The Longest Five Years (Completed)

Reagan, cont.

Present Day

"I was so angry with him, it fueled me. It made it easier to leave..." I tell her. "It took some of the weight of my actions off me...knowing he'd lied about something too."

"But did you forgive him? Back then?"

"I...I don't know. I couldn't think straight. He wouldn't sit down with me and talk. It was painful for both of us. We succumbed to our failures...but he never wanted the annulment," it's the one thing I've never told her, but I'm sure he has. "I forced it on him..." I swallow. "I didn't think we could fix it."

"But now you think you can?" she asks carefully, taking it easy.

"Not fix it, no. But maybe start again someday. But that's heavy stuff, and right now I'm just happy to be able to be in the same room with him and not hurt. We're having fun. He makes me happy. Emmy makes me happy. He always made me happy, you know? We just weren't honest with each other, and it completely destroyed us. I didn't love him any less for it. I just couldn't go on like that."

"He never stopped loving you, you know," she whispers. "After you were gone."

A knock at the door startles me, and I let out a big breath.

"What'd you do? Find the old box you hid your joints in and take a trip down memory lane?" Luke's voice is teasing and light; sometimes it's so hard to pair him with my husband, Luke.

I was so angry with him for so many things. Not telling me about Rachel. Driving drunk. Leaving me in that cabin the second after I told him about the baby and not returning for an entire week. And he may have been angry with me, but you wouldn't know it from the scene he put on the airport. I was the one who pulled the plug on us.

He knocks again, then opens the door. "Damn. Nice dress," he says with a smile. "What the hell are you doing in here? Are you on one of those diets again where you're avoiding dessert and you're afraid to tell your mom?" He asks Erin. "Seriously. I can't survive another one of those."

"No. Shut up," she laughs. "We were catching up," she waves it off as she stands up and walks past Luke. "By the way, I'm onto you. And if you hurt her again, I swear to God I'll kill you."

Luke's eyes go wide as they land on mine. His bruises are fading, his cuts healing, too. In the distance, Emmy is chanting for chocolate cake, and it takes the weight out of this moment. I can't help but smile.

His hand finds my chin and he tips it up so I look directly in his eyes. "Have you been crying?"

My lips turn up in a small, guilty smile and a tear drop slips down my cheek. I swipe it away and shake my head. His forehead presses against mine, the heat of his skin soothing me. How is it possible that I can feel this way after all these years? I'm finally allowing myself to believe I've never stopped loving this man.

"If I'm pressuring you," he pauses, studying me. "Tell me."

"No. I won't feel guilty about this," I tell him softly, staring into his tender eyes. "I won't feel guilty about anything anymore. I've made a lot of decisions – about my pregnancy, my career, about you, about us.  At the time, they felt right to me, even if no one else agreed. I can't go back and change them, Luke," I swallow. "They're over."

"And this," I swallow thickly and continue. I'm running out of air. "I can't feel guilty that I still care about you. That I've written countless songs and dreamed up so many melodies that remind me of you. I've been thinking of you for years – terrified of what I lost and afraid because I knew you moved on. I tried to move on, too. But I can admit my life has turned out nothing like I wanted it to. But it's my life, and that's the thing. I'm still living. I can still make choices. I'm going to make choices, Luke. I need you to understand that."

"I do," he swallows. I can tell he's taking me seriously.

"And you might not like them," I warn him, my voice breaking.

"I know," he whispers again, rubbing his nose on mine.

"Like right now," I breathe against his lips. "I could walk away. I could remind myself of the reasons we didn't work the first time. The secrets. The lies. I could tell myself I'm imagining this. But I know I'm not," I shake my head. "I'm not, am I? I'm not imagining this between us? It's still there, isn't it?"

He nods slowly against me, his forehead still flush against mine. His eyes are still open, his eyes the very oceans I've spent countless hours putting into song. His breathing changes. My cheeks heat. My throat aches. I can't deny this; it's as real as the first time.

"It's always going to be there, Reagan," he whispers. "Are you going to let it?"

"Yes," I whisper against him, nodding slowly to match his. I raise my hands up and grip his hair, tugging him closer to me. Closer. As close as I can. It's thick and silky and I move with muscle memory. He gets that look in his eye...the soft look of appreciation that washed over him before he said I love you. But he doesn't say a word. He doesn't push it. He just breathes against me, so close. So close. I lick my lips just before his lips touch mine. This kiss is different than the last when he was hurting. This kiss is soft and sensual. It's familiar, but new. But it's not cautious. He kisses me with heat and certainty, like no time has passed at all. 

He walks us forward, pressing me against the door. We fucked against this door once...that one beautiful winter break, and it's hot and wild in my memory. And I think I want him as much as I did in that moment, but not right here. Not tonight. I can't think.

He devours me and I let him. I hold him to me, unwilling to stop. He nips my lower lip. He pulls away to look at me...to make sure I'm okay...but I pull him back to me, desperate the cure this ache. His hands are everywhere. In my hair. On my neck. My chin. My hips.

My lips will be bruised from his kisses. My hair will be mussed. Everyone will look at me and know.

They'll know I still love him.

I know I still love him.

I don't know how much time passes or how many pieces of chocolate cake my parents are feeding Emmy. I can only imagine how many laps she'll be running around the couch later while on a sugar high. I don't know if Erin's still outside the door. But I don't care. I don't care about anything that happened before or might happen in the future. This is one moment-our moment-and it's right.