Chapter 62

After a couple of deep breaths she adds, “He isn’t the same man now that he was then. He’s had years of sobriety and therapy, years of reflection and remorse.”

She knows. Karen knows about Trish and Christian. My chest tightens, and my eyes fill, too. “I know what you’re going to say.” I feel for this family. I love them as my own, and I feel for everyone in this family that’s full of secrets, addictions, and regrets.

“You do?” She blows out a ragged breath that speaks a little of her relief. “Landon told you about the baby? I should have known he would. So I’m assuming Hardin knows, too, then?”

I start coughing again. After an awkward fit, during which Karen keeps watching my expression, I finally speak. “What? A baby?”

“So you didn’t know.” She laughs softly. “I know I’m much older than you would expect a pregnant woman to be, but I’m only in my early forties, and my doctor has assured me that I’m healthy enough . . .”

“A baby?” I’m relieved that she doesn’t know about Christian being Hardin’s father, but this is beyond a surprise.

“Yes.” She smiles. “I was just as shocked as you are. Ken, too. He’s been so worried about me. Landon nearly had a breakdown; he knew about all of my appointments, but I didn’t tell him what they were for, so the poor thing thought I was sick. I felt terrible, and I had to come clean. This wasn’t planned”—her eyes search mine—“but we are happy now that we’ve gotten over the initial shock of having another child so late in life.”

My arms wrap around her, and for the first time in days I feel joy. Where there was nothing dominating my core, there is joy. I love Karen and am thrilled for her. This feels so good. I was beginning to worry that I would never feel this way again.

“This is amazing! I’m so happy for you two!” I gush, and her arms tighten around my back.

“Thank you, Tessa. I knew you would be, and it is quite exciting, the more and more I live with the reality of it.” She pulls back and kisses my cheek, then looks me in the eye. “I’m just worried about how this will make Hardin feel.”

And like that, my joy for her is cut short and instantly replaced by worry for Hardin. His entire life has been a lie, and he hasn’t exactly handled the news well. The man he believed to be his father is now having another child, and Hardin will be forgotten. Whether that’s true or not, I know him well enough to know that’s where his mind will go. And Karen knows it, which is why she was so worried about bringing it up.

“Do you mind if I’m the one who tells him?” I ask. “If not, I understand.”

I don’t allow myself to think too far into this. I know that I’m blurring the lines here, but if I’m leaving Hardin, I need to make sure I’m not leaving a mess behind.

That’s an excuse, part of me warns.

“No, of course not—to be honest, I was hoping you’d want to. I know this puts you in a terrible position, and I don’t want you to feel obligated to get in the middle of this, but I am afraid of how Hardin will react if Ken is the one to tell him. You have a way with him that no one else does.”

“It’s fine, really. I will talk to him tomorrow.”

She hugs me again. “Today has been a tough day for you. I’m sorry for bringing this up. I should have waited—I just want to avoid the news being a surprise to him, especially since I feel like I’m starting to show a little bit. He’s had a hard enough life already, and I want to do whatever I can to make things easier on him. I want him to know that he’s a part of this family, and that we all love him so much, that this baby won’t change that.”

“He knows,” I promise. He may not be willing to accept it yet, but he knows.

Footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs, and Karen and I pull away from each other reflexively. We both wipe our cheeks, and I take another bite of the cake as Hardin enters the kitchen. He’s showered and changed his clothes. He’s now wearing a pair of sweatpants, the legs of which are too short; the WCU logo stitched along his thigh is a dead giveaway that he’s wearing Landon’s clothing. No way is he a booster like that.

If we were in a different place, I would tease him about the pants. But we aren’t. We are in the worst place, yet in the best place for me; it’s all confusing and skewed. Then again, a healthy balance and order has never been a factor in our relationship; why would our breakup be any different?

“I’m going to bed. Do you need anything?” he asks, his voice rough and low.

I look up at him but he’s staring at his bare feet. “No. Thank you, though.”

“I put your stuff in the guest room, your room.”

I nod. The insane, untrustworthy part of me wishes Karen weren’t in the kitchen with us, but the rational, bitter, and much larger part of me is glad that she is. He disappears up the staircase, and I say good-night to Karen before going up myself.

In short order I find myself outside the room where I’ve spent some of the best nights of my life. I raise my hand to the knob, but quickly pull away as if the cold metal might burn my skin.

This cycle has got to stop, and if I give in to every impulse, every fiber of my being, that desperately craves to be close to him, I’ll never make it out of this continuous loop of mistake after mistake, fight after fight.

I finally let out a breath as I close the guest-room door behind me and turn the lock. I fall asleep wishing that the younger me had known just how dangerous love could be. If I had known it would hurt this bad, if I had known the way it would rip me apart, then sew me back together, only to tear me into pieces again, I would have stayed as far away from Hardin Scott as I possibly could.