âYouâre my only shot at grandchildren, Tessa,â my mum teases as Mike pays the bill. Tessa chokes on her water, and I pat her on the back. She coughs a few times before apologizing, but when she recovers, her eyes are wide and she looks embarrassed. Sheâs overreacting, but Iâm sure she was caught off guard by my mumâs crass and out-of-line statement.
Sensing my anger, my mum says, âIâm only teasing. I know youâre still young,â and childishly sticks her tongue out at me.
Young? It doesnât matter how fucking young we are, she doesnât need to be putting that shit in Tessaâs head. Weâve already agreed: no children. My mum making Tessa feel guilty and obligated wonât help anythingâitâll only cause another fight. The majority of our fights have been over children and marriage. Neither of which I want, or will ever want. I want Tessa, every single day for the rest of forever, but I wonât be marrying her. Richardâs warning from the other night creeps its way into my head, but I push it away.
After dinner, my mum kisses Mike good night, and he heads to his house next door. Sheâs following that stupid tradition of the groom not being able to see the bride before their wedding night. I think sheâs forgotten that this isnât her first rodeo; those stupid superstitions donât apply the second time around.
As much as Iâm dying to take Tessa in my old bed, I canât do it with my mum in the house. This shitty place has no soundproofing, nothing. I can literally hear my mum each time she rolls over on her creaky mattress in the next room.
âI should have booked a hotel,â I whine as Tessa undresses. I wish sheâd sleep in a parka so I wouldnât be tormented all night by her half-naked body. She slips my T-shirt over her head, and I canât help but stare at the curve of her tits underneath the fabric, the slope of her full hips, the way her voluptuous thighs almost fill the bottom of my shirt so it hugs to her skin. Iâm glad the shirt isnât too loose on her; it wouldnât look nearly as fucking good. It wouldnât make me this hard, and it sure as hell wouldnât make this night so damn long.
âCome here, baby.â I hold my arms open to her, and she lays her head on my chest. I want to tell her how much it means to me that she handled the Natalie situation so well, but I canât find the right words. I think she knows; she has to know how terrified I was that something would come between us.
Within minutes sheâs asleep, clinging to me, and the words flow freely as I run my fingers over her hair.
âYouâre everything to me,â I say.
I WAKE UP SWEATING. Tessa is still latched on to me, and I can barely breathe through the thick air. Itâs too hot in this house. My mum must have turned the damn heat on. Itâs spring now; thereâs no need. I unhook Tessaâs limbs from around my body and wipe her sweat-soaked hair away from her forehead before walking downstairs to check the thermostat.
Iâm half asleep when I turn the corner to the kitchen, but what I see next stops me in my tracks. I rub my eyes and even blink to clear the distorted image that has formed in front of me.
But itâs still there . . . they are still there no matter how many times I blink.
My mum is sitting on top of the counter, her thighs parted. A man stands between them, his arms wrapped around her waist. Her hands are buried in his blond hair. His mouth is on hers, or hers on hisâI donât fucking knowâwhat I do know is that the man isnât Mike.
Itâs fucking Christian Vance.
Chapter one hundred and thirty-six
HARDIN
What? What is happening? For one of the few times in my life, I find myself speechless. My mumâs hands move from Vanceâs hair down to his jaw, her mouth pushing harder against his.
I must have made a noiseâprobably a gasp, I donât fucking knowâbecause my mumâs eyes spring open and she immediately pushes at Vanceâs shoulders. His head quickly turns to me, his eyes go wide, and he steps away from the counter. How did they not hear me coming down the stairs? Why is he here, in this kitchen?
What the actual fuck is happening?
âHardin!â my mum says, her voice high with panic as she jumps down from the kitchen counter.
âHardin, I canââ Vance starts. I hold up my hand to silence them while my mouth and brain work together, trying to make sense of the fucked-up sight in front of me.
âHow . . .â I begin, the jumbled words flying through my mind not really connecting. âHow . . . ?â I repeat, my feet beginning to move backward. I want to get away from them as fast as I possibly can, but I need an explanation at the same time.
I look back and forth between the two of them, trying to reconcile the people before me with those that I thought I knew. But I fail to do so, and nothing makes sense.
My heels hit the back of the stairs, and my mum steps toward me. âItâs notââ she begins.
Iâm relieved to feel the familiar burn of anger beginning to chip away at my shock, sweeping over me and pushing away any vulnerability that may have been present seconds ago. Anger I can deal withâI revel in it; shock and stunned silence, not so much.
Iâm walking toward them again before I realize what Iâm doing, and my mum steps back, distancing herself from me, while Vance steps in front of her. What?
âWhat the fuck is wrong with you?â I interrupt her, ignoring the selfish tears shining in her eyes. âYouâre getting married tomorrow!â
âAnd you,â I seethe at my old boss, âyouâre fucking engaged, and here you are about to fuck my mum on the goddamned kitchen counter!â I lower my hand and strike a harsh blow to the already damaged countertop. The cracking sound of the wood splintering excites me, makes me want more.