She opens her mouth to respond, but the goddamn waiter returns with our food. He sits the steaming plate of whatever the hell Tessa ordered and my burger in front of us and lingers there awkwardly.
“Do you need something?” I snap at him. It’s not his fault that I’m pouring out my hopes of a future to this woman and he’s interrupting, but he’s here and he’s wasting my time with her by standing here.
“No, sir. Do you need anything else?” he asks, cheeks red.
“No, thank you so much for asking.” Tessa smiles up at him, easing his embarrassment and making up for my asshole tendencies. He returns a smile to her and finally disappears.
“Anyway, I was basically just saying everything that I should have said a long time ago. Sometimes I forget that you can’t hear my thoughts, you don’t know all the things I think about you. I wish you did; you would love me more if you did.”
“I don’t think it would be possible for me to love you more than I do.” She twists her fingers in her hands.
“Really?” I smile at her, and she nods.
“But I need to tell you something. I don’t know how you’ll take it.” Her voice catches at the end, making me panic. I know she’s given up on us, but I can change her mind; I know I can. I feel a determination that I never felt before, never knew existed.
“Go on,” I force myself to say as neutrally as possible, then take a bite of the burger. It’s the only way to keep my damn mouth shut.
“You know I went to the doctor.”
Images of her crying while mumbling about her doctor fill my head.
“Is everything still okay over here?” the fucking waiter asks, popping over. “How’s everything taste? Would you like more water, miss?”
Is he fucking serious?
“We are fine,” I growl at him—literally growl, like a rabid fucking dog. He pisses off, and Tessa lifts her finger to her empty glass.
“Shit. Here.” I slide mine over to her, and she smiles, then gulps the water down. “You were saying?”
“We can talk about it later.” She takes the first bite of her food since it arrived in front of her.
“Oh, no you don’t. I know this trick, I invented this trick. After you get some food into your belly, you’ll tell me. Please.”
She takes another bite, trying to distract me, but, nope, it’s not going to work. I want to know what her doctor said and why it’s making her act so strange. If we weren’t in public, it would be much easier to get her to talk. I don’t give a shit about making a scene, but I know she will be embarrassed, so I’ll play nice. I can do this. I can balance being nice and cooperative and not feel like a total fucking tool.
I let her get away with another five minutes of silence, and soon she’s picking at her food aimlessly.
“Are you finished?”
“It’s . . .” She glances down at the plate full of food.
“What?”
“It’s not very good,” she whispers, looking around to be sure no one can hear.
I laugh. “Is that what has you all flushed and whispering?”
“Hush.” She swats at the air between us. “I’m so hungry, but the food’s so bad. I don’t even know what it is. I just pointed at something because I was nervous.”
“I’ll tell them you want something else.”
I get to my feet, and she reaches across to grab my arm. “No, it’s okay. I’m ready to go.”
“Cool. We’ll just hit a drive-through and get something for you, and you can tell me what the hell is going on in that head of yours. It’s driving me insane guessing.”
She nods, looking a little insane herself.
Chapter fifty-six
HARDIN
One drive-through taco joint later, Tessa is full and my patience is withering with each silent moment between us.
“I freaked you out talking about kids, didn’t I? I know I’m laying a lot of shit on you at once, but I’ve spent the last eight months keeping shit in, and I don’t want to do that anymore.”
I want to tell her the crazy shit inside my head—I want to tell her that I want to stare at the cheesy way the sun hits her hair in the passenger seat until I can’t see anymore. I want to listen to her moan and close her eyes when she takes a bite of a taco—that I swear tastes like cardboard but she loves—until I can’t hear anymore. I want to tease her about the spot just below her knee—that she always misses when she shaves her legs—until I lose my voice.
“It’s not that,” she interrupts me, and I look up from staring at her legs.
“Then what is it? Let me guess: you are already questioning marriage; now you don’t want kids either?”
“No, that’s not it.”
“I fucking hope not, because you know damn well you’ll make the best mum ever.”
She whimpers, holding her hands over her stomach. “I can’t.”
“We can.”
“No, Hardin, I can’t.” The way her eyes look down at her belly and her hands makes me thankful we are parked; I would have swerved off the damn road.
The doctor, the crying, the wine, the freaking out about Karen and her baby, the constant “can’t” from today.
“You can’t . . .” I understand exactly what she means. “It’s because of me, isn’t it? I did something to you, didn’t I?” I don’t know what I could have done, but that’s the way this works: something bad happens to Tessa because of something I did, always.