I Fell In: A mostly true story about lust, redemption, and true love.

by Tiffany Winters

  "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry." Was I sorry for freaking out or failing? Maybe both. I heard my voice crack, the tears came, and so did Nick. He scooped me up and sat on the bed, me in his lap, and took everything I gave him as I tucked into his neck and soaked the collar of his shirt with tears. He held me for a long time, until my body felt weighted, as though gravity had intensified in a circle around us. It took effort to breathe.

  Eventually he reclined, taking me with him and folding me into his side as he lay on his back in bed. I stared at his profile, his strong jaw, full lips, and green eyes, as he gazed up at the ceiling.

  His voice was husky when he spoke. "Do you remember our third date?"

  My eyes were puffy, my cheeks itchy from tears; still I couldn't help the smile that formed across my lips at the reminder. "Yeah. I made that stupid rule about no kissing until the third date."

  Nick's chest shook with restrained amusement.

  My voice quivered as I tried to suppress my own giggle. "So, we had a nice dinner, took a stroll along the waterfront, then you walked me to my door. When you finally kissed me, I ended up dragging you inside and letting you fuck my brains out against the wall. Then the couch...and the table..."

  Nick's laughter erupted right before I joined him. I'd known I liked him back then. What I hadn't known was how well he could use his mouth. I'd dated guys who were good kissers with shitty personalities. I'd also dated the opposite. What I hadn't experienced was Nick, who had everything I'd ever dreamed, in every category.

  I chuckled. "I really didn't stand a chance. I think I was in love with you the moment we met."

  His laughter died as his arms tightened around me. "You never told me that."

  I lifted my head and propped it on his pectoral muscle. "I guess I was scared. You were perfect. I didn't want to go too fast and ruin it. I was also secretly petrified that you could be all that you are, yet a lousy kisser, which everyone knows spells doom for your skills in bed. You definitely did not let me down in that area."

  Nick's chest vibrated again and I watched, soaking in the warmth in his eyes as he looked back at me. We'd always been able to laugh so easily. There were times, like now, when he'd pause and look at me, shaking his head at whatever I'd done or said. I loved those moments. There was no one else in the world that got me the way Nick did. How had I forgotten that?

  He tilted his head and pressed his lips against mine, soft and sweet, then propped himself up, making us face to face. "Love you for remembering what a god I am in the sack, babe, but I was thinking of something else that happened that night."

  I tilted my head in confusion. I remembered losing count of how many orgasms he gave me. Everything after that was a blur. Nick's fingers traced a line down my arm and back up again, raising goose bumps on my skin. I shivered.

  His eyes returned to mine, from where they'd been following his fingers. The light from the small lamp on the bedside table was faint. I couldn't see how green his eyes were, but I could see how intense his stare became. "After we had sex, when we were lying in bed?"

  He waited for me to remember, whispering, "You told me your secrets."

  His smile was mischievous, tender, while the memories returned. When my eyes lit up, he nodded. "You gave me you. After that first time, I had no doubts. I knew you were it. You told me, straight up, you wanted a man. A husband. You had goals for your career, said you wanted to get your masters in social work, helping kids and their families during the day, coming home to your own at night. I think you were testing me a little, wanting to see if any of that made me run."

  My eyes welled up with tears; this time they were happy ones.

  Nick reached out, swiping at my cheek with his thumb. "I'd never thought much about any of that shit before you. You started talking, painting that picture, making it so I could see you and me raising a family, doing honest work, and I wanted it, too. You made me want it, as long as it was with you."

  I halfway swallowed a sob, causing my breath to hitch loudly. Nick curled a lock of hair behind my ear. I grabbed his wrist when he was done, hating to admit the truth. "I don't know if I can give that to you. To us."

  He pulled me close, pressing my cheek against his chest as more tears threatened. He inhaled. "Baby, my point is, we got a lot of what we wanted. We have good work, a nice house. We're happy with each other. If we find our family in a way that means your body doesn't make our baby, I'm OK with that. What I'm not OK with is losing what we've built. Do you get what I'm saying?"

  God, I loved him, for so many reasons. He accepted me, even the ugly, hard stuff. He'd seen an ugly side of me he probably never thought I was capable of, yet his loyalty was unconditional.

  I nodded.

  He shook his head. "Sweetness, we can't let what's happening change what we have, and that's exactly where we're headed." The vibration of his gravelly voice moved through my jaw as he spoke. "We need a break from the fertility stuff."

  He was right. I didn't want getting pregnant—an act that was supposed to signify our love for each other—to be the very thing that ruined what we had. But the words of the doctors echoed in my head. The articles I'd read on aging and eggs and limited time haunted me. The image of my married friends, most of whom had either had children or were currently pregnant with them, stuck in my mind and I froze.

  Nick's grip on me tightened. "Just a few months, Jess. We can regroup, make a plan, maybe talk about adoption again. I'm not giving up, but we need some time, baby."

  If I pushed him to keep trying, he would—even if it cost us everything. He'd do anything for me. A few months might as well have been a few years in the fertility world. But I needed to be willing to put us first. "OK."

  My confidence had eroded on schedule, every month, for two years. I'd always believed that if you worked hard you either achieved your goal or you got something even better. I didn't know how to process this kind of failure. The world was filled with hidden landmines I'd previously known about but had never experienced. "Bad things" happening to "good people" was an abstract concept that was now painfully concrete.

  Nick kept holding me tight as my mind worked through my new reality. We weren't trying to get pregnant anymore. For a while. Maybe ever. It took me a long time to contain myself, to lock that iron grip of self-control around my emotions. Now, instead of feeling a sense of relief, I only felt suffocated by the weight of those chains.

  I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, willing myself to relax. As I drifted off to sleep, instead of pushing him away, I clutched at the fabric of his shirt, as though he might float away if I weren't holding on.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I remember everything

  Present~

  Hey again. Leo says the 19th Street Café for lunch. He told me Amy's not gonna make it. Some reunion crisis. Probably ran out of balloons, right? I'll be in your area that morning, so I'll swing by your mom's and pick you up and we can hang out before lunch. What time do you get up? ~Tru.

  My body jerked, and I angled the screen away reflexively before looking over at Nick. He was on his stomach, his face buried in the pillow, breaths deep and even. Our argument had drained both of us, but we had different ways of coping. He slept, while I sought the blissful obliteration of all thought by surfing the net. My face grew hot with embarrassment when I turned my puffy eyes to the screen. There was nothing inappropriate about Tru's message, so why had I felt the need to hide it from Nick?

  I took a deep breath and thought about it. Our bedroom was dark, save for the illumination of my screen. There wasn't much noise from cars, but a few houses down our neighbor's dog barked several times. At least someone was awake. I found comfort in the sound, even if it was only a dog.

  I imagined those neighbors; a young, happy couple with a sweet, enthusiastic sheltie named Cooper who chose that moment to half bark, half howl in a pitiful plea for someone to let him in. I peered at the clock; one a.m.

  Damn. I was terrified to see Truman. Not because of how we
'd ended. It was the intensity and enthusiasm I felt at the thought of seeing him again that really scared me. What did he look like? What was he doing with his life? Was he in a relationship? My thirst for knowledge was a slippery slope. I could've handled it, with Leo or Amy as buffers keeping the conversation in the safe zone.

  The Truman I'd known was charming, but unpredictable. If it was on his mind, he'd find a way to say it, even if it made a person uncomfortable or skirted the lines of politeness. His blunt honesty was one of the things everyone loved about him. Hell, I'd loved it about him, except that now I couldn't imagine anything more uncomfortable than rehashing our past.

  I read his previous message again. No hint of trouble in anything said so far. He'd been a perfect gentleman, and we weren't teenagers anymore. In fact, I was living through a nightmare and still functioning. My beautiful husband loved me through all of my ugliness. My life was stable. More or less. Truman didn't have power over me anymore.

  I looked at Nick. His long eyelashes feathered over his cheeks as little snores escaped his throat in his sleep. I put my hand on his bicep, enjoying the slender line of his arm, and let my gaze wander down. He had a swimmer's body, all ridges and valleys of soft olive skin—thanks to his Italian parents—and a smooth back, tapering down to his slim waist, thanks to the actual swimming he did three times a week.

  I trailed my fingers along his spine, moving the sheet away before I found and traced the dimples at the top of his ass. He was fit without the bulk, but he had broad, muscular shoulders. I'd always loved them, the way they curved out to the sides before cutting in sharply to define his biceps. It was one of my favorite pastimes, to run my hands up his arms before lacing them behind his neck. I relished the way he'd guide me closer, his hands on my hips, arms threading around to grip my ass. His strength made me feel safe.

  When he stirred, I felt a little guilty. After having talked, we'd both fallen asleep, getting up later only to shovel bowls of cereal in our mouths before heading straight back to bed. I knew he needed the rest as much as I did, but I couldn't leave in the morning without talking first.

  "Nick? Babe, wake up."

  He mumbled something, turning toward me and squinting into the light of my laptop before I snapped it shut. Maybe it was better to have this conversation in the dark.

  "I'm meeting my ex-boyfriend in Eugene for lunch." I held my breath until my lungs started to burn, until I thought maybe he'd fallen back asleep.

  "OK." His voice was groggy.

  "It's Truman, my first love. He lives there now. I don't even know if he's married or anything. I haven't talked to him in seventeen years."

  "Should be interesting." He closed his eyes and turned back around.

  I shook his shoulder gently. "So, you're OK with this? Me being alone with my ex, who I loved like crazy?" A part of me wished he'd forbid me to do it. I'd have an excuse not to see Tru, and it wouldn't be my fault.

  Nick turned toward me, more awake now. "Is this something I need to be worried about?"

  I only had to think about it for a moment. I was being stupid. "Absolutely not. It was a train wreck, and it was a long time ago. I have no interest in being dragged back into that again."

  "All right, then. Have at it, sweetness. It's a reunion, after all." He yawned as he ran a thumb down my cheek and across my bottom lip, his eyes warm and sleepy, before he turned over and went back to sleep.

  ***

  I arrived at my mom's house midday and piddled around, trying to figure out how I could get out of being alone with Truman tomorrow. After cleaning the kitchen and bathrooms, I was no closer to solving the puzzle. Why get so worked up over a simple lunch?

  Maybe being back home—in the same place where I'd lived when it had all started, cleaning the house like I used to—was stirring up some unwelcome feelings. I pondered this possibility while pulling weeds in the yard for over an hour before Mom yelled at me to chill out. I stood, stretching the kinks out of my back, my body reminding me that I was definitely not eighteen anymore. Suddenly exhausted, I sat my ass in a lawn chair and thumbed through a magazine as I listened to her give me the rundown on family activities.

  Mom loved to go through the list of my siblings and catch me up on what they were doing, even though we were all on Facebook and I'd texted with each of them enough to know most of it already. I nodded and used the time with her as an excuse to avoid calling Tru. When waiting began to feel like an act of cowardice, I wrote him a quick message on Facebook.

  Hey, sorry I'm late messaging you. I've been busy helping Mom out with some stuff around the house. About tomorrow, I usually get up around 10, if I have a choice. I don't want you to go out of your way to pick me up, how about we just meet at the restaurant at noon? ~Jess

  Mom went inside to start dinner while I sat back and hit enter. Somewhere during hour number three of unnecessary housework, I'd figured out that driving my own car was best. That way, I was free to leave if things got too intense. Of course! This was the way I'd learned to manage my anxiety, years ago. I'd nearly forgotten the old mental tools I'd acquired in college. Always have a plan of escape. A deep breath returned me to ground zero, and a mental slap in the head about how ridiculous I was acting made me want to laugh. No drama needed. Truman wanted to see me and, the truth was, I wanted to see him, too. It'd been almost two decades, and it was natural to be curious. Nick had given me the go-ahead. Stop freaking out.

  His response pinged on my laptop.

  Honey, I have a meeting at 7:30am. I'll be right around the corner. It's stupid for both of us to drive. Would you call me? Five days on Facebook and I fucking hate this thing. ~Tru

  I couldn't help but snort. He'd always been old school, an old soul. I imagined he'd hung on to his old record player and the LP's he used to love so much. Hell, he probably still had a VCR and the tapes to go with hit. Laughing at him eased my nerves. I'd overreacted. I swiped my phone and hit his number.

  "Yeah."

  That was how he answered. No hello, just an answer to a question that hadn't been asked. His voice was scratchier than I remembered, deeper and thicker. Still it wound its way through me, threading out to my limbs with a tingle. It was unreal. I was sitting in my parents' house and talking to Truman Miller as if we weren't both pushing forty.

  "Am I speaking to you on a rotary phone, or do you at least have a cell?"

  His easygoing chuckle was a balm to my nerves. "Darlin', it's damn good to hear your voice, even if you're still a smartass. I'm glad you called."

  There it was. The rush was back. I took a fortifying breath.

  "Nice to hear you, too, Truman." We made small talk for a few minutes. I learned that he worked when he wanted to, still doing construction. He was living in a house not far from his old neighborhood (his mom had sold the house on Monroe Street years ago, after she'd remarried). He was still in a band, though now he played guitar while his sister Grace was the lead singer. It was pleasant and friendly, almost as if we didn't have a dump truck full of baggage between us.

  I wanted to end the conversation before he had a chance to get into anything heavy. At least, that's what I told myself. I'd enjoyed talking to him more than I felt comfortable admitting to myself, and wasn't sure what it meant, if anything. "OK, so tomorrow, I was think—"

  "I'll be there at ten. That work for you, sleepyhead?"

  His voice was warm with affection. I could picture his smile so easily, his bronzed skin, perfect white teeth, spiked hair. A couple of hours alone with him wasn't going to kill me. I was too curious about him, about why he'd acted like we were two old friends getting together, and hoping it was because that's exactly how he felt about seeing me.

  "All right, sounds good. You remember where I am?"

  I heard him inhale, then exhale, and pictured the cigarette dangling between his lips, eyes squinting in all his bad boy glory. I could almost taste the faintest hint of smoke on my tongue.

  His voice was quiet, almost sultry, except for the hint of
regret. "Sweetheart, I remember everything. See you soon."

  The silence on the line after he hung up was just as well. He'd left me speechless.

  ***

  Our obnoxious doorbell woke me the next morning, reminding me how much I hated that thing. A giant group of different lengths of brass tubes plastered to the wall at the bottom of our spiral staircase clanged through a long, formal tone, as if announcing the Queen of England herself had arrived. I climbed up from a deep sleep as the familiar ding-dong went on and on until the tune was complete.

  I rolled over and squinted at the clock, rubbing my eyes as I stared at the numbers on screen: 8:45 a.m. Seeing the time, I shot out of bed and peered out my window, which was situated over the front porch. Below me I saw the top of someone's head and gasped at the sight, scrambling to pull on a pair of shorts and a tee. Adrenaline sped through my system while I made my way down the stairs, grabbing the banister as I stumbled down the last step, bare feet hitting the floor with a thud.

  When I opened the door, I saw only our expansive (newly weeded) front lawn. The air was dewy and warm, the smell of fresh grass a sweet accompaniment to the birds tweeting their morning greetings. The shuffling of shoes made me peek around the frame. There he was, my first crush, boyfriend, love...walking away. His broad, beefy shoulders covered in a tan canvas jacket. Faded and torn jeans did nothing to hide his still-perfect ass, and shit kicker work boots covered feet that walked with the swagger of a rock star.

  "Tru?" I cleared my throat, trying to rid it of the rasp of sleep as I stepped onto the porch.

  He turned, his confused expression fading when his eyes found mine. Then his wide smile rocked me back on my feet, and my world shifted on its axis. We stood like that, staring at each other for what felt like an eternity. I probably had horrible bed head and looked like a disaster in my wrinkled clothes, but his eyes never left mine.

  Something huge transpired in that moment. Whether it was forgiveness or the realization that what happened to end us wasn't as important as what was happening now, I didn't know, but none of it mattered anymore. The tension drained from my body. The relief was so visceral, I bit my lip, trying to stem tears I hadn't realized were gathering.