by Anna Todd
“Are you sure? We could hang one last time before you graduate and knock your girl up. You know that’s coming, right?” he teases. His tongue flashes in the sun, and I push his arm back.
“You got your tongue pierced?” I ask, absentmindedly running my finger over the small scar next to my eyebrow.
“Yeah, like a month ago. I still can’t believe you took those rings out. And nice save on avoiding the second part of what I said.” He laughs, and I try to remember what it was that he said.
Something about my girl . . . and pregnant.
“Oh, hell no. No one will be getting pregnant, asshole. Go to hell for even trying to curse me with that shit.” I shove at his shoulder, and he laughs harder.
Marriage is one thing. Babies, a totally fucking other thing.
I glance down at my phone. As nice as it is to play catch-up with Nate, I want to focus on Tessa and her messages, especially since she wrote something about going to the doctor. I type out a quick reply to her.
“There’s Logan right there.” Nate pulls me from my phone, and I follow his eyes to Logan, walking toward us. “Shit,” Nate adds, and my eyes focus on the chick walking next to Logan. She looks familiar, but not quite . . .
Molly. It’s Molly, but her hair is black now instead of pink. My luck today is remarkable, really.
“Well, that’s my cue. I got shit to do,” I say, attempting to avoid the potential disaster walking in my direction. Just as I turn to go, Molly leans into Logan and he wraps his arm around her waist.
What the fuck? “Them?” I gape. “Those two? Fucking?”
I look at Nate; the fucker doesn’t even try to hide his amusement. “Yep. For a while now. They didn’t tell anyone until about three weeks ago. I caught on early, though. I knew something was up when she stopped being such a bitch all the time.”
Molly flips her black hair and smiles at Logan. I don’t even remember her smiling, ever. I can’t stand her, but I don’t hate her the way I used to. She did help Tessa . . .
“Don’t even think about leaving until you tell me why you’ve been avoiding us!” Logan’s voice shoots across the lot.
“I had better shit to do!” I yell back, checking my phone again. I want to know why Tessa is at the doctor again. Her last text avoided the question, and I need to know. I’m sure she’s okay, I’m just being a nosy asshole.
Molly’s lips curl into a smirk. “Better shit? Like fucking Tessa’s brains out in Seattle?”
And just like old times I raise my middle finger at her. “Fuck off.”
“Don’t be such a pussy. We all know you two haven’t stopped fucking since you met,” she taunts me.
I look at Logan in that “get her to shut her mouth or I will” way, but he shrugs his shoulders.
“You two make a grand couple.” I raise a brow at my old friend, and it’s his turn to raise a finger to me.
“At least she’s leaving you alone now, right?” Logan fires back, and I laugh. He’s got a point there.
“Where is she anyway?” Molly asks. “Not that I care; I don’t like her.”
“We know,” Nate says, and Molly rolls her eyes.
“She doesn’t like you either. No one does, actually,” I remind her mockingly.
“Touché.” She grins and leans into Logan’ shoulder.
Nate may have been right: she does seem less bitchy. A little.
“Well, nice to see you guys, really,” I sarcastically remark and turn to walk away. “I have better shit to do, though, so have fun doing whatever you’re doing. And, Logan, you really should keep fucking her. It seems to be doing the trick.” I nod at them and climb into my car.
Just as I shut the door, I hear a mixture of “He’s in a better mood” and “Pussy-whipped” and “I’m happy for him.”
The weirdest part was that the last one came from the Evil Bitch herself.
chapter fifty
TESSA
I’m uncomfortable, nervous, and a little cold, sitting here dressed in only a thin hospital gown, inside a small exam room that mirrors the others lining the hall. They should add some color in the rooms—just a little paint would do, or even a framed photograph like in every other exam room I’ve ever been inside. Except this one. This one is nothing but white. White walls, white desk, white floor.
I should have taken Kimberly up on her offer to accompany me today. I’m fine on my own, but having a little support today, even just a little of Kimberly’s humor, would have helped calm my nerves. I woke up this morning feeling much better than I deserve, no trace of a hangover present. I felt sort of good. I fell asleep with a wine-and-Hardin-influenced smile on my face, and I slept more peacefully than I have in weeks.
I keep going round and round in my head, as usual, when it comes to Hardin. Reading and rereading our playful conversation from last night hasn’t failed to make me smile, no matter how many times I look through the messages.
I like this nice, patient, playful Hardin. I would love to get to know that Hardin better, but I’m afraid that he won’t be around long enough to do so. I won’t be around long enough either. I’m leaving for New York with Landon, and the closer the date comes, the more restless the fluttering inside me becomes. I can’t tell if it’s a good flutter or bad, but it’s out of control today, and in this moment it’s multiplied.
My feet are dangling over the edge of this uncomfortable examination bed, and I can’t decide whether I want to keep my legs crossed or not. It’s a trivial decision, but it does the job at distracting me from the cold temperature and awkward butterflies attacking my stomach.
I pull my phone from my purse and type a message to Hardin—just to keep occupied while I wait, of course.
A simple hey is all I send and wait, while crossing and uncrossing my legs.
I’m glad you text me because I was only going to wait another hour before I text you, he replies.
I smile at the screen; even though I shouldn’t like the demand behind his words, I do. He’s being so honest lately, and I’m loving it.
I’m at the doctor and I’ve been waiting a while. How are you today?
He responds quickly. Stop being so formal. Why are you at the doctor? Are you okay? You didn’t tell me you were going. I’m okay, don’t worry about that, though I am here with Nate, who’s trying to get me to hang out later. Like that’ll happen.
I hate the way my chest aches at the thought of Hardin’s hanging out with his old friends. It’s none of my business what he does or who he spends his time with, but I can’t shake the sick feeling that comes over me when thinking about the memories associated with them.
Seconds later: Not that you needed to tell me, but you could have. I would have come with you?
It’s okay. I’m okay alone. I find myself wishing I would have given him the option.
You’ve been alone too much since I’ve met you.
Not really. I don’t know what else to say because my head is fuzzy, and I’m feeling sort of happy that he’s concerned for me and being so open.
The word Liar is paired with a pair of jeans and a ball of fire. I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle the noise as the doctor enters the exam room.
Doctor is here, I’ll text you later.
Let me know if he doesn’t keep his hands to himself.
I tuck my phone away and try to wipe the giddy smile from my face as Dr. West pulls a latex glove over each of his hands.
“How have you been?”
How have I been? He doesn’t want to know the answer to that, nor does he have the time to listen. He’s a medical doctor, not a psychiatrist.
“Good,” I reply, cringing at the thought of small talk as he positions himself to examine me.
“I ran the blood work from your last appointment, but there wasn’t anything triggering concern there.”
I let out a breath of relief.
“However,” he says ominously, and pauses.
I should have known there would be a however.
> “As I looked over the images from your exam, I concluded that your cervix is very narrow, and from what I can see, very short. I’d like to show you what I mean, if that’s okay?”
Dr. West adjusts his glasses and I nod in agreement. Short and narrow cervix. I did enough research online to know what that means.
TEN LONG MINUTES LATER, he’s shown me in great detail the things I already knew. I’ve known what he would conclude with. I knew the moment that I left his office two and a half weeks ago. As I get myself dressed, his words play on repeat through my mind:
“Not impossible, but highly unlikely.”
“There are other options—adoption is a route many people choose to go.”
“You’re still really young. As you get older, you and your partner can explore the best options for you.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Young.”
Without thinking, I dial Hardin’s number on the way to my car. I’m greeted by his voicemail three times before I force myself to put my phone away.
I don’t need him, or anyone, right now. I can deal with this on my own. I already knew this. I have already dealt with this in my mind and filed it away.
It doesn’t matter that Hardin didn’t answer the phone. I’m fine. Who cares if I can’t get pregnant? I’m only nineteen, and all of the other plans I’ve made have fallen through so far anyway. It’s only fitting that this last piece of my ultimate plan is blown to pieces, too.
The drive back to Kimberly’s is long because of congested traffic again. I hate driving, I’ve decided. I hate people who have road rage. I hate the way it always rains here. I hate the way young girls blare loud music with their windows rolled down, even in the rain. Just roll your windows up!
I hate the way I’m trying to stay positive and not turn into the pathetic Tessa I was last week. I hate that it’s so hard to think of anything except that my body betrayed me in the most final and intimate way.
I was born this way, Dr. West says. Of course I was. Just like my mother, no matter how perfect I try to be, it will never happen. There is a silver lining here, a sick one, in that at least I won’t pass any of the traits I got from her to a child. I suppose I can’t blame my mother for my faulty cervix, but I want to. I want to blame someone or something, but I can’t.
This is the way the world works: if you want something bad enough, it gets stripped away and held out of reach. Just the way Hardin is. No Hardin and no babies. The two would never have mixed anyway, but it was nice to pretend I could have the luxury of both.
As I walk into Christian’s house, I’m relieved to find I’m home alone. Not home, but here. Without checking my phone, I strip down and get into the shower. I don’t know how long I stay in there, watching the water circle the drain over and over. The water is cold when I finally climb out and dress myself in the T-shirt of Hardin’s that he left for me in my suitcase, when he sent me away in London.
I’m just lying here now, in this empty bed, and by the time I start to wish Kimberly were home, I get a text from her saying she and Christian are staying overnight downtown and Smith will be at the sitter’s all night. I have the entire house to myself and nothing to do, no one to talk to. No one now, not even a little baby later to care for and love.
I keep pitying myself and I know it’s ridiculous, but I can’t seem to stop it.
Have some wine and rent a movie, our treat! Kimberly responds to my text wishing her fun for the night.
My phone starts to ring as soon as I send my thanks to her. Hardin’s number flashes on the screen, and I debate whether to answer.
By the time I reach the wine fridge in the kitchen, he’s routed to my voicemail, and I’ve reserved a ticket to Pity Party Central.
A BOTTLE OF WINE LATER, I’m in the living room halfway through a terrible action film that I rented about a marine turned nanny turned mighty alien hunter. It seemed to be the only movie on the list that had nothing to do with love, babies, or anything happy.
When did I become such a downer? I take another drink of wine, straight from the bottle. I gave up on the wineglass five blown-up spaceships ago.
My phone rings again, and this time, as I look at the screen, my drunken thumbs accidently answer for me.
chapter fifty-one
HARDIN
Tess?” I say into the phone, trying to hide my panic. She has been ignoring my calls all night, and I’ve been going insane wondering what I could have done wrong—what else I could have done wrong this time.
“Yeah.” Her voice is cloudy, slow, and off. With one word I can tell she’s been drinking.
“Wine again?” I chuckle. “Should I lecture you yet?” I tease her but only get silence on the line. “Tess?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m just watching a movie.”
“With Kimberly?” My stomach twists at the possibility of anyone else being there with her.
“Myself. I’m alone here in this biiiiiig house.” Her voice is flat, even as she exaggerates her words.
“Where’re Kimberly and Vance?” I shouldn’t be this worried, but her tone has me on edge.
“Out for the night. Smith, too. I’m just here watching a movie alone. Story of my life, right?” She laughs, but there’s nothing behind it. No emotion at all.
“Tessa, what’s going on? How much did you drink?”
She sighs into the phone, and I swear I can literally hear her gulping more wine.
“Tessa. Answer me.”
“I’m fine. I’m allowed to drink, right, Dad?” she tries to joke, but the way she says that last word gives me a chill.
“If you want to get technical, you aren’t actually allowed to drink. Not legally, anyway.” I’m the last person to lecture her; it’s my fault she started drinking so regularly anyway, but this burning paranoia is clawing at the pit of my stomach right now. She’s drinking alone, and she sounds sad enough that I jump to my feet.
“Yeah.”
“How much did you drink?” I text Vance, hoping he’ll respond.
“Not too much. I’m fine. You know what’sss weird?” Tessa slurs.
I grab my keys. Damn Seattle for being so fucking far. “What’s that?” I push my feet into my Vans. Boots take too much time, and time is something I can’t afford right now.
“It’s weird how someone can be a good person but bad things just keep happening to them. You know?”
Fuck. I text Vance again, this time telling him to get his ass home—now.
“Yeah, I do know. It’s not fair the way that works.” I hate that she’s feeling this way. She’s a good person, the best I’ve ever met, and she somehow ended up being surrounded by a bunch of fuckups, me included. Who am I kidding? I’m the worst offender.
“Maybe I shouldn’t be a g-good person anymore.”
What? No. No, no, no. She shouldn’t be talking like this, thinking like this.
“No, don’t think like that.” I wave an impatient hand at Karen, who is standing in the doorway of the kitchen—wondering where I am running off to this late, I’m sure.
“I try not to, but I can’t help it. I don’t know how to stop.”
“What happened today?” It’s hard to believe that I’m talking to my Tessa, the same girl who always sees the best in everyone—herself, too. She has always been so positive, so happy, and now she’s not.
She sounds so hopeless, so defeated.
She sounds like me.
My blood runs cold in my veins. I knew this would happen; I knew she wouldn’t be the same after I got my claws into her. I somehow knew that after me she would be different.
I hoped it wouldn’t be true, but tonight it sure as hell seems that way.
“Nothing important,” she lies.
Vance still hasn’t answered me. He better be driving home.
“Tessa, tell me what’s wrong. Please.”
“Nothing. Just karma catching up to me, I guess,” she mumbles, and the sound of a cork�
��s being popped echoes through the silence on the line.
“Karma for what? Are you insane? You’ve never done anything to deserve any of the shit that’s happened to you.”
She doesn’t say anything.
“Tessa, I think you should stop drinking for the night. I’m on my way to Seattle. I know you need space, but I’m getting worried about you and I . . . well, I can’t stay away, I never could.”
“Yeah . . .” She isn’t even listening.
“I don’t like you drinking this much anymore,” I say, knowing she won’t hear me.
“Yeah . . .”
“I’m on my way. Get a bottle of water. Okay?”
“Yeah . . . a little bottle . . .”
THE DRIVE TO SEATTLE has never seemed this fucking long, and because of the distance between us, I finally see it, this cycle that Tessa always bitches about. It’s a cycle that ends here—this is the last damn time I’ll be driving to another city to be close to her. No more endless fucking bullshit. No more running from my problems, and no more fucking excuses. No more long-ass drives across the damn state of Washington because I ran far away.
chapter fifty-two
HARDIN
I’ve called forty-nine times.
Forty-nine fucking times.
Forty-nine.
Do you know how many rings that is?
A fucking lot.
Too many to count, or at least I can’t think clearly enough to count them. But if I could, it would be a massive amount of fucking rings.
If I make it through the next three minutes, I plan on ripping the front door off the damn hinges and smashing Tessa’s phone—the one she apparently doesn’t know how to answer—against the wall.
Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t smash her phone against the wall. Maybe I’ll accidently step on it a few times until the screen cracks under my weight.
Maybe.
She’s going to get a goddamn earful, that’s for fucking sure. I haven’t heard from her in the last couple hours, and she has no fucking idea how torturous the last few hours of driving have been. I go twenty over the speed limit to make it to Seattle as fast as possible.
