Page 34 of Worth the Fight

I freeze, and Lukas picks up on it, his hand moving along the seat to come rest toward mine, tentatively testing the waters to see if I’m going to flinch. “All of my memories with her are fuzzy, blurred. And knowing I treated a woman like that, and that my daughter was conceived in that way, on a night where I purposely drugged myself numb is a type of self-hatred that I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for. I mean, Christ, the condom likely broke, and I didn’t even realize it.”

“Lukas … I⁠—”

His hand is placed on top of mine, and he squeezes once. “Before you tell me it’s okay, there’s more.”

He swallows, his throat working through a lump that’s probably similar to the one brewing in mine.

“The night Ivy was born,” he starts, sniffling once. “The night Ivy was born was life changing. It’s a weird feeling, almost. When I found out Candi was pregnant, I went through all sorts of emotions. I was terrified to be a father. Worried I wouldn’t be the type of man my dad and Pops are. I was worried that since Candi and I weren’t together, she’d try to push me away. She was dating Rick, and they were talking about moving in together. It would have been so easy for me to become the odd man out. I couldn’t imagine what it was like to be a parent. You can plan all you want, but the moment you hold that brand-new baby in your hands for the first time, everything shifts.”

His head swivels to face me. “That night, I was sitting on the shitty two-seater couch in the hospital room. Rick had left to try to get a few hours of sleep since he had clinic appointments the next morning. It was just me and Candi. She had finally fallen asleep after a brutal labor. Ivy was born in the middle of the night, and she had been in labor most of the day before, so I made sure to stay awake so I could watch over Ivy.” His hands come out in front of him, palms up, fingertips curling as he stares at them.

“I had my daughter, finally, in my hands. I was looking at this beautiful, perfectly healthy baby, and I was so happy. So fucking happy. I was staring at Ivy’s face, terrified that if I blinked, I’d miss something. And then she started to do this cute, scrunched face when she was trying to wake up. Like she wanted her eyes to crack open, but she was too tired, and I went to call out, so that her mom could see how cute she was.” He swallows thickly. “Wouldn’t you believe that I went to call your name?”

A gasp is caught in my throat, and Lukas turns, eyes dark as he watches me. “I felt my lips curl into one another.” His fingertips come up to ghost over his top lip, as if he can still physically feel how that felt. “They vibrated with the mmm, and my heart nearly stopped in my chest. I had just watched Candi go through something so intense, so physically and emotionally demanding, and it was like my brain still wouldn’t accept that it wasn’t you lying in that hospital bed recovering.”

My throat burns, eyes sting. It feels odd to talk about something like that when we aren’t together anymore, but that was my first thought, too: It was supposed to be us.

“Candi was sleeping, and thank fuck she was, because she didn’t hear me almost call her your name.” His voice cracks, and he pauses, pulling his top lip between his teeth and working it back and forth.

“I felt so many things at once. Grateful Candi was safe, and thankful Ivy was healthy. Grateful that even though we aren’t together, I still got to be there and hold my baby for the first time.” His gaze is glued to the space between us, and he picks at a tiny loop in the fabric, one that’s begging to be pulled free.

“All I could think at that moment was that it should have been you, Mags. It was always supposed to be you and me having kids together. It was supposed to be you who I coached through the birth. I was supposed to kiss you on the head, not watch Rick kiss Candi. And I wanted to be so happy for the moment I was in, and in some ways, I was, but I hated myself, Mags.” He looks up at me, the gaze between us so intense he breaks it immediately to look out the windshield. I watch his side profile, the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, and I stare, mesmerized. Terrified to hear what he’s going to say next, but at the same time, desperate to know everything.

“I hated that, at one point in my life, I had everything I could have ever wanted, and I let one bad time, one situation, ruin everything. I let it catch fire and burn everything else I loved. And I hate myself for it. I hate myself for the way I treated you, for the way I pushed you away, and then let you go. You think you can’t forgive me? Then join the club, Mags, because I can’t forgive myself.”

I reach for his hand, my thin petite one covering his broad one. I don’t squeeze it, don’t hold it, not yet, but I need to touch him, to tie myself to him in the same way I’ve been working so hard to break.

“I can admit that ruined us,” he says, his baritone voice filling the otherwise deathly silent cab. “I can admit that I pushed you away and let you down and all that, but I won’t ever pretend that all my thoughts weren't of you. You have been all I’ve ever thought about, even when I desperately wished you weren't. So, no, there was no choosing another woman over you. There was only desperation to fill a void. And I’m sorry, Mags. I’m so fucking sorry.”

The first tear falls down my cheek. I feel it leave my eye, slide down my cheek, and drip off my chin. Another falls, then another, and pretty soon, Lukas is nothing but a blur. He shifts in the truck, his hand coming out to rest on my shoulder. He wants more. I can feel the grip on his fingers begging to pull me to him, but I know he wants me to be the one to go to him. And I want the same, I think. It hasn’t ever been a question for me if I still wanted Lukas. If I loved him. Love was never the problem with us. But being with him, the toxic version of him was slowly killing us both, and I had to do what I could to survive.

But now, seeing the look on his face, one that mirrors my own, has me thinking that even though we handled it differently, being apart was slowly killing the both of us.

I lift the center console that’s been the barrier between us. I lean forward, lifting a knee to crawl along the seat. Lukas watches with hesitation, his tear-filled eyes darting across my every move. His long arm reaches out to pull me once I’m close, and I twist, falling into his lap as I sling my arm around his neck.

The tears fall faster now, and Lukas hugs me to his chest as I sob, burying my face in his throat. For the first time in years, I let Lukas hold me, and I forgot how good it feels to be held by him, comforted by him. God, how I’ve missed this man. Even at the darkest times, when I was broken, when I thought I hated him, when I’d sit on the floor of the shower and let the water drown out my sobs, my every thought was still of him.

“I’m sorry you felt that way.” I know Lukas is an amazing dad. I don’t need to meet Candi or Ivy to know that. Deep down, he is a softie, a lover, a man trying to tamp down the layers of emotions he feels on a daily basis. I can imagine the guilt he felt when he almost called her my name. I can imagine his emotional stare, the tears that filled his eyes. I can imagine him looking at his brand-new baby girl and holding her while he silently cried, making sure no one knew what he was going through.

“I’m sorry, Mags,” he croaks, burying his face in my hair. There’s a salty mix on my lips, and I can’t say with one hundred percent certainty that it’s all from me. “Sorry isn’t enough for how badly I’ve hurt you, but goddamn, I’m so sorry.”

“Me, too.” I’m not sure exactly what I’m sorry for most at this moment. I’m sorry that I assumed the worst from him, that my heart was broken enough to think the worst. I’m sorry for all the months I spent thinking our relationship was a lie and that I tried to make myself believe he faked our near lifetime together.

I soak in his scent, the feel of his arms wrapped around me for another minute, and then I push off, moving to sit next to him in the center of the truck.

My hand reaches up to flip down his visor so I can use the mirror to clean the smudged mascara from my eyes. As soon as it’s open, an old worn photograph floats down. The picture is faded from the sun, and the corners are curling in on themselves. It’s a picture that’s been around for a while, one that’s been held a lot, crinkled as if folded up at some point. My hand darts out to snatch it from the air at the same time Lukas’s does, but I reach it first, pulling it to me as his breath hitches.

It’s a photo of me in the summertime. I can’t remember the exact moment it was taken. But I’m young, maybe seventeen, smiling over at him taking the picture. The wind has kicked up, and my hair would be flying across my face if it wasn’t for his baseball cap sitting atop my head. But I look happy. The smile on my face says I’m smiling over at someone I love. And I wonder, when was the last time I truly felt that level of happiness?

The picture feels intimate, like I’m thumbing through someone else’s diary. I look up at Lukas, and his eyes are focused on the photo in my hand. I flip up the visor, tucking the photo back in its hiding place.

“I look young there,” is all I manage to say.

The corner of his lip twitches. “You’re young now.”

“I’m twenty-eight. That’s nearly mid-life for a ballerina, elderly, maybe.”

“Well,” he croaks. “You make elderly look good.”