He grabs my wrist in one big hand and tugs me closer. “Will you come here?” I nod, and he pulls me into his lap. “There’s no mistake. I love you, and you’re beautiful. I was an idiot for calling you on your insecure bullshit when it was really more about my insecurities. I was wrong.”
“But you weren’t,” I say. “Dean, you were absolutely right. I have burned down many good things in my life because I was afraid I’d lose them. I chose having some sense of control and pushing something amazing from my life over watching it slip away from me when I was trying to hold on. I was doing the same thing to us, and if you hadn’t called me on it, I would’ve done it again and again. If you give me another chance, there’s a good chance I’ll do it again anyway, but I’m going to try so hard not to. I’m working on recognizing when my insecurities make me lash out, and I’m working on adjusting my reactions.”
“I’m gonna mess up too,” he says, shaking his head. “That’s called being human. That’s what relationships are about. We mess up and then we fix it and then we try again so we don’t mess up as badly the next time.” He grins. “At least, that’s what your brother told me.”
I let out a laugh. “He’s all right.”
“Yeah,” Dean says. “Listen, it’s hard for me to understand why you can’t accept yourself, but if you’d just try to see what I see, I’ll keep loving you every single day until you see it too. And even if you never do, if you can just promise me you’ll be good to this woman I love . . .” He presses his palm to my chest, right between my breasts, and that spot that’s been aching and hollow over these last few days fills with warmth and hope. “Be good to her. Be kind to her body and her soul. Because she’s the best thing I’ve ever had in my life, and it makes me crazy when anyone tries to hurt her.”
Hot tears stream down my cheeks, but I nod. “I love you,” I say. “I love you, and if what you say is true and my love for you is limited by how I feel about myself, then you’d better watch out, because I’m working on how I feel about me, and you’re going to have some crazy-big love coming your way.”
“I love you too. So much it scares me a little when I think about you walking away. I’ve wanted you for so long, but I gave up because I was afraid I wasn’t good enough for you. I’ve never wanted anything more than I want to be worthy of you.”
“You are. More than worthy.” I touch my forehead to his. “Can we try this again?”
He shakes his head, but I trust him too much to be worried. “No, we’re going to try something better this time.”
I wrap my arms behind his neck and kiss away his smile until he’s groaning and shifting me to straddle him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dean
Abbi squeezes my hand in hers as we climb the steps at her parents’ house. “Don’t be nervous. You’ve been here for dinner hundreds of times.”
“I’m not.” The lie slips out before I can catch it, so I shrug and add, “Not very nervous, at least.”
We’ve been an official couple for a week and a half, and while in any other case I would run screaming from dinner with a woman’s family so soon in a relationship, everything’s different with Abbi. It’s not so much that we’re going fast as it is that we’ve already settled in. I love everything about us—the way she watches me when she thinks I won’t notice, the way it feels to sleep with her in my arms, the easy rhythm we have at home. I love sitting across from her at Smithy’s and making her laugh and watching her branch outside of her comfort zone to open her own business. I love cooking for her and letting her cook for me—the conversations and the sex. I really fucking love the sex.
I’ve never seen her so happy, and that might make me sound like one cocky sonofabitch, but I’ve never been this happy either.
“Dean Jacob!” Mrs. Matthews shouts when she meets us at the front door. “How dare you stay away so long?”
“Sorry, Mama,” I say, giving her a quick squeeze. “I let time get away from me.”
“I’ll forgive it. If you don’t let it happen again.” She props her hands on her hefty hips and presses her lips together in a thin line as she looks me over. “Are you eating enough?”
I have to laugh. Mama Matthews always did like to make sure I was well fed, and she wouldn’t have approved of the weight I lost during my Amy spiral. A couple of months of a whiskey-and-beer diet will do that to you, but I look down at myself, trying to imagine how I look from her point of view. I’m surprised she noticed, since I’m almost back to where I was last spring, but I suppose I shouldn’t be. “Don’t worry,” I say. “Abbi feeds me well.”