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I’m trying to rub salve onto the wound I’ve created, but her expression lets me know I’m doing the opposite.
“What I’m trying—and utterly fucking failing to accomplish—to say is that I love you, and I’m an insensitive prick for not being present for you just now. I put myself first, as always, and I’m sorry.” My words seem to pull her out of herself, and she brings her eyes to mine.
“Thank you.” She pulls one of her wrists from my hand, and I hesitate to let it go, but I’m relieved when she raises her hand to wipe her eyes. “I’m sorry that you feel like I took something from you.”
But I can tell she has more to say. “Don’t hold back. I know you; say what you need to say.”
“I hate the way you reacted,” she huffs.
“I know I’m—”
She puts a hand in the air. “I wasn’t finished.” Tessa clears her throat. “I have wanted to be a mother since I can remember. I was just like every other girl with her dolls, maybe more so. Being a mother was so important to me. I never, ever questioned or worried that I may not be able to be one.”
“I know, I—”
“Please, let me talk.” She grinds her teeth.
I really should shut up, for once. Instead of responding, I nod and stay silent.
“I’m feeling this incredible loss right now. And I don’t have the energy to worry about you blaming me. It’s okay for you to feel the loss, too; I want you to always be open with how you feel, but you haven’t had any of your dreams crushed here. You didn’t want children until ten minutes ago, and so I don’t find it fair for you to be this way.”
I wait a few seconds and raise a brow at her, seeking her permission to speak. She nods, but then the loud horn of a semi blares through the air, making her nearly jump out of the car.
“I’m going to drive back to Vance’s,” I say. “But I would like to come in and be with you.”
Tessa looks out of the window but gives me a small nod.
“I mean, in a comforting way, like I should have been.”
With a gesture just as slight as her nod, I catch her rolling her eyes.
Chapter fifty-seven
TESSA
Hardin shares an awkward glance with Vance as we pass him in the hallway. It’s strange, having Hardin here with me after everything that has happened. I can’t ignore the effort and restraint he’s showing by coming to this house, Vance’s house.
It’s hard to focus on just one of the many problems that have cropped up of late: Hardin’s behavior in London, Vance and Trish, my father’s death, my fertility issues.
It’s too much, and it seems never ending.
In a way, the relief I feel after telling Hardin about the infertility is huge, massive.
But there’s always something else waiting to be revealed or thrown at one of us.
And New York is that next thing.
I don’t know if I should just say it now, now that we already have an issue between us. I hate the way Hardin reacted, but I’m thankful for the remorse he showed after his callous dismissal of my feelings. If he wouldn’t have pulled the car over and apologized, I don’t think I could have found it in myself to speak to him again.
I can’t count the times that I’ve said, thought, sworn, those words since I met him. I owe it to myself to think that I meant them this time.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, closing my bedroom door behind him.
Without hesitation, I answer honestly, “That I wouldn’t speak to you again.”
“What?” He steps toward me, and I back away from him.
“If you wouldn’t have apologized, I wouldn’t have anything to say to you.”
He sighs, running his hand over his hair. “I know.”
I can’t stop thinking of what he said: “I didn’t think so, but now that it’s been taken away . . .”
I’m still in shock from it; I’m sure of it. I never expected to hear those words from him. It didn’t seem possible that he would change his mind; then again, true to the dysfunction of our relationship, his mind was only changed after tragedy.
“Come here.” Hardin’s arms open to me, and I hesitate. “Please, let me comfort you the way I should have. Let me talk to you and listen to you. I’m sorry.”
Per usual, I’m stepping into his arms. They feel different now, more solid, more real than before. He tightens his embrace around my body, resting his cheek against the top of my head. His hair, too long on the sides now, tickles my skin, and I feel him place a kiss onto my hair.
“Tell me how you feel about all of this. Tell me everything you haven’t told me about it,” he says, pulling me to sit next to him on the bed. I cross my legs, and he leans his back against the headboard.
I tell him everything. I tell him about my first appointment to get on birth control. I tell him that I have known about the possibility of a problem since before we left for London. His jaw tenses when I tell him that I didn’t want him to know, and his fists clench when I tell him that I was afraid he would be happy. He stays quiet and nods along until I tell him that I was going to keep it from him permanently.
He pulls himself up on his elbows to move closer to me. “Why? Why would you that?”
“I thought you would be happy, and I didn’t want to hear that.” I shrug. “I would have rather kept it to myself than hear how relieved you were about it.”
“If you would have told me before London, things could have gone differently.”