Before they could say anything else, Pete came out to the porch, a wide grin on his face as he greeted Doug. "Ah, there he is! How's my boy doing?"
His voice was so warm I had to look away so I could roll my eyes again, in private.
As I sat and watched Pete treat Doug like the prodigal son, I began to understand why Truman tolerated him. Doug had the secret to Pete's adoration, and Tru probably felt like being closer to Doug would raise his father's opinion of him. Or perhaps he was trying to figure out what Doug did to earn that pride.
Was I seriously the only one who saw through his fake-ass charm to the misery beneath? Pete ushered him through the door. "Let's get you a beer."
I wanted to spit fire. I looked over at Tru, ready to give him my what the fuck expression after his dad had made him pay for his drinks only a half hour earlier. But Tru was too busy watching the interaction.
"Be right back, baby." He kissed me on the cheek.
I watched through the window as Doug, Pete, and Tru walked into the dining room before Doug pulled out a baggie of weed and plopped it on the table. Well, that explains the warm welcome. I grabbed the half empty can of beer Tru had left at my feet and guzzled the rest, wincing at the burn and acidic taste. I'd begun to despise the scent of cheap beer. It wasn't just the poor quality of the stuff. It was symbolic of everything that was taken from me when Tru started to sink into that darkness.
I stayed out there long enough to doze, my head bobbing against the back of the chair. When Tru reemerged, his bloodshot eyes, lazy, disengaged smile and inability to have a normal conversation told me everything I needed to know. I wasn't shocked anymore. This was becoming a regular thing, and though it had mostly happened on the weekends, Tru had now started smoking weed during the week, as well.
"Hi, babe." He leaned over to kiss me, but I turned away, and his mouth landed awkwardly on my jaw. He had the nerve to look surprised. "What?"
I sighed, "Seriously, Tru? You reek and now you're going to be super spacey and tripped out for the rest of the night. Not the way I wanted to spend our Friday."
He sat down and pulled me toward him, his hand curled around my shoulder. I let him, hating myself a little for giving in. Eugene was a town full of hippies. It wasn't uncommon for people to openly smoke pot. I'd done it myself on several occasions.
But watching the way the Tru became a shell of himself when he was high made me want to resist it even more. If I smoked with him all the time, we'd both be lost. I instinctively went the other direction, staying away from drinking too much, or smoking, hoping to pull him with me.
"I'll make it fun for you, I promise."
I couldn't help the smile that pulled at my lips as he gave me his most seductive grin, his hand at my side tickling me in the process. That grin was always my undoing. When he was stoned he was still an excellent lover, more sensuous in so many ways. He could spend hours making out, exploring my body as though he had all the time in the world. He'd make me come two or three times with his mouth alone, and that was only the beginning. He could last forever, fucking me with his glorious cock, spending extra time thrusting and circling in the perfect way to drive me over the edge again before he'd finally let himself orgasm.
The one downside was that he'd get so lost in what we were doing, I wasn't sure he was mentally in the room anymore. The sex might've been amazing, but our connection was absent when he was high. I lost parts of him, parts of us, and what made us special.
"Will you even know it's me?"
I regretted my snide remark as I watched Tru's smile falter, his eyes leaving mine to stare at the traffic in front of the house. I leaned my head against him, burying my face in his neck and inhaling, the scent there strangely unaffected by the stench of marijuana. My voice was quiet, my words muffled into his skin.
"Tru, I feel like when you're high, you're not really you, and I miss you. Does that make sense?"
He pulled me tighter against him. "I'm me, babe. I'm just relaxing. I'm not driving drunk or snorting coke or heading to rehab. I'm drinkin' a few beers and smoking a little weed while I hang with my girl."
His tone was patient, sweet, and I knew even that was the pot talking. If he were sober, it would've turned into an argument.
"I love you, baby." I would love him out of this misery no matter how long it took.
He framed my jaw with his big, rough palm and kissed me, long and sweet. Soon, my traitorous body was writhing against him, eager for more.
A loud voice broke the spell. "Jesus, get a fucking room."
Tru and I froze. Doug stood in the doorway. I'd forgotten he was at the house. Obviously, wishful thinking on my part. I pulled away from Tru, hating the lascivious glare from Doug, hating he'd seen us in such an intimate moment.
"Douglas." I imagined Tru's smile was the equivalent of a male pissing contest, as he silently rubbed in the fact that he'd been making out with his "hot" girlfriend while Doug could only watch.
"Seriously, Truman. You need to take this girl upstairs and fuck her hard and long. I can practically smell her juices from here." He made a show of looking at my crotch, and I tensed. I wasn't violent. I'd never been in any kind of a fight—if you didn't count wrestling over the remote with my brothers—but Doug made me want to buy a pair of brass knuckles and take some classes.
Tru was lucid enough to tighten his grip on me, holding me back. "Fuck off, douche. Where's Christine tonight, anyway? She dump your ass again?"
Doug laughed, a humorless, taunting sound. "Who gives a shit what that fucking cunt is doing? I'm right where I want to be."
His elevator eyes looked me up and down. I shifted a little. Tru was too stoned to be able to do much about it. Luckily, Doug was, too, only he handled himself with more control than the average person when he was high, probably because he was high a lot.
"We're not here to give you a free floor show, jackass. Take a hike." I wished Tru would put a little more threat into his tone. I curled toward him, hoping his proximity would make me feel safe.
Doug yawned, bored with the conversation now that Tru and I weren't dry humping each other for his viewing pleasure. "Whatever. Christine's due at my place in a half hour anyway. I'll be fucked and feeling fine soon enough."
My jaw dropped. "You just called her a 'fucking cunt.' If that's what you call her when you're together, what the hell do you call her when you're broken up?"
Doug leaned toward me, his pretty-boy smile menacing. "I don't call her at all when we're broken up. But if I did, I guess I'd probably say she's a useless fucking cunt."
He laughed as he turned to leave. I knew I shouldn't have said anything in the first place. He wasn't worth my energy. He strolled to his piece-of-shit car and drove away, revving the engine like the asshole he was, probably waking up half the neighborhood before spinning out.
"God, he's such an asshole."
Tru chuckled. "Yeah, honey, he is. But under all of that macho bullshit, he's got a good heart."
I turned to Tru, my eyes wide in disbelief, but stayed silent. What the hell was in that pot he brought over? Whatever it was, it was genius if it made people believe Doug was anything other than a world-class douche.
Tru held me tight for a long time after that. Right as I'd started to doze off again, my head falling toward his shoulder, he spoke. His voice pitched low as he squeezed my shoulder.
"I love you more than my own life, Jess. I can't imagine what I'd do without you." He turned his face to mine, his breath brushing over my cheeks, "Tell me you're with me, baby. I need to hear it."
I cupped his jaw with my hand, my voice raspy with sleep, though I was wide awake now. The vulnerability in his eyes took my breath away. Things weren't perfect, but when he looked at me like his next breath depended on my answer, there was only one thing I could say. "I'm with you, Truman Miller. Forever."
CHAPTER SEVEN
I didn't pick you
Present~
Tru slowly peeled apart his empty paper coffee
cup in a spiral, all the way down to the bottom. His hands were thicker now that he was nearing forty, battered and scarred from years of manual labor. They were the hands of one who'd worked hard for his paychecks. A smile tugged at my lips when I noticed his neatly trimmed nails. It was hard to imagine him doing something as "un-manly" as clipping them.
I pressed my palms around my own cup in an effort to warm them when the wind picked up. The outdoor seating area was nestled in the center of the market, a little oasis with several tables for tired shoppers needing a break. Tru and I had selected on tucked into a corner, but it was no protection from the frequent breeze. My hair tickled my cheeks as I shivered. It was now late October and, although it was sunny, the air was moving from crisp and refreshing toward nippy.
He'd first suggested the place because they had "foo-foo drinks." I'd laughed when he'd muttered the ridiculous phrase. I hadn't realized the perfect mixture of coffee, chocolate, and orange would await me in a little piece of heaven called a Borgia. It was our thing now whenever I was in town to visit my mom. Being with Truman, sleeping in my old house, waiting for him to pick me up...it felt like one long flashback to our teenage years.
"Yeah honey, we could do that. Or we could go to my place and have some sex."
The memory of Truman's not-very-joke-like proposition a month ago echoed in my head as I watched him focus on shredding the paper cup. I'd mainlined denial like a drug in that moment, letting it wash over me with lightening speed before my brain could catch up, and I'd turned him down.
Obviously.
Because I wasn't attracted to Truman Miller anymore. We were over and had been for a long time. The heat I felt between my legs at the thought of fucking him again was a simple Pavlovian response. He'd been responsible for my first million orgasms. What did I expect would happen when he asked me to hook up? My body had responded to the memories and nothing more. Nick and I weren't in the best place, but my husband was my everything, and there wasn't room for anyone else when you had someone who was an everything.
I was jolted from my thoughts when I realized I was staring at Truman, and he was doing the same to me. Sadness pulled at his features like an extra kick of gravity had surrounded him, making his mouth and cheeks sag. The lines around his eyes deepened. He let me see it for only a moment before he caught himself and looked away.
“You want to talk about it? I've spent a lot of money in therapy over the years. You can trust me when I tell you, talking helps." I wanted to laugh when he eyed me with suspicion.
He tossed his peeled coffee cup on the table and sighed heavily. "What is it with girls and weddings? Looking for, like, twenty-five to life."
I slid my hand across the table and enfolded his in mine. Misery etched deep creases in his forehead as he focused his gaze on his destroyed coffee cup.
"I'm sorry, honey. But, do you really think it's so unreasonable for Ivy to want to marry you? You've been together five years."
He looked down at our joined hands, his thumb stroking a steady rhythm over my knuckles. "It's not my thing. I never told her I wanted it. Everyone I know who's married is miserable, bored, or separated." He peeked up at me, and his mouth curved up into a half smile. "Present company excepted."
My hand spasmed in his. I could tell him my marriage wasn't perfect, but not without feeling like I was somehow betraying Nick's right to privacy. Not that Nick would ever know, but I would, and the last thing he'd want was some random stranger knowing his business.
Truman didn't seem to notice. He leaned back, removing his hand from mine as he ran it over his shaved head. "I was happy doing my thing during the day, having my own place where I can store all my shit, and meeting her at hers after work. We'd eat dinner together, watch some TV, have sex, and I'd go to sleep with a smile on my face. It was perfect."
If he hadn't looked so upset, I would've punched him. Or laughed at his obtuseness. I was in the process of trying to label my myriad reactions to his selfish, simplified, clueless statement when he continued.
"For me, it all comes down to fear of missing out on something. If I hadn't broke up with my last girlfriend, I wouldn't have met Ivy. Same with the one before that. On and on. It's pretty shallow, I know. I'm goddamned Peter Pan, with one foot out the door."
I shook my head. "The 'better than' game does nothing for people except keep them stuck where they are. Better than what? There will never be a perfect person. Nobody's perfect."
The conversation was ironic, when I'd done everything possible to be nothing less than perfect when I had been with Tru. The further he'd slid away from me, the harder I'd tried to be someone who could pull him back. It was a destructive game of emotional tug-o-war, and we'd both lost.
I sipped my coffee, now cold and bitter, as though it had absorbed the emotion floating around us. I couldn't give him relationship advice. What the hell did I know about the subject right now? Nick and I were struggling to get pregnant and finding that trying to make a product of our immense love for each other was actually driving us apart. Clearly, I did not have access to the right playbook.
Truman's eyes searched mine, and I could see hope battling cynicism. He really didn't get it, but apparently having a vagina was supposed to make me an expert in these things. I needed to throw him a bone.
I looked up at the clouds and tried to channel my mother. She was self-absorbed, but she could pump out sane advice on the regular. "You're right. There are other women out there who are different from Ivy, maybe even better for you in different ways. It will always be like that, no matter who you're with. But the person who is better than Ivy in those ways will drive you nuts about something else. And it goes on and on with each person you meet. You just need to find someone whose differences are a perfect fit for you."
He looked at me like I was a lunatic. I grinned. His mouth formed an identical expression, white teeth against his year-round bronzed skin. Then, it faded. He shook his head, eyes focused on the wall behind me.
"I've never been alone. Not since you."
His words made my breath catch. I'd left him, but we both knew why, and at the time it had to happen. But he'd always been charismatic and beautiful, sexual and social. I'd known he wouldn't be single forever. I'd heard through the grapevine he hadn't wasted time before hooking up with a new girlfriend only a few weeks after we'd ended. I rubbed absentmindedly at a spot on my chest. It still stung that I'd been so easy to replace.
His eyes softened. "I'm sorry, darlin'. I can see that strikes a chord with you, but I gotta be honest. It's been one long-term relationship after another. Four years with one, five years with another, and on, until now. And the weird thing is, I've always been crazy-lonely, and depressed after a breakup. But this time I feel numb. At least I don't have the urgency to hook up with the first girl that bats her eyes at me. Unless that girl is you, of course." He winked, but it was stiff and disingenuous.
I didn't believe for a second this break-up was for the best. I'd heard too many great things about Ivy. In fact, she sounded like she was exactly what he needed. But for some reason he was willing to let her slip away without a fight.
"What about Rose?"
He winced, regret a visible shadow in his eyes. "I'll still see her. I told her it wasn't going to work with her mom, but that I wanted to take her to school in the mornings and keep that stuff the same. She's pretty attached."
"We didn't talk about it much when we were together, but you never thought about having kids of your own?"
He'd spoken of growing old together, sitting on our porch as our grandkids came to visit us, but the concept had always been abstract. At the time, we were so young I'd assumed we'd get around to that topic later, only later never happened.
His scowl was startling in its intensity. "Fuck, no. I had a vasectomy in my early twenties, as soon as I got the courage to have someone that close to my balls with a knife. With my fucked up family, the last thing I want is to bring a kid into that. There's no way he or she wouldn't be to
tally screwed." He shook his head, as though he were making the decision all over again. "No way. I feel like I did the world a favor, not bringing one of mine into it."
I bit my cheek and tried to stifle the urge to bawl my eyes out. I could understand why he didn't want kids, but the thought of there never being a little carbon copy of Tru running around anywhere, ever, made my heart ache. I swallowed and blinked several times to clear my eyes.
An alternate version of Tru and I, one in which we'd stayed together, popped into my mind. I could picture that moment in our relationship when I would've had to make a choice—stay with him, or find someone else to have children with. The black comedy in which I would've found out I was infertile after leaving the love of my life...Suddenly, it seemed like we had been doomed from the beginning, no matter what we did.
His deep voice penetrated the fog. "You want to get out of here? I'm freezing and there's something I want to show you back at my place."
I narrowed my eyes at him and he chuckled before grabbing my hand to help me up from my chair. He pulled us close, so close I could feel his warm breath across my cheeks as he looked down at me. His face was ruggedly handsome now, the lines signifying his age somehow enhancing his good looks, rather than detracting from them. Nearly twenty years later, and he still stole my breath. Why couldn't we just go back in time, when everything wasn't so complicated, when we weren't dragging around so much baggage?
A vivid memory filled my mouth with the taste of salty sweat on my tongue. My fingers twitched at the feel of a deep valley of firm abs above tattered jeans, of tickling chest hairs against my breasts. Truman was there, moving over me. I watched his face come into view and then his neck as he pushed deep inside, his dick hitting a nerve that nearly drove me over the edge. My hands drifted over his shoulders, eyes focused on his Adam's apple while he swallowed hard with the effort of holding back his orgasm as he waited for me to reach my peak.
It was all-consuming, raw sex, and I was shocked to realize I missed it. In fact, I was at that moment having an honest-to-God craving for Truman Miller, as though no time had passed. As though I weren't happily married. My body acted before my mind caught up, and soon I was leaning toward him.
I Fell In: A mostly true story about lust, redemption, and true love. Page 10
