After Ever Happy by Anna Todd
“Is that all?” I hope it is.
“Basically. Oh, and you were quoting Hemingway.” He smiles a little, and I’m reminded just how charming he can be.
“I wasn’t.” I cover my face with my hands in embarrassment.
“You were.” A soft laugh falls from his lips, and I peek through my hands to look at him as he adds, “You were also saying that you accept my apology and you will give me another chance.”
His eyes meet mine through my fingers, and I can’t seem to look away. He’s good. Really good.
“Liar.” I’m not sure if I want to laugh or cry. Here we are again, in the middle of our same old back-and-forth, push-and-pull. I can’t ignore that it feels different this time, but I also know that I can’t be trusted to judge this. It always seemed to feel different each time he made a promise that he couldn’t keep.
“Do you want to talk about what happened last night? Because I hated seeing you that way. You weren’t yourself. It really scared me when I was on the phone with you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You were plastered. You drank yourself to sleep outside on the patio, and there are empty bottles across the entire house.”
“It’s not fun finding someone that way, huh?” I feel like a jerk as soon as the words are out.
His shoulders drop. “No. It’s really not.”
I’m reminded of the nights (and sometimes even the days) when I found Hardin drunk. Drunk Hardin always brought along with him broken lamps, holes in walls, and nasty words that were sure to cut deep.
“That won’t ever happen again,” he says, answering my thoughts.
“I wasn’t—” I begin to lie, but he knows me too well.
“Yes, you were. It’s okay, I deserve it.”
“Either way, it wasn’t fair of me to throw it in your face.” I need to learn to forgive Hardin or neither of us will ever have peace in our lives after this.
I didn’t realize it had been vibrating, but he lifts his phone from the nightstand and presses it to his ear. I close my eyes to relieve some of the throbbing as he curses Christian out. I wave my hand, trying to get him to stop, but he ignores me, rushing to tell Christian what an asshole he is.
“Well, you should have fucking answered. If something would have happened to her, I would have held you fucking responsible,” Hardin growls into the phone, and I try to block his voice out.
I’m fine, I drank a little too much because I had a bad day, but I’m fine now. What’s the harm in that?
When he hangs up, I feel the mattress dip next to me, and he pushes my hand away from my eyes. “He says he’s sorry for not coming home to check on you,” Hardin says, inches from my face.
I can see the stubble across his jaw and chin. I don’t know if it’s because I’m still a little intoxicated, or just plain crazy, but I reach up and run my finger across the line of his jaw. My action surprises him, and his eyes glaze over, almost crossing, as I caress his skin.
“What are we doing?” He leans even closer.
“I don’t know.” I answer with the only truth that I know. I have no clue what we are doing, what I am doing, when it comes to Hardin. I never have.
Inside, I’m sad and hurt, and I feel betrayed by my own body and the essential nature of karma and life in general, but on the surface, I know that Hardin can make it all go away. Even if only temporarily, he can make me forget all of the worries; he can clear all of the chaos from my mind, the way I used to do for him.
Now I get it. I get what he meant when he said he needed me all of those times. I get why he used me the way he did.
“I don’t want to use you.”
“What?” he asks, confused.
“I want you to make me forget everything, but I don’t want to use you. I want to be close to you right now, but I haven’t changed my mind about the rest,” I ramble out, hoping he will understand what I don’t know how to say.
He leans up on one elbow and looks down at me. “I don’t care how or why, but if you want me in any way, you don’t need to explain. I’m already yours.”
His lips are so close to mine, and I could so easily just lift my head slightly to touch them.
“I’m sorry.” I turn my head. I can’t use him this way, but mostly I can’t pretend that that’s all it would be. It wouldn’t just be a physical distraction from my problems—it would be more, much more. I love him still, even though I sometimes wish I didn’t. I wish I were stronger, that I could brush this off as a simple distraction, no feelings, no wanting more, only sex.
But my heart and conscience won’t allow it. As hurt as I am by my ideal future’s being ripped away from me, I can’t use him this way, especially now that he seems to be making such an effort. It would hurt him so bad.
While I’m battling myself, he rolls his body onto mine and collects both of my wrists into one of his hands. “What are you—”
He lifts my hands above my head. “I know what you are thinking.” He presses his lips to my neck, and my body takes over. My neck rolls to the side, giving him easier access to the sensitive skin there.
“It’s not fair to you,” I gasp when his teeth pull at the skin just under my ear. He releases his grip on my wrists—only long enough to pull my T-shirt over my head and toss it onto the floor.
“This isn’t fair. Your even allowing me to touch you after all I’ve done isn’t fair to you, but I want it. I want you, I always want you, and I know you’re fighting it, but you want me to distract you. Let me.” He pushes his weight onto me, his hips pinning me to the mattress in a dominating and demanding way that has my head swimming faster than last night’s wine.
His knee slides between my thighs, and he opens them. “Don’t think about me. Only think about you and what you want.”
“Okay.” I nod, moaning when his knee rubs between my legs.
“I love you—don’t ever feel bad about letting me show you that.” He speaks such soft words, but his hands are rough as one of them keeps both of my hands pinned to the bed and the other pushes into my panties. “So wet,” he groans, moving his finger up and down the moisture there. I try to hold still as he brings his finger to my mouth, pushing it past my lips. “So sweet, isn’t it?”
He doesn’t allow me to respond before he frees my hands and positions his head between my legs. His tongue swipes across me, and I push my fingers into his hair. With each stroke of his tongue across my clit, I am lost in this place with him. I’m no longer clouded by darkness, I’m no longer pissed off—I’m not focusing on regrets and mistakes.
I’m only focused on my body and his. I’m focused on the way he groans against me when I pull his hair. I’m focused on the way my nails leave angry little lines across his shoulder blades as he pushes two fingers inside me. I can only focus on his touching me, every part of me, inside and out, in a way that no one else ever could.
I focus on the sharp intake of his breath as I beg him to turn around and let me please him while he pleases me, the way he pushes his jeans to the floor and nearly rips his shirt off in his hurry to touch me again. I focus on the way he lifts me on top of him, my face opposite his cock. I focus on the way we’ve never done this before, but I love the way he moans my name when I take him into my mouth. I focus on the way his fingers dig into my hips as he licks me and I suck him. I focus on the way I can feel the pressure building inside me, and I focus on the dirty things he’s saying to bring me over the edge.
I come first, followed by him filling my mouth, and I nearly collapse from the relief that my body feels after my release. I try not to focus on the way I don’t feel guilty for allowing his touch as a distraction from my pain.
“Thank you,” I breathe into his chest when he pulls me to lie across him.
“No, thank you.” He smiles down at me and presses a kiss to my bare shoulder. “Are you going to tell me what’s been bothering you?”
“No.” I trace my fingertip over the black ink of the tree on his chest.
&nbs
“No.” I swat at him, hoping he’s only teasing.
“Fine. Will you move in with me?”
“No.” I move my finger to another group of tattoos, tracing the heart-shaped end of the infinity symbol drawn there.
“I’ll take that as a maybe.” He chuckles, wrapping his arm around my back. “Will you let me take you to dinner tonight?”
“No,” I answer too quickly.
He laughs. “I’ll take that as a yes.” His laughter is cut short when the sound of the front door opening echoes through the house and voices fill the hall.
“Shit,” we both say at the same time.
He looks up at me, puzzled by my language, and I shrug at him before digging through my drawers to get dressed.
chapter fifty-four
TESSA
The tension in the air is so thick that I swear Kimberly opened the window for that reason alone. Across the living room we exchange sympathetic looks.
“It’s not that hard to answer the phone or at least respond with a text. I drove all the way here, and you just got back to me an hour ago,” Hardin says furiously, scolding Christian.
I sigh, as does Kimberly. I’m sure she’s also wondering just how many times Hardin is going to repeat that “I drove all the way here” sentence.
“I said I was sorry. We were downtown and apparently my phone decided not to have service.” Christian wheels his chair past Hardin. “These things do happen, Hardin. ‘The best-laid plans of mice and men,’ and all that . . .”
Hardin gives Christian one of his patented glares before rounding the island and standing next to me.
“I think he gets it,” I whisper to him.
“Yeah, well, he better.” Hardin continues glowering, earning an annoyed grimace from his biological father.
“You’re in a mood today, considering what we just did,” I tease Hardin, hoping to ease his anger.
He leans into me, hope taking the place of the anger in his eyes. “What time do you want to leave for dinner?”
“Dinner?” Kimberly interrupts.
I turn to her, knowing exactly what she’s thinking. “It’s not like that.”
“Yes, it is,” Hardin says.
Between her nosiness and his smug grin, I want to slap the both of them. Of course I want to go to dinner with Hardin. Since the day I met him, I have wanted to be near him.
But I’m not giving in to Hardin; I’m not throwing myself back into the cycle of our destructive relationship. We need to talk, really talk, about everything that has happened and my plans for the future. The future as in New York in three weeks with Landon.
There have been too many secrets between us, too many avoidable blowouts when said secrets were revealed in the worst way, and I don’t want this to be one of those situations. It’s time to be mature, get a backbone, and tell Hardin what I plan to do.
It’s my life, my choice. He doesn’t have to approve—no one does. But I owe it to him to at least tell him the truth before he finds out from someone else.
“We can go whenever you want,” I quietly respond, ignoring Kimberly’s smirk.
He smiles down at my wrinkled T-shirt and loose sweats. “You’re wearing that, right?”
I didn’t have time to pay attention to what I was covering myself with; I was too occupied with the idea of Kimberly’s knocking on my door and catching us with no clothes on.
“Hush.” I roll my eyes and walk away from him. I can hear him following me, but I close the bathroom door behind me, locking it. He tries the handle and I hear him laugh before a quiet thud sounds against the wood. The image of him hitting his head against the door makes me smile.
Without a word to him from the other side of the door, I turn the shower on and remove my clothes and step in before the water has a chance to heat.
chapter fifty-five
HARDIN
Kimberly is standing in the kitchen with her hand on her hip. How charming. “Dinner, eh?”
“Eh?” I mock her, walking past her like it’s my house instead of hers. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Her heels click behind me. “I should have put money on how fast you would be here.” She pulls the refrigerator open. “I told Christian on the way home that your car would be in our driveway.”
“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” I glance down the hall, hoping that Tessa makes it a quick shower, and wishing I were in the shower with her. Hell, I would be happy if she just let me sit in the bathroom, on the floor even, and listen to her talk while she bathes. I miss showering with her, I miss the way she pinches her eyes closed, too tight, and keeps them screwed shut the entire time she washes her hair—you know, “just in case” shampoo gets into her eyes.
I teased her over it once, and she opened her eyes, only to get a big puff of soap in them. I didn’t hear the end of it until hours later when her eyes were finally rid of the red rings.
“What’s so funny?” Kimberly places a carton of eggs on the island in front of me.
I didn’t realize I was laughing; I was so consumed by the memory of Tessa’s glaring and scowling at me—puffy, red eyes and all.
“Nothing.” I wave Kimberly off.
The counter is being filled with every type of food imaginable, and Kimberly even slides a cup of coffee, black, in front of me.
“What’s with you? You being nice to me so I won’t keep reminding your fiancé what a prick he is?” I raise the suspicious coffee cup into the air.
She laughs. “No. I’m always nice to you. I just don’t take your shit like everyone else, but I’m always nice to you.”
I nod, not knowing what to say next in the conversation. Is that what’s happening here? I’m having a conversation with Tessa’s most obnoxious friend? The same woman who happens to be marrying my fuckup of a sperm donor?
She cracks an egg on the side of a glass bowl. “I’m not so bad once you get past that whole hating-the-world thing you have going on.”
I look up at her. She’s annoying but she’s loyal as hell, I’ll give her that. Loyalty is hard to come by, even more so lately, and oddly enough I find myself thinking about Landon and how he seems to be the only person besides Tessa who’s loyal to me. He’s been here for me in a way that I didn’t expect, and I definitely didn’t expect to somewhat like it—rely on it, even.
With all this shit going on in my life and the struggle to keep myself on the right path, the path lined with fucking rainbows and flowers and all the shit that leads to a life with Tessa, it’s nice to know Landon is there if I need him. He’s leaving soon and that fucking sucks, but I know that even from New York City he will be loyal. He may take Tessa’s side most of the time, but he’s always honest with me. He doesn’t keep shit from me the way everyone else does.
“Plus,” Kimberly starts, but bites down on her lip to stop herself from laughing, “we’re family!”
And just like that, she’s back on my damn nerves.
“Funny.” I roll my eyes. If I had been the one to say it, it would have been, but she just had to ruin the silence.
She turns away from me to pour the egg-batter shit into a pan on the stove. “I’m known for my humor.”
Actually, you’re known for your big-ass mouth, but if thinking you’re funny works, fine.
“All joking aside”—she looks at me over her shoulder—“I do hope you will consider talking to Christian before you leave. He’s been really upset and worried that your relationship with him is ruined permanently. I wouldn’t blame you if it was; I’m just letting you know.” Her eyes leave mine, and she continues cooking, allowing me time to gather a response.
Should I even give her one? “I’m not ready to talk . . . yet,” I eventually say. For a second, I’m not sure if she heard me, but then she nods her head and I can see the edges of a smile when she turns to grab another ingredient.
What feels like three hours later, Tessa finally em
I stare at her for too long, and she shifts back and forth under my stare. I love the way she’s dressed today—flat shoes, a pink tank top, and a skirt covered in flowers. Fucking beautiful, that’s what she is.
“Lunch instead?” I ask, not wanting to be away from her at all today.
“Kimberly made breakfast?” she whispers to me.
“So? It’s probably shitty anyway.” I wave at the food covering the counter. It doesn’t look bad, I guess. But she’s no Karen.
“Don’t say that.” Tessa smiles, and I almost repeat the sentence to earn another smile.
“Fine. We will take a plate to go and then can toss it when we get outside?” I suggest.
She ignores me, but I hear her telling Kimberly to save some leftovers for us to eat later.
Hardin, 1.
Kimberly and her shitty food and annoying questions, 0.
THE DRIVE through downtown Seattle isn’t as bad as usual. Tessa is quiet, like I knew she would be. I feel her eyes on me every few minutes, but every time I look at her, she quickly turns away.
For lunch, I choose a small, modern-style restaurant, and when we pull into a nearly empty lot, I know this means one of two things: either they just opened minutes ago and the crowd hasn’t started yet, or the food is shit so no one eats here. Hoping for the first, we go through the glass doors and Tessa’s eyes study the place. The decor is nice, whimsical, and she seems to like it, which reminds me just how much I love her reaction to the simplest things.
Hardin, 2.
Not that I’m keeping score or anything . . .
But if I were . . . I’d be winning.
We sit in silence while we wait to place our orders. The waiter is a young college kid who’s nervous and has some sort of eye-contact issue. He doesn’t seem to want to look into my eyes, the asshole.