by Lauren Runow
There on many things on this list I know I’ve achieved without having to look back. There are a few I know I have failed.
I’ve found the right woman to place on a pedestal, yet I let her topple to the ground. Mostly because I was too afraid to love her with my whole heart.
I want to be happy. The happy that only comes from living your life with the people you want to live it with. I haven’t, and I know it’s because of one thing. I’ve never moved on from the loss of my mother.
I might never, and I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing. I do know that I don’t want it to keep me from living my life.
Living my life with Tessa.
I just hope I didn’t fuck up too bad because I’ve never had to grovel before. I guess I should start figuring out how because there’s no way I’m letting her go.
22
TESSA
My mom’s name flashes across my screen, instantly inducing a frustrated sigh from my lips. I’m not in the mood to talk to her, but I know she’ll keep calling until I answer. She has a way of being persistent like that.
Inhaling deeply, mentally preparing myself for this phone call, I swipe the phone to answer. “Hey, Mom.”
“Well, hello there. How’s your trip of sin?”
“I’m home.” I unwrap a Hershey’s Kiss, my twentieth since I started wallowing, and pop it in my mouth.
“You’re home? What do you mean, you’re home? I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow,” she asks, all flustered. Then, she changes her tone. “You had a fight.”
I eat more chocolate, suddenly wanting to stuff my mouth with as many as possible. “I don’t really want to discuss it.”
“Well, you can’t say I didn’t tell you so, but I told you so.”
I toss the wrapper in the trash and miss. “You were right. You’re always … right.”
She makes that sound that moms do when they don’t like hearing their daughters upset. “Tell me about it. Getting it off your chest might help. You know I’m always up for a good man-bashing session.”
“God, Mom. I just …” I whimper. I hate myself for that.
She must hear the small cry in my voice. “Tessa, honey, are you okay?”
With a loud sigh, I roll my head and start pacing my small kitchen. On the counter is the now-wilted vegetable car that Bryce made with Charlie. It should have been thrown away long ago, and fruit flies are starting to swarm. I pick it up and toss it in the trash.
“We got in a fight over Charlie.”
She sighs. “Men who date single moms tend to do that.”
“No, no.” I wave off her accusation. “Not like that. He … I was upset because the Masons let Charlie talk to Ashton.”
“I don’t trust those people—”
“They have a warped sense of who their son is. They went against my wishes and allowed Charlie to talk to him. Bryce agreed that maybe Charlie should know Ashton.”
“Absolutely not!”
“That’s what I said.” I walk into the living room. Charlie’s Lion’s T-shirt is on the sofa on top of the pile of laundry I just folded. “Although maybe Charlie needs to know his father. Ashton didn’t want him—doesn’t want him—but perhaps it’s better for him to know where he came from. You did it for me.”
“The man was a sperm donor. He didn’t give you up.”
“Isn’t that what we call Ashton, too? My father didn’t want me just as much as Charlie’s didn’t want him. Maybe it’s the same thing. Maybe it’s not.” I fall to the couch. “Anyway, I wanted the Masons to bring him home, but I had a change of heart this morning. I told them that they could keep him one more day.”
My mom doesn’t sound too thrilled with what she’s hearing. “Tessa Lynn, what has happened to you? When you moved to San Francisco, you said it was because you needed to grow up and take care of your son on your own. So far, all I’ve seen is a girl who hands her child off to his grandparents, so she can gallivant with a man. Those people are disrespecting your wishes, and you let them keep Charlie. They should be punished. They should be—”
“Hold it right there, Mother. I refuse to let you criticize my parenting for one more minute,” I speak sternly. My pulse is racing, beating out of my chest. I’ve never raised my voice to her before. Not like this. “The Masons are wrong, but they’re not bad people. I might not agree with them, but I know they love Charlie, and that’s all that matters. As for my parenting style, you have some nerve. I have given up on relationships, on friends, on some of my dreams, all so I can focus on Charlie. I wouldn’t change it for the world. And, yes, Mom, you were there to help me, and I am thankful for that. But this is my chance to find out who I am as a mother and as a woman.”
“I never said you had to give up anything.”
“What about love? I fed into that bullshit of you always saying I didn’t need it from a man, but you know what, Mom? Love found me.”
“I thought you were angry with this person. Now, you’re in love with him?”
“I think so.” I lay a hand on my forehead to feel if I’m feverish. Nope. Cool as a clam. And out of my mind because I’m saying it out loud. “No, I know so. Isn’t that crazy? I met a man who not only cares about me, but also cares about my son. He’s kind and giving. He is an incredibly busy man yet changes his schedule to take Charlie to his Lion Den meeting. He does everything in his power to make me feel like I’m the most important thing to him. He reads classics and cooks dinner. He washes my dishes by hand and dances when there’s no music. He makes me shine and feel alive. And not because of his attention. I don’t need a man’s attention. It’s because, when I speak, he listens. He doesn’t appease me; he honors me. I don’t expect you to understand, Mom, because you’ve never met a man like him. If you did, you wouldn’t feel the way you do. Not about him anyway.”
“What about the fight you had?” she asks calmly.
“He didn’t try to tell me anything I didn’t already know. I just didn’t want to hear it. I knew this day would come, and since I was taken off guard, I took it out on him instead of dealing with it as I should have. Ugh, and I know he had his own things he was dealing with.”
I’m such an idiot.
I drop my head to my hand, running my fingers through my hair.
How am I going to fix this mess? What if he thinks I’m a crazy bitch now and doesn’t want anything to do with me?
“Tessa, I don’t want you to be unhappy. I just worry you’ll get hurt,” I hear my mom say into the phone.
“Me, too, Mom. I’m petrified. For myself. For Charlie.” I rise and let out a deep breath. “I won’t ever be one of those women who brings man after man through her door.”
“I know that.”
“Then, trust me, Mom. And root for me. Root for me to find love someday. I’m so tired of pretending I don’t want it. Because I do, and I’ve been so scared to tell you that.”
“You sound like a lovesick teenager again, but”—she breathes out into the phone, and there’s a small pause—“you’re a grown woman. You’re gonna do what you want to do.”
I can’t say my mom sounds enthusiastic by our conversation, but she at least heard me out. I, on the other hand, feel worse than I did before she called.
I hang up the phone and throw it on the couch next to me.
Now, I have no clue what to do. I need to deal with Ashton, but I also need to apologize to Bryce. And, of course, I have no clue what to say to either. I haven’t spoken to Ashton in years. I don’t even think I have his phone number in Australia. And what am I supposed to say? How dare you talk to your son. Actually, yes, that’s probably what I’ll say, but I won’t have that conversation tonight.
I slouch back on my couch, staring up at the ceiling.
I should be happy that Charlie finally spoke to his father. He was obviously excited about it. No matter what I say or do, Ashton will always be his father, and that’s all Bryce was trying to help me see.
Bryce …
<
br /> He’s everything Ashton never will be. He’s the kind of influence Charlie needs in his life, and I might have just screwed everything up.
I pick up my phone, typing out all different ways to say I’m sorry before deleting every single one. I’ve never been good at admitting I’m wrong, yet I’ve never had it mean so much.
I contemplate calling him, but I’m not sure what to say yet.
God, I’m a freaking mess.
I call Abby, but she doesn’t answer. I need to do something before I explode, so I grab my shoes and do something I haven’t done in years. I go for a run.
As soon as my feet hit the pavement, memories of when I used to run every day come flying back. Running was my escape—my escape from my mom, from my friends, and from school. It was the only thing that was only for me.
I stopped running when I got too big, being pregnant with Charlie, but until I hit that point, I ran longer and longer every day. At the time, I needed it more than ever. I had so much going on in my life that I needed to figure out and running seemed to be the only place I could really think. Funny how, all these years later, as soon as I feel like I need to clear my mind to figure things out, I turn to running again.
Just like before, as soon as I get my rhythm, my mind can finally focus, and I work through the past few days in my head.
How I threw myself at him when we first got there. He read to me, and we laughed and talked and had a dream getaway. And then we fought.
As my feet pound on the pavement, my chest starts to burn, and I realize I can’t go the same distance as I used to be able to do, so instead of going the longer distance I originally had in mind, I cut the block and continue my loop back to my house.
My lungs are so tight that, before I get within a few feet of my building, I have to walk to slow my breaths. When I reach to open the glass door that leads into my complex, I’m almost knocked on my ass when Christine comes stomping out the door. She has a San Francisco Bulls Hockey T-shirt on and a deep scowl on her face.
“Oh, Christine. Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” I say, stepping out of her way.
“Finally, she talks to me. I thought you were too busy whoring around to deal with friends.”
I wouldn’t exactly say we’re friends …
“If this is about Bryce—”
“I had a plan, and then you had to step in to ruin it.”
I twist my mouth to the side and sway my head. “If you mean seducing your boss in lingerie, I’d have to say that was a pretty bad idea. And it was before I met him, so you can’t blame me for ruined plans.”
“You’re unbelievable. I bring you to a party as my guest, and you steal my man. I saw you two on the balcony. I’ve seen him coming here at all hours. You think he’s a good guy? Well, he’s not. He’s ruthless and cold.”
For the second time in under an hour, I find myself defending the man I’m supposed to be mad at right now. I’m really not for kicking someone when they’re down, but this girl just needs to be put in her place.
“Bryce Sexton is a great man. If he were such a scoundrel, you wouldn’t have been on your knees, trying to get him to fall for you. He’s perfect, and you’re just jealous he chose me over you. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”
Her eyes are beady with a sinister stare as her mouth pinches in disgust. “Don’t be sorry for me. I’m gonna be fine. You’re the one who’s gonna be sorry. So, so sorry.” She shoulders her way past me, bumping me pretty hard in the arm.
In the course of twenty-four hours, my life has gone from a boring Lifetime special to a Bravo reality show.
I rub my bicep as I watch Christine walk away, and then make my way up to my apartment. I shower and apply a face mask, hoping my favorite beauty regimen will make me feel better. It doesn’t. I apply some face lotion, put on my most Hugh Hefner–like pajamas, and curl up on the couch to watch TV. Even Cavill isn’t lifting my spirits.
It starts to rain outside. It never rains in San Francisco, and here’s the rain as an intense backdrop to the mood I’m in. I feel a swirl of air coming from the open window. I walk over to close it, and when I look outside, I see a man standing across the street.
Bryce.
An SUV pulls away, leaving him standing there, on the sidewalk, alone. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, which is getting wet from the droplets coming down.
He’s looking up at my window. He sees me here in the glass, but he doesn’t move. The last time I spoke to him, I told him to leave me alone. He won’t cross the street until I tell him to.
I might be in love with Bryce Sexton and think he’s the greatest man in the world, but he said some harsh words. At the first fight, he declared he wasn’t cut out for this. He turned his back on me, on Charlie. I can’t have that kind of man in my life.
That’s why, despite what I said to my mother and Christine, I turn my back to the window.
Feelings are funny like that. One minute, you are shouting one thing. The next moment, you’re taking it all back. The brain, the heart … there are too many factors involved. I can’t control anything, except for my feet. I can walk them away from the window.
I make myself something to eat and then twirl my fork around limp noodles for fifteen minutes. The rain outside is picking up.
He’s still out there.
I put away my laundry and then reorganize my closet, putting my shirts in order by color.
He’s still out there.
I paint my toenails and let them dry.
He’s still out there.
The sun is setting, and the water is still coming down in buckets. Bryce has been standing in the rain for three hours.
His jeans and shirt are soaked, and his hair is flat to his forehead. I stand by the glass and peer out at him. He straightens his posture, looking up at me. He’s like Gatsby standing on his side of the sound, looking out at Daisy’s house, longing for what once was, what could have been.
And I’m here, too proud in the life I chose, not wanting to own up to the fact that I’m letting what I want slip away.
My brain and heart are all feeling different things right now. My feet though are still on the move. They know right where to go.
I head into the hallway and down the stairs. I walk out the front door and into the rain. My pajamas get soaked as I pad across the street and stand on the sidewalk in front of Bryce.
His eyes are soft, so soft, as they look down at me. He looks anguished and hopeful, all at once. The sorrow covering his face is almost heartbreaking. I can see in this very moment that he truly does care for me.
“You’re wet,” I say.
His mouth tugs slightly at my obvious observation. “I didn’t think you’d come out.”
“I almost didn’t. It’s a good thing you waited so long.”
The lines on his forehead grow deep. That pained expression is back. “I lied to you.” His words surprise me more than anything he’s ever said, but I don’t respond. I wait for him to continue. “When I said I didn’t know if I could do this … that was a lie. I can do this. I was scared.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“How much I love you. I am in love you with, Tessa Clarke. I told you I’m yours, and you’re mine, but it’s beyond that.” He steps closer, his body flush against mine as he looks down at me and holds me with his gaze, which is so intense, so filled with remorse and hope and fright. I can’t look away. “I don’t want to miss out on a lifetime of happiness with you because I have a falling empire to keep up. I have baggage and a long story to tell you about my family, and I’m ready to share it with you. I want to share everything with you. I want you and me and Charlie to be a family. I know everything about our relationship has been sudden. I know I came barreling into your life and never left. But I won’t stop. I can’t stop. I’m here for good. I’m here forever. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and it scares the hell out of me.”
For my entire life, I’ve dreamed of such a profession. I’ve se
en it in movies and read about it in fairy tales. I’ve wondered what it would feel like, sound like, look like. Well, my heart is bouncing wildly; my stomach is doing somersaults.
His voice is smooth like hot chocolate on a cold, rainy day, and his gorgeous face is looking back at me as he wonders what I’m about to say. So, I can attest that a profession of love feels absolutely fantastic.
“Please, Tessa, just talk to me.”
“I love you,” I say, standing still, a few feet away from him. “I love you, Bryce, and I’m scared as shit. But I’m all in. I’m—”
My words are cut off when his hands wrap around the back of my head, and his lips slam into mine. I pull my arms up, bringing him closer to me as I sling them around his neck.
When he leans back, we both pause, forehead-to-forehead to catch our breaths. “I shouldn’t have said the things I did,” he whispers.
“You were right. And wrong.” I laugh lightly. “I might not like it, but I always want us to be honest with each other. About what we’re thinking … feeling. That’s what couples do, right? Work out their differences?” I kiss his lips, which have water pouring down the center—from his forehead and down to his chin. “You’re going to get sick out here.”
“I had a point to make. I think it worked.” He grins, and my heart melts.
“Yes, it did.” I kiss his mouth again and get lost in the heat of his kiss. We kiss for longer than two people should be kissing in a downpour, and I love it. “Let’s get out of the rain.”
We run the few steps to my building and up the stairs. All of my clothes are soaked, and I was out there for only a few minutes. I can’t imagine what Bryce feels like.
After I open my apartment door, I turn to him. “Wait here. I’ll get you a towel.”
He slams the door shut and reaches his hand out to grab mine. “I don’t need one.” He pulls me closer, firmly placing my body next to his. “I truly am sorry.”
Our eyes meet, and I see the sincerity glowing back at me. His hands rise to my button-down pajama top, and he slowly starts to unbutton each spot, keeping his eyes on mine as each opening reveals damp skin. My nipples pebble in the cool air as a chill runs up my spine.