Ooh, such a strange sensation
When you finally open up your eyes
It should've been something momentous, one of those lightbulb moments one reads about or sees in a dramatic film. There should have been something BIG - all their cards being put on the table, all the unspoken words being said... Instead, he realized it late one evening as he drank a glass of wine and watched Kristen hanging up some newly framed family photographs on the wall. It embraced him, he embraced it, like a soft blanket being tenderly draped over his body, a comforting, familiar thing. He reached for it, clutched it in his strong hands. Not letting it go.
He was still in love with her. With his ex.
Lindsey didn't really feel noticeably differently than usual, still felt that warmth and comfort that came from sitting in the living room surrounded by his children doing their own thing (he really needed to check Will's internet history sometime, he reminded himself). But he looked at the pictures and the empty, hollow feeling that sometimes sat low in his stomach when he thought about Stevie, about their history, set in. He felt the same need for her as always, the same desire that sprang upon him at expected times, and the same curl of eager anticipation at the thought that he'd be seeing her for a recording session tomorrow. He'd always labeled (convinced himself to justify) those as an unfortunate side-effect of their unresolved past, of the fact that she was still a major part of his life.
He knew he loved her, always had, always would. Nothing felt as natural to him as the moments when he could hold his arms out for her and feel her rest her head on his chest, closing her eyes and just being with him. No words came as quickly or as honestly to his heart and his mouth as 'I love you, Stevie'. But it wasn't the protective love he felt for his children, it wasn't the affection he felt for his brother, and it wasn't even the appreciative, comfortable love he felt for his wife. It was the twisty, ache-y, longing, needy type of love that he'd always had for her, had tried to banish or bury too many times to count.
And he hated himself for imagining a photograph of he and Stevie on the wall instead of that awkwardly posed one of him and Kristen.
Taking another sip from his glass, he let himself picture it. Just for a minute. It was a habit he hadn't managed to cure himself of, though he rarely indulged in it while he was with his family. For chrissakes. Screwing his eyes shut and leaning his head back, he took in a deep breath.
"Dad?" Squinting an eye open, he tilted his head to the left where the voice of his daughter was. She was observing him with a concerned expression. "Are you alright? You look a bit..."
"Um, no. Fine, darling. You're doing your homework?"
"I was. Until I noticed you."
"I'm just thinking."
"Maybe you should stop," Leelee said, smirking. "Makes you look like hell."
"Love you too."
The next afternoon when Stevie arrived (only fifteen minutes later than planned), he held her slightly longer than usual, his fingers coming up to tangle in her wavy hair. She gave him a curious look when he lifted his head from the crook of her neck, his hands coming to rest possessively at her waist. He opened his mouth to tell her the conclusion he'd come to last night - I'm still in love with you, I need you, I want you - and she must have realized. Soft brown eyes widening, her face stricken with some strange strangled emotion, she held a hand up to him. Stop. Stop. Not that.
And so he said nothing, pulling away from her and smiling sadly as he opened the studio door for them. It was for the best that those words didn't cross his lips, he knew that, truly. They were already a broken mess that couldn't truly be repaired; there was no need to break anything else.
Sometimes Lindsey wondered if that something else (his family, his peace, his mind) was already broken and he simply hadn't acknowledged it yet.
