A Mess of Reason (20 page)

“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 the
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
7
^th
, 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 wildflowers 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?”

“Rox, I swear to you, I have done everything
in my playbook.”

“Dammit to hell! I thought for sure…! Well,
we could just drug her, take her out the back way…you know, kidnap
her.”

“Oh, you think I haven’t considered it?”

“Give me a minute; I’ll clear the hens
out.”

I can tell she feels the same emptiness I
do.

*

“Breathtaking…sight for the angels,
sweetheart.”

I can’t remember a time when I’ve had so
much shrapnel in my guts. I, too, may vomit. But I play it cool and
calm, knowing what a roller coaster she’s got to be riding.

“Yeah? Thanks. I’m pretty…ah, I’m nervous as
fuck.” Through watery eyes, she looks at me, while wringing her
hands and walking around in circles like a chicken that’s just had
her head cut off.

“I know you are, baby. I brought you some
Dom. Can I pour you a glass? Liquid courage? A last toast?” I pop
the cork, because frankly I need the courage as much as she
does.

“You make it sound like I’m going off to the
guillotine.”

“Choice words.”

“Yes, a glass is a good idea, I guess. Have
you seen Creed?”

“I saw him a while ago. Don’t worry, he’s
around. No one would leave you at the altar, princess.”

She gives me a small, fake smile, barely
looking my way.

“Come here.” I pull her tiny body into my
arms, holding her like I never want to let her go…so tightly that
maybe I’ll be able to push the white-hot starbursts of pain
straight out of her body into mine. Then I sing to her, because I
know it’s her balm.