want to admit it because you were all that I had. I didn’t have your mum; I never really did. Since I met her, she was his. You were all I had, and as I allowed my anger to take over, I ruined that, too.” He stops to catch his breath, and I sit in confused silence. “You would have been better off with him, I know you would have been, but I loved you—I
still
love you as if you are my own flesh—and I can only hope that you will let me stay in your life.”

He’s still crying; too many tears roll down his face, and I find myself feeling for him. Some of the weight on my chest has lifted, and I can feel years of anger dissolving inside me. I don’t know what this feeling is; it’s strong and it’s freeing. By the time he looks up at me, I don’t even feel like myself. I’m
not
myself—that’s the only explanation for why my arms are touching his shoulders and wrapping around his back to comfort him.

As I do so, I feel him shake, and then he really begins sobbing with his whole body.

T
he drive was just about as terrible as I had anticipated. The road never seemed to want to end; each yellow line was one of his smiles, one of his scowls. Every endless line of traffic seemed to be mocking every mistake I’ve ever made, and each car on the road was yet another stranger, another person with his or her own problems. I felt alone, too alone, in my small car as I drove farther and farther from where I wanted to be.

Am I foolish to even fight this? Could I possibly be strong enough to fight the current this time? Do I even want to?

What are the chances that this one time, out of what feels like hundreds of times, will be so different? Is he just using the words I’ve always wanted to hear out of desperation because he knows how detached I’ve become?

My head feels like a two-thousand-page novel full of deep thoughts, mindless chatter, and a bunch of crap questions that I don’t know the answers to.

When I’d pulled up in front of Kimberly and Christian’s house only minutes ago, the tension in my shoulders was nearly unbearable. I could literally feel the muscles underneath my skin tightening to the point of snapping, and as I stand in the living room now, waiting for Kimberly to come down, that tension only continues to grow.

Smith descends the stairs and crinkles his nose in disgust. “She said she will be down when she’s done rubbing my dad’s leg.”

I can’t help but laugh at the dimpled little boy. “Okay. Thank you.” He didn’t say a word when he opened the door for me minutes ago. He just looked me up and down and waved me inside with a small smile. I was impressed by the smile, small or not.

He sits down on the edge of the couch without a word. He focuses on a gadget in his hand while I focus on him. Hardin’s little brother. It’s such a weird idea that this adorable little boy who seems to dislike me for some reason has been Hardin’s biological brother all along. It makes sense in a way; he was always so curious about Hardin and seemed to enjoy his company when most people don’t.

He turns, catching me staring at him. “Where’s your Hardin?”

Your Hardin.
It feels like every single time he asks that question,
my Hardin
is far away. Farther than ever, this time. “He’s—”

Then Kimberly enters the room, barreling toward me with outstretched arms. Of course she would be wearing heels and makeup. I suppose the outside world is still revolving even though mine has stopped.

“Tessa!” she screeches, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and squeezing so tight that I let out a cough. “Gah! It’s been too long!” She squeezes one more time before pulling back and dragging me by the arm into the kitchen.

“How is everything?” I ask and climb up on the same stool I always seem to find myself on.

She stands in front of the breakfast bar and runs her hands through her shoulder-length, blond hair, pulling it back and tying it into a messy bun on top of her head. “Well, we all survived that damned trip to London.” She grimaces, and I do the same. “Barely, but we did.”

“How is Mr. Vance’s leg?”

“Mr. Vance?” She laughs. “No, you’re not reverting to that because of all that weirdness. I’d say you can go ahead and say Christian, or Vance. His leg is healing; luckily the fire mostly caught his clothes, not skin.” A frown takes over her face, and a shiver rakes her shoulders.

“Is he in trouble? Legal trouble?” I ask, trying not to be pushy.

“Not really. He fabricated a story about a group of punks who broke in there and vandalized the house before burning it. It’s now an arson case with no leads.” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. She brushes her hands on her dress and looks back to me. “How are you, though, Tessa? I’m really sorry to hear about your dad. I should have called you more—I’ve just been busy and trying to figure all this out.” Kimberly reaches across the granite and places her hand over mine. “Though that’s not really a good excuse . . .”

“No, no. Don’t apologize. You’ve had so much going on, and I haven’t been the best company anyway. If you had called, I might not have even been able to answer it—I’ve been going out of my mind, literally.” I try to laugh, but even I catch how false and dry the awkward noise comes out.

“I can tell.” She eyes me skeptically. “What’s with this?” Her hands wave in front of me, and I look down at my sloppy sweatshirt and dirty jeans.

“I don’t know; it’s been a long two weeks.” I shrug and tuck my unbrushed hair behind my ears.

“You’re obviously going through a funk again. Hardin did something new, or is it still from London?” Kimberly raises an arched brow, reminding me of how overgrown mine must be. Plucking and waxing have been the farthest thing from my mind, but Kimberly is one of those women that make you want to be pretty all the time to keep up with her.

“Not exactly. Well, he just did what he always does in London, but I finally told him we are done.” Seeing the skepticism in her blue eyes, I add, “I mean it. I’m thinking of moving to New York.”

“New York?
What the hell? With Hardin?” Her mouth falls open. “Oh, never mind—you just told me you broke up.” She smacks her hand to her forehead in a dramatic display.

“With Landon, actually. He’s going to NYU, and he asked me to come along. I’m going to take the summer and hopefully be able to get into NYU in the fall.”

She laughs. “Wow, I need a minute.”

“It’s a big change. I know. It’s just that I . . . well, I need to get away from here, and with Landon already going, it just made sense.” It’s insane, completely insane, to just move across the country, and Kimberly’s reaction proves that.

“You don’t have to explain to me. I think it’s a really good idea—I’m just surprised.” Kim doesn’t even try to control her smirk. “You, moving across the country without a schedule or taking a year to plan things out.”

“It’s stupid, right? Isn’t it?” I ask, not sure of what I’m hoping to hear.

“No! Since when are you so unsure about yourself? Girl, I know you’ve been through a lot of shit, but you need to get it together. You’re young, brilliant, and beautiful. Life is not that bad! Hell, try cleaning the burn wounds of your fiancé after he covered for his surprise grown-ass son because he’d just cheated on you with his”—she curls her fingers into air quotes and rolls her eyes—“ ‘long-lost love’ and having to nurse him while you really just want to choke him out.”

I don’t know if she meant to be funny, but I have to bite my tongue to stop from laughing at the picture she’s created in my head. But when she chuckles a little, I follow suit.

“Seriously, it’s okay to be sad, but if you let sadness control your life, you’ll never have one.” Her words hit me somewhere between my selfish whining and my nerves over moving to New York without a solid plan.

She’s right; I’ve been through a lot in the last year, but what good will it do to be this way? To feel the sadness and sting of loss with every thought? As much as I loved the ease of feeling nothing, I didn’t feel like myself. I felt my being slipping with each negative thought, and I was beginning to fear that I would never be myself again. I’m still not now, but maybe one day?