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  The three of them walk away, and Tessa stares daggers into their backs. I stay silent and follow Tessa’s temper tantrum through Macy’s. She walks faster in a childish, petulant way to prove a point and throw a fit.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask. Something always seems to be wrong with her. I’m saying something, doing something, someone’s cat looked at her the wrong way . . . it’s always something.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Hardin!”

  “Me either! You’re the one who just hugged Zed!” I yell at her. Her arms around Zed is the only thing I can think of right now, and she’s starting shit with me?

  “Are you embarrassed to be with me or something? I mean, I get it, I’m not exactly the cool girl, but I thought—”

  I don’t understand what she’s getting at here. She thinks I’m embarrassed about being with her? Why does she always go to this?

  “What? No! Of course I’m not embarrassed about you. Are you crazy?”

  She is crazy, though. We both are.

  “Why did you introduce me as your friend? You keep talking about living together, and then you tell them we’re friends?” Tessa’s voice is growing louder with each word. “What are you going to do, hide me? I won’t be anyone’s secret. If I’m not good enough for your friends to know that we’re together, then I don’t want to live with you.”

  How can I call her more than a friend? She’s going to hate me more than an enemy when my time runs out with her. She’s so much more than a secret to me. I’m not trying to hide her. I don’t want to keep her hidden any fucking more. I want to show her off proudly and let every motherfucker know that she’s mine. Only mine. But I’m too stupid to be able to make things work between us, which is why I have to hide the most beautiful thing, the only treasure, in my entire life. I have to hide her instead of letting her bloom in the sunshine, and it’s eating me alive from the inside out.

  “Tessa! Damn it . . .” I trail off, and she glances toward the dressing room in the women’s clothing section of the store. “I’ll follow you,” I warn her. I mean it, too. I’d like to follow her inside that dressing room and fuck her against the full-length mirror.

  She raises her eyebrows and purses her lips. She knows damn well I will follow her. I’d follow her to the deepest pits of hell if she merely asked me to. “Take me home. Now,” she demands of me. Take her home? All because of a stupid fight? Tessa makes her point by walking way ahead of me out of the store and back to my car. Once outside, I try to open the door for her, but she won’t have it.

  “Are you done throwing a fit?”

  “A fit? You aren’t serious!” She’s gone to shrieking now.

  “I don’t know why it’s such a big deal to you that I called you my friend; that’s not what I meant. I was just caught off-guard.” A half-truth.

  “If you’re embarrassed about being seen with me, then I don’t want to see you anymore.” Her voice is shaky. She’s trying to stop herself from crying. I’m familiar enough with her ways by now to know that she’s digging her fingernails into her thighs and her gray eyes are filling with tears. More tears that I caused her to shed.

  “Don’t say that to me.” I run my hand over my oily hair, wanting to yank it out piece by piece. “Tessa, why do you assume I’m embarrassed about you? That’s just fucking ridiculous.” I don’t have any reason to be embarrassed about her; if anything, it’s the other way around. To my friends, she’s now a joke; every fucking moment I’ve shared with this girl has now been diminished to nothing. I turned everything into nothing and she’s going to find out soon and there’s nothing I can do to stop this freight train from tearing into my life once again. I had just begun to build it up, and now I’ve gone and fucked everything up.

  “Have fun at your party tonight,” she says with a pout from the passenger seat.

  “Please, I’m not going to the docks with them. I just said that so Jace would lay off.” Which is true. I don’t want to go to a stupid party. I want to be buried between Tessa’s thighs all night.

  “If you aren’t embarrassed of me, then take me to the party.”

  I should have known she would throw in this one. Everything is always a game to her, everything.

  I’m one to fucking talk.

  “Absolutely fucking not,” I say.

  OF COURSE WE WENT to that fucking party, because, once again, Theresa Young got her way.

  As the days go by, I’m more comfortable in my own lie than I care to admit. I pretend that everything isn’t slowly crumbling, that tiny pieces of everything that holds us together aren’t chipping away with each minute that passes that I don’t tell her. I can’t tell her. I can’t open that can of worms and let them destroy us. The truth will drown us; there’s no way around that. It’s inevitable, the same way my love for Tessa is inevitable.

  “Well . . . welcome home?” I call through the apartment when the real-estate agent leaves us alone, finally. I thought he would never fucking leave. Tessa laughs, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, and steps toward me. I wrap my arms around her, thanking whoever gave her to me for letting her stay a little while longer before she’s ripped from my life. I deserve a shred of happiness while it lasts, don’t I?

  “I can’t believe we live here now. It still doesn’t seem real.” Her wild eyes are curious, excited and alive in a way they haven’t been since I met her. I’ve given her freedom in such a large gesture. I’ve given her a beautiful apartment where she can be herself, the version of her that no one can judge or demand things from. Her mum isn’t here to tell her to brush her hair, and Steph isn’t here to think of manipulative ways to hurt us.

  “If someone had told me I would be dating you—let alone living with you—two months ago, I’d have either laughed in their face or punched them . . . either one.” I laugh and bring her face between my hands. She’s so warm, her cheeks alight with excitement.

  “Well, aren’t you sweet?” She rests her hands on my hips and leans into me. Her head is heavy on my chest, my anchor. My life is perfect for the first time since I can remember. I’m completely ignoring the catastrophe that’s coming my way, but for now my life is perfect. “It’s a relief, though, to have our own space. No more parties, no more roommates and community showers,” Tessa adds. My chest pounds against her cheek, and I wonder if she can sense my growing paranoia.

  “Our own bed.” I mask the feeling with humor. “We’ll need to get a few things—dishes and such.” The more things she has here, the harder it will be when it’s time to leave. Fuck, I’m trapped in this lie and tying the ropes around her as we speak. This beautiful girl will never forgive me, she won’t.

  I’ll think about it later. I’ll figure something out.

  She brings her hand to my forehead and lightly applies pressure. “Are you feeling okay?” She grins. “You’re being awfully cooperative today.” Her sarcastic humor makes me care for her even more.

  I bring her hand to my lips, peppering the back of it with kisses. “I just want to make sure you’re pleased with everything here. I want you to feel at home . . . with me.” And I do. I’ve never felt like I had a home until Tessa signed along those dotted lines to move in with me. Waking up to her annoying alarm clock every day has grown into something I need, something I was missing and didn’t know it.

  “And what about you? Do you feel at home here?” Her voice is full of hope. It’s tenuous hope, though . . . she’s waiting and expecting me to deliver a ruthless opinion about our living situation. I can see it in her eyes; she’s hopeful, but she expects the worst from me because that’s what she always gets.

  “Surprisingly enough, yes.” I answer her honestly while trying to make my voice sound as convincing as possible. I really do love it here, with her.

  “We should go get my stuff,” she suggests, then tells me about the books and clothing I’ve already taken care of.

  “Already done.” I smile.

  She tilts her head in confusion. “What?”

  �
�I brought all of your belongings from your room; they’re in your trunk.” I just couldn’t wait. I wanted her to see the place and never leave. I need her to never leave here, so I needed to make her as comfortable as I could.

  “How did you know I’d sign the lease? What if I hated the apartment?” She turns her cheeks up at me, curiosity and a challenge filling them.

  “Because if you hadn’t liked this one, I’d have found one that you did like,” I tell her.

  She nods, acknowledging that I’m completely serious. “Okay . . . Well, what about your stuff?” she asks me.

  “We can get it tomorrow. I have clothes in my trunk.”

  “What is with that, anyway?”

  “I don’t know, really. I guess you just never know when you’ll need clothes.” She’s nosy, so nosy. I keep clothes in the trunk of my car for many reasons; most of them she surely wouldn’t like to know. “Let’s go to the store and get all the shit we need for the kitchen and some food,” I suggest.

  Tessa turns to me when we step into the lobby. “Okay. Can I drive your car again?”

  “I don’t know . . .” I tease her. But of course she can drive it.

  part three

  AFTER

  He was finally becoming the man he’d never known he could be. His rage was channeled into his writing, and he was becoming proud of the person he was. She was the only reason his life turned out this way, and he would fall at her knees and thank her every second if he could. She stayed by him until it was no longer good for either of them, and then she gave him time to sort his life out on his own. She supported his choices month in and month out and never failed to make him strive for more.

  During that time, each month he was sober, he would get a card in the mail, the old-fashioned way, with her name and a heart. He knew her well enough to be sure that the two years they spent apart weren’t easy for her. It was hell for her, eternal purgatory for him.

  When the handwritten words from his binder became lines on a printed page, she didn’t call for a week. He knew she read the book, and he was sure she spent the entire week pacing around the small apartment she shared with his brother. He had moved into a new place by then, adjusting to a windy city with tall buildings and an overabundance of hot dogs and baseball. It didn’t feel like home there, though she visited him more times than he deserved. His days went on like this, working, waiting for her to call or email, planning for the next time he’d be able to see her. As he became more and more worthy of her, he started to like the man he saw in the mirror each morning.

  When that week was over and she finally did call, her voice cracked on her first word, and he couldn’t find the right thing to tell her. He wanted her to understand that no two people were more right for one another. She congratulated him on his book, but with a cool distance. He grew tired, wondering if this would be his life, alone in a high-rise apartment eating takeout while watching reruns of Friends.

  Weeks later, he couldn’t stop his heart from racing when she called to tell him about her visit to his city, how there was a wedding she needed a date for. She danced with him the entire night and lay beneath him in his bed for three days . . .

  Until she left, taking his heart with her.

  He visited her next, in chaotic New York City, and was impressed with her new life. But he missed his place in it. She had a good thing going there: friends and family. He had an imaginary life with her, and he was waiting for her to come around and make it a reality. Seeing it as his only hope for a good life, he continued to show her that he was a better person than he used to be. Much better. More alive.

  At some point, his development as a human being, and the ways it showed in his behavior with other people, started to make him feel valuable, and with that came heavier responsibilities. His brother suffered a heartbreak, and he made sure he was available to talk and help him through it. In different ways, big and small, he found himself feeling of use to his family.

  He was the best man at his brother’s wedding. She was there, glowing with her love for him, and somehow they both realized, mercifully, that their separation had run its course. They were both grown now, more equipped to handle the world together. He had stopped being selfish; she had figured out who she was. The time apart had done them good, but they were ready to begin their lives together.

  Together, they suffered heartache—greater than any they had caused each other in their early years—and sometimes they didn’t know if they could go on. On the loneliest day of all, when he packed up the room of their lost child, he wondered if he was being punished, if his past sins were the reasons why they had to deal with such a loss.

  The day his first child was born, so was he. Reborn, alive again. He had come such a long way, and he had changed. Reaching both a deeper and a higher level of love and understanding became possible for him. The little girl’s fingers were small, but she had wrapped them around his heart. He watched the girl he had loved for years turn into a woman, and then a mother to his child. There was nothing more beautiful than that . . .

  Until she became a mum a second time, to their little boy.

  As their children grew older, this new man and his woman . . . they somehow felt younger, falling in love all over again each day.

  He felt so lucky, so gifted, so tremendously proud of the life they built together; he couldn’t believe what a lucky bastard he was.

  Zed

  Every novel has its own take on the romantic hero. Most novels use that classic trope that we’ve all grown tired of: the Love Triangle. Wickham lied about Darcy’s father to gain Elizabeth’s affections. Jay Gatsby wined and dined Daisy Buchanan, offering her a life her husband, Tom, couldn’t. Linton was the safe choice of my favorite heroine, Catherine Earnshaw, who chose him over a life of destructive passion with Heathcliff. Even a tan and buff werewolf boy tried to win the ever-so-witty Bella Swan’s heart over that sparkly ancient vampire lover dude.

  It’s been done over and over again, and since he’d lived this through story after story, he thought it laughable when he found himself in his own real, actual love triangle. In his own story, the bad-boy-turned-wannabe-saint with daddy issues tries to keep the stubborn innocent virgin away from the trendy and emotional boy who wants to save the flowers and the planet all in a day’s work. The classics end with most of the aforementioned characters’ deaths, or the birth of half-vampire babies, but they all have a common theme: one of the two men never stands a chance, and when it came to his relationship with her, he didn’t know if how much she cared for him would mean he would win out in the end.

  Still, they deserve props, the other guys who get back out into the game after losing to the obvious suitor.

  Another party. Another overcrowded party where everyone does the same shit on a different day. Drinks are poured into red cups, and the music blasts from room after room. Every person I pass as I walk down the hallway looks even more bored than the last, so I find it odd that this year’s kickoff party is much more crowded than last year’s. Where do all the people come from? Has everyone become so bored with themselves that they cling to a large group of other people pretending to have amazing social lives? I’m beginning to see that’s all college is. Washington is very different from where I grew up in Florida, but colleges seem to be the same everywhere you go.

  “I need to piss,” I complain to the air as I lean against the wall next to the bathroom door. A few moments later, a petite girl with blond shoulder-length hair steps out of the bathroom. Her gaze turns down toward the floor when she walks past me. She’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt that extends down to hug the curves of her hips perfectly despite her loose, even baggy jeans.

  “Excuse me,” she says, and smiles at the carpeted floor as she maneuvers past me and down the hall.

  I step into the bathroom and close the door. The small space smells like artificial vanilla spray. It’s quite disorienting, so I piss quickly, wash my hands, and open the door . . . and step into a crowd of girls. O
ne of them looks me up and down, her eyes widening as she takes in my features. I can almost read her mind. She opens her mouth to speak, but when I look over her head, the blond girl with the killer hips is standing at the top of the stairs. I watch as she goes to grab something from her back pocket, but coming up empty, she licks her lips and rolls her eyes. I can feel her attitude from here. I had made it a point not to look for anyone for a while after the Tessa thing, but I find myself moving down the hallway toward the blonde. I’m not looking for anything serious, but I could use a decent conversation at this point.

  As I near the top of the staircase, her small hand wraps around the metal post in a very delicate manner. I take a few steps closer to look at her, and she descends the stairs slowly and cautiously even though she’s wearing sneakers. Her hair is thick, covering half of her back. I watch as her eyes scan the crowd. She’s aware of her surroundings—I can tell by the way she rests her eyes on every face she sees. Is she looking for someone? I watch her teeth pull in her top lip and decide to approach her. Her jeans are rolled at the bottom, and I can make out the shape of a star near her ankle.

  “Are you looking for someone?” I ask her.

  When she turns to face me, her brown eyes are big, nearly too big for her face, which makes her seem slightly terrified. “I was looking for my friends, but I think they left.” She frowns.

  “Oh. Do you want me to help you find them?” I offer.

  Continuing to look around the room, she reaches past my face and lifts a baseball cap off of a passing guy. He grumbles and she smiles, only slightly embarrassed and somewhat desperate seeming.

  I look at her, wondering why she did that. “My friend John is wearing a cap, too,” she explains. I can’t tell if she’s timid or aggressive yet, but I want to find out.