Page 101 of Fall Over You

I open my dresser drawer to get out some pajamas. “It’s fine. We’re going slow. This is part of it. No sleepover unless we have to.” The oven timer dings downstairs. “I should get that.”

THIRTY-NINE

TYLER

I fucked up royally, and now I get to spend another night staring at my ceiling.

Becca must have sucked my brain out through my dick tonight because I wasn’t with it enough to articulate how I really feel.

She even made me banana bread. What’s wrong with me? This should be a no-brainer.

The woman in the next room is my wife. Our families approve of us. Ellie loves her. She’s witty and funny and generous and so damn pretty that even when she’s disappointed in me, I’m almost too captivated by how pretty she is to think straight.

So what’s keeping me from going over there and telling her how I feel?

Fear. Stupid fear that I won’t be able to handle doing this for real. Fear that I can’t be a dad and a son and a business owner and a good husband. Fear that I’ll ruin Ellie’s life by taking some joy for myself. Fear of getting hurt.

Becca doesn’t deserve the scared version of me. She deserves the boldness she instills in me. She deserves the faith that she’s more than earned. I’m the problem here. Me, exclusively.

Becca doesn’t want to hurt me, no matter how much I trained myself to think that for years. She cares now, and she always has. She’s not CJ or any other woman.

She is my woman, and I’m man enough to act like it.

I sit up and put my feet on the floor. I need to go before I lose the nerve.

I race to her door and knock. Becca’s sheets rustle and my heart pounds harder with each of her footsteps on the hardwood floor.

She opens the door and crosses her arms with a scowl.

“I want our wedding night.”

She purses her lips and sighs, gesturing to my crotch. “Don’t you need a minute to get it up again?”

She’s definitely hurt or she wouldn’t be making dry jokes like that. I hate myself for hurting her, and the only way out of it is to fix it. Now.

“No. I’ve made a lot of bad choices, and I’m not willing to make another one with you.”

She narrows her eyes and cocks her head. “Did you just come over here to insult me? To tell me what a bad choice I am?”

I press my fingers into my forehead and growl, but I’m mad at myself, not her. “I want this, Becca. I want you to be my wife in every way.”

“Geez, I’ll throw you a courtesy blowie every once in a while, ya chickenshit,” she says flippantly, glancing at her nails. “That way people in town won’t find out you’re not in love with me.”

Her eyes finally flash up to mine, and I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her look so sad. That look is my fault. No more making her hurt.

“Rebecca.” My hand rests on her upper arm but she almost shrugs it off. “I haven’t been saying this right because I’m afraid. You don’t deserve my fear. You deserve me at my boldest.”

A stitch forms between her brows.

“I want to earn being your husband, your true husband. I know I’ve been fumbling everything because I’m afraid I can’t do it all. The last time I tried to have a business and a relationship and be a dad, I ended up alone.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says gently.

“In my head, I know that. But making me,” I gesture to my whole body, “believe that is the hard part.”

She nods. “That’s why we’re going slow. So you have time to catch up.”

“But I know I want you. I’m afraid I won’t move fast enough, and somewhere in there, you’ll feel like I don’t care. And then I’m afraid that means I don’t deserve you, like somebody else could love you better.”