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.
But Copper Ridge isn’t my home anymore.
He lowers his head, his lips so close to my neck that I can feel the little hairs rise, as if they are desperate to feel him, reaching for parts of him that they have missed.
“You have a beautiful life in Paris, Mags. It’s on hold, waiting for you, and I think you need to get on that plane.
But know that it’ll be okay. I’ll still be here, thinking about you every day.
You know how to reach me if you ever need to. ”
The bridge of my nose stings, and my legs wobble. Lukas tightens his grip around me, and I let my body slump against his.
“What if I had known?”
Lukas stiffens, and I force my hands between us, sliding them up so my palms rest on his chest, and I can gently push him back.
With blurred vision, I stare up at him. “What if I had known what you went through? What if I had somehow been able to reach you, to get to you before you spiraled? Do you think … Do you think we wouldn’t have broken up?
Do you think our lives would be different now? ”
Maybe when he moved home, if I was there, we would have made it.
Maybe he wouldn’t have continued drinking.
Maybe we would be married by now. Maybe we’d have our first child together.
“I should have tried harder. What if … What if when you were discharged from the military, and I came home … I could have flown here. I could have forced you to talk to me, Lukas. I could have done more. I could have—”
A soft hush leaves his lips. “That’s the whole point, Mags.
” I can see him work through his emotions, trying his best to fight the tears.
“I’m glad you didn’t know. I’m glad you didn't give up everything you worked so hard for because of me. It shouldn’t have been on you to work that hard.
It’s not healthy, being in a relationship the way ours was at the end.
I wasn’t trying at all, and you were trying too hard.
One person can’t give their all while the other is barely giving. That isn’t love.”
“But I—”
A static-filled announcement interrupts him. “Final boarding call for flight 3844A to Charles De Gaulle, Paris, boarding now.”
He pauses, looking down at me with a forced smile. “I think that’s your plane, pretty girl.” Before I can answer, he roughly pulls me to him, his head dropping to rest on the crook of my shoulder as he exhales. “It was so fucking good to see you, Mags.”
As if on command, a sob breaks through from my mouth, and I grip him tighter, nodding against his shoulder. “I’m so happy Nana is a meddling ole thing.”
With heavy reluctance, he releases me, and with a sad smile, I turn away, letting a hand fall to rest on the retractable belt that forms the line.
I pause, turning to look back at Lukas, at his tear streaked and torn face.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see an older woman come up, and I move forward in line.
Another passenger approaches, and another, and soon, I’m third in line, digging through my carry-on to hand over my ID.
“A cute boy like that and not even a goodbye kiss?”
I spin around to face the little old lady who had watched the last few minutes of Lukas and me unfold. “Oh,” I mumble, feeling my cheeks heat. “Yeah, there’s … it’s a lot. Lots of history between us.”
She nods. “Love is a lot, sweetie.”
I smile politely at her just as I find my wallet, flipping it open to pull out my ID.
“All I’m saying,” she continues, “is that if I was your age again, and I looked like you, and a handsome young man like him was looking at me that way, you best bet I’d leave him with a big ‘ol kiss.”
I chuckle at her comment, thankful for the reprieve, but then her words sink in a little further. “Looking at me, how?”
She turns back, and I follow her gaze until we are both staring at a sullen Lukas, standing alone with both hands tucked into his back pockets. When he sees us looking, he forces a smile, raising one hand in goodbye.
“He’s looking at you like you hold his whole world, everything that could ever possibly matter to him, and he’s watching you walk away with it.”
A full body shudder rattles through me, and suddenly, I’m fifteen again, standing in the middle of the Hart’s horse barn at midnight, knees trembling.
“How do I look at you?”
His throat works in a heavy swallow. “Like I’m the only thing you see. Like I’m all there is.”
“What if you are?”
I knew at fifteen years old that Lukas Hart was all I wanted to see. Damn the time lost, the distance, the harsh words, and tears shed. We’ve been through some of our highest highs, and still working through the lowest of the lows, but dammit if Lukas isn’t still all I see.
But even more than that, I hate what happened between us. I hate all the nights I’ve spent alone, awake, crying, wondering, screaming to no one, wondering why it couldn’t have worked out between us.
We have a lot to unpack. A lot to say to each other and more tears to cry, but if I know anything for certain in the entire world, I know that there isn’t a man I could ever love more than him.
With a soft hand on my elbow, she tries to usher me forward, but I push back, her words repeating through my mind as I stare at Lukas.
The agent at the desk calls for me, their hand reaching out for the ID that’s held between my two fingers, but all I can do is watch Lukas.
Lukas.
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.”
We’ll be okay.
I nod, and Lukas kneels down, tucking the items that had fallen out of my carry-on back in.
He brings it up, slinging it over my shoulder, and pulls me in for another hug, planting a soft kiss on the top of my head before reluctantly releasing me.
I take a step back, and then another, but history always repeats itself, and dammit, I need one more.
I rush to him, reaching him to plant one final kiss on his perfect lips.
He smiles against my kiss, nearly giggling when I pull back.
With my gaze locked on those sparkling blue eyes I’ve loved nearly every single day of my life, I ask, “Call me?”