I kept my job at Vance in New York City because I needed the income. Hardin moved to New York with me, and I refused to let him pay all of my bills while I tried to figure out what the hell to do, because though I was so proud of my college degree, I just no longer wanted to work in the field. I will always love reading—books are forever tied to my soul—but I simply changed my mind. Just like that.
Hardin gave me endless crap about this, since I’d always been so sure about my career choice. But as the years went on and I grew up, I realized that I didn’t know who I was when I enrolled in WCU. How can people be expected to choose what they want to do for the rest of their life when they’re just beginning their life?
Landon already had his job lined up: fifth-grade teacher at a public school in Brooklyn. Hardin, a New York Times bestseller at the young age of twenty-five, had four books published, and me, well, I was still working on figuring out my own path, but I was fine with that. I didn’t feel rushed in the way I always had. I wanted to take my time and make sure every choice I made was set to make me happy. For the first time I was putting my happiness before anyone else’s, which felt great.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror. There were so many times in the past four years when I wasn’t sure if I would make it through college, and now here I was: a college graduate. Hardin clapped while my mother cried. They even sat together.
My mother walked into the bathroom and stood at my side. “I’m so proud of you, Tessa.”
She was wearing an evening gown; it wasn’t really suitable for a college graduation, but she wanted to dress to impress, as always. Her blond hair was curled and sprayed to perfection, and her nails were painted to match my graduation cap and gown. It was over the top, but she was proud and I didn’t want to take that away from her. She had groomed me to succeed in life and be everything she couldn’t, and now, as an adult, I understood that.
“Thank you,” I responded as she handed me her lip gloss. I gladly took it from her, despite the fact that I didn’t want or need to reapply any makeup, and she looked pleased when I didn’t fight her on it.
“Is Hardin still out there?” I asked. The gloss was sticky and too dark for my liking, but I smiled anyway.
“He’s entertaining David.” She smiled along with me, and my heart filled a little more. My mother’s fingers ran over the ends of her curls. “He invited him to that fundraiser he’s speaking at.”
“That will be nice.” Things weren’t as awkward between my mother and Hardin as they used to be. He would never be her favorite person, but over the past few years she gained a respect for him that I never would have believed was possible before.
I’ve gained a new respect for Hardin Scott, too. It’s painful to think back over the last four years of my life and remember the way he used to be. I wasn’t perfect either, but he held on to his past so tightly that he broke me in the process. He made mistakes—massive and devastating mistakes—but he paid his dues for them. He would never be the most patient, the most lovable and friendly man out there, but he was mine. Always had been.
Still, I had needed the distance from him after I moved to New York with Landon. We had been seeing each other “casually,” as casual as Hardin and I could be. He didn’t pressure me to move to Chicago, and I didn’t beg him to move to New York. It was about a year after Landon’s wedding that he finally moved, but we made it work by visiting one another when we could, Hardin more so than me. I was suspicious about his sudden “work trips” to the city, but I was always so happy when he came and wanted him to stay when he left.
Our apartment in Brooklyn was decent. Though he was making a lot of money, Hardin was willing to move into a place that I could help pay for. I worked at the restaurant between planning weddings and classes, and he only complained minimally.
We still weren’t married, which drove him insane. I kept going back and forth on the subject. Yes, I wanted to be his wife, but I was tired of having to label things. I didn’t need that label in the way that I grew up believing I did.
As if my mother was reading my mind, she leaned in and adjusted my necklace. “Have you set a date yet?” she asked for the third time that week. I loved when my mother, David, and his daughter came to visit, but she was driving me crazy with her new obsession: my wedding, or lack thereof.
“Mother,” I warned. I would put up with her grooming me, and I even let her pick out my jewelry this morning, but I wouldn’t entertain her when it came to this.
She raised her hands into the air and smiled. “Fine.”
Her defeat came easy, and I knew something was up when she kissed my cheek. I followed her out of the bathroom, and my irritation dissolved when I saw Hardin leaning against the wall. He was lifting his hair up and wrapping a band around the long strands. I loved his hair long. My mother scrunched her nose as Hardin pulled his hair into a bun, and I laughed immaturely at her disgust.
“I was just asking Tessa if you two had picked a date for a potential wedding yet,” my mother said as Hardin wrapped his arm around my waist and buried his face into my neck. I felt his breath against my neck as he chuckled.
“I wish I could tell you,” he said as he lifted his head. “But you know how stubborn she is.”
My mother nodded in agreement, and I was equally annoyed and proud that the two of them were teaming up on me.
“I know she is. She gets that from you,” my mother accused.
David grabbed hold of her hand and brought it to his lips. “All right, you two. She just graduated college—let’s give her a little time.”
I smiled a thankful smile to David, and he winked, kissing my mother’s hand again. He was so gentle with her, and I appreciated that.
TWO YEARS AFTER THAT
HARDIN
WE HAD BEEN TRYING to get pregnant for over a year now. Tessa knew the chances. I knew the odds were against us, like they always had been, but we still hoped. We hoped through fertility appointments and hoped through ovulation schedules. We fucked and fucked and made love and made love every chance we could get. She tried the most ridiculous wives’ tales, and I drank some bittersweet, chunky concoction that Tessa swore worked for her friend’s husband.
Landon and his wife were expecting a baby girl in three months, and we were the godparents of little Addelyn Rose. I wiped Tessa’s tears from her cheeks as she helped plan the baby shower for her best friend, and I pretended not to be sad for us while we were helping paint Addy’s nursery.
It was a normal morning. I had just gotten off a call with Christian. We were planning a trip for Smith to come visit us for a few weeks in the summer. He disguised the call as that, but he really was trying to pitch an idea to me. He wanted me to publish another book with Vance, an idea that I liked but pretended not to. I just wanted to fuck with him and pretend that I was waiting for a better offer.
Tessa came bursting through the door, still in her sweats. Her cheeks were red from the cold March air, and her hair was wild from the wind. She was returning from her usual walk down to Landon’s apartment, but she seemed rushed—panicked, even—making my chest tighten.
“Hardin!” she exclaimed as she crossed the living room and walked into the kitchen. Her eyes were bloodshot, and my heart sank to the floor.
I stood, and she held a hand up, signalling me to wait a moment.
“Look,” she said, digging into the pocket of her jacket. I waited silently and impatiently for her to open her hand.
A small stick was there. I had seen too many false tests in the last year to think anything of it, but from the way her hand was shaking and the way her voice cracked when she tried to speak, I knew immediately.
“Yeah?” was all I could say.
“Yeah.” She nodded, her voice small but full of life. I looked down at her, and she lifted her hands to my face. I hadn’t even felt the tears there until she wiped them.
“You’re sure?” I said like an idiot.
“Yes, obviously.” She tried to laugh but s
he broke into happy tears, and so did I. I wrapped my arms around her and lifted her onto the counter. I laid my head on her stomach and promised that baby that I would be a better father than either of mine had ever been. Better than anyone had ever been.
TESSA WAS GETTING READY for our double date with Landon and his wife, and I was flipping through the pages of one of the many bridal magazines Tessa left hanging around the apartment when I heard the sound. A nearly inhuman sound.
It came from the bathroom connected to our bedroom, and I jumped to my feet, rushing toward the door.
“Hardin!” Tessa said again. This time I was at the door, and the anguish in her voice was thicker than the first time she called for me.
I pushed the door open and found her sitting on the floor next to the toilet.
“Something’s wrong!” she cried out, holding her small hands over her stomach. Her panties were on the floor. Blood covered them, and I gagged, unable to speak.
I was on the floor next to her in seconds, holding her face between my hands.
“Everything will be fine,” I lied to her, reaching into my pocket and grabbing my phone.
The tone of our doctor’s voice on the line and the knowing look in Tessa’s eyes confirmed my worst nightmare.
I carried my fiancée to the car, and I died a little each time she sobbed during that long, long drive to the hospital.
Thirty minutes later, we had an answer. They were gentle when they told us Tessa had lost the baby, but that didn’t stop the splintering pain that shot through me every time I looked at the complete devastation in Tessa’s eyes.
“I’m sorry, so sorry,” she cried into my chest after the nurse left us alone in the room.
I brought my hand under her chin and forced her to look up at me. “No, baby. You have nothing to be sorry for,” I told her over and over. I gently pushed her hair back from her face and tried my best not to focus on the loss of the most important thing in our lives.
When we got home later that night, I reminded Tessa how much I loved her, how amazing a mother she would be someday, and she cried in my arms until she fell asleep.
I wandered down the hall after I knew she wouldn’t wake. I opened the closet in the nursery and dropped to my knees. It had been too early to know the sex of our baby, but I had been collecting little things over the last three months. I kept them here in bags and boxes, and I needed to see them one last time before I disposed of them all. I couldn’t let her see this. I wanted to shelter her from seeing the tiny yellow shoes Karen had mailed us. I would get rid of all of it and take the crib apart before she woke up.
The next morning, Tessa woke me up by wrapping her arms around me. I was on the floor of the empty nursery. She didn’t say anything about the removal of the furniture or the empty closet. She just sat there, on the floor with me, her head resting on my shoulder and her fingers tracing over the ink on my arms.
Ten minutes later my phone buzzed in my pocket. I read the message to myself and wasn’t sure how Tessa would react to the news. She peered up, her eyes focused on the message before her.
“Addy’s coming,” she read aloud. I held her tighter, and she smiled, a sad smile, and moved from my arms to sit up.
I stared at her for a long while—it felt that way, at least—and we shared the same thought. We both picked ourselves up off the floor of our would-be nursery and put smiles on our faces so we could be there for our best friends.
“We will be parents one day,” I promised my girl as we rode to the hospital to welcome our goddaughter into the world.
A YEAR AFTER THAT
HARDIN
WE HAD JUST DECIDED to take a break from trying to conceive. It was winter, I remember clearly, when Tessa came bouncing into the kitchen. Her hair was pulled back into an elegant bun, and she was dressed in a light pink lace dress. Her makeup was different that day—I couldn’t put my finger on it. She beamed as she approached me, and I slid out the stool I was sitting on and gestured for her to sit on my lap. She leaned against me; her hair smelled like vanilla and mint, and her body was so soft against mine. I pressed my lips to her neck, and she sighed, resting her hands on my parted knees.
“Hi, baby,” I said into her skin.
“Hi, Daddy,” she whispered back to me.
I cocked a brow at her; the way she said Daddy made my cock twitch, and her hands slowly traveled up my thighs.
“Daddy, huh?” My voice was thick, and she giggled, a silly and out-of-place laugh.
“Not the Daddy you’re thinking of. Pervert.” She playfully and gently swatted her hand over the bulge in my pants, and I put my hands on her shoulders to turn her to face me.
She was grinning again—then full-on fucking smiling—and I couldn’t quite connect what she was saying.
“See?” She reached her hand into the front pocket of her dress and pulled something out. It was a piece of paper. I didn’t understand, of course, but I’ve always been known for not getting important shit the first time. She unfolded the paper and placed it in my hand.
“What is that?” I stared at the blurry text on the page.
“You’re ruining this moment so terribly right now,” she scolded me.
I laughed and lifted the paper to my face.
“Urine test positive,” it read.
“Shit.” I gaped, my hand tightening around the paper.
“Shit?” she laughed, excitement clear in her blue-gray eyes. “I’m afraid to get too excited,” she quickly admitted. I reached for her hand, crumpling the page between us.
“Don’t be.” I kissed her forehead. “We don’t know what will happen, so we should be as excited as we fucking want to be.” My lips pressed against her head again.
“We need a miracle.” She nodded, trying to joke, but she came off so serious.
Seven months later, we had a blond little miracle named Emery.
SIX YEARS AFTER THAT
TESSA
I WAS SITTING at the kitchen table in our new apartment, tapping away on my laptop. I was planning three weddings at once, and I was pregnant with our second child. A little boy. His name was set to be Auden.
Auden was going to be a big boy—my stomach was swollen, my skin stretched once again with pregnancy. I was so tired toward the end, but I was determined to stay on task. The first of the three weddings was only a week away, so to say I was busy was an understatement. My feet were swollen and Hardin griped about me working so hard, but he knew better than to push it too much. I was finally making a decent income and building my name. New York City is a tough place to break into the wedding scene, but I had finally done it. With the help of a friend, my business was growing and my phone and email were full of inquiries.
One of the brides was panicking: her mother decided at the last minute to bring her new husband to the wedding, and now we had to adjust seating arrangements. Easy enough.
The front door opened, and Emery stormed past me and down the hall. She was six now. Her hair, an even lighter shade of blond than mine, was twisted into a messy bun; Hardin had done her hair for school this morning while I was at the doctor’s office.
“Emery?” I called as she slammed her bedroom door. The fact that Landon teaches at the school Addy and Emery attend makes my life easier, especially when I’m working so much.
“Leave me alone!” she cried out. I stood up, my belly touching the counter as I shifted. Hardin came out of our bedroom with his shirt off and tight black jeans hanging low on his hips.
“What’s with her?” he asked.
I shrugged. Our little Emery looked as sweet as her mom, but she had her father’s attitude. It was a combination that made our lives very interesting.
Hardin laughed a little as Emery yelled out, “I can hear you!” She was six and already a tornado.
“I’ll talk to her,” he said as he walked back into the bedroom. He returned with a black T-shirt in his hands. Watching as he pulled the shirt over his head, I had a flashback of the boy I met d
uring my first week of college. When he knocked on Emery’s door, she huffed and complained, but he went inside anyway. As he closed the door behind him, I walked over to the door and pressed my ear to the wood.
“What’s going on with you, little one?” Hardin’s voice echoed through her room. Emery was a fighter, but she adored Hardin, and I loved the way they were together. He was such a patient and fun father to her.
I reached my hand down and rubbed my belly, telling the little guy in there, “You’re going to like me more than your daddy.”
Hardin already had Emery; Auden was mine. I told Hardin this often, but he just laughed and said that I’m too much of a pushover with Emery, and that’s why she likes him more.
“Addy is being a brat,” Hardin’s mini-me huffed. I imagined she was pacing around the room, pushing her blond hair back from her forehead like her father.
“Is she? How so?” There was sarcasm in Hardin’s voice, but I doubted Emery would catch on.
“She just is. I don’t want to be her friend anymore.”
“Well, baby, she’s family. You’re stuck with her.” Hardin was probably smiling, enjoying the dramatic world of a six-year-old.
“Can’t I have a new family?”
“No.” He chuckled, and I covered my mouth to laugh quietly. “I wanted a new family for a long time when I was younger, but it doesn’t work like that. You should try and be happy with the one that you have. If you had a new family, you would get a new mommy and daddy and—”
“No!” Emery seemed to hate that idea so much that she didn’t let him finish.
“See?” Hardin said. “You have to learn to accept Addy and the way she can be a brat sometimes, the way that Mommy accepted Daddy being a brat sometimes.”
“You’re a brat, too?” her little voice questioned.
My heart swelled. Hell yes, he is, I wanted to say.
“Hell yes, I am,” he said for me. I rolled my eyes and reminded myself to warn him about cussing in front of her. He doesn’t do it nearly as much as before, but still.