After We Fell (After 3) - Chapter 164

No, I can’t allow myself to finish the thought. She got exactly what she wanted out of me, and that makes me even angrier. She knew exactly what she was doing when she mentioned Zed; she was purposely taunting me, trying to make me snap, and it worked. She knew she was pulling the pin from a grenade and walking away. But I’m not a grenade—I should be able to control myself.

I immediately call Tessa, but she doesn’t pick up. Her phone rings . . . and rings . . . and rings. She did tell me that she was going to sleep, but I know damn well that her phone is always on vibrate and that woman can’t sleep through shit.

“Come on, Tess, pick up the phone,” I groan and toss my cell onto the passenger seat. I need to get as far away from Target as possible before the cops check the parking-lot cameras and get my plate number or some shit.

The freeway is a fucking nightmare, and I keep trying to call Tessa. If she doesn’t get back to me within the hour, I’m calling Christian.

I should have stayed in Seattle another night. Hell, I should have moved there in the fucking first place. All of my reasons for not wanting to go seem so fucking pointless now. All of the fears I had, and still have, are only being kept alive by the distance between where she lives and where I live.

“Deep down you know it won’t work.”

“You’re covered in ink, and it’s only a matter of time before she’s sick of being embarrassed to be seen with you.”

“Bad-boy fetish.”

“Marry a banker or some shit.”

Steph’s voice pierces my ears over and over again. I’m going insane—I’m literally losing my fucking mind on this wide-open road. All the efforts that I made all week mean nothing now. The two days that I spent with Tessa have been ruined by that viper.

Is all of this worth it? Is all of this constant trying worth it? Will I always have to stop myself from saying or doing the wrong shit? And if I do continue this potential transformation, will she really love me after, or just feel like she finished some kind of project for a psych class?

After all this, will there be enough of me left for her to love? Will I even be the same man that she fell in love with, or is this her way of transforming me into someone she wishes I could be—someone she will tire of?

Is she trying to make me more like him . . . more like Noah?

“You can’t compete with that . . .” Steph is right. I can’t compete with Noah and the simple relationship Tessa shared with him. She never had to worry about anything when she was with him. They were good together. Good and simple.

He isn’t broken the way that I am.

I remember the days when I used to sit in my room and wait hours for Steph to tell me when Tessa returned after she’d spent some time with him. I interfered as much as I could and, surprisingly enough, it worked out for me. She chose me over him, over the boy she grew up loving.

The idea of Tessa telling Noah she loves him makes me sick to my stomach.

“Bad-boy fetish . . .” I’m more than a fetish to Tessa. I have to be. I’ve fucked more than my share of girls who were only looking to frighten their daddies, but Tessa isn’t one of them. She’s put up with enough shit from me to prove that.

My thoughts are jumbled and frantic, and I can’t keep up with them.

Why am I letting Steph get inside my head? I shouldn’t have listened to a word that bitch said. Now that I have, though, I can’t get her words out of me. I wipe my bloody and busted knuckles across the legs of my blue jeans and park the car.

When I look up, I find myself parked in the lot at Blind Bob’s. I’ve driven all the way here without so much as a thought about it. I shouldn’t go inside . . . but I can’t stop myself.

And behind the bar, I see an old . . . friend. Carly. Carly, wearing minimal clothing and deep red lipstick.

“Well . . . well . . . well . . .” She grins at me.

“Save it.” I groan and slide onto a bar stool directly in front of her.

“Not a chance.” She shakes her head, her blond ponytail whipping back and forth. “The last time I served you, it spiraled into one big drama-fest, and I have neither the time nor the patience for a repeat performance tonight.”

The last time I was here, I got so shit-faced that Carly forced me to spend the night on her couch, which only led to a huge misunderstanding with Tessa, who got into a car accident that day because of me. Because of the shit I bring into her otherwise clean life.

“Your job is to get me a drink when I order one.” I point at the bottle of dark whiskey on the shelf behind her.

“There’s a sign right there that states otherwise.” She leans her elbows onto the bar top, and I sit back on my bar stool, creating as much space between us as possible.

The small WE HAVE THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE TO ANYONE is taped to the wall, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Easy on the ice, I don’t want it watered down.” I ignore another of her eye rolls as she pushes herself up and grabs an empty glass.

A thick stream of dark liquor pours into my glass, and Steph’s voice replays again and again in my brain. This is the only way to rid myself of her accusations and lies.

Carly’s voice breaks me from my daze. “She’s calling.”

Glancing down, I see the picture that I snapped while Tessa was asleep this morning; it’s flashing on my phone’s screen.

“Fuck.” I instinctively push the glass away, spilling its freshly poured contents onto the bar top. I ignore Carly’s high-pitched cursing and leave the bar just as quickly as I arrived.