Despite my exhaustion, I pulled Tru toward me, gripping his face in both of my palms. "I love you. But I have to go home. Now. I'll call you after my exams are done tomorrow, and we can do something to celebrate, OK?"
I reached up on my toes to kiss him, brushing my lips against his before I pulled away. Our hands were the last to touch, fingers staying entwined until the last second as I backed up. Tru's brows pinched together in a look so forlorn, you'd think I was going away for a month. I opened my mouth to reassure him that I'd see him tomorrow, when Charlie called his name.
Tru turned and, without a glance back at me, headed toward the band. I watched, the crowd swallowing me up as he laughed and joked with the guys, stepping up on stage and winking at a girl in the audience, his disappointment and me apparently forgotten.
It was what I wanted—for him to be fine with my leaving—but I couldn't shake the sensation of a widening chasm between us. I shook my head to rid myself of the thought. Tru was my love. We'd survived his father's suicide, a breakup, panic attacks, drug and alcohol abuse. We could survive anything.
***
I skipped up the steps to Tru's house, iced latte for me in one hand, a plain black coffee in the other for him. It was three in the afternoon, but after last night, I'd guessed he might need the caffeine.
I strode in the front door as usual and smiled at Grace, doing her homework at the dining room table. "Hey honey, is your brother around?"
Grace pulled off her headphones, music blaring through the round, foam-covered speakers as she pointed upstairs with the tip of her pencil. A fuchsia-colored streak in her honey blonde tresses was exposed as she tilted her head to put the headphones in place. I pointed to her hair and gave a dorky thumbs up in approval, knowing what her reaction would be at thirteen. I laughed when I got it, watching her eyes roll.
I bounced up the stairs, calling out for Tru as I went. When I threw open the door to his room, I nearly gagged at the stale smell of alcohol, sweat, and weed.
"Ugh, Truman, it reeks in here."
Tru, belly down on the bed, moaned as I opened his blinds and windows. Gulping in the breeze, I sat on the edge of the bed, my hip next to his, and caressed his shoulder. Three years together and I hadn't come close to being tired of touching him. Even hungover, I couldn't deny the tug of desire at the sight of the wide expanse of his back, ripped and tan. I ran my hand down the center of his spine to the dip right above his muscular ass. He was perfection. Sometimes I still couldn't believe that my high school crush was really mine.
"Good thing you had today off. I brought you coffee, baby." I leaned down to kiss his cheek as I set the cup on his nightstand, my body heating at the contact with his.
A low moan was his response, but he rolled over on his back at my touch, rubbing his hands over his face.
"Jessa."
I nearly laughed at the desolation in his tone, shaking my head at the return of his mood from last night. "See? Here as promised, and I didn't even wait for you to call. My exams went great today, despite you keeping me up past my bedtime." I laughed and nudged him in the ribs. "Let's go out to dinner or a movie or something fun tonight. My treat."
He sat up, took a sip of the coffee, then stood and strode into the bathroom as I rambled on about my sociology professor's attempt at trick questions on the midterm. Tru brushed his teeth, his boxers slung low on his hips as he stared in the mirror, eyes on his own face instead of mine.
I stopped talking about the test as I followed him back into his room. "You OK, honey? You didn't drink even more after I left, did you? If so, I hope Charlie drove because I've never seen you this wrecked. Drink that coffee. It's good for hangovers."
I sat next to him on the bed and started to run my hand through his hair before he grabbed it, bringing it to rest inside his large palm.
"Not hungover."
His voice took on a new tone I'd never heard before. My chuckle was high-pitched, foreign to my own ears. It was probably just from singing at the gig. "Yeah right, Tru. Drink your coffee, and we'll see how much better you feel in a few minutes."
I sucked on the straw of my cup and swallowed, the liquid bitter despite the generous helping of sugar I'd added. When I found him staring at me, the grin I'd managed moments before suddenly felt strangely tight across my lips.
"OK, so you didn't drink enough to be hung over, how much weed did you smoke? Because you're freaking me out right now."
He broke eye contact, looked at the floor, and rubbed his hands through his crew cut. When his gaze returned to mine, eyes bright with unshed tears, fear made the room suddenly too bright, too hot, too...much.
"Truman? You look like you're about to tell me you have some horrible disease."
He turned toward me, his grip on my hand firm. "I did something. Last night." He swallowed, hard. "I slept with someone." The words came out rushed, as if he'd had to expel them from his body like poison. They hit me with the same intensity. Shards of glass flying at rapid speed, cutting so quick, you see the blood before you feel the pain.
I shook my head and stood, ripping my hand from his but my legs gave out, plopping me again on the bed next to him. I floated within my own body, a sense of unreality making it all seem like a bad dream. He kept talking, each word another stab in the gut.
"Fuck, Jess, I didn't mean for it to happen. I was so fucked up...and then you left. We finished the set and she was just, there. I was too messed up to drive. She gave me a lift home."
He took my numb hands in his as he implored me with his gaze. "I swear, baby, I only wanted to get home. But we got here, and all I could think about was you, and how I wished she was you. I was pissed at you for going home. Christ, I didn't want you to leave that fucking party."
I opened my mouth to ask him how me leaving him at a gig translated into him fucking someone else, but couldn't get my voice to make a sound. I was shocked speechless, forced to endure the endless string of excuses out of the man I thought I knew until a few seconds ago.
His voice cracked as he continued. "It wasn't good. None of it felt right. She didn't taste like you, smell like you. I knew it was a mistake the moment it was over."
Tru got to his knees in front of me, his face inches from mine as tears spilled over onto his cheeks. "You have to forgive me, Jess. I don't fucking deserve it, but you have to believe me when I tell you that you are the only woman I've ever loved, ever will love. Last night was a goddamned disaster, but that wasn't me. It was the booze and drugs talking. I will quit all of it today, this second, if you'll stay with me. I'll do anything, everything. I'll spend the rest of my sorry life making this up to you. Please, baby. I promise I'll never give you a reason to doubt me again if you give me another chance."
My chin trembled at the sincerity in his expression. I'd never seen Tru cry. Not even at Pete's funeral. He'd been on the verge at times, but the Miller stoicism won out. Pete had to be rolling in his grave at the break in Tru's armor right now. I reached out and wiped the wetness from his jaw, feeling the scratchiness of the stubble there.
I tore my gaze from his to look around the space. We'd experienced everything in that bedroom. I'd fallen in love with him there. I'd comforted him, fucked him, yelled at him, kissed him, slept wrapped around him...told him I loved him.
Nothing made sense anymore. The breeze coming in through the open windows made the curtains billow, a slow-motion wave of tattered and stained white fabric. Mother Nature knew what she was doing. Carry on with the business of normal shit, no matter what disasters befall you. I watched as Truman kept talking, but I couldn't hear him. I focused instead on the features of his face. A face that had been the center of my universe for three years.
I thought I'd memorized every detail, but I found new things to note as I let my eyes wander over his skin. The way one eyebrow arched a little higher than the other. The tiny scar underneath his jaw. The stress of his life had carved deep lines across his forehead, aging him, but it hadn't detracted from his handsomeness.
"Baby, please talk to me. Tell me we can get past this."
My abdomen tightened in a painful spasm. A life without Truman was unimaginable. We had to survive this, because he couldn't live without me, and I didn't know who I was without him. To wake up tomorrow and not be the Jessa Parker who'd nabbed Truman Miller was unfathomable. But to go on as if nothing had happened was equally disturbing.
He was mid-sentence when I launched myself into his arms. It only took him a second to respond, landing on his back and holding me against him as our tongues dueled. I pulled at my clothes, yanking my shirt over my head. There was a tug, then a rip as he snapped the center of my bra apart while I toed my sneakers off my feet.
We rolled on the floor, Truman now on top, mouths fused together as he undid my pants and shoved them, along with my panties, down my legs. In less than twenty seconds, I was naked and writhing under him. The floor was hard under my shoulder blades, but there wasn't time to waste.
Pausing was derailment. Thinking about what had happened in that bed was the same, so I kept us on the floor. I closed my eyes and lived my life ten minutes earlier, when we still belonged to each other.
I licked and bit, pulled and scratched as I clung to him. When he pushed into me, I welcomed the punishing intrusion. I urged him on, pulling against his ass as he fucked me with hard thrusts. I cried out but told him not to stop as I took what he gave.
Tru grunted with each blow, ramming his cock into me as though he were trying to break it off, to leave that part of him inside, a way keep us connected forever. When he kissed me again, I bit his lip hard enough to taste the coppery flavor of blood on my tongue. He didn't yelp or stop to ask me why I'd done it. Instead, he kept his mouth over mine, fucking me across the floor, daring me to hurt him again.
I scratched my nails down his back, and he groaned. I pushed him away only to pull him back as the tension built. When it happened, I didn't warn him I was coming. I simply let the explosion flow through me, taking what I wanted. When he felt me pulse, it triggered his own orgasm. His dick swelled, then he released inside me, right before I burst into tears.
We lay side by side on the floor as I cried. Ugly, body-bending sobs had me curling away from him. He trailed soft kisses all over my back. His body curved around mine as he held me, whispering apologies in my ear as he smoothed my hair away from the dampness on my face.
I cried until I didn't think I had any more tears. Then I cried some more. Eventually my tears weren't about the mountainous anguish I felt, but my rage. I wasn't angry at Truman. His betrayal was a monstrosity so large, I could barely comprehend it at the moment.
No, as I lay on the hardwood floor of his bedroom, having let him make me come only hours after the same cock had been inside another woman, my tears and anger were directed solely at myself. I'd wanted to take from him. To have one last fuck, get off, and walk away. But being there, the bones of my shoulder digging into the cold wood, Tru's hot, naked body behind mine, the reality was I was the one who was paying the price. Again.
I sat up and began gathering my clothes.
Tru sat up, too. "Baby, I can't even begin to tell you how relieved I am that you aren't leaving my sorry ass, but as stupid as I acted last night, I'm not that dense. We still need to talk about what happened."
I yanked my panties up my legs and grabbed my t-shirt. There was no saving my bra, but I didn't care. I'd be home in less than twenty minutes, where my first order of business was to burn every stitch of clothing I was currently pulling back on my body and scrub myself clean in a long, hot shower.
I turned to Tru as I pulled my jeans over my hips. "We don't need to talk about it."
He shook his head, finding a pair of sweats and tugging them over his legs with quick movements before he stood in front of me, hands on his hips. "Jess, we can't fuck our way out of this."
He pointed to the spot where we'd been. "As hot as that was, and believe me when I tell you it was un-fucking-believable, it's not going to make what happened disappear. I want you to be OK with all of this before we move on."
I laughed. "You want me to be OK with it? That's hilarious." I stalked toward him. I could feel the scowl on my face as I spat the words at him. "I could never be OK with you fucking some slutty fan girl, or any other woman for that matter, while you're mine. And you were mine, Truman Miller. Last night, you were still mine."
He held his hands up in a defensive posture, his voice low and soft. "I'm yours now too. I'll never stop being yours."
It was stupid, maybe even masochistic to ask, but I couldn't help myself. "Who was she? Just tell me that one thing. Because I don't care that you were drunk, or stoned, or lonely. I don't care that some part of you seems to think this was all my fault for leaving in the first place. I don't care about your flimsy, selfish excuses anymore. I want to know who you fucked. Who was so good at seduction, she managed to convince the man who says I'm the love of his life to abandon something beautiful for one night of drunken, ego-soothing sex?"
Tru shook his head before dropping his chin to his chest. He walked over to the bed and sat with a thud. "Honey."
His tone gave it away. Whoever it was, I knew her. My hands clenched, my knuckles cracking under the pressure.
"If I tell you, there'll be no coming back from it." He looked up, his eyes pleading. "Please don't ask me, baby. Please."
I stood, unmoving. I wasn't leaving until he told me. I knew it would hurt, but when he finally let the words go, he managed to shock me once more.
"It was Jen." He dropped his head into waiting palms and exhaled with an anguished breath.
He'd slept with Charlie's stepsister. The one person guaranteed to hurt me the most. Big, fat tears rolled down my cheeks anew. I slipped my shoes on and slung my purse over my shoulder. "Wouldn't have changed things if you'd told me or not, but I've gotta say, you really know how to drive the knife deep. She's been after you from the start. You knew I couldn't stand her."
I grabbed a mason jar full of change off the shelf and hurled it across the room, shattering it against the wall, spraying glass and coins all over his tainted bed. "You fucking liar! You told me you'd never want Jen. You said she could be buck naked in front of you and you wouldn't even see her!"
My scream tore at my throat. I swallowed convulsively as I fought the nausea.
"If you were in the room."
My head snapped up at the sound of his voice. "What?"
"I said if she were naked I wouldn't notice her, if you were in the room. You weren't there, Jess. I needed you, and you weren't there."
I looked for another mason jar, but came up empty. Instead I bent over, sticking my face in his, as I met his rebellious eyes with my angry ones. "You do not get to blame me for your fuck up, goddammit." I jabbed him in the chest with my finger. "You slept with her to hurt me. Drunk or sober, you knew she was the one who could do it. This is on you."
Tru nodded, remorse erasing his irritation. "You're right, Jess. I'm sorry I said that. This wasn't your fault. I fucked up, and I'll own it. What you and I need is to figure out what we do now. This thing with Jen will never happen again. You have my word. Fucked up or tied up, I will never hurt you like that again. It's us, all the way. We've made it through tough times before."
He stood, framing my face with his warm, rough palms. "We can bounce back, Jess."
I backed away from his touch and wiped the fresh round of tears from my face, looking into eyes I'd assumed I'd see every day for the rest of my life. I paused, committing them to memory even as I anticipated the pain, and said words I never thought I'd say.
"There's no coming back from this. We're done."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Be happy
Present~
His house looked better, somehow. Brighter. Maybe it was the front yard. The lawn was mowed, weeds under control. Maybe it was Truman's old truck, freshly washed and parked in the now uncluttered driveway. I took a deep breath as I walked toward the front steps. I c
ould only hope the outside of the house was somehow indicative of the mood of its inhabitant.
I got my answer when the door opened and Truman's bulky body filled the space, his elbow perched on the frame, as he squinted into the sunlight. He was wearing a clean white t-shirt and faded jeans. The familiar scent of Irish Spring swirled around me, settling my nerves as I quickly calculated all the ways he looked right. His face had filled out a little, an obvious sign he'd been eating more regularly since the last time I'd seen him. His skin had gone from sallow to bronze again.
I let go the breath I'd been holding.
His voice was the same gravelly, faintly southern version of Johnny Cash that I knew and loved. "Jess. Didn't think I'd see you again. Hoped, but definitely didn't expect it."
His smile was timid, but it was the excitement in his eyes that fed the guilt in my soul.
I reached the bottom of the steps and looked up at him. "I wasn't sure I'd be back, either, but I needed to know you're OK." I kicked at a rock on the pavement. "This'll be my last visit."
He moved to the side and let out a heavy sigh, inviting me to enter with a sweep of his hand. "I guess you should come in, then."
Truman led me into the kitchen, where I sat at the table while he poured us both cups of coffee in silence. I was busy figuring out what I needed to say, how I was going to say it when he spoke first.
"I'm sorry."
I looked up from stirring sugar into my mug, startled by his apology as he took the chair across from me.
He shook his head, watching his fingers as they gripped the spoon in his hand. "I'm sorry for so many goddamned things, but most of all, I'm sorry if what we did ruined things between you and your husband. You deserve to be happy, honey." His rock-solid, steady gaze was sincere.
I'd anticipated a lot of scenarios unfolding during this conversation, but Truman being contrite wasn't one of them. The last time I'd seen him, he'd confessed he would never feel sorry about fucking me, though thankfully I'd run out on him before we'd gotten that far. Now he was telling me the opposite.
I Fell In: A mostly true story about lust, redemption, and true love. Page 23
