A Mess of Reason (8 page)

“Christ, dude, chill out. And don’t tell me
how to handle my wife.” Then he gives Tess a noogie…yeah, a fucking
knuckle rub on the top of her gorgeous head as tears are streaming
down her face. He doesn’t even realize he’s shattered her. But I
do.

“She’s not your wife. Not yet. You don’t
deserve her.” My blood is boiling.

“Man, you need something to smooth out your
karma’s mojo. I’m out of here; I don’t need this bullshit. I flew
in to fuck my wife, not to eat cock like you. Let’s go, tiny tits.”
He jerks her out of her chair, making her scramble to her feet. I
can’t move fast enough. I can’t help myself. She’s my Tess. I don’t
give fuck who this piece of shit is. You don’t call a gorgeous
woman like Tess Harlow “tiny tits,” and you sure as fuck don’t drag
her around like she’s your dog.

“Get your hands off of her, you
motherfucker.” My hand is on his shoulder and although he looks
scrappy, he’s only about five-foot-nine in his two-inch heels, with
arms that look like worn-out plumbing pipe. I don’t need to tell
you more than that, now do I?

“Fuck you, you country hip-hop jack-off. Who
the fuck do you think you are? She’s my bitch.”

Well now. What’s a guy like me to do? My
swing barely makes contact with his cheekbone and he is down like a
featherweight. I should feel bad that I dropped such a little pussy
so hard, but I wasn’t going to push him out the door in a shopping
cart. I grab his grungy hood, then drag him across the floor like a
dead mop, straight out the door to the middle of the gravel parking
lot. Tess is nowhere. There are about a hundred sets of eyes on me,
but I honestly can’t give a fuck. Everyone had to have heard every
word, and as soon as I turn to walk back into my bar, the crowd
erupts in a round of raucous clapping and cheers. I shouldn’t feel
good right now. But I do. I just took the trash out and laid it on
the curb. I might get dis-invited to the wedding, but then again…so
might he.

Tess is gone. To where? I’ve no idea, but
she’s gone.

I send her a text apologizing and hear
nothing back. I ask Roxanne to try to reach her, but she tells me
Tess is not texting her back either. My night has gone from stupid
to hideous in a mere few hours. Creed is going to wake up, but he
won’t come back in here. My fear, though, is he might hurt Tess. I
have no idea if that’s true or not; she’s only told me he’s a
little rough around the edges. Maybe that drag across the gravel
parking lot sanded down some of that.

*

The next day, I’m up at five. I barely
slept, as Tess never left my mind, not even when I told Liberty we
were done. All I could think of was Tess. Not one of my texts was
answered by her the entire night. Not one. Today is her
twenty-ninth birthday. I hope to fuck I didn’t just push our friend
status backwards.

The thing is, I truly had no choice but to
drop the guy. His level of dick is something I have no tolerance
for. I don’t care how big of a deal the creep is. I just hope he
climbed back onto his jet and flew back to the sewage plant that he
was spawned from.

I shoot Tess a text at five-thirty in the
morning. I know she must be up having her tea by now.

Hey u up?

yeah

U ok?

fine

I’m not sorry that I did that…he doesn’t
deserve u

Please don’t. Just stop. Please.

Fuck. Tell me she isn’t with him? Tell me he
didn’t fuck her last night. Tell me she’s sitting all alone having
tea by her fireplace, reading her Kindle, wrapped up in blanket.
Please.

ok… Happy birthday.

Thanks.

Wow, 29. g’ up there, old lady

Don’t remind me

Do we get to celebrate with you? I
hope…?

I don’t get an answer back for more than
five minutes. I feel as if I’ve lost her. I make another cappuccino
and rub my iPhone’s belly as if it’s a genie about to grant me
three wishes. Then I hear the ding of her response.

I’m going to spend it with Creed. thanks
anyway.

That fuck is still here? Unreal.
Un-friggin-real. My guess is she had to tell him it was her
birthday. Maybe he’ll go online and buy her a $90,000 diamond
necklace from Cartier or some piece-of-shit, cheesy tennis bracelet
that says money = love. That fuck wouldn’t know who she is if she
came with her own operating manual. I shoot her back a text—just
one more.

I’m gonna miss you today…. I love you,
beautiful birthday girl. Love you more than a
Hostess-mess-of-junk-food-cake.

I get nothing back. I figured as much.
Please, you cocksucker, be good to her today, be good to her on her
twenty-ninth birthday. I can’t hang around here a minute longer
without wanting to go over to her ranch to strangle that fuck. So I
take my Ducati out for a ride. It’s a chilly morning, but no snow
on the roads. I open her up and let off as much steam as I can, all
the while just praying Tess has a smile on her face and maybe just
maybe it’s because of me.

CHAPTER NINE

TESS

Happy fucking birthday to me! This is a new
twist. I’m spending my birthday alone this year. No one knows I’m
alone because I’ve lied to everyone I love. I’ve told all of them
I’m spending it with my fiancé, Creed. The very man I’m getting
married to the weekend after next.

Wanna know what’s really funny about my lie?
Creed left last night after we had a big fight about Scout. Yeah.
He’s off to rockerland. I’m pretty damn sure he doesn’t even
realize it’s my birthday at all. Oh sure, Scout sent me a text at
the crack of dawn. So did my dad, and Rox and Striker and all my
other girlfriends. Everyone is hoping to hang out with me tonight
to celebrate, but I’m so mortified that the man I’m marrying
doesn’t remember it’s my day that I give them all a big fat fucking
lie so they won’t feel sorry for me. I’m that pathetic. I need them
to believe that my fiancé is a really good guy, because we
are
going to get married.

I’ve decided that much. I am getting
married. Don’t judge; we all make choices for our own reasons. You
only know some of mine. I figure once we get over the early bumps,
everything will smooth out and be just fine. I plan on going off
the pill a few days before we tie the knot. Who knows, maybe I’ll
get pregnant that very first night. I want a baby and a husband and
I have his ring on my finger. It’s my fairy tale, my movie…I’m the
editor. So what if we fight now and again—who doesn’t? So what if
he forgot my birthday? I’ll put it in his iPhone calendar next time
I see him—which is actually going to be on our wedding day.

The next time I see my husband-to-be, Creed
Luce, will be when Scout is walking me down the aisle to him. Once
I’m married and pregnant, all the fiery flames with Scout will die
down, too. He’s my best friend. Period.

Mrs. Creed Luce. Tess Luce. Tess Harlow
Luce. They all sound good to me. Or at least I convince myself that
they do.

CHAPTER TEN

SCOUT

“Dude, did you see Creed Luce’s jet? It’s
badass man. I’ll say this, yours is the coolest ever, but his…it’s
pretty fucking awesome. I got the nickel tour.”

I’ve been riding for hours. I stopped in the
mountains at the Quail and Claw tavern for a few beers, then hung
with Striker and played pool for a while, and now the roads have
led me to the airport. I ride in to check on the paint job that’s
being done on my jet and happen to run into Bobby Guild, an old
high school buddy who handles the control center here at the Echo
Mountain airstrip.

“Where is it? Point it out. I’d love to see
what a cocksucker’s plane looks like. No balls, no head…is it pink
and glittered?”

“Dude, he came in and out of here in like
three hours yesterday. He left last night around nine o’clock. He’s
a big deal right? He’s the guy Tess is marrying, isn’t he?”

“He’s a douchebag. You’re sure he left last
night? Positive it was him getting on the plane, not just his pilot
and crew?”

“Yeah, I was talking to him about some tour
he was on just before he walked up the steps to his jet. Seemed
nice enough to me. Major bruise on his face, and for sure stoned
out of his gourd, but just sort of chill.”

“Dude, I gotta fly. I’ll see you round,” I
tell Bobby as my heart starts racing.

She is alone on her birthday. Alone at home,
lying to all of us. She’s humiliated and embarrassed. He did this
to her. I knew it. I wondered how the hell she was able to spend
her birthday with him, but I figured maybe he pulled off some
heroic movie-inspired apology and she’d come around. Now though,
I’ll put money on the fact that he doesn’t even know it’s her
birthday. He’s an even bigger dick than I thought possible. How the
hell in her right mind is she marrying him? What is she drinking?
It’s like the asshole has poisoned her and she can’t get it through
her thick skull what a bona fide jerk he really is. Twenty-nine is
a big deal for her. She brings it up way to much not to notice;
it’s as if she thinks she’s going to expire or something, as if
some little ticking thing inside of her is going to explode past
thirty.

I fly home way to fast, my adrenaline
guiding me. I know exactly what she needs; I know exactly how to
give it to her. Every year, one day after Tess’s birthday, I start
present-hunting for her next birthday. She’s the easiest person
ever to please—that is, if you’re willing to listen.

Tess is the furthest thing from high
maintenance—she’s as you’ve seen—tickled with sentimental stuff
more than anything. That’s her Achilles’ heel. Tess came from very
little and made herself into something remarkable; she’s always had
the drive and ambition of a superhuman. She’s one of those girls
who’s got as much moxie and tomboy in her as she does all the girly
sugar and spice. She’s that flavorful mix of luscious that startles
you with her inner fire.

That’s why watching her let him—that
douchebag, Creed—walk all over her makes zero sense to me. It’s
like that ring he gave her has some kryptonite in it that’s zapping
her inner power of yummy. She’s the girl who tries to arm wrestle a
guy like me and is certain she can take me down. How can you not
love her? I can zing a forty-yard sideline laser—I could pin her
down with my pinky finger.

Does it simply come down to fact that she
wants to be married and start banging out kids? Is it that? Is it
the fact that he got to her first (even though technically I did,
but never made my move…where was my rocket shot then? How did I
drop that pass?)? Of all the topics we discuss—and man, we cover
the gamut—somehow marriage and kids was never one of them.

I haven’t missed spending a birthday with
Tess since we were fourteen. All through college, all the years
later, I always made my way to her, no matter what was going on in
our lives. You can imagine the girlfriends I’ve pissed off over the
years; more than a few breakups came from my insistence to get to
my best friend. Problem was, once they saw a photo of her, all hell
would break loose.

Every year since she was fourteen I’ve made
her a mess of a Hostess birthday cake. It’s exactly what you’re
picturing it be. A mashup of Twinkies, Ho Hos and Ding Dongs that I
slam a bunch of sparkler candles into. Don’t ask. All I know is the
smile on her face when she’s eating it kicks the ass of the best
sunrise in the world. My “Tess birthday closet” is stuffed full of
shit for her. It’s like I’m on some kind of holy grail mission each
year when I hunt for her birthday presents. Usually by the time
November rolls around I’ve forgotten half the crap I got her.

But this year is different. This year I went
all out with major spoilage. Once Tess decided to move back to Echo
Mountain, after lots of convincing from yours truly, I knew I had
to go for it. Tess is a bohemian babe, always has been. Obviously
you know what every bohemian needs, right? Yep. Their very own
gypsy caravan. It took the carpenter I hired six months to build
and trick this thing out, and when she sees it…well, too bad you
won’t be able to see her face, because I’ll tell you what.
Priceless
will not even come close. I’ve tucked all her
gifts around inside the caravan, a treasure hunt being right up her
alley. You think I’m gonna spoil her and not make her work for it
just a tiny bit? Please.

All the lights are off at her ranch, and now
I’m wondering if I’ve been duped. Here I sit with my pickup truck
and this over-the-top gypsy caravan blinged out with birthday like
I’m entering the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. She has to be
here. Rox would have texted me if she went to the Devil’s Tongue.
Though I suppose it’s kind of an asshole move of me not to text Rox
and tell her what I’m doing. Shhh. Selfish of me, I know.

I walk around the entire house like a creepy
Peeping Tom. Then I get to her bedroom and see one tiny candle
burning on her nightstand, and there she is. My heart breaks for
her because I can only imagine the day she’s had. It’s kind of déjà
vu from the other day when she was lying facedown on her bed in her
wedding dress. Only this time she’s lying facedown in a big
sweatshirt and the tiniest lace panties I’ve ever seen. Her ass is
as big as a seven year old’s and the panties barely cover it. All
around her are about a thousand crumpled tissues. I’m sure she’s
gone through two boxes of Kleenex today based on the blizzard
littering her bed.

I stand outside of her window and send her a
text.

How’s the party going birthday girl?

Okay, she’s definitely not sleeping. Her
right arm slams down on her nightstand, then she rolls to face away
from me. Seconds later, a text comes in.

Awesome!

Oh. She’s good. Yeah, Tess, it really looks
awesome from here. Awesome mess. Awesome disaster. Awesome
liar.

Where did you end up going?

Creed flew us to L.A.—staying in this
friggin amazing penthouse that he filled with a thousand gardenias
and tons of presents, I’m in heaven. Wish you could see it!