The Longest Five Years (Completed)

Luke, cont.

Present Day

I turn off the shower and step out into the steam. The mirror is fogged and I swipe it with my arm. I let out a long breath. It's been years since I've allowed myself to really fully think about that day at the airport. I nearly lost my mind on the way home. It's a miracle that I didn't get into an accident, because I was a complete wreck. The security held me until I could calm down, then released me with a warning. It's a good thing it's expired, because I fully intend to behave when I take her there in a few days.

I let out a breath. I feel good. Not about how it happened, never about that. It was probably the lowest moment of my life, but I know nothing I could've done or said would have changed her mind. We were in two different places – wanted two different things. She wanted music and I wanted her. She wanted freedom and I was smothering her. She was as stubborn as I was. An apology would've gone a long way, but I don't think it would've made her stay. It took a long time to accept that, but I have. I've accepted that that moment changed my life.

I grew up. I don't have to be that guy forever, and I'm not.

The man staring back at me in the mirror is not the same man at all. And Reagan...that woman downstairs teaching my daughter how to make an apple pie? She's not the same, either. This is a new love, born from the ashes of something so unfulfilled.

And I'll be damned if I don't give her all the time she needs to think it through this time. I'll be damned if I don't allow myself enough time to think, either.

I dry off and slip into jeans and a black button down. The scents of amazing food make their way up the stairs and I smile. Potatoes. Casserole. My stomach growls.

I head down the stairs, pausing again when I see them still hard at work. Reagan peeks inside the oven to check on the turkey. Luckily I had one in the freezer already and threw it in this morning around 8. It's due out within the fifteen minutes, and it smells amazing.

"I'll set the table," Emmy says. "I'll sit here, and you can sit at the end of the table, next to me and next to Daddy." I smile. "Can you put out the silverware? I can't touch knives."

"Sure," Reagan smiles, opening the drawer and placing the silverware around each plate. She sets out wine glasses for the three of us, asking Emmy if she'll be having sparkling juice. She nods and claps her hands and spins in a circle. It's her favorite thing to do.

"Can I wear some of your lipstick?" Emmy asks her seriously. "I want red lips."

"You don't need lipstick, sweetie," she says sweetly, crouching down in front of the little girl. "You're absolutely beautiful the way you are."

"So why do you wear it? To look pretty for my Daddy?" She blinks up at Reagan and I swallow. "I've seen you kissing him," she giggles.

"Well..." she starts.

Time to intervene and save the day from the awkwardness of my five-year-old.

"Hey," I say, tousling Emmy's hair until she looks up at me and smiles. Reagan's eyes widen in gratitude and I nod. In a perfect world, we'd tell her, but I just don't have the heart.

I take another peek at the turkey and smile. "I think it's ready." I pull it out of the oven and set it on the cutting board, getting set to carve it up. It's small, so it won't take long, and I think back to all the years Reagan's Dad spent so long preparing the pieces.

It's not long before we're sitting up at the table. I smile seeing Emmy's name cards with pictures around our plates. Mine has a badge on it. Reagan's has a guitar. And her's has a unicorn.