Page 36 of Mr. Charming

“Don’t you?”

“God, no, but after I tell you what I’m about to, you might want to break up with me.”

He’d cheated. That was my first thought. Of course he had the opportunity, he must have them all the time, but I had learned to quiet that voice inside me and trust him. Even when he’d go out with the guys, he’d take the time to message how much he missed me and couldn’t wait to be by my side again. He’d cradled that seed of doubt in his palms and starved it little by little with reassurances. And now it was as if he’d put it in a pot with Miracle-Gro soil.

“And this is why you’ve been off?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Tell me. Just say it.”

He turned to face away from me.

“You can at least look me in the eye when you tell me.” My anger was rising even though I really wanted to put on a mask of indifference when he told me that he’d ruined us by sleeping with someone else. That wasn’t something I could ever get past, ever put behind us.

He faced me and separated my fingers until he held just my left ring finger. His two fingers ran up and down it, his eyes studying it. “I’m not ready. I know we’ve been dating for a while and the guys have been giving me hell, and you make me so fucking happy, but I just can’t.”

I tilted my head, allowing his words to run through my mind again. “I don’t understand.”

He dropped my hand, rose from the bed, and walked over to the window that looked out at the Gulf. It was dark, but the stars were out with a half-moon hanging in the sky. “You know how screwed up I am from my dad. I wish I was one of those guys who could just say fuck it and fall on bended knee. Take my chances. You deserve a guy like that.” He circled back around. “I’m not him.”

Tweetie had confessed a few things to me over the years about his youth. How his dad would weave in and out of his life until he just stopped coming around altogether. How, as a result, Tweetie lashed out when he was a teenager, unable to process the anger inside him. But he’d gone through therapy and found an outlet, but I guess not all of his demons were dead and buried. How could I fault him? I had demons of my own.

“That’s all well and good, but I don’t understand what changed between us. Why have you been so distant?”

He broke the distance between us and fell to his knees in front of me, wrapping his arms around my waist and putting his head in my lap. “I don’t know how to keep you.”

I closed my eyes, my fingers weaving through his hair. “Why would you lose me?”

He picked up his head and rested his chin on my thigh. “I can’t marry you, Tedi. I tell myself that it’s no different than what we’re doing now, but then this fear rises up and says if I marry you, I’ll destroy us.”

One tear came and then another until I couldn’t hold them back. His arms grew tighter. I hated to see him hurting so much.

“It’s okay.” The words flew out of my mouth before I could really process them. “I don’t need marriage.”

He peeked up at me, hope filling those gorgeous baby blues, and I wasn’t lying. I didn’t know what I wanted either. I had my own hangups. “You don’t?”

I shook my head, and he rose to his knees again.

“I just need you,” I said, and all that worry and torment washed from his eyes.

“Really?”

I nodded.

“Because I do love you, Tedi. I love you so fucking much.”

I knew he did, and I trusted that everything he could give, he gave me. I loved him just as much, and I didn’t want to lose him either.

We didn’t need a marriage certificate to prove our love to anyone, but even as he kissed me and toppled me to the bed, situating himself between my thighs, one thought haunted me—would his hangup about marriage eventually be the end of us?

Nineteen

Tedi

It’s about three-quarters of the way through the third period. I told Coach Buford I wouldn’t interfere during the game, but I need to get some footage when they’re coming off the ice.

I lean over and whisper to Decker, “I’m going to go, thanks again. I’ll call you this week.”

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