Lukas
SEPTEMBER
The scream from my alarm jolts me awake, and I swing my arm across the bed, fingers searching for my phone. With a fumbled swipe, the screaming stops, and I roll over, groaning at how exhausted I am.
Another fifteen minutes, I think to myself. I can skip a shower today and sleep for fifteen more minutes. The cows won’t mind if I stink like shit.
With a few taps on the screen, I set a timer and roll over. As soon as my hands are tucked under the pillow, my phone rings.
Peeking one eye open, I glare at the loud box on my nightstand, and through blurred vision, I see Magnolia’s name scrolling across the screen.
I reach for the phone, dragging it off the nightstand and swipe to answer. “Mags.” I clear my throat to ward off the sleep. “Are you okay?”
It’s just after six in the morning my time, and this side of the world is mostly still sleeping. It’s not like her to call so early.
“Yeah,” she croaks, and I sit up, heart pounding at the sound of her crying.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, really. I’m fine.” She blows out a heavy breath. “It’s been a weird day, and I just wanted to talk to you.”
I settle back against the pillows, willing myself to take a deep breath. “I’m always here for you, baby. What’s up? I thought you were off today?”
She’s quiet for another minute, but I know she’s still there. I can hear the occasional sniffle. “I am.”
“Mags?” I prompt quietly. “What’s going on?”
“Today is a rest day, but one of the newer dancers, Julius, asked if I could meet him at the studio to go over one of his parts.” She sighs heavily. “We worked together for about an hour or so, and when I was getting ready to leave, he asked if he could walk me home.”
It sounds innocent enough, but if the day ended innocently, she wouldn’t be calling me crying.
“Mags.” I sit up again. “Did he hurt you?”
“No! Well … no. Not like that.”
“Then, what?” I’m forcing myself to stay calm, to hear her story, but if he so much as laid a hand on her, or pushed himself on her, I’m going to fly overseas and punch him in his slimy little face.
“When we got to my apartment, he asked to come up, and I kind of questioned it, you know? Because we aren’t close like that. I told him I was busy, but he kept standing there. Finally, it dawned on me what he was doing, but by that time, he was already leaning in, and yeah … he kissed me.”
I throw the blankets off, kick my feet to the floor, and quickly stand. “Are you okay, Mags? Tell me the truth.”
“I’m fine! Really.” She blows out another heavy breath. “I’m probably blowing this out of proportion, and before you get all knight in shining armor, I pushed him away and told him I didn’t think of him like that. He was embarrassed, and he left.”
A little of the tension leaves my body. “Okay, promise that’s all? He didn’t hurt you? Touch you without permission?”
“No.”
“Okay. Okay,” I say again, maybe more to myself than her.
I don’t like the idea of another man getting that close to her, getting to almost kiss her perfect lips.
I’ve always been a little threatened by the men she’s danced with.
Yes, it’s their job, but they get to touch very intimate parts of her.
They get to hold her close and spend hours each day in her presence.
I know Magnolia. I know what it’s like to love her, and it’d be impossible for every man to resist her.
“But, baby, why does this have you crying? Did it shake you up a little bit? Or is it because of us and what we are?” I can call her mine all I want, but we aren’t officially back together yet, not in the ways I want.
“I’m crying because it felt like cheating. It reminded me of all the times I tried to move on from you and failed. Even when we weren't talking, Lukas. Even when it was absolutely over and I tried to be with someone else, it always ended like this.”
My curiosity piques. As much as it killed me to imagine her with anyone else, I’m desperate to know. “Ended like what?”
“Ended with me crying. Ended with me lying in my bed alone, wondering why it felt like I cheated on you. We were broken up. You ignored my calls. We were over. Yet every other time a man came near me, even if I wanted them to, it always felt like I was cheating on you.”
Her confession has my heart soaring high in my chest. It doesn’t feel right for her.
It doesn’t feel good for her. And thank fuck.
Even though I’m a selfish bastard, and I should have wanted her to move on and be happy after the way I treated her, I can’t deny that it feels fucking good to hear that it isn’t easy.
“You know why it’s hard?”
I pause for a moment, wondering if she will answer. When she doesn’t, I continue.
“It’s hard because you and me? Whether we were fighting or fucking, it always felt like we’d been in it forever.
For me, it didn’t matter if we were at the worst low or the happiest we had ever been—ever since the day I met you, I never pictured a life without you in it.
And I think you did the same. Even when I hurt you, you still couldn’t imagine forever without me.
” I pause to control my breath, pacing around the room to burn off the nervous energy.
“How come you were able to do it then?” Her voice is stern, firm, yet still laced with sadness. “If we were forever, how could you so easily move on from me?”
It’s my turn to push out a forced laugh.
“Easy? Mags, you have no idea how not easy it’s been for me.
” I kept pretty tight lipped about my relationship with Candi.
Harper found out because she bartends in town and has a face that people tend to tell their secrets to.
Only a handful of people, Candi's friends, mostly, knew that we were even a thing until we had broken up. “I, uh … a few months after I got home from the military, I was at the grocery store and ran into Nana. I couldn’t help myself, and I asked about you. She, uh, she said that you were seeing someone.”
Mags’s “oh” is so soft. I can imagine just how she looks when saying it. Face puffy, tear-stained cheeks, with her puffy bottom lip popping open.
“I left the store and ran into Candi in the parking lot. I had heard around town that she had a crush on me, and even though it makes me sound like a fucking asshole, I didn’t feel a thing for her.
But I thought, well, if you were moving on, then I was going to move on, too, so I asked her out.
” I halt my steps, reaching to run a hand through my mess of hair.
“We were only together for a few weeks, a month tops. All our dates involved a bar. I was always high, and we were both usually drunk. It fizzled faster than you could imagine. And I don’t tell you this to make you feel bad.
So, please don’t. I’m not trying to turn this around and say that, well, you were dating, so it’s your fault I got her pregnant.
That’s not it at all.” I purse out a heavy breath, mentally kicking myself. “I’m fucking all this up.”
“No, you’re not,” she whispers. “Keep going.”
“What I’m trying to explain is that while at the time, I didn’t feel like I was cheating on you, it also didn’t feel right.
When I kissed her, I didn’t feel like I do with you.
Kissing you, Mags…” I trail off. I love kissing Magnolia.
That kiss at the airport was exactly what I remembered a kiss to feel like, what it should feel like.
When I kissed Candi, it was more like a step, an act, something I had to tell myself to do and talk myself through.
And that isn’t because Candi is an awful or unattractive person.
I realize now that it was because it could never feel right with anyone besides Magnolia.
“I get it, Mags. I get the feeling, even if I couldn't put a label on it at the time.”
“What about other girls?”
It’s my turn to be confused. “What other girls?”
“Has it only been Candi? All this time?”
I shrug a shoulder she can’t see. “Yeah, just Candi for those few weeks. Haven’t even so much as kissed another woman my whole life, besides you.”
She’s quiet now. Quiet for so long that I pull my phone away and tap the screen to make sure the call didn’t drop.
“Mags?” I ask. And I press the phone harder to my ear, able to make out her crying on the other end.
“Baby … baby, I didn’t mean to say all that to make you cry.
I didn’t mean to make you feel anything except to let you know that I get it. ”
“It’s okay,” she croaks, and I laugh a little.
“Doesn’t sound like it’s okay,” I tease.
“Does it make me a bad person that it kind of makes me happy you couldn't be with anyone else?”
“No,” I tell her sternly. “It killed me to think of you with another man.” Of someone that got to make love to her, then curl up around her, and hold her all night long.
Someone that got to comb their fingers through her blonde hair as she talks about her day.
She always gets really talkative late at night.
Once she’s sleepy and lying in bed, she will close her eyes and chatter for hours.
“There wasn’t another man.”
“Your Nana said you were dating. You just talked about all the other times you tried to date.”
“What I mean is, I tried to date. I let my friends set me up and went on a dozen first dates, all that ended in disaster. I did date someone for a while, a few months, actually. But I … I couldn’t be with him.”
“What do you mean?”
She forces a little laugh. “This is so embarrassing. When we tried to be together, more than kissing, I couldn’t do it. Physically. The night we tried, as soon as clothes started to come off, uh … well, it didn’t go well. I had a full-blown panic attack, and afterward, I felt awful.”
I hate the feeling of her suffering like that. Imagining her having a panic attack, sobbing, holding her chest because she can’t breathe, that’s never how I’d want her to feel.