A Mess of Reason (27 page)

Today of all days. My appointment day. Nice
timing, ace.

“I say we do one of those new designer
wraps…something super-smooth and sleek. These guys can do anything.
Trust me, she has no idea what’s even available.”

I hear Striker talking in wild animation,
the shock of it dulling my senses, every word nearly bankrupting
me. Such a verbal slap in the face. I had allowed Scout to take
photos of me in Mexico after a few days, and when he showed them to
me, I thought they were artful—beautiful, even. Not something that
falls from my mouth very easily considering how I feel about my
skin. But to betray me like this, after everything we’ve just gone
through…after the trust I placed in him.

“What a mess; no wonder she keeps it under
cover. She’ll be like new…then you guys can really have some fun on
the open roads!”

Every word knocks more air out of me, as
though I’m some sort of object to re-skin and make perfect. Have I
been hallucinating all along? Am I actually this delusional?

“Have you found anyone to do the job? It’s
gotta be the best hands, otherwise it’ll be a butcher job and
she’ll end up hating you.”

Scout chuckles, his laugh feeling like a
sock being stuffed down my throat. “Yeah, but look at these
shots—can’t get worse than this, right? I’ve been in touch with a
guy, a master surgeon…an artist. I’m telling you, man: not a word.
I want to surprise her. I keep telling her everything looks fine,
but she has too many memories attached to it, all the way back to
high school. So I figure I need to step in here and take
over—that’s what best friends do, right?”

Best friends. Right.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

SCOUT

My day has been crazy, jam-packed with
meetings, so when I finally scoot out of the studio to head over
and pick up Tess for her doctor’s appointment, I’m a little
surprised by a text that comes in from her, making me wonder if
she’s re-thinking the idea of the skin grafting.

needed to run errands–going to appointment
alone

I quickly respond.

I’m close by if you change your mind and
need some emotional support, I can be there in 5… u sure

no need. I’m sure

text me later, good luck…love u baby

Ok

Clearly she’s freaked-out nervous, because
every text that comes in from Tess is typically all hearts and
rainbows slathered in a heavy side of emojis. But this response?
“Ok”? It’s the furthest thing from her. I’d call it alien body
snatchers if ever. She must be shitting herself to respond like
this.

I decide to head over to the doc’s office
and surprise her. This is too big of a deal to her; it’s obvious
she’s slumping under the weight of it already. The hot-shot doc has
flown in just to meet with Tess at our local plastic surgeon’s
office. I know she’s paying top dollar just to see the guy. That
she paid to fly him in seems incomprehensible to me, but it was all
set up pre-wedding, so at this point she’s on a solid fishing trip,
and I’m just along for the ride.

The nurse at the clinic, Susan Pikens, is an
old friend from high school, so luckily I don’t have to convince
her to take me straight back to his office. When I walk in, Tess is
standing in a white, flower-dotted gown, facing away from me. The
doc, who looks to be all of twenty-three, is a buck of a stud, and
the fact that his hands are on my girl’s naked breasts sends more
than a jolt of jealousy shooting through me.

“Dr. Andrews, this is Scout Steele, Tess’s
boyfriend. He came to surprise her. Sorry to interrupt.” After
giving me a wink and a knowing nod, Susan leaves the office.

“Scout Steele?
The
Scout Steele? My
girlfriend is gonna flip when I tell her that I’d met you. She
might be your biggest fan!”

Fine. I like him, stud or not. I remind
myself he does this for a living. I walk over and shake his hand.
Tess makes no effort to look at me. I grab her face in my hands and
sink a big kiss on her lips as her eyes fill with tears. Her lips
tremble under the clamp of her teeth. She can’t even speak, she’s
so nervous. Thank God I had the sense to show up.

“Hey, you doing okay?”

She shoots me a look that feels more like
daggers than fear or emotional distress, but I get it: this is big
for her. Plus she’s naked in front of this stud of a guy and I’m
sure that’s only adding needles to her anxiety.

“Fine,” she says in a low growl that I
decide to let lie.

I take a seat on the other side of the room
where she can’t see me, and listen in as Dr. Andrews explains the
ins and outs of this type of skin grafting. My understanding is
that she could do it if she really wanted to, but the level of
emotional and physical pain combined with the exorbitant costs
scares most people away. On top of that, the success rate is not
high for someone her age, someone who has scars from childhood. Her
voice shakes and is barely audible to me as she pelts him with
questions. Dr. Andrews, although young, has the bedside manner of a
guy four times his age. It’s no wonder he’s the top-dollar dawg in
his field of work.

I pull Tess into my side, grabbing her hand
as we walk out of his office together. She makes a more than
noticeable effort to get away from me. I brush it off, chalking it
up to anxiety, and just let her do her thing.

“How about you hop in my truck and I take
you out for a martini? We can talk over your options. I’d like to
know what’s going through that pretty little head of yours,
sweetheart.”

She walks in front of me at a hurried pace
through the parking lot. As she turns back to look at me, her dark,
chocolate eyes are wide and wet with what seems like shock. I catch
up, pulling her into a hug since she looks as though she was just
released from hell. Her body is wire stiff. A dry, aching sob comes
from her mouth, sounding more filled with pain than anything I’ve
heard since the disaster of her wedding day.

“Hey, baby, it’s okay. You don’t have to
decide anything today. We don’t even have to talk about it. You’re
really upset…what’s going on?”

Her mouth is pressed in a tight line, and
she covers it with one hand while glaring at me. She seems
furious—if not a bit crazed—as she speaks to me in a voice that’s
sharp and broken.

“Don’t play games with me.” Her growling
tone comes out like a mess of fury and splintered anger, snagging
me in the gut as my mind jumps everywhere, trying to understand her
accusation.

“Are you mad that I showed up here? I’m
sorry…I just wanted to support you. Maybe I shouldn’t have
surprised you like that.” I wreathe her body in my arms, but she
slides out from underneath me like she’s greased. She takes a giant
step, backing herself away from me.

“You and your surprises. How about you never
surprise me again. I wish I had known all along how you felt. And
you called me a liar for keeping this from you.… How could
you?”

People rubberneck as they walk past us; it’s
clear we’re a scene. Not a pretty one at that.

“I won’t surprise you like this again. I
should have texted you. I’m sorry, Tess. I thought I was doing the
right thing.” I feel my adrenaline level rise in a parallel
movement, following her escalated state of stress.

“This is my secret! Not yours! You knew
that—you promised me! You don’t get to be in on this. You don’t get
to decide anything about this. What doctor I go to or how smooth my
skin should be, or what stays and what goes…none of it. Got
it?”

Her hands wave around in traffic-stopping
motions as she spews verbal barbs along with a glacial stare that
could freeze hell over. I want to remind her that she had
originally been the one to ask me to come. Instead, I stay the
course, letting her vent—watching her come undone piece by piece. I
knew it was going to be a stressful day, but she’s handling this
like it’s the end of an era.

“Tess, what’s going on? Did he say something
before I got here? You’re screaming at me like I’ve committed a
crime. Let’s get out of this parking lot and go for a drink. I’ve
already apologized. What else can I do?”

I link my elbow with hers in a lure to get
her to my truck. Maybe three martinis?

She comes at me with a verbal swipe that
sets me back. “You think this is just some quick rip-the-skin-off
re-wrap deal? You think it’s easy for me?”

She’s bitch slapping me for being a good
guy? I’m clearly just losing ground. I’ve got nothin’ else to go on
here other than her nerves, and this seems to be more than
nerves.

“No, I know it’s not easy for you. I want
you to do what feels right. I love you the way you are.”

“You are so full of shit! I know exactly how
you feel about it. Don’t worry, you don’t have to tell me to my
face. Why would you? I don’t need your help with this!”

She has officially lost her shit. As in,
standing-on-the-ledge, lost-it, luna-chick, wall-out, bat-shit
crazy. Someone needs a little yank back down to earth or a kick in
the ass.

“Okay. However you want it. You just let me
know what I can do.” I try one more shot with a strong and calm
tone, hoping my crisis negotiation skills win her over. After this
one, I’m done with bullshit-bingo.

“You know what you can do? You can back the
fuck off. I need some space—I can’t even breathe. You’re
suffocating me!”

I want to tackle her to the ground and find
out who exactly climbed inside of her today and flipped her off her
trolley. She starts walking backwards until I grab her by the arm.
The hell if she’s going to treat me this way, then just stomp
off.

“You got it, baby. Looks like the ball is
officially back in your court.” I’m inches from her face and I
intend to scare the shit out of her. She needs a little
wake-the-fuck-up call.

“Christ almighty, Tess, I have tried to be
patient and understanding. I have tried to help you trust and let
me in.”

Her eyes are as big as saucers and she’s
doing all she can not to let those big, juicy tears fall. I know
Tess, and in her mind, if they fall, that means I’ve won. Won what,
exactly? I have no goddamned idea.

“Now you listen to me, girl. You walked away
once, so I know what it feels like to lose my heart, and I will
never again be able to stake claim on it because you’ve stolen it.
But if this is how you’re going to be with me when all I want to do
is help you, it’s bullshit. And honey, you know what that smells
like first-hand. What the fuck is it you want from me if not this,
if not what I’m giving?”

I stand in silence for a few seconds to
catch my breath because I’m coming at her like a freight train, and
I need to be clear as the sky about what I’m telling her. “It’s now
or never, in or out. You and all this waffling: indecision is still
a decision. I’m doing part of the heavy lifting in this
relationship and it seems all I’m getting today is pushback.”

She does all she can to sneak out of my grip
but my hands wrap entirely around her biceps, and the mark I’m
leaving on her right now had better be more than just there.

“It’s pretty fucking clear what’s going on
here. I don’t think you love us as much as I do. Forgive me for
being blunt, but it’s time. You can have all the damn space you
need. Take miles, explore the map—fly to the fucking moon for all I
care!”

I feel acres of time slipping away as I let
her go, turn, and walk toward my truck with not one glance back. I
could put a fist through my windshield right this second with the
amount of energy zinging through my body, but I just squeeze my
fists at my sides and curse inwardly instead, trying to understand
how we got back to the rocky topography stage of our
relationship.

Maybe I gave too much too soon. Micromanaged
us? I should have held my cards tighter, not been so out there
about how I felt about her. But it’s all I knew to do, once I let
go and shared my feelings. I was sure it was what she wanted. Maybe
I made the wrong move by taking her from the wedding scene straight
to bed. But all the signs were there. We did that together…we let
go, trusted, and found each other together. But now I’m suffocating
her?

I feel like I missed the obvious warning
sign: “Road unsafe when underwater.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

TESS

“Honey, I’m not knitting with one needle and
I still don’t get what he’s done to you,” Rox says. “But my God,
you’re madder than a box of frogs. Even more than when he banged me
in high school. What did he do beyond show up at your doctor’s
appointment without telling you? You seriously want to rip his head
off for that? Are you PMSing? Just looking for a fight,
bonecrusher?”

“I hate him right now, and dammit I miss him
so much.”

Rox and I are having margaritas at Texmama’s
as I unload my drama-riddled relationship status. I still haven’t
come clean with her either. Unfair. Yes. But I feel like so many
Band-Aids have been ripped off lately that I’ll need skin grafts
for my skin grafts.

“I’m gonna make this short and sweet. Don’t
get pissed that you didn’t know, okay? It’s not about you.”

The look on Rox’s face is priceless. She’s
trying to reach me, and I feel like the straightjacket I’ve laced
myself into needs to finally come off.

I open the entire front of my shirt, then
pop open the front clasp of my bra as well.

I’m facing the corner, it’s dark; no one can
see me but her. I don’t look at her eyes, because, well, you know,
the cringe factor is still a toughie for me even though it’s Rox. I
keep it open long enough to give her a good long look, then a
minute later I button up and down my drink in one long atomic
gulp.

“Holy fuck, Tess. What the hell?” She looks
like she’s just seen a Freddy Krueger movie. That’s pretty much the
look I used to get from everyone when I was a kid—like a bazooka
was hitting them and ricocheting back to me—and that’s exactly why
I went into Operation Armadillo.