Page 41 of Worth the Fight

“I should have been scared, shouldn’t I?” he croaks. “Isn’t that the moment where my heart would race, anxiety kick in, followed by all the training that we had? I should have been scrambling to get out, to kick out a side window if needed, but I just sat there. And you know why?”

I freeze, not sure I’m ready to know why. I purse my lips together to fight off the wobble, but a tear escapes anyway, dripping down my cheek. Lukas pulls back, his hands leaving my hips to catch the tear before it falls from my chin.

“I had this vision,” he says softly. “Maybe vision isn’t the right word, but it felt so real. It was like a wave of calm washed over me, and I wasn’t thinking about the moment I was in. I wasn’t thinking about those that had just died.”

“What were you thinking about?”

His eyes soften, and his lip twitches in a sad smile. “You.”

His eyes start to water again, and his hands move to smooth back my hair. He starts at my temple, running a palm over the back of my head and smoothing his hand down, curving over my shoulder until he reaches the end. He lets my hair flow through his fingers before he starts again.

“We were a little younger, and it was summer. We were lying in my bed at my parents’ house back home. You were sleeping, and I had you wrapped in my arms. It was so real, Mags. I was trapped in a burning vehicle, yet somehow still felt the summer breeze against my face. I could smell fresh cut hay. How could that be possible?”

I shake my head the best I can.

“For that brief moment, I was happy. Genuinely, almost euphorically happy. All the anger I had been feeling since baseball ended, joining the Marines. The stress of being apart from you. The physical pain, the emotions from seeing my friends die—it was all gone, and I was at peace. I thought that was it,” he rasps, his face crumbling. He drops his forehead to my shoulder for a brief moment before picking it back up, letting the tears streak down his cheeks.

“I thought that I had died, Mags. Shot or something. But it was okay. I could almost say I was so goddamn happy because I thought I had died, and the hard part was over. I was sure that I was in heaven, taking a lazy afternoon nap with you, hearing my family, knowing that they were close by even if I couldn’t see them. Some people are scared to die, even if they believe in heaven and an afterlife. I used to be one of them, but not anymore, because if that was a glimpse at heaven’s waiting room, then I’ll be okay.”

My racked sob interrupts his words. I try to speak, to console him somehow, but my words are slurred, and I blubber, letting my face fall to rest on his shoulders. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him to me as tightly as possible, needing to feel every inch of him, of his living breathing body near mine. His arms encircle my waist, and we hold one another, sobbing in the cab of his truck in the middle of the airport parking lot. We cry out all the tears that we held in along the way, and with that, so much of the anger and confusion I’ve felt in the last few years leaves my body with it.

I don’t pull away from him until my tears have dried, until we can both take a deep, calming breath, and when I pull back, I notice the sunshine is starting to fade beyond the horizon.

“Shoot,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes as I reach for my phone to check the time. “Shoot, Lukas, what time is it? I-I, shoot, I need to go.”

I don’t make an effort to move from his lap, however. My mind tells me I need to go, and I know if I miss this flight, I won’t make it back for rehearsal. But my heart is forcing me to stay still, because my heart, along with nearly every other part of me, isn’t ready to leave Lukas. After everything that’s happened today, everything I’ve learned and seen, now that I know what it’s like to be wrapped in his arms again, how am I supposed to just walk away?

But Lukas, always the strong one, forces a smile, his hands coming up to brush against my arms and shoulders. “Come on, pretty girl, you have a plane to catch.”

CHAPTER 23

Magnolia

The sky has started to darken, both from the setting sun and what looks like storm clouds rolling in. There’s a small part of me that hopes the storm is bad enough to ground my plane. Maybe I could have a few more hours, a night, anything more with Lukas. We could go back home, sit on the porch of our old farmhouse, and I could learn the answer to every question I’ve pondered over the last few years. I could lean my head on his shoulder and listen to that soothing baritone voice recount everything he went through in the military and in the time we didn’t speak.

Lukas clasps my hand tightly in his as we make the too short trek to the drop-off. Every once in a while, I steal glances over at him, letting my gaze linger on his strong jaw and the stubble that I miss rubbing my hands over. In some ways, he looks so much like the teenage boy I fell head over heels in love with. He’s the same boy who saw his life-long dream shatter to pieces at twenty-two years old. The one who joined the military on a whim and became a man.

The one who ended up shattering my heart.

He’s still all those people. The bits and pieces of what’s left over has made up the man he is today, and I can see the differences in him now. The invisible string that’s always tied me to Lukas is back. It’s thin, smaller than before, but still strong, weaving itself into each vessel of my heart, twisting around and pulling so taut I almost forget to breathe.

My breath picks up as we approach the automatic doors, and when they slide open, the sound of traffic outside is replaced by the murmurs from the crowd inside. Shoes squeak, luggage is tossed around, and the cacophony of voices blends together into a muffled roar.

My vision goes hazy and tears spring to the corner of my eyes. My feet stop on their own accord, and my hand, which Lukas has been tightly holding in his stronger calloused one, is tugged forward before Lukas realizes I’ve stopped.

He spins around, his hand leaving mine so both can come rest on my shoulders. I stare at the ground, at his battered cowboy boots with the braided design nearly worn off in some areas.

“Mags?” he questions, his head dipping to try to catch my gaze.

“I don’t want to go,” I whisper, and his responding sigh is all I need to hear before the first tear falls. “I can’t go.”

Without question, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest as his palm comes up to cradle the back of my head. “I know, pretty girl, believe me, the last thing I want to do right now is put you on a plane that’ll take you away from me.” His chin comes to rest on the top of my head, and I adjust my cheek, letting my ear press against his chest. I inhale with his heartbeat, hold my breath for three more, then release with his next beat, grounding myself to his presence.

“But...” he says, and he doesn’t need to finish his sentence.

But I have to.

But my life is waiting for me in Paris.