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

by Tiffany Winters

  I stepped toward him, once, twice, and then flew into his arms, wrapping myself around him in a full body hug. He hugged me back, holding on tight. I raised up on tiptoes, pressing further into him. He smelled exactly the same, cheap soap and the faintest hint of cigarettes. I'd never understood it, how he could smoke and not reek. I inhaled, filling my lungs with him as he let out the breath he'd been holding.

  "Jesus, it's good to see you." He said it into my neck, the position of his head too intimate for what we were to each other now, with our separate lives, yet somehow it felt natural.

  I held on, mumbling my reply into his jacket. "It's good to see you, too."

  I meant it. The time apart, the healing I'd worked hard to accomplish, had erased the need for the old walls I'd erected years ago. Propriety got the best of me, and I finally pulled back to look at him. His hands slid down my arms and gripped mine. They were strong and warm, still calloused the way I remembered, his fingers thick but gentle as he kept hold.

  He'd always been solid, stocky, standing only a few inches above me. I was taller than average at five foot eight, but I'd found the marginal difference in our heights a bonus. Back when that kind of trivial stuff mattered to me, I didn't like craning my neck to kiss someone or to have to pull them down to me for a hug. With Tru all I had to do was walk straight into him if I wanted to snuggle, or tilt my face up when we were pressed close. He had only to look down, and our lips would meet. We'd fit together physically, in every way, and I'd convinced myself that meant we should be together forever.

  Looking at him now I was amazed to see he'd maintained his shape over the years, with the exception of a slightly rounded, but still firm, belly. His face was the same ruggedly handsome one I'd loved, with the addition of deep lines around his eyes that were eerily reminiscent of his dad's.

  The biggest change was his hair. Gone was the thick head of spikiness I'd adored, replaced with a shaved head that seemed to be an attempt to mask the fact that his hair was thinning. I couldn't get over how different it made him look, though the difference didn't mean he wasn't still eye-wateringly sexy. He looked like an even badder bad boy than he'd been at twenty. I marveled at how he pulled it off after all this time.

  I released his hands and tugged at my shirt, suddenly self-conscious. He had aged so well, while the body he'd last seen—one I'd never appreciated as a teenager—was long gone, replaced with a slightly heavier, puffier (thanks to fertility drugs) version of me. I dragged a hand through my hair before I realized I'd not only just woken up, but didn't have a speck of makeup on. I covered a cheek with my palm as an unflattering mental image of myself popped into my head.

  Tru saw it all. I was still a shitty poker player, with no game and not a lot of skill at hiding my thoughts. He cupped the cheek that wasn't covered with my palm and ran his calloused thumb over my skin as he looked at me and smiled.

  "Still the prettiest girl I've ever seen."

  God, I didn't want his compliment to mean so much to me, but I found myself leaning into his touch and smiling, as though he hung the moon. I cleared my throat, self-conscious again as I realized how easily this man could put me under his spell. I ran a finger over my wedding band as a silent reminder that I was not a teenager anymore. I had someone else to think about, a person who might not appreciate the interaction happening here.

  "What are you doing here so early?" I needed some distance and I remembered we hadn't agreed to meet until ten.

  He winced. "I need to borrow your car. I'm almost out of gas. I'm pretty sure I coasted over here on fumes. I've got a gas can in the back of my truck but I gotta go and get a gallon real quick. Gimme your keys, will you?"

  "Oh, uh, sure." I could feel his eyes on me as I turned around, heating my back, my ass, and I knew without looking he was checking me out.

  I grabbed them from my purse. "I need to hop in the shower and get dressed, so take your time."

  His mischievous grin made me blush. "I'll be out here waiting whenever you're ready." He caught the keys with one hand before sauntering away as I took my turn to admire his backside. Again. A pang of guilt brought me back to the present. Truman effing Miller had been back in my life for approximately four minutes, and he was already under my skin. Damn.

  ***

  Forty-five minutes later, freshly showered and dressed, I'd purposely avoided spending extra time preening in front of the mirror. It was bad enough that I'd flown into his arms like we were in a sappy movie. Though my actions had been understandable, I couldn't make sense of the rioting feelings inside of me when it came to Tru. Maybe hanging out with him today would be good. Maybe I needed it for closure.

  Staying in my old house, having to tell my mom where I was going...if I hadn't felt like a teenager before then, the way she stared at me over the top of her reading glasses brought me right back to that place.

  I waved a dismissive hand in front of my face. "I'm here for my high school reunion, after all. Isn't it the whole point of this weekend to get out and see classmates?"

  She set the paper down on the table. It'd been so long since I'd had her undivided attention, the pressure made me shift uncomfortably on my feet. "Truman graduated a year before you did. His reunion was last summer."

  "Damn, Mom. Now you decide to pay attention to the details?" The snark in my tone was as obvious as the sudden stiffness in my joints. I was nearly forty fucking years old. I didn't need permission from my mother to see my ex-boyfriend.

  "I started paying attention to the details when the girl I raised turned into someone else while she was dating a certain young man." Her voice held a hint of fear. "That relationship was not good for you, baby girl." She looked down at her hands, aged, veiny and currently wrapped tightly around each other in her lap. "I should've known...I should've been a better parent. I didn't even realize how deeply you were hurting until it was too late."

  Sighing, I grabbed my purse. The familiar frustration bubbled up, but I quickly squashed it right back down. I couldn't handle a trip down memory lane with both Truman and my mother. "It was a long time ago. What's done is done. Tru and I are all grown up now and perfectly capable of having a civil conversation without losing our shit."

  Her lack of response filled the room, disappointment making the air heavy. She'd been pushing to have this conversation for years, but it was only to assuage her own guilt, and I wasn't willing to open up old wounds just to make her happy. I'd already done enough compromising when it came to my mother. I loved her, but I'd gone through therapy to heal myself, and she needed to do the same. I wasn't anyone's savior. Not anymore. I kissed her on the cheek and faked a smile. "I'm fine, I promise."

  She nodded, taking the time to stare just a moment longer before she returned her attention to the newspaper. Grateful for the reprieve, I left.

  This time when I walked toward the driveway, I was prepared for what I'd see. Didn't matter. Truman leaned against his truck, smoking a cigarette, ankles crossed. The truck was old and beat up and so him. I grinned. This time he looked at me from head to toe, and I felt every inch of his gaze on my skin.

  "Damn, honey. You are still a sight for sore eyes." His tone was appreciative without seeming like a come-on. It was one of his many charming idiosyncrasies; he could use the power of his gaze as a smoldering weapon of seduction or an avenue of boyish sincerity.

  Once I got closer, he stubbed out his cigarette and tucked the butt into his back pocket. I looked at him quizzically. "What's up with the cig?"

  He shrugged. "Why should the rest of the world have to see my nasty cigarette butts when they're out walking around? Do you know those things take, like, ten years to disintegrate? I don't need that on my conscience."

  My head fell back as I laughed. It was a Tru-ism. I'd almost forgotten about his admirable quirk. When he'd formed an opinion about something, he demonstrated his commitment to that opinion with action. Once he made up his mind, he was all in. I'd been the subject of that devotion. Once.

  "Hey,
why don't I drive? You're low on gas, anyway."

  He took my hand and led me to the passenger side of his truck as he spoke. "That's why I need to drive, honey, so I can fill the tank the rest of the way up. Hop in."

  He helped me up to the seat, his beefy hand leaving an imprint on my hip before he slammed the door. The interior was a mess. Stray scraps of paper littered the dash, an old to-go coffee cup in the cup holder, tools at my feet. I rolled down the window, fighting for fresh air. Was it the clutter or my spiraling lack of control over the situation that bothered me?

  Swinging in on his side, he reached between my legs and grabbed the tool belt, his fingers grazing the skin of my inner thigh as he did it, and all thought left my mind for that one split second. I waited for the wink and grin from Tru. Maybe a funny double entendre to display his cheekiness. But his expression remained passive, as though it were an every day thing for us to get in his truck, for him to move his tools for me.

  As he started up the engine, I imagined an alternate reality. One in which Tru and I began every day this way. The goose bumps erupting over my skin at the thought spoke of the part of me that wished we'd ended differently, so that this present could've been possible. I shifted uncomfortably at the growing number of traitorous thoughts I could already catalogue, and the weekend had barely started.

  Tru drove me to an old hole-in-the-wall café. It didn't surprise me a bit when he walked in like he owned the place. The café owner called him by name, the waitress winked at him after bringing us coffee. I couldn't hide my smile at the way he joked around with everyone there.

  "Still making friends wherever you go, I see."

  He turned his chocolate brown eyes to me and nodded. "Better friends than enemies, right?"

  I sat back, adding cream to my mug. "You've never had an enemy in your life, and you know it."

  His smile faded and he looked out the window, the lines in his face growing deeper under the weight of regret. His gaze met mine, and all humor evaporated as he slid his hand across the table to cover my palm. "Seems to me I made one, a long time ago."

  I used a packet of sugar as an excuse to pull my hand away, holding onto the edge as I swung it back and forth before tearing it open. The overhead speakers played Careless Whisper, and I suppressed a cynical laugh at the lyrics. My voice was quiet when I finally found the right words. "I never thought of you as my enemy, Truman. We hurt each other."

  He shook his head. "Hell, Jess. Losing you wasn't my only mistake. A lot has happened since you left. I've burned a lot of bridges, doing stupid shit."

  I'd been so focused on our relationship—how I felt about him, how it had ended—it hadn't occurred to me to ask him about what happened after me. I looked at him with fresh eyes. I could see the signs of stress on his body now; the receding hairline that necessitated the shaved head, the lines scored deep around his eyes, the scars on his hands from years of working as a laborer.

  I saw him in the morning light, not as my ex-love, but as a person who'd suffered, too. I didn't really know him anymore, at least not the man he was today. Maybe it was OK to get reacquainted. Maybe we could put the old stuff to rest and start over, as friends.

  He changed the subject, asking about Nick first. I told him about how we'd met, how long we'd been together. I left out the part about trying to get pregnant. I was still too raw, and sharing something so intimate with Tru, when I hadn't even told my best friend, seemed wrong.

  "What about you? You with anyone?" I was relaxed for the first time in days. What had I been so afraid of? He was the best version of himself I'd ever known; charming, attentive, and, I discovered, in a relationship.

  "Ivy? That's a pretty name. Have you two been together for a long time?"

  Tru's smile was sad. "Five years."

  The silence stretched on. I chuckled. "So...what's the deal? Does that seem like a lifetime or not long enough?"

  His smile grew lopsided as one side of his mouth pulled up higher than the other. "She's great. It's just all about marriage, you know?"

  I nodded, but the gesture was a lie. He'd always been open about how much he wanted us to get married. What had changed?

  "She's pushing pretty hard for us to move in together. It's kinda strained things, I guess. I'm good with how it's going. I mean, I'm sleeping over there every night, so it's close enough for me, you know? I like having my own place. I have band practice there and a place for all my shit. Ivy wants to make it official, get married...the whole show. Says it'll be better for Rose."

  He noticed the tilt of my head. "She's got a daughter. Nine years old and a little shit, but the cutest thing you've ever seen." He beamed with pride before twisting a paper napkin between his fingers. "Fuck, if things don't work out with Ivy, I'm going to miss Rose like crazy."

  I placed my palm over his busy hands until he met my eyes. "One thing I still know about you, Truman, is that when you set your mind to something, you move heaven and earth to do it."

  We stared at each other, his eyes searching mine, for what I didn't know. Finally, he shook his head and gave me a strained smile. "Enough about me. Tell me more about Nick."

  I filled him in on twenty years of life while we sat. I talked about my work as a counselor and Nick's job as a teacher. We stayed on safe topics, the conversation flowing easily. It wasn't long before Tru had me laughing with his stories of playing with his band or the current antics of Sawyer, who'd also stayed in Eugene after graduation.

  It felt like hours had passed when I glanced at my watch. "Oh, shit. We need to jet out of here. Leo's expecting us at the restaurant in five minutes."

  Tru paid the bill, despite my offer to do the same, and ushered me out of the cafe, his hand on my lower back as he held the door open for me. I brushed past him, my shoulder grazing his chest, and inhaled on instinct, catching the scent of him as I had always done when we were together. I stopped myself, mid-inhale, the heat of embarrassment making its way to my cheeks. Tru's double-dimpled grin was back in an instant.

  He drove like a maniac through town, and still we were ten minutes late to meet Leo. They fell into an easy camaraderie, joking around like old times. We cracked up at the memories of some of the pranks they'd played on each other. When Leo and I ordered a beer while Tru stuck to water, I eyed him questioningly about it.

  He winked, leaning toward me, his arm around the back of my chair. "Sober eleven years now."

  I opened my mouth, first in shock, then to tell him how proud I was of his accomplishment, when his sight was diverted to something across the room. His smile faded. I looked over to see a slender blonde woman approach, a sweet toe-headed baby on her hip. She had long, wavy hair hanging loose, no makeup and wore black stretch leggings with an oversized plaid shirt hanging to mid-thigh. She looked haggard and unhappy.

  Leo turned, his eyes lighting up with adoration. "Here they are! Jessa, this is my wife, Carrie, and my son, Jayden. Sweetie, Jessa's an old friend of ours from high school, in town for the reunion."

  Carrie handed the baby to Leo before smiling tightly at me. She nodded to Tru as she sat down, her focus returning to Leo and Jayden. The light-hearted joking we'd been doing evaporated under the strain. Leo played it off, as if he didn't notice the obvious bad blood between his wife and best friend. I sat and watched with curiosity, remembering Tru's earlier comment about making enemies. Clearly I'd met one.

  Lunch was so quiet after that, I was grateful when it ended. We parted ways, Leo and his family driving off separately with promises to see me at the reunion happy hour the following evening.

  I looked at Tru as we walked to the truck before putting my hand on his arm and pulling him to a stop.

  "All right, spill. What's up with you and Carrie? She looked like she wanted to vomit every time you made a sound." It wasn't my business, but I felt protective after reconnecting with the Tru I'd fallen in love with. Carrie had grown up on the east coast, so she couldn't know how loved Tru was in our hometown.

  He sighed.
"It wasn't anything I didn't deserve. After you and I broke up, I decided it would be a great idea to pick up and join Leo in Boston while he was still in school. He and Carrie had this tiny apartment in the city, barely enough room for the two of them, but they let me crash on their couch anyway while I looked for a job and a place to stay. Problem was, I was more interested in drinking and partying than looking for work. I made their lives miserable, until Leo kind of kicked me out."

  I frowned. "Jesus, you guys are so close, must've been hard for him to do that."

  "It wasn't a shining moment in our friendship."

  I laughed. "Well, you've been sober over a decade now. Seems to me she ought to get over it."

  "You weren't there darlin'. I brought home a hooker. She blew me on the couch, and when I flipped over to fuck her, I got the spins and puked all over her back. She made a ruckus about it, screaming at me and dripping recycled vodka everywhere. Carrie was home alone at the time because Leo had a gig. I was too incapacitated to do anything more than pass out on the floor. Carrie dealt with the hooker," he leaned toward me, his eyes serious and more than a little ashamed, "including paying her, and then she cleaned up my mess." He rocked back on his heels, his boots crunching the gravel beneath. "So, whatever shade she throws me now, I don't blame her. When I say I made their lives miserable, I'm not kidding. I was the definition of asshole."

  I tried to imagine this version of Truman as we walked in silence back to his truck, our feet crunching on the gravel in the unpaved parking lot. I fought an almost instinctual urge to make an excuse for him, to prop him up like I'd always done. But he was a grown man now, and I needed to respect that. Plus, wasn't AA all about accepting the things you'd done in the past to hurt other people?

  I didn't want to end our day together on that note. I wasn't expecting to see Truman again. Selfishly, I wanted a better memory. Our first ending had taken so much out of me, I couldn't stomach a similar one now.