A Mess of Reason

by A. Wilding Wells

  “Why is me saying I can’t hand over this piece of me the safe choice? You’ve never been in my shoes. You haven’t been hiding something your whole life. You won’t ever be able to understand this, or what it does to me. And that means you really can’t give me what I need, which is understanding. That matters to me, just like what you want matters to you.”

  “Understanding? Please. I can give you so many things, but not with half of my heart. And certainly not if you can’t trust me completely with your most intimate fears. Haven’t I proven myself worthy? Obviously, if you don’t trust me enough to open up and give me all of you, then I can’t fit into your life in the way we both seem to want. I keep saying this and I’m going to say it again: it’s your move. I’ll wait for you as long as I need to. I love you, all of you…not just the surface stuff. I’ve been crystal clear. I want all of you.”

  “I think you’re being unfair.”

  “What a load of crap, Tess, I could say the same.”

  “You know what, Scout? Fuck you.”

  “No, Tess, not tonight. Maybe not ever if you can’t find me with your trust.” With a pitchfork stabbing me inside, I get out of the bed and walk out. I’m done with her version of love.

  *

  The crispness of the morning is blinding. Hard rays of light bounce off the hallway walls and ceiling as I make my way to Tess’s room to say good-bye. She lies stretched out on her bed amongst mounds of fluffy blankets that have wound their way around her legs, making her look like she’s wearing toga. She’d kill me if she knew I was looking at her. And I barely breathe because I need this look. I need to see what it is that’s making it impossible for her to come over to my side. What it is that has her under lock and key; this thing that makes her so self-conscious that she cannot even show me. As much as I love my Tess, I refuse to enter a relationship with her knowing I could never make love to her by candlelight. That she could never get out of the shower without cowering away from me. That we could never be intimate in all the ways I crave without her being terrified that I might judge her.

  Her cheeks wear an angelic blush that matches the pink of her plump lips. Her flowing, honey-blond hair lies in tangles and waves around her head with clumped ribbons of it falling down onto her chest. And yes, her skin is horribly damaged. Melted and scarred to a sobering degree. I’d felt it under my hands, but to see it, even through my lens of love, is heartbreaking. It’s no wonder she’s terrified to the point of paralysis. I’m clear now why her vocabulary of trust can’t possibly mirror my own. I walk, quiet as a ghost, back down the hall, then leave Tess a note on kitchen counter. The sinking feeling in my heart as I head out to my truck sits as heavy as the thirty-four inches of snow that has fallen over the past few days and nights. I’m not sure my lock-picking skills are as polished as they should be to reach Tess. A little MacGyver magic could really do wonders right about now. I know I could change her life if she’d let me.

  But I also know my chance to claim her is nearly gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  TESS

  “Begging is not beneath me. So you may as well buck up and give in. I still hold some sway with you, don’t I?”

  Scout and I bicker as we pull out of the parking lot from the Whistlin’ Dixie Pub, where my rehearsal dinner was held this evening.

  “Oh, I’m clear: you can beg.” Short and to the point, it’s all he’s giving me, and everything feels like a bitter barb.

  “How about we grab a six-pack and go to Wild’s Pond? Old times? Please?”

  “Tess, you ought to go home and get your beauty rest. Tomorrow’s your big day. It wouldn’t be right for me to keep you up talking half the night under the stars.”

  Every word drips with sarcasm. He never takes his eyes off the road or puts a hand on my thigh. Nothing he’d normally do. I guess this is our new normal, by default. Or by my fault.

  “You’re such a pussy. Is this where we are now? I’m getting married so this sort of thing is no longer part of us?” My eyes are pinned to his clenching jaw, which twitches in a steady rhythm. It’s his I’m pissed thing. He knows I see it. But I leave him alone; he’s not finding me, hasn’t all night. I can hardly blame the guy. When he showed up earlier to the dinner, he kissed me on the cheek instead of on the lips. He never does that. His eyes have been gray all night instead of his typical flaring blue and he brought a bosomy, gift-wrapped date to the party, which felt a little like a shiv in my gut. It was a pretty transparent move.

  “I have no idea what parts of us are still us. We haven’t talked all week, and now you want to go and reminisce at one of our old stomping grounds? Think your fiancé would like this? I’m guessing things are going have to change. I don’t know which parts of us you even want, Tess. Last weekend you wanted very specific parts of me, and now, what parts? I don’t think it would be right if we went out to Wild’s tonight.”

  “‘Right’? Since when do you care about right?” I smack him on the arm, then flick the radio on to Country 101.

  “Right’s a little different now. We need to redefine some things between us since you’re wearing another man’s engagement ring.” His words are wrapped in a sneer as he slams the radio off with his fist. Still not one glance toward me.

  “Oh, yeah. That was so fucking Mother Teresa of you when we got each other off multiple times at the cabin. Don’t get all better than thou while hunting down your little pot of scruples, okay? We both participated. You still want to redefine? I had a ring on then, too.”

  “I got off once, to be clear, Little Miss Trifle. You were begging me to fuck you all weekend. Or have you Mr. Cleaned that off your pretty white wedding dress slate so you can feel pure and virginal while I walk you down the aisle to your safe choice?”

  “You calling me a slut?”

  “Not my words.”

  “God, fuck you. What’s your fucking problem?”

  He jerks the car off onto the shoulder, takes a sharp right, then shoots ten feet down a dirt tractor path that’s tightly flanked by a field and a tree line. We’re minutes from the pond, and based on the jagged turn and slam of the brakes, he’s livid.

  “You are my fucking problem.”

  His breath feels scalding as it hits my face. He squeezes my thigh hard, like he would a football.

  “You sealed the envelope. You suffocated the flame. You plucked the feathers off of hope, baby. You, Tess, are my problem. You left us unfinished because you couldn’t find courage if it was fucked out of your ass. I know you feel as trapped as I do, but you’re trapped by fear that you refuse to give a chance to. As for me, I’m the sorry-assed sucker who’s trapped by love. So yeah, you’re my problem. I’m taking you home now, so you can wake up as fresh as a spring-friggin’-daisy to marry your safe choice.”

  His glare is as evil as his tone, his stinging slap of words shredding me as he whips his hand over the back of the seat while slamming down on the gas. We fly in reverse. My body jerks forward, whacking my head onto the dash with forceful assault. I scramble to find my balance as he slams on the brakes, nearly giving me whiplash as I fly backwards.

  He throws the truck into park, and his hands cup my face in seconds. Finally we are eye to eye, though I didn’t think it would take a can of whoop-ass on my head to get us here.

  “Mario Andretti you are not. What does my forehead look like?”

  He wears a half-serious look of amusement. “Like a goose laid an egg on it. I’m sorry sweetheart. Shit.”

  “Oh, great. You had to leave your mark on me, didn’t you? Now I’m going be one of those brides that no one forgets. You wanna knock out my front tooth while you’re at it, Sugar Ray?”

  He pulls me into him, placing a small kiss on my new friend. And there it is…the climate change that sits in the space between us the minute we touch.

  “Damn, I messed up. I wanted to give you a little something before you got married, but a blue-and-purple egg wasn’t what I had in mind.” He pulls me over to his side of t
he truck, nestling me into the warm nook under his arm. I lean in, inhaling everything about him. He’s my true north, my real safe place…the one guy that makes my insides fire off like a mess of pyrotechnics. I just wish all those fireworks could blast a hole through my scar tissue.

  “Did I earn a trip to the pond?” I shoot him a knowing smirk. “Pretty please, with whipped cream and a cherry on top?”

  “No whipped cream or cherries…only sprinkles from here on out.” My tiny hand lays in his giant palm, his thumb resting directly on top of my engagement ring, shielding it from both of us.

  “You want to stop by the DQ and get an ice cream cone first?” he says, holding my chin in his hand as he examines the growing bruise on my forehead. It’s the way he holds my chin when he wants to direct my lips to his, just before a kiss. And what I wouldn’t do for one of those kisses right about now. I see a small twinkle finally rise in his eyes along with that damn smile that hits the right corner of his mouth, forcing his miniscule dimple to sink into place and sucker punch me.

  “Yeah. Two-tone twist with a coating of peanut crunch, and—”

  “And colored jimmies. I know, I know. You think I’d ever forget that combination, Sass? Now here’s the real test: what am I going to get?”

  “A Buster Bar!”

  “Good girl.”

  Though the goose egg on my forehead is ill-timed, I’m grateful for the way it’s gluing us back together a little bit at a time.

  *

  “You suck that you’re going to marry that douchebag,” he says while taking a giant bite of his chocolate Buster Bar. It’s a biting-cold, star-filled night. We huddle in the bed of his pickup alongside bales of straw, horse blankets, and saddles, each breath between us a swirling mix of comfort and confusion.

  “Well, you didn’t exactly get on one knee to try and dissuade me now did you, Casanova?”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, I do have a little something I wanted to ask you.” My heart flips like I’ve just gone over the mountaintop on a roller coaster. Scout digs in his pocket, then he gets up on one knee. I’m not joking here. This is not a joking matter.

  “What are you doing?” I’m freaking out because I’m not sure if he plans on eloping with me or if he’s just fucking around.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  TESS

  “Put out your pinky.”

  It’s kind of funny when a big muscle-y hunk of a man like Scout says “Put out your pinky” with the sincerity of a superior court judge. But I raise both hands in front of me and wiggle my pinkies at him while inelegantly holding my ice cream cone. Then he slides a thin, wavy gold band lined with tiny dark diamonds onto my left hand.

  “Since I’m not marrying you yet—at least, not until you can come to terms with giving all of yourself to me and you’ve divorced that shitbag choice of yours—I’m giving you a pinky swear. Come here.”

  He lifts me onto his lap. I sit in a straddle, all the while licking my ice cream cone, trying to calm my brain from the face-melting words that just rolled out of him. “Yet…” So he wants to marry me? He wraps his giant pinky around my tiny one, then kisses the tip of mine after I kiss the tip of his. Rituals are good.

  “My heart wrote you a letter of sorts. My brain and cock really wanted to get involved but my heart strong-armed them.”

  “Oh…I…” I’m already teared up, preparing for wreckage, and the man has barely begun.

  “Shhh. Just listen to me now.” He throws me a wink along with a rugged aw-shucks-looking grin.

  “You’ll always be my one woman. My love for you is limitless. I won’t ever apologize for doubting your courage. I think you’re better than the move you’re making, but I can’t be the one to flick the switch on in your heart. I already tried to knock some sense into you tonight with that small gift growing on your forehead. I would never ask you to change for me—I want you to be who you are. But someday I want all of you for who you are. Someday you’ll give that me. I want the gritty parts and the inside stuff that you seem unwilling to share. I’m willing to wait. I need to know all of you, Tess.”

  There’s no question Scout could out-hustle any guy in the world with his words. He has a built-in enhanced female interrogation system that not all guys are pre-programmed with. What really kills me is that he’s willing to stand in line, dance card raised, waiting for the guy who’s just about to spin me across the floor to trip flat on his face.

  “I don’t need a piece of paper to tell you I will never stop adoring you. That I’ll fall asleep every night thinking only of you. That every damn bubblegum machine I walk by I’ll have to stop at and plunk a few quarters in, to find something you might just fancy. That when I go to the grocery store, you’re in every aisle. You’re the smoked oysters, the sardines in tomato sauce but not olive oil. The coconut cake. The Earl Grey tea, but yes, I know: only the Bigelow brand.”

  A fireball sits on my heart, piercing through layers with each words he says. The man is a walking shock hazard for my insides, and I’m not wearing rubber-soled shoes. Tears stream down my face in slow drips, making me want to stand up and chant at the top of my lungs, Winner takes all! And while I can’t give him what he wants, he still manages to stake claim on my future. But not without staking claim on my heart.

  “And for the record, since I’m baring my soul tonight, you don’t know a few things about me either…such as, every song I’ve ever written is about you. Now, don’t get all weird about that. But yes, you are my life muse…amongst other things.”

  He looks directly through me with every ounce of energy he seems to have inside of him.

  “Tess Harlow, I pinky swear that I will not, under any circumstances, share your secret with anyone. Ever.

  “I pinky swear that I will always remember your birthday and spend it with you, even if douchebag is there too. I pinky swear that I’ll keep writing every song about you.

  “I pinky swear that someday I’ll claim you, even if I have to wait for another lifetime to come along, because I know you’ll be in that one, too, and I know you’ll find me. I pinky swear that I’ll keep playing the movie of us in my head and every time I play it, the ending will always be the same: happily ever after with you in my arms as my wife and mother to our children.”

  He wipes the tears off my cheeks as he talks, occasionally taking a lick of my ice cream cone, all the while keeping his eyes on mine with that high voltage stare.

  “You shake my soul like an earthquake, sweetheart, and while it hurts like bloody hell sometimes, you make me feel alive and whole and inspired. You can trust I’ll be here waiting for you. I’m not going anywhere. But I get first dibs once you realize you’re ready to trust someone with your truths. Deal?”

  “Deal. I pinky swear you back.” I’m shuddering helplessly, entranced by his words, by his love…by his raw, reckless courage to open himself to me the night before my wedding to another man. Imprisoned sobs hurl from me and he quiets them with a kiss on my lips. It’s warm, sweet, and tender, and he doesn’t for a second cross the boundary, but I do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  SCOUT

  Frustration mingled with despair? Or is it anger laced with dejection? Regardless, it’s numbing. December 7th, no better day to railroad my soul than a dark, bitterly cold one that seemingly mirrors my angst. The Saffron Mansion sits like an exquisite tomb of the ages, and a tide of memories crashes through me as I walk the hollow halls in search of unanswerable questions. In less than an hour, the magnitude of my misery will stand trial as Tess takes Creed as her husband.

  A few guests have begun to arrive, so I meander out into the main galleries to count heads. Tess is too nervous for me to be anywhere near her. After a while I’ll storm the small gallery that’s been tented out as her personal dressing room. I need to see her just one more time alone before I take her arm in mine and walk her down that wildflower-lined aisle, readying us both for a future that seems masked in a lie. I breathe in the scent of the sea of wildf
lowers around me as though I’m breathing in the very essence of her. The softness of the petals I stroke in my palm reminding me of her naked flesh and all of our promises—spoken and unspoken. The kaleidoscope of colors around me is a mirror of who Tess is, a painting of all the beautiful vividness that makes up the layers of her soul.

  She poured everything into that intoxicating kiss last night under the cold, star-glittered sky, ravishing me with her aura as her lips and tongue explored my mouth with mind-blowing intensity. It felt in that moment she was making a choice. Liquid fire pooled in my belly…until she pulled away to look into my eyes while whispering in a cracked, wet voice, “I’m gonna miss these kisses.”

  My mouth felt lined in cotton as pain thundered through my heart, all parts of me aching only for her.

  Now, I pull the bell rope on the tent, and Roxanne comes to the front flaps and peeks out at me.

  “Hey, Rox, is she ready to see me yet? We only have about fifteen minutes and I just need…well…”

  “She’s so nervous. She’s thrown up twice.”

  “That’s no good. I brought some Dom Perignon hoping to offer some liquid courage, but maybe that’s a bad idea?”

  “Actually, I think she needs it. Any chance you can talk her off the edge?”