After Ever Happy Read online

  “What?” I reach up to rub my temples. I would crack the dashboard with my skull if I thought it would help.

  I look over at him and see him looking left and right quickly. Then I notice the speed we’re traveling at and realize that he’s running every stoplight and stop sign, trying to make sure I don’t jump out. “She panicked, I guess. I don’t know.” He eyes me. “I knew she was lying—she admitted there were no tests many years later. But at the time, she was adamant; she told me to leave it alone and apologized for making me think you were mine.”

  I focus on my fist. Flex, release. Flex, release . . .

  “Another year went by, and we began speaking again . . .” he starts, but something is off in his tone.

  “You mean fucking again.”

  Another hard exhale escapes his mouth. “Yes . . . every time we were near one another, we made the same mistake. Ken was working a lot, studying for his master’s by that point, and she was home with you. You were always so much like me; every time I came over, you had your face buried between pages. I don’t know if you remember, but I would always bring books to you. I gave you my copy of The Great Gats—”

  “Stop.” I cringe at the adoration in his voice while distorted memories fog my mind.

  “We kept this going on and off for years, and we thought everyone was oblivious. It was my fault; I could never stop loving her. No matter what I did, she haunted me. I moved closer to their house, directly across the street. Your father knew; I don’t know how he knew, but it became clear that he did.” After a pause and a turn down another street, Vance adds, “He started drinking then.”

  I sit up, slamming my palms against the dashboard. He doesn’t even flinch. “So you left me with an alcoholic father who was only an alcoholic because of you and my mum?” The anger in my voice fills the car, but I can barely breathe.

  “I tried to convince her, Hardin. I don’t want you blaming her, but I tried to tell her to bring you to live with me—but she wouldn’t.” His hands run over his hair, and he tugs at the roots. “His drinking became heavier and more frequent every week, but she still wouldn’t admit that you were mine—not even to me—so I left. I had to leave.”

  He stops talking, and when I look over at him, his eyes are blinking rapidly. I reach for the door handle, but he accelerates and presses the power locks several times in a row, the click-click-click seeming to echo around the car.

  Vance’s voice is hollow when he starts talking again. “I moved to America, and I didn’t hear from your mum for years, not until Ken finally left her. She had no money and was working herself to the bone. I had already started bringing in money, not nearly as much as I have now, but enough to spare. I came back here and got a place for us, the three of us, and I took care of her in his absence, but she grew more and more distant from me. Ken sent divorce papers from wherever the hell he’d run off to, and still she didn’t want anything permanent from me.” Vance frowns. “After all I did, I still wasn’t enough.”

  I remember his taking us in after my dad left, but I never thought too much into it. I had no idea that it was because he had a history with my mum, or that I could be his son. My already tattered view of my mum is completely shredded now. I’ve lost all respect for her.

  “So when she moved back into that house, I still took care of both of you financially, but I went back to America. Your mum started returning my checks each month and wouldn’t answer my calls, so I started to assume that she’d found someone else.”

  “She didn’t. She just spent every hour of every day working.” My teenage years were lonely at home; that’s why I found company with the wrong crowd.

  “I think she was waiting for him to come back,” Vance says quickly, then pauses. “But he never did. He stayed a drunk year after year until something made him finally decide he had had enough. I didn’t talk to him for years until he contacted me when he moved to the States. He was sober, and I had just lost Rose.

  “Rose was the first woman since your mum that I could look at and not see Trish’s face. She was the sweetest woman, and she made me happy. I knew I would never love anyone as bright as I did your mum, but I was content with Rose. We were happy, and I was building a life with her, but I’ve been damned . . . and she grew sick. She gave birth to Smith, and I lost her . . .”

  I gape at the thought. “Smith.” I’ve been too busy trying to put the fucked-up pieces together to even think about the boy. What does this mean? Fuck.

  “I thought of that little genius as my second chance to be a father. He made me whole again after his mother died. I was always reminded of you as a boy; he looks just like you did when you were young, only with lighter hair and eyes.”

  I remember Tessa claiming the same thing after we met the kid, but I don’t see it. “This is . . . this is fucked-up” is all I can think to say. My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I just look at my leg, like it’s some phantom sensation, and I can’t seem to move myself to answer the call.

  “I know it is, and I’m sorry. When you moved to America, I thought I would be able to be close with you without being a father figure. I stayed in contact with your mum, hired you on at Vance, and tried to grow as close to you as you would let me. I repaired my relationship with Ken, even though there will always be hostility. I think he pitied me after I lost my wife, and by that point he had changed so much. I only wanted to be close to you—I would take anything I could get. I know you hate me now, but I would like to think I accomplished that for a little while at least.”

  “You’ve been lying to me my entire life.”

  “I know.”

  “So have my mum and my . . . Ken.”

  “Your mum is still in denial,” Vance says—another excuse for her. “She will barely admit it even now. And as for Ken, he always had his suspicions, but your mum has never confirmed it. I believe that he still focuses on the slight chance that you are his son.”

  I roll my eyes at the absurdity of what he’s said. “You’re telling me that Ken Scott is stupid enough to believe that I’m his child after all the years of you two fucking around behind his back?”

  “No.” Stopping the car at the side of the road, he puts it in park and looks over at me, serious and intense. “Ken is not stupid. He’s hopeful. He loved you—he still loves you—and you are the only reason he stopped drinking and went back to finish his degree. Even though he knew the possibility was there, he still did all of that for you. He regrets all the hell he put you through and all the shit that happened to your mum.”

  I flinch as the images haunting my nightmares flow behind my eyes. As I relive what those drunken soldiers did to her all those many years ago.

  “There wasn’t any testing done? How do you know you’re even my father?” I can’t believe this question is being asked.

  “I know it. You know it, too. Everyone always said how much you looked like Ken, but I know it’s my blood that runs through your veins. The timeline doesn’t add up for him to be your father. There is no way that she was pregnant by him.”

  I focus on the trees outside, and my phone starts to buzz again. “Why now? Why are you telling me this now?” I ask, my voice rising, my barely existent patience evaporating.

  “Because your mum has grown paranoid. Ken mentioned something to me two weeks ago, asking you to get some blood testing done to help Karen, and I brought it up to your mum—”

  “Testing for what? What does Karen have to do with any of this?”

  Vance glances down at my leg, then at his own cell phone resting on the middle console. “You should answer that. Kimberly is calling me as well.”

  But I shake my head. I’ll call Tessa as soon as I’m out of this car.

  “I really am sorry for all of this. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, going to her house last night. She called me, and I just . . . I don’t know. Kimberly is to be my wife. I love her more than anything—even more than I ever loved your mum. It’s a different type of love; it’s reciprocat
ed, and she is everything to me. I made a huge mistake seeing your mum again, and I will spend my life making up for that. I won’t be surprised if Kim leaves me.”

  Oh, spare me the sad-sack act. “Yeah, Captain Obvious. You probably shouldn’t have been trying to fuck my mum on the counter.”

  He glares at me. “She sounded panicked and she said she wanted to make sure her past was in the past before her wedding, and I’m a poster boy for terrible decisions.” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel, shame clear in his voice.

  “So am I,” I mumble to myself, and reach for the door handle.

  He reaches for my arm. “Hardin.”

  “Don’t.” I pull my arm away and get out of the car. I need time to process all of this shit. I’ve just been bombarded with too many answers to questions I never even knew to ask. I need to breathe, I need to calm down, I need to get away from him and get to my girl, my salvation.

  “I need you to get away from me. We both know that,” I tell him when he doesn’t move his car. He stares at me momentarily, then nods, leaving me on the street.

  I look around the street and notice a familiar storefront halfway down the block, meaning I’m only blocks from my mum’s house. My blood is pounding behind my ears as I reach into my pocket to call Tess. I need to hear her voice, I need her to bring me back to reality.

  As I watch the building, waiting for her to answer, my demons battle inside me, pulling me into the comfortable darkness. The pull is stronger and deeper with each unanswered ring, and soon I find my feet carrying me across the street.

  Pushing my phone back into my pocket, I open the door and walk into the familiar scenery of my past.

  chapter three

  TESSA

  Broken glass crunches under my feet as I shift side to side, waiting patiently. Or as close to patiently as I can manage.

  At last, when Mike is done talking to the police, I go up to him. “Where is he?” I ask, and not nicely.

  “He left with Christian Vance.” Mike’s eyes are void of all emotion. His look makes me calm down a bit, recognize that this isn’t his fault. This is his wedding day, and it’s been ruined.

  I look around at the broken wood and ignore the whispers coming from the nosy onlookers. My stomach is in knots, and I try to hold myself together. “Where did they go?”

  “I don’t know.” He buries his head in his hands.

  Kimberly taps my shoulder. “Look, when the police are done with those guys, if we stick around, they might want to talk to you, too.”

  I glance back and forth between the door and Mike. I nod, then follow Kimberly outside to prevent drawing any of the cops’ attention to me.

  “Can you try Christian again? I’m sorry, I just need to talk to Hardin.” I shiver in the chill air.

  “I’ll try again,” she promises, and we walk across the parking lot to her rental car.

  A slow, sinking feeling sets in my stomach as I watch yet another police officer enter the swanky bar. I’m terrified for Hardin, not because of the police, but because I’m afraid of how he will handle all this when he’s alone with Christian.

  I see Smith sitting quietly in the backseat of the car and lean my elbows onto the trunk and close my eyes.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” Kimberly shouts, breaking me out of my thoughts. “We’ll find him!” she snaps and ends the call.

  “What’s happening?” My heart is pounding so loud that I’m afraid I won’t hear her answer.

  “Hardin got out of the car and Christian lost track of him.” She gathers her hair and pulls it into a ponytail. “It’s almost time for that damn wedding,” she says, looking toward the door of the bar where Mike stands, alone.

  “This is a disaster,” I groan, sending a silent prayer that Hardin is on his way back here.

  I grab my phone again, and some of the panic decreases when I see his name on the missed-call list. With shaking hands, I dial him back and wait. And wait. And get no answer. I call back again and again, only to get his voicemail each time.

  chapter four

  HARDIN

  Jack and Coke,” I bark.

  The bald bartender glares at me as he pulls an empty glass from the rack and fills it with ice. Too bad I didn’t think to invite Vance; we could have shared a father-son drink.

  Fuck, this is all so fucked-up. “Double, actually,” I modify the order.

  “Got it,” the big man sarcastically responds. My eyes find the old television on the wall, and I read the captions on the bottom of the screen. The commercial is for an insurance company, and the screen is covered by a giggling baby. Why they choose to put babies in every damn commercial, I will never know.

  The bartender wordlessly slides my drink across the wooden bar just as the baby makes a sound that’s presumably supposed to be even more “adorable” than giggling, and I bring the glass to my lips, allowing my mind to take me far away from here.

  “WHY DID YOU BRING HOME baby products?” I had asked.

  She sat down on the edge of the bathtub and pulled her hair into a ponytail. I started to worry if she had an obsession with children—it sure as hell seemed like it.

  “It’s not a baby product,” Tessa had said and laughed. “It just has a baby and a father printed on the package.”

  “I really don’t understand the appeal there.” I lifted the box of shaving products Tessa had brought home for me, examining the chubby cheeks of a baby and wondering what the hell a baby has to do with a shaving kit.

  She shrugged. “I don’t really get it either, but I’m sure putting a baby’s image on it will help with sales.”

  “Maybe for women buying their boyfriend’s or husband’s shit,” I corrected her. No man in his right mind would’ve grabbed that thing off the shelf.

  “No, I’m sure fathers would buy it, too.”

  “Sure.” I had ripped open the box and laid the contents out in front of me, then made eye contact with her through the mirror. “A bowl?”

  “Yes, it’s for the cream. You’ll get a better shave if you use the brush.”

  “And how do you know that?” I raised a brow at her, hoping she didn’t know this from experience with Noah.

  Her smile was wide. “I looked it up!”

  “Of course you did.” My jealousy disappeared, and she playfully kicked her feet at me. “Since you seem to be an expert in the art of shaving, come help me.”

  I had always just used a simple razor and cream, but since she had clearly put thought into this, I wouldn’t deny her. And, frankly, the blooming idea of her shaving my face was a major fucking turn-on. Tessa smiled and got to her feet, joining me in front of the sink. She picked up the tube of cream and filled the bowl before swirling the brush around to create a lather.

  “Here.” She smiled, handing me the brush.

  “No, you do it.” I placed the brush back into her hand and wrapped my hands around her waist. “Up you go.” I lifted her onto the sink. Once she was settled, I pushed her thighs apart and stood between them.

  Her expression was cautious but concentrated as she dipped the brush into the lather and swiped it across my jaw.

  “I don’t really want to go anywhere tonight,” I told her. “I have so much work to do. You’ve been distracting me.” Grabbing a handful of her tits, I squeezed gently.

  Her hand jerked, flinging some of the shaving cream onto my neck.

  “Good thing the razor wasn’t in your hand,” I joked.

  “Good thing,” she mocked, and picked up the brand-new razor. Then she chewed at her full lips and asked, “Are you sure you want me to do it? I’m nervous that I’ll cut you by accident.”

  “Stop worrying.” I smirked. “I’m sure you researched this part online, anyway,”

  Her tongue peeked out in a childish way, and I leaned forward to kiss her before she began. She didn’t say anything, because I was right.

  “But know that if you cut me, you should definitely run.” I laughed.

 
; She scowled again. “Stay still, please.” Her hand was slightly shaky, but quickly grew steady as she gently dragged the razor across my jawline.

  “You should just go without me,” I said and closed my eyes. Tessa’s shaving my face was somehow comforting and surprisingly calming. I didn’t feel like going to my father’s house for dinner, but Tessa was going stir-crazy being in the apartment all the time, so when Karen had called to invite us, she’d jumped at the request.

  “If we stay in tonight, then I want to reschedule and go this weekend. Will you have your work done by then?”

  “I guess so . . .” I complained.

  “You can call and tell them, then. I’ll start dinner after this, and you can work.” She tapped my top lip with her finger, signaling for me to tuck my lips in, and she carefully shaved around my mouth.

  When she was finished, I said, “You should drink the rest of that wine in the fridge, because the cork has been off for days now. It’s going to be vinegar soon.”

  “I . . . I don’t know.” She hesitated. I knew why. I opened my eyes, and she reached behind her back to turn the faucet on and wet a towel.

  “Tess”—I pressed my fingers under her chin—“you can drink in front of me. I’m not some struggling alcoholic.”

  “I know, but I don’t want it to be weird for you. I don’t really need to be drinking so much wine anyway. If you aren’t drinking, I don’t need to.”

  “My problem isn’t drinking. It’s only when I’m pissed-off and drink—that’s when there’s a problem.”

  “I know.” She gulped.

  She did know.

  She dragged the warm towel across my face, wiping the excess shaving cream away.

  “I’m only an asshole when I drink to try to solve shit, and lately there hasn’t been anything to solve, so I’m fine.” Even I knew that wasn’t an ironclad guarantee. “I don’t want to be one of those geezers like my father who drink themselves stupid and endanger the people around me. And since you happen to be about the only person I give a fuck about, I don’t want to drink around you anymore.”