After Ever Happy (After #4)

by Anna Todd

  Once again, my mind detaches from my body and I laugh. It’s not an amused laugh; it’s a sad and broken laugh at the irony of what he’s said. He’s asking of me what I’ve asked of him, and he doesn’t even realize it.

  “I’ve been begging for the same since I met you,” I softly remind him. I love him and I don’t want to hurt him, but I’ve got to end this cycle once and for all. If I don’t, I won’t make it out alive.

  “I know.” His head falls onto my knees, and his body shakes against me. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

  He’s hysterical, and the nothing is slipping too fast for me to stop it. I don’t want to feel this, I don’t want to feel him crying against me after promising and offering the things I’ve waited what feels like an eternity to hear.

  “We will be okay. When you snap out of this, we will be okay,” I think he says, but I’m not sure, and I can’t ask him to repeat it, because I can’t handle hearing it again. I hate this about us. I hate that no matter what he does to me, I somehow find a way to blame myself for his pain.

  I catch a glimpse of movement at the door, and I nod at Noah, letting him know that I’m fine.

  I’m not fine, but I haven’t been for a while, and unlike before, I don’t feel the need to be fine. Noah’s eyes move to the broken lamp, and he looks worried, but I nod again, silently pleading with him to leave, to let me have this moment. This last moment to feel Hardin’s body against mine, to feel his head on my lap, to memorize the black swirls of ink across his arms.

  “I’m sorry that I couldn’t fix you,” I tell him while softly stroking his damp hair.

  “Me, too,” he cries against my legs.

  chapter thirty-one

  TESSA

  Mother, who is paying for the funeral?” I ask.

  I don’t want to come off as insensitive or rude, but I have no living grandparents, and both of my parents were born as lone children. I know my mother can’t afford a funeral, especially for my father, and I worry that she has taken this on just to prove a point to her friends at church.

  I don’t want to wear this black dress that Mother bought me, I don’t want to wear these black, high-heeled shoes that she surely can’t afford, and most of all I don’t want to see my father buried.

  My mother hesitates; the tube of lipstick in her hand floats just above her lips as she makes eye contact with me in the mirror. “I don’t know.”

  I turn to her in disbelief—I mean, if I could muster enough energy for the feeling to actually be called disbelief. Maybe it’s more like numb curiosity. “You don’t know?” I watch her. Her eyes are swollen, the evidence that she has been taking his death harder than she will ever admit.

  “We don’t need to be discussing financials, Theresa,” she scolds, ending the conversation by walking off into the living room.

  I nod in agreement, not wanting to start a fight with her. Not today. Today will be hard enough. I feel selfish and a little twisted that I can’t bring myself to understand what he was thinking when he pushed that last needle into his vein. I know he was an addict, and he was only doing what he’d spent years doing, but I still can’t wrap my mind around what it would take to do that, knowing how deadly it is.

  In the last three days since seeing Hardin, I have began to get my sanity back. Not completely, and part of me is terrified that I’ll never be the same again.

  He’s been staying at the Porters’ house for the last three nights. This was a massive surprise to me, and to Mr. and Mrs. Porter, I’m sure; they surely haven’t spent much time around anyone who doesn’t have a membership to the country club in town. I would have loved to have seen the expression on Mrs. Porter’s face when Noah brought Hardin home to stay with them. I can’t imagine Hardin and Noah getting along well, or at all, so I know how hurt Hardin must have been by my rejection if he was willing to take Noah up on his hospitality.

  The heavy weight of my grief is still there, still hiding behind the barrier of nothingness. I can feel it pushing at the wall, trying desperately to ruin me and push me over the edge. I was terrified that after Hardin’s breakdown, the pain would win, but I am thankful that it’s been the opposite.

  It’s an odd thing, knowing that he’s so close to this house but he hasn’t tried to come by. I need the space, and Hardin usually isn’t good at giving me space. Then again, I never wanted it before. Not like this. A knock on the front door has me adjusting my black tights faster, and I glance in the mirror one last time.

  I lean in closer, examining my eyes. Something about them is different that I can’t quite describe . . . they look harder? Sadder? I’m not sure, but they match the pathetic excuse for a smile I try to give. If I weren’t half-mad, I would be more concerned about the difference in my appearance.

  “Theresa!” my mother calls in annoyance just as I reach the hallway.

  Given the sound of her voice, I expect to see Hardin. He’s given me the space I’ve asked for, but I suspected that he would come by today, the day of my father’s funeral. But when I turn the corner, my body freezes; I’m surprised, pleasantly so, to see in the front doorway none other than Zed.

  When his eyes meet mine, he looks unsure of himself, but when I feel my lips turning into a grin, his face splits into a bright smile—the one I love, the one where his tongue appears between his teeth and his eyes shine.

  I invite him in. “What are you doing here?” I ask right as my arms wrap around his neck. He hugs me, too tight, and I cough dramatically before he lets up.

  He grins. “Sorry, it’s been a while.” He laughs, and my mood is instantly brightened by the sound. I haven’t been thinking of him—I feel almost guilty that his face hasn’t entered my mind once in the last few weeks—but I’m glad he’s here. His presence is a reminder that the world hasn’t stopped since my incredible loss.

  My loss . . . I don’t want to admit even to myself which loss has been harder for me to cope with.

  “It has,” I say. Then the reason for the distance between Zed and me pops into my mind, interrupting our greeting, and I cautiously look past him out the front door. The last thing I need is a brawl on my mother’s perfectly groomed lawn.

  “Hardin is here. Well, not here in this house, but he’s a few doors down.”

  “I know.” Zed doesn’t look the least bit intimidated despite their history.

  “You do?”

  My mother gives me a quizzical look, then disappears into the kitchen to leave Zed and me alone. My mind begins to catch up with the realization that Zed is here. I haven’t called him—how could he have known about my father? I suppose it’s remotelly possible it could have been on the news and online, but even so, would Zed have noticed that?

  “He called me.” At Zed’s words my head snaps up so I can look into his eyes. “He’s the one who told me to come here and see you. You disconnected your phone, so I had to take his word for it.”

  I’m not sure what to say to that, so I just look at Zed silently, trying to figure out the secret math involved here.

  “That’s okay, right?” He reached out an arm, but stops short of actually touching me. “You don’t mind me coming here, do you? I can go, if it’s too much for you. He just said you needed a friend, and I knew it had to be bad if he was calling me, out of all people.” Zed ends with a little laugh, but I know he’s being serious.

  Why would Hardin call him instead of Landon? Actually, Landon is on his way here anyway, so why would Hardin request Zed to come to me?

  I can’t help but feel that this is some sort of setup, as if Hardin is testing me in some way. I hate the idea of that, that he would do that type of thing right now, but he’s done worse. I can’t allow myself to forget that he’s done worse things, and there is always some sort of motive behind his actions. He always has an angle, a hidden equation to how he approaches me.

  I’m more hurt than anything by his proposal of marriage. He’d denied me the chance of marriage since the beginning of our relationship, only to bring it
up twice—two times when he wanted something. Once when he was too drunk to know what he was saying, and once in an attempt to make me stay. If I had woken up next to him the next morning, he would have taken it back just like before. Like he always does. He’s been nothing but broken promises since I’ve met him, and the only thing worse than being with someone who doesn’t believe in marriage is being with someone who would marry me only to win a momentary victory, not because he truly wants to be my husband.

  I need to remember that, or I will keep having these ridiculous thoughts. These thoughts that sneak in throughout my days of Hardin in a tuxedo. The image causes me to laugh, and tuxedo Hardin quickly shifts into jeans and boots, even on his wedding day, but I think I would be okay with that.

  Would have been. I have got to stop these fantasies; they’re not helping my sanity. Another one creeps in, though. This time Hardin is laughing, holding a glass of wine . . . and I notice a silver wedding band on his ring finger. He’s laughing loudly, his head tilted back in that charming way.

  I push it back.

  His smile creeps through, a vision of him spilling wine on his white T-shirt. He would probably insist on wearing white, instead of the usual black, just to humor himself and horrify my mother. He would gently push my hands away as I patted the stain with a napkin. He would say something like “Should have known better than to wear white anyway.” And he would laugh and bring my fingers to his lips, kissing each fingertip softly. His eyes would linger on my wedding ring, and a proud smile would take over his face.

  “Are you all right?” Zed’s voice breaks through my pitiful thoughts.

  “Yeah.” I shake my head to rid the perfect image of Hardin smiling at me as I approach Zed. “I’m sorry, I’m a little out of it lately.”

  “That’s okay. I would be worried if you weren’t.” He wraps a comforting arm around my shoulders.

  When I think about it, I shouldn’t be surprised that Zed came all the way here to support me. The more I think of it, the more I remember. He was always there, even when I didn’t need him to be. He was in the background, always in Hardin’s shadow.

  chapter thirty-two

  HARDIN

  Noah is so damn annoying. I don’t know how Tessa could stand him for all those years. I’m beginning to think she was hiding from him in that greenhouse instead of from Richard.

  I wouldn’t blame her, I’m tempted to do the same right now.

  “I don’t think you should have called that guy,” Noah says from the couch across the massive living room of his parents’ house. “I really don’t like him. I don’t like you either, but he’s even worse than you.”

  “Shut up,” I groan and go back to staring at this weird pillow that’s on the plush, oversize chair I’ve claimed these past few days.

  “I’m just saying. I don’t understand why you called him if you hate him so much.”

  He doesn’t know when to shut up. I hate this town for not having a hotel within twenty miles of Tessa’s mum’s house. “Because”—I let out an annoyed breath—“she doesn’t hate him. She trusts him even though she shouldn’t, and she needs some kind of friend right now, since she won’t see me.”

  “What about me? And Landon?” Noah pulls at the tab of a can of soda, and it opens with a loud pop. Even the way he opens soda is obnoxious.

  I don’t want to tell Noah that what I’m really worried about is that Tessa will run back to him, wanting the safe relationship instead of giving me another chance. And when it comes to Landon, well, I’ll never admit it, but I sort of need him to be my friend. I have none, and I kind of need him, in a way. A little.

  A lot. I need him a fucking lot, and except for Tessa, I have no one else, and I barely have her, so I can’t lose him, too.

  “I still don’t understand. If he likes her, why would you want him around her? You’re obviously the jealous type, and you know about stealing people’s girlfriends better than anyone.”

  “Ha-ha.” I roll my eyes and glance out the expansive windows covering the front wall of the house. The Porters’ house is the biggest on this street, probably the biggest in this entire shithole of a town. I don’t want him getting the wrong impression here. I still hate his ass, and I’m only allowing him to be around me because I need to give Tessa her space without going too far. “Why do you care anyway? Why are you suddenly playing nice with me? I know you despise me, just the way I do you.” I look over at him, dressed in his stupid fucking cardigan and brown dress shoes that should have a penny stuck on the top of them.

  “I don’t care about you; I care about Tessa. I just want her to be happy. It took me a long time to come to terms with everything that happened between us because I was so used to her. I was comfortable and conditioned to be that way, so I couldn’t understand why she would possibly want someone like you. I didn’t get it, and I still don’t, really, but I see how much she has changed since she met you. Not in a bad way either, it’s a really good change.” He smiles at me. “Excepting this week, obviously.”

  How could he think that? I have done nothing but hurt her and tear her down since I crashed into her life.

  “Well”—I shift uncomfortably in the chair—“that’s enough bonding for today. Thanks for not being a dick.”

  I stand and walk toward the kitchen, where I can hear Noah’s mum working the blender. In my stay here, I’ve found vast entertainment in the way she fumbles with words and traces her fingernails over the cross around her neck each time I’m in the same room with her.

  “Leave my mom alone, or I’ll kick you out,” Noah warns mockingly, and I almost laugh. If I didn’t miss Tessa so damn much, I would laugh along with the asshole. “You’re going to the funeral, right? You can ride with us if you want; we aren’t leaving for another hour,” he offers, which makes me stop.

  I shrug my shoulders and pick at the fringe along the bottom of my cast. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not? You did pay for it. You were his friend, kind of. I think you should go.”

  “Stop talking about it, and remember what I said about spreading it around that I paid for the shit,” I threaten. “I.e., don’t fucking do it.”

  Noah rolls his stupid blue eyes at me, and I leave the room to torture his mum and get my mind off Zed’s being in the same house as Tessa.

  What was I thinking?

  chapter thirty-three

  HARDIN

  I can’t remember the last time I attended a funeral. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure I’ve never been to one.

  When my mum’s mum died, I simply didn’t feel like going. I had booze to drink and a party that I just couldn’t miss. I never had the urge to say a final goodbye to a woman I barely knew. One thing I did know about the old woman was that she didn’t care much for me. She could barely stand my mum, so why would I spend my time sitting in a pew, pretending to be upset about a death that, in reality, didn’t affect me at all?

  Yet here I sit years later in the back of a tiny church, mourning the death of Tessa’s father. Tessa, Carol, Zed, and what appears to be half the damn congregation all crowd the front rows. Only me and an old woman, who I’m pretty sure doesn’t actually know where she is, sit in the lone pew near the back wall.

  Zed is sitting on one side of Tessa and her mother on the other.

  I don’t regret calling him . . . Well, I do, but I can’t ignore the flicker of life that seems to have been revived since his arrival earlier today. She still doesn’t look like my Tessa, but she is getting there, and if that asshole is the key to that light, then so fucking be it.

  I’ve done a lot of fucked-up shit in my life, a lot. I know this, Tessa knows this, hell, everyone in this church probably fucking knows it thanks to her mother, but I will make this right with my girl. I don’t give a fuck about making amends with any of the other shit from my past or present; I only care about fixing what was broken within her.

  I broke her . . . she says she couldn’t fix me . . . that
she will never be able to. But my damage wasn’t caused by her. I was healed by her, and while she was healing me, I was splintering her beautiful soul into too many pieces. Essentially, I single-handedly broke her, broke her fucking brilliant spirit, while selfishly being stitched back together. The most fucked-up part of this massacre is that I refused to see just how much I was hurting her, just how much of her light I had dimmed. I knew it; I knew it all along, but it didn’t matter, it only mattered when I finally got it. When she denied me, once and for all, I got it. It hit me like a damn truck, and I couldn’t move out of the way even if I tried.

  It took her father’s death to make me see just how stupid my plan to save her from me actually was. If I had thought about it, really thought this mess through, I would have known how stupid it all was. She wanted me—Tessa has always loved me more than I deserve, and how did I repay her? I pushed and pushed until she was finally done with my shit. Now she doesn’t want me; she doesn’t want to want me, and I have to find a way to remind her how much she loves me.

  Now here I sit, watching as Zed loops his arm around her shoulder and pulls her into his side. I can’t even look away. I’m stuck watching them. Maybe I’m punishing myself, maybe not, but either way, I can’t stop staring at the way she leans into him and he whispers something in her ear. The way his thoughtful expression somehow calms her and she sighs, nodding once, and he smiles at her.

  Someone slides in next to me, temporarily interrupting my self-torture.

  “We’re nearly late . . . Hardin, why are you sitting back here?” Landon asks.

  My father . . . Ken, sits down next to him, while Karen takes it upon herself to walk to the front of the small church to approach Tessa.

  “You may as well go up there, too. The front row is only for people who Tessa can stand,” I complain, glancing at the line of people, who, from Carol to Noah, I can’t stand.