Page 43 of Worth the Fight

And then I’m mumbling my apologies, pushing past the growing line of people, ignoring their half-hearted grumbles and eye rolls. I don’t stop until there is enough space that I can dip below the belt barrier that separates us. I lose my balance, nearly tripping over someone, and their suitcase falls to the floor with an obnoxious thud.

My steps pick up, and when I lift my head, Lukas is striding toward me, his steps as frantic as mine. My carry-on is tossed to the floor, and my arms are up the second he is within reach. They circle around Lukas’s neck, pulling him down to my height as his hands find their home on my lower back. And before I can breathe out a full exhale, I crash my lips against his.

The kiss tells me everything I already knew.

His lips are warm, just as soft as I remember, and all the emotions I swore I wouldn’t ever let myself feel again, the ones that I’ve spent months trying to forget, come rushing forward.

Our first kiss in the horse barn with the smell of fresh hay surrounding us.

The way he kissed me the first time we ever had sex, how gentle he was, how patient and tender when I was so nervous.

The summer after we graduated high school with the rain beating down on the hood of his truck as he made love to me one last time.

The first kiss when he came to see me in France after bootcamp, how ravenous we were, so desperate to kiss and talk and hug that we fumbled every single one, teeth clacking together, laughing until we were a mess on the floor by the front door.

The last kiss he ever gave me on the morning we said goodbye after seeing each other in Copper Ridge, and I never saw him again. I rose to my toes that morning, feet cold on the tile floor of my parent’s kitchen. He kissed me and buried his face in my neck, and I could feel his lips quivering at the thought of our goodbye. I could taste the tears on his lips through that kiss. That one seemed to be the hardest, the one that I shed the most tears over, and I wonder if there was some innate part of me that knew it would be our last.

Each one of them I remember now, and my heart pounds like a drum, chanting, no, screaming his name.

Even with the noise surrounding us, I can hear a soft hum leave his throat as he works his mouth against mine. It’s something he’s done every time we kiss, since that very first one. It’s something that haunted me when we broke up.

When I tried to date, to force myself to meet someone new, I wondered what it would be like to kiss them.

For every first date I forced myself on, and every second date that made me queasy with anxiety, every moment the goodnight kiss came was the same. I’d press my lips to theirs, begging the heavens to feel anything, something for them, and it never came. I’d listen for that moment, hoping that they became putty, that their hands would roam my body, and I’d melt into them, and they’d whimper at the feel of kissing me.

Yet it never came.

I thought at first that something was wrong with me. I used to love kissing Lukas. We’d kiss all the time, and it never felt like enough. Each one would leave me wanting to lean in for another, and then another. There were plenty of nights in high school my dad would flicker the porch light, letting us know that our time was done and I had to come inside.

But I never felt that with someone else. It didn’t matter if the man was attractive, kind, funny. Even if I had an okay time on the date. Each kiss felt like poison against my lips, and I’d force my eyes shut just so I wouldn’t break down and cry.

Wasn’t I an okay kisser, good, even? Didn’t I want exactly what they were giving? Wasn’t I the one that ended things with Lukas? I wanted to kiss someone else and have it feel just like it did with Lukas, but it would never come close.

It took me a long time to realize that it wasn’t necessarily the way Lukas kissed; it was the intimacy behind it. Intimacy isn’t just about sex. It’s about the emotional connection you have with someone. The connection that comes with seeing someone at their worst, seeing them broken and raw and knowing their darkest secrets, yet loving them through it all.

I never went further than that first kiss. I’d end whatever faint start of a relationship it was until I gave up dating altogether, because I knew I wasn’t ready to give that part of myself over to anyone else. I’m not even sure I had that part of me left to give.

But the moment my lips meet Lukas’s again after all these years, I finally understand this feeling, the one deep within my chest that causes my heart to beat fast, then slows, oozing deep down into my core like it’s made of honey.

This feeling is only for us.

His hum is only for me.

And I’m so thankful that I could never replicate this feeling with anyone else.

We’re still messy, and some old wounds have yet to heal, but I know I could never love another the way that I love him.

His tongue darts out, tracing my lower lip, and I open, letting him kiss the hell out of me in this busy airport lobby. My grip around his neck tightens so hard I’m probably hurting him, but he doesn’t fight, doesn’t pull away. In fact, if there was a wall to press me up against, I think he’d do just that.

And it isn’t until the airport person calls my name over the loudspeaker do I realize that I’m about to miss my flight, so I finally break apart from him.

I rest my forehead against Lukas’s, panting against his parted lips. “I need to go,” I whisper, and he nods, kissing me once more.

“I know, baby, I know.”

“I don’t want to go,” I croak, and he chuckles, his breath soft against my damp lips.

“I know, baby. I don’t want you to go either. But you can, and this time, we’ll be okay.”