Tessa Ever After (4 page)

Her mouth pops open as she stares at me. “Seriously?”

I nod. “They found out I’ve got enough credits to graduate if I’d just declare a major, so they’re not buying my bullshit
anymore. No more putting off the inevitable. But, hey, I had a good solid five years of avoidance. Time to pay my dues, right?”

She’s quiet long enough for me to raise my eyebrow at her in question. When she still doesn’t say anything, I ask, “What’s with the silence?”

“I don’t know . . .” she says, hesitancy in her voice, then waves her hand while shaking her head. “Nothing, never mind.”

“Jesus, Tess, just spit it out.”

“I just . . . I don’t get you. I mean, you’ve got this amazing job waiting for you after graduation, one most people fresh out of college—even after getting their master’s—would kill for, where you’ll probably make three times what I could ever even
hope
to make, and you’re moping around like a petulant child.
And
it was your grandpa’s firm . . . I thought working there would make you happy. What gives?”

I snap my mouth shut, clenching my jaw and blowing a deep breath through my nose. “Look, I know how good I have it, okay? And I feel like a selfish asshole for not being grateful for it. But how would you like it if your whole future had already been mapped out for you from before you could even walk? It’s a lot of pressure. And not only that . . . Yeah, working for my grandpa’s firm would be awesome, if I could do it on my terms, but my dad won’t be satisfied with that. He won’t accept me working in their web division. More than that, though, the firm stopped being my grandpa’s when my dad got his claws in it, added a bunch of partners to boost revenue, and conveniently forgot about ethics. My grandpa is probably turning over in his grave at the shitshow my father has turned Montgomery International into.”

“Have you actually
talked
to your dad about doing a different
job within the company? Maybe he’d be okay with you taking on a lesser role in another department.”

I shake my head. “Nope. No way he’d go for it. It’s all or nothing with him. He doesn’t know the meaning of the word
compromise
.”

“So you’re total opposites, then, huh?”

“When you start comparing me to my father, that’s my cue to leave.” I move to get up, but Tessa laughs, pressing both her feet on top of my thigh to get me to stay put.

“I’m just kidding; don’t be so touchy. You’re nothing like him, not really. But you
are
stubborn. Which is why I’m so surprised you’re taking this lying down. Just try it. What have you got to lose? He might surprise you.”

Or he might prove every thought I’ve ever had of him right, and I’d be back at square one.

THREE

tessa

Being on top of everything is
exhausting.
I got up thirty minutes earlier than usual just so I could have Haley’s clothes set out for her and be able to make her something for breakfast other than cold cereal. It was only oatmeal, but hey . . . it’s a step. I diligently stayed on schedule all day, moving faster when my clients showed up late, working my ass off to make sure I was out of the door of the salon by five thirty so I could get to Melinda’s with time to spare.

Dinner still isn’t up to Cade’s standards, but I figure with everything else I managed to do today, I’d cut myself a little slack. I pick at the broiled chicken breast and salad I made for myself while Haley retells every second of her day in between bites of her food.

“. . . then we had snack. Apples and peanut butter. That’s my favorite, huh?”

“Mhmm, I know, baby.”

“And then we practiced our letters. We’re on
j
this week. Like jump and jelly bean and jog and Jay! And then—”

And I try so hard to pay attention. To listen to her and stay involved, but the fact is I’ve been up since five o’clock this morning, and after getting Haley and myself ready, rushing her to preschool then myself to work, followed by eight hours on my feet at the salon, and another hour standing at the stove prepping dinner when I got home, I’m bone-deep tired. I want to fall face-first into my bed and not move for twelve hours. In reality, I’ll get to bed at nearly eleven and barely manage to squeak in six hours of sleep.

“Mama!”

Haley’s voice snaps me back to attention, and I lift my eyes to her. “What?”

“Can I have a treat?”

I should say no. She doesn’t need a treat, especially after the shit I’ve been feeding her, but the truth is, I don’t have the fight in me tonight. With a sigh, I relent. “Eat your green beans first.”

She scoops up a giant bite on her fork and shoves it in her mouth, like there’s a time limit on my offer. And for a minute, I let myself just watch her, get lost in her deep, dark eyes as she tells me more stories from her day, in the way she purses her lips when she’s thinking of what to say next. Her hair is tangled, and she keeps pushing it out of her face. I’ve needed to give her a trim for a month but haven’t found the time. She’s amazing and gorgeous, and she’s
mine.
And no matter what happens, what goes on in my life, I know at the end of the day, she’s there with me.

She’s a force of nature, this wild, crazy, vivacious little girl, and I love her more than anything in the world. She makes me
laugh harder than anyone in my life. She’s kind and compassionate and the best part of my life.

But sometimes . . . sometimes on nights like tonight when I’ve had a rough and exhausting day, I wish it weren’t just the two of us. That there was someone else here to take some of the burden from my shoulders. To help in the mornings, to take her to the park, to read her bedtime stories in funny voices. Someone to keep me company while I’m cooking dinner. To have a glass of wine with me after Haley’s in bed. To warm me up during the cold winter nights.

And just like every time I have this thought—every single time—a crushing wave of guilt immediately follows it, and I regret thinking about it in the first place. Because what we have is pretty great, and thinking about filling our lives with something else, something more, feels like I don’t think she’s enough. Like
we’re
not enough, together.

But that’s not it at all. I love her and would give my life for her. The times we spend together are my favorite in the world. But at the end of the day, when she’s in bed, it’s just me.

It’s just me, and I can’t help but want something more.

jason

I should’ve gone out tonight. Should’ve called up Sean or Kyle and had them meet me at Shooters or, hell, anywhere. At least then I’d have the interference of noise and people to distract me from what my brain won’t stop gravitating toward, what it won’t stop focusing on—namely a girl with dark brown hair and a personality too large for her petite frame.

But I’m just lying to myself if I think any of that would help. Because in the last nine months, I’ve done everything in my power to try and get Tessa out of my head, to stop this interest before it even started, and she just keeps working her way back in.

I’ve tried to distract myself with women who are the exact opposite of her—leggy and blond and reserved. Hell, I’ve tried to distract myself with women who are seemingly just like her. Same build, same hair, same eyes. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t help. Because, at the end of the night, they’re
not
her, and my mind still snaps right back to her every single time.

Every. Single. Fucking. Time.

Groaning, I grab the remote and flip through the channels until I get to the football game on tonight. Taking a pull of my beer, I lean back on the couch, the leather creaking under me, and try to focus on the game, but my mind’s going a million miles an hour. Where Tessa’s not overwhelming my thoughts, the shit from my parents fills the void. There’s no avoiding it. No getting out of it. Nothing I can say or do to stop my future from plowing into me like a freight train.

Maybe I wouldn’t feel the way I do about it if they’d just asked. Just
asked
what I wanted to do.
If
I wanted that. But of course they didn’t. Because it was a family business, they assumed I wanted to be a part of it. And I might have, if not for my dad. The firm was something my grandfather built from the ground up, but something my father turned so ugly I didn’t even recognize it anymore. It’s no longer the small firm with a soft spot for philanthropy my grandfather started. Now it’s all about the profits. In the years since my father’s taken control, he’s laid off good people only a couple years from getting their pension and hired recent grads for half the salary. He’s found every possible
shortcut he can take so he can pocket more profits. And the thing that cuts the most is when he closed the foundation Grandpa created, building homes for low-income families—the only thing I was able to look forward to. The one thing I’d have so I could get past having to work for my dad. He told me he shut it down because it wasn’t good for the bottom line.

In other words, it wasn’t satisfactory for him to be bringing in less than a small fortune every year, despite the reason for that being helping others in need. All that matters to him—to both my parents—is the next dollar that comes into the bank, the next brand-new car, the next vacation to Paris or Saint-Tropez or Tahiti. It’s always about the quality of what they have, how fancy it is, and to whom they can show it off.

And that includes their one and only child.

It’s on nights like this I miss my grandpa the most. My grandma died when I was young, in elementary school, so my memories of her are faded, but he talked about her like she hung the moon. And the stories he shared sounded like fairy tales to me, because the life I lived, the love I saw between my parents wasn’t love at all. It was a commitment built on mutual benefits . . . on what they could both gain. When my dad aligned himself with my mother’s family—the very epitome of old money—he married into the life he always wanted.

The life my grandpa tried to show me there was so much more than.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I take the welcome distraction, fishing it out. Tessa’s name flashes across the screen, and I close my eyes, blowing out a deep breath. Guess it won’t be much of a distraction at all.

Bringing the phone up to my ear, I answer, “Hey.”

“Jason?” Tessa’s voice is higher pitched than usual, panic seeping through, and I bolt upright.

“Tess? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, um, nothing much. It’s just—oh shit. Haley! Bring me another bucket from under the kitchen sink!” Her voice is loud and frantic as she yells to Haley, before she speaks into the phone again. “Yeah, um, do you happen to know anything about pipes?”

“Like . . . water pipes?”

“Yeah . . .”

“Tess, what’s going on?”

“I just . . . I forgot to leave a trickle of water running in the bathroom, and it was so cold today, the pipes froze. And . . . burst. There’s water
everywhere
. I don’t . . . I don’t know what to do.” Where it was frantic before, her voice has softened, wavering just slightly, and I don’t care that I know jack shit about plumbing. I set my beer down, thankful I’d managed to have only a couple swallows, and get up from the couch, grabbing my coat and slipping on my shoes before I’m out the door, phone still at my ear.

“I’ll be there in ten,” I say, then hang up, rushing out into the cold November night to help a girl I’m trying my hardest not to think about.

tessa

There is
so much
water. Buckets upon buckets, and with every emptying of them, it’s another reminder of how I screwed up.
Again. Of how this never would’ve happened if Cade had been here. He never would’ve
let
it happen.

The pipes froze once, when I was nine. Though we’d been in the house for a few years by then, the previous winters had all been mild, so we’d never had to deal with it before. But that particular winter was harsh and brutal, colder than it’d been in a long time. It was after my dad had passed away, so it was just me, my mom, and Cade. And even though he was only eleven, Cade still stepped in and took charge. Like he just
knew
what needed to be done.