thirty

Tessa

We got back late last night, both of us worn out from the long drive. After grabbing our stuff from the car, we barely managed to change our clothes before falling asleep at Dante’s place.

When I got up this morning, I told Dante I wanted to go home and he could use my car since Josh was getting his. When he dropped me off, he was less than thrilled when I refused to let him come into the building with me. I don’t expect him to understand, but this is something I need to do on my own.

Now that I’m here though, maybe I shouldn’t have been so brave.

“Mrs. Salinger”—Theo rushes to greet me as I step into the building—“welcome home.”

“Thank you, Theo. It’s good to be home.” That isn’t the truth. There are so many places I’d rather be than here.

“If you need anything, please let me know.”

“Will do,” I call over my shoulder as I make my way to the bank of elevators.

The ride up is silent, except for the electrical hum of the lift and the hammering in my chest. When the shiny silver doors part, I exit into the hallway, trying to ignore the knots forming in my stomach. Apprehension weighs down my feet like cinder blocks. I approach the door with the trepidation of a death row inmate on the day of execution. I’m suspended in between this moment and whatever comes next, knowing full well I’ll have to face what’s on the other side of the door. I don’t want to go backward, to lose the ground I gained while in Charleston. I don’t want to be swept away in the memories or give the past power over me.

With sweaty hands and trembling fingers, I unlock the door and step inside. The click of the latch reverberates through the room, making it feel hollow. I spin around and press my forehead to the cool interior side of the door. Flattened palms rest next to my temples, and I will my racing heart to calm and my lungs to inflate. Mentally, I count in reverse from ten. Then, I turn and open my eyes.

Before I can formulate a thought, my phone rings, scaring me half to death. Reaching into my back pocket, I pull it out and look at the caller ID.

“You scared the ever-loving shit out of me,” I shriek.

“I didn’t mean to. I wanted to check on you.” Dante’s concerned voice fills my ear.

“Dante, you just dropped me off.”

“I’m aware, and I also get how hard this is for you.” He blows out a breath. “All you have to do is say the word, and I can have people there to pack his things, so you don’t have to.”

I wanted to handle all of this on my own. At least, I wanted to be able to, but doubt is creeping its way in. “Can we talk about it later?”

“Of course. Tessa, you know there is no right or wrong answer here, don’t you? You’ve got this, and if you don’t…I’ve got you.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be there soon. Is Chinese okay for dinner?”

“Sounds great. I’ll see you in a little while.” I hang up the phone and slip it back into my pocket.

Grieving comes in stages. I’m not certain how many there are. Some psychologists claim it’s five while others believe it’s seven or eight. All I know is, some days, it feels like I’ve run the gamut from devastation to batshit crazy. Currently, I have no idea what stage I’m on…somewhere between acceptance and wishing for retrograde amnesia.

I steel my nerves and tread inside the bedroom. It looks just as I left it with drawers half-open and clothing strewed everywhere. The contents of the shoebox as well as Trevor’s hoodies still litter the floor. I reach down and pick up the white envelope. It’s empty. Then, I look to my right and spot the paternity test results on the floor where Dante cast the papers aside. I think back on that night at the cemetery and the police station. The memory plays out like a scene from someone else’s life. It’s hard to reconcile that I lost control and destroyed Trevor’s grave.

Bending over, I pick up the papers, and this time, when I read them, it’s without the filmy layer of disbelief or blinding white-hot rage.

With a probability of 99.8 percent, Trevor Salinger is the father of Brandon Montgomery.

I thought it wouldn’t hurt as much after the shock faded. I didn’t think it would still feel about a million times worse than pouring alcohol into a gaping wound.

Regardless of the sting, I’m not the only one who has lost someone. I push myself to look beyond Trevor’s betrayal. Somewhere out there is a little boy who never asked to be born. Who, despite the sins of his father, is completely innocent. There are so many questions I’ll never have the answers to, and I’ll drive myself insane, trying to make sense of the mess that my life has become. At some point, I need to get on with it. Something positive should come from all the heartache.

The kid will need to go to college, and even after I pay back everything Trevor stole from the company, there will still be more than enough of his life insurance leftover to set up a trust for Brandon. Tomorrow, I’ll start the ball rolling.

Dante is going to have to hire someone to replace Trevor. I’ve no idea how he’s avoided it for this long, but it’s not like we’ve talked about it.

I set the documents on the nightstand and return to the closet to start cleaning up the mess.

By the time Dante shows up with dinner, I’ve emptied the closet of Trevor’s belongings. His clothes are piled high on the bed, and the shoebox containing the trinkets from his childhood is sitting on the nightstand.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket, and I pull it out.

Dante: At the door with dinner. I knocked, but you didn’t answer.

Me: Sorry. Be right there.

I walk out of the closet and through the condo to let Dante in.

“Hey, sorry about that.”

“No problem. I wasn’t sure what you were in the mood for, so I ordered a little of everything,” Dante says, opening containers of Chinese takeout.

I grab two bottles of water from my practically empty fridge and set one in front of him. “Thanks for grabbing dinner.”

“You’re welcome.” He passes me a plate of kung pao chicken, beef and broccoli, and fried rice.

We eat quietly for a few minutes, both of us lost in our own heads. When I look up, Dante is watching me.

“Penny for your thoughts,” I say and reach for a napkin.

“I’m pretty sure they’re worth more than that,” he jokes. “Just thinking about work.”

I’m calling bullshit. It’s hard enough for me to be back here. I can’t imagine what it feels like for him. Especially now that things between us have changed.

After I take a drink of water, I push myself back from the table and go stand behind him. Being in Chicago doesn’t void what we’ve shared or how close we’ve become. I want to show him I care.

Dante sets his now empty water bottle back on the table and tugs me into his lap. My lips find his in a slow, sensual kiss. His hands glide over my back, and then he buries his fingers in my hair and takes the kiss deeper. Things can’t go far, not here anyway, so I break the seal of our lips. Dante lays his head on my chest in the valley of my breasts. The warmth of his hot breath sends tingles across my skin.

“I bet you’re not thinking about work anymore,” I say playfully and wiggle off his lap.

Dante smacks my ass. “That’s for damn sure. Are you coming home with me?”

“Do you still want me to?”

“That depends, Tessa, on whether you want to be there.”

“Yes. I want to come home with you.”

A huge smile morphs over his dark features.

“Are you done eating?” I ask.

“Yeah. I’m going to go to the bathroom, and then I’ll help you clean up.”

“Okay,” I agree, but I’ll have it done before he gets back.