Nervous laughter falls from my lips. “I don’t know . . .” What exactly am I apologizing for? I ask myself. “F-for what he did . . . to you.”

“You know?” I hear the surprise in her voice as she continues to stare at me, trying to figure me out.

“I do,” I say, suddenly embarrassed and feeling the need to explain. “And Hardin . . . he’s different now. He deeply regrets what he did to you,” I tell her. It won’t make up for the past, but she has to know that the Hardin I know isn’t the Hardin that she once knew.

“I ran into him recently,” she reminds me. “He was . . . I don’t know . . . empty when I saw him on the street. Is he doing better now?” I watch for judgment in her cloudy blue eyes, but there isn’t a trace of it to be found.

“Yes, he really is,” I say, trying not to look down at her stomach. She lifts her hand, and I see a gold band on her ring finger. I’m so happy that she’s been able to turn her life around.

“He’s done a lot of terrible things, and I know I’m way out of line here”—I swallow, trying not to lose my confidence—“but it was so important to him to know that you forgave him. It meant so much . . . thank you for finding the strength to do that.”

To tell the truth, I don’t think that Hardin regretted what he did to her as much as he should have, but her forgiveness did chip away at some of the bricks he’s spent years building between himself and the rest of the world, and I know it gave him a little peace.

“You must really love him,” she says softly after a long silence passes between us.

“I do, so very much.” My eyes meet hers. We’re connected, this woman whom Hardin hurt in such a terrible manner and I, in some strange way, and I feel the power of that connection. I can’t begin to imagine how she felt, how deep the humiliation and pain he caused her actually was. She was abandoned not only by Hardin, but by her family. At the beginning, I was just like her, a game to him, until he fell in love with me. That’s the difference between me and this sweet pregnant woman. He loves me, and he wasn’t capable of loving her.

I can’t help the disgusting thought that passes through my mind, the thought that if he had loved her, I wouldn’t have him now, and I’m selfishly grateful that he didn’t care for her the way he cares for me.

“Does he treat you well?” she surprises me by asking.

“Most of the time . . .” I can’t help but smile at this terrible answer. “He’s figuring it out.” I finish on a note of certainty.

“Well, that’s all I can hope for.” She returns my smile.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve prayed and prayed that Hardin would find his salvation, and I think it’s finally happened.” Her smile grows, and she touches her belly again. “Everyone deserves a second chance, even the worst sinners of all, don’t you think?”

I am in awe of her. I can’t say that if Hardin had done to me what he did to her, without so much as an apology, I’d be sending positive thoughts out for him the way that she is. I’d probably be wishing for his imminent demise, yet here she is, this compassionate woman, only wanting the best for him.

“I do.” I agree with her despite my failure to understand how she could be so forgiving.

“I know you think I’m nuts”—Natalie lightly laughs—“but if it wasn’t for Hardin, I wouldn’t have met my Elijah, and I wouldn’t be only days away from giving birth to our first son.”

A shiver creeps up my spine at the thought that comes to my mind. Hardin was a stepping-stone in Natalie’s life—actually, more like a massive bump in the road on her way to the life she deserves. I don’t want Hardin to be a stepping-stone in my life, a painful memory, someone I’d be forced to forgive and come to terms with. I want Hardin to be my Elijah, my happy ending.

Sadness overtakes my fear as she brings my hand to her stomach, swollen in a way that mine most likely will never be, and I notice the gold band on her finger, something I most likely will never wear. I jump back at the movement against my hand, and Natalie laughs.

“The little guy’s busy in there. I wish he’d come out already.” She laughs again, and I can’t help but put my hand back to feel the movement again. The baby in her belly kicks at my hand once more, and I join in her happiness. I can’t help it—it’s contagious.

“When are you due?” I ask, still mesmerized by the flutter against my palm.

“Two days ago. He’s a stubborn one, this boy. I came back to work to stay on my feet in hopes that he’ll decide to join us.”

She speaks so tenderly of the unborn child. Will I ever have this? Will I have the glow in my cheeks and the tenderness in my voice? Will I ever feel the flutter of my baby kicking inside of my belly? I force myself to blink away my self-pity. Nothing is certain yet.

Nothing is certain as far as your diagnosis from Dr. West is concerned, but you can be sure that Hardin will never agree to father your children, a voice inside me mocks.

“Are you okay?” Natalie’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.

“Yes, sorry. I was just daydreaming,” I lie and pull my hand away from her belly.

“I’m really glad that I got to meet you while you’re in town,” she says just as Trish and Susan appear from the back room, a bouquet of flowers and a veil in Susan’s hands. I glance at the clock; it’s two thirty. I’ve been talking to Natalie long enough for Trish’s cheeks to become slightly flushed and her glass empty.

“Give me five and I’ll be ready; you may need to drive!” Trish laughs. I cringe at the thought, but when I consider the other option—calling Hardin—driving doesn’t seem too bad.

“Take care, and congratulations again,” I tell Natalie on my way out of the shop. Trish’s dress is in my arms, and she’s a few feet behind me.

“You, too, Tessa.” Natalie smiles as the door closes.

“I can carry it, if it’s too heavy,” Trish says once we’re on the sidewalk. “I can go get the car. I only had one glass, so I can drive just fine.”

“It’s okay, really,” I say, even though I’m terrified to drive her car.

“No, really,” she counters and takes her keys out of the front pocket of her jacket. “I can drive.”

chapter

one hundred and thirty-five

HARDIN

I’ve paced around the entire house over a hundred times, I’ve walked around this shitty neighborhood twice, I even called Landon. Now I’m stir-crazy, and Tessa isn’t answering any of my calls. Where the hell are they?

I look at my phone; it’s after three. How long could this spa shit take?

Adrenaline is coursing through me when I hear a car crunching over the gravel driveway. I go to a front window and see that it’s my mum’s. Tessa gets out first and walks to the back, pulling out a massive white bag. Something is different about her.

“I got it!” she calls to my mum as I open the screen door. I take the steps quickly and grab the stupid dress from her hands.

Her hair . . . what did she do to her hair?

“I’m going next door to get Mike!” my mum yells to us.

“What the hell did you do to your hair?” I repeat my thought out loud. Tessa frowns, and I watch the sparkle in her eyes dim drastically.

Shit.

“I’m just asking . . . it looks nice,” I tell her and take another look. It does look nice. She always looks beautiful.

“I had it dyed . . . you don’t like it?” She follows me into the house. I toss the bag onto the couch. “Be careful! That’s your mother’s wedding gown!” she shrieks, lifting the bottom of the bag from the floor. Her hair looks shinier than usual, too, and her eyebrows are different. Women do too much shit to impress men who can barely tell the difference.

“I don’t have a problem with your hair, I was just surprised by it,” I tell her, meaning it. It’s not that different from the hair she left the house with—just a little darker toward the top, but it’s basically the same.