Page 105 of Falling Back to You

“Because we’ve made it that way. We came up with excuses, pushed each other away, ignored the persistent ache in our chests at what could be. I know the what-ifs run on a loop in my brain. I don’t actually think love should be this hard—it should just be.”

We weren’t going to find a shooting star to wish upon or a twinkling light to confirm we were on the right path. She had to know it like she knew her name. My faith in us might have wavered, but I always came back to the same thing: I’d dated tons of women, but I’d only ever loved one.

“We keep getting in the way.” Her eyes were glassy, and her movements were in slow motion. Holding her head up seemed like too much effort.

“Tell me this. Is Sunday still your favorite day of the week?”

“Yes.”

“Why is that?”

“Because it asks for nothing. It’s slow, effortless. A feast for breakfast, a lazy walk for lunch, the sunset for dinner.”

“Let me be your Sundays,” I said.

“Oz, it’s not that I don’t want to love you. I just don’t think I know how. You deserve so much more than half-assed attempts. I want you to be so overwhelmed by love that you don’t know what to do with it. You’re entitled to that. Why accept the CliffsNotes when you could have the unabridged version of happiness?”

Dial exhaled a deep breath. “I think I’ve been shattered. And when I tell people, they try to soothe me because it’s uncomfortable for them to witness my emotions. I’m forced to walk on eggshells so as not to arouse too much negative attention. And sometimes I don’t wanna be alone with Maple, because what if I say the wrong thing or make her cry? It’s horrible to say, I’m a horrible person, but I don’t think I’ll ever be good enough for her. She’s getting older, and eventually she’s gonna notice that something is wrong. That I’m not like other moms. She can already tell I’m unhappy. I thought I was hiding it well, but I guess not.”

Dial was a great mom. I’d witnessed firsthand the pride and reverence in Maple’s voice when she talked about her mother. I figured most parents had sleepless nights fretting over a conversation or arbitrary rule they’d implemented in the hopes of keeping their kids safe.

I added sugar and creamer to our tea and waited for her to take a sip. “When Maple was born, she was days old—not even a full week on earth. You were in the shower, and she was crying and I couldn’t figure out what she wanted. Her diaper was dry, but I probably checked it a dozen times. And she’d just eaten, so she couldn’t be hungry. I wanted to bust into the bathroom and hand her to you because I felt like everything I did just made the situation worse.”

“What did you do?”

“I just started crying right alongside her. I’m talking twenty straight minutes of Maple and me bawling our eyes out. When your footsteps signaled you were heading back to the living room, I dried my tears and immediately handed her to you and said, ‘She’s crying.’ And do you know what you told me?”

“No.”

“You said, ‘Babies tend to do that.’ And I chuckled. I don’t know if you knew I was frustrated and scared, but you looked me in the eye and told me I was gonna be a good father. And I believed you, despite the past thirty minutes proving otherwise. I say all that to get to this: what you’re feeling is valid. This parenting shit is stressful as fuck. I do not feel qualified to raise a human being. We don’t have to do this alone. On the days you’re feeling weak, I’ll be the strong one, and on other days, you’ll return the favor. I’m not looking to fix you. I’m offering to support you, to listen to you. I’m here to help you untangle the stuff you’ve been trying to work through alone. You don’t have to be healed to be loved, Dial.”

“What do I need to do to make that my reality?” Her eyes were pleading.

Grabbing her chair, I dragged her closer. Dial’s chest was undulating and her tear-stained face was evidence of the wrongs we were attempting to correct.

Cupping her face in my hands, I caressed her cheek. “Just let me love you, darling.”

Dial nodded.

I could still feel the weight of our words settling in my chest, heavy and fragile all at once. She looked small in that moment, shoulders drawn in like she was bracing for me to pull away, and it hit me how much she’d been carrying alone. The truth of what she’d gone through, what she was still fighting, made something in me ache—not out of pity, but a sharp, protective love I’d never stopped feeling for her. I wanted to tell Dial she wasn’t broken, that none of what had happened made her unworthy of us, but the words felt too clumsy for the softness she deserved.

So I leaned closer, slow enough that she could stop me if she needed to. When she didn’t, when her breath caught and her eyes lifted to mine, I felt the pull of her like gravity. I let the quiet between us guide me, and pressed my lips to hers, gentle, steady, never demanding. Just a promise, held in the space where our mouths met, that I wasn’t going anywhere.

When my alarm went off at three forty-five in the morning, Dial whispered into my chest, “Just five more minutes.”

“You said that fifteen minutes ago.”

“We can call in sick.”

“There are no sick days when you work on a ranch.”

“You sound like your father.”

“Take that back.” I climbed on top of her, pinning her arms as she squirmed underneath me.

“Make me.”

My lips crashed into hers. What was five more minutes? “You don’t play fair.”