And it will be a fight. That I’m sure of.
But it’s also one that I know I’m ready to take on. I know what I want. I know who I want.
I also know in order to have those things, I will be fighting the hardest fight I’ve ever fought.
Because not only am I fighting for someone that can’t see through the shadows to find the rope I’m holding to pull herself off rock bottom, but I’m also fighting the ghosts of her past that I’m not sure will let her go long enough to make that climb.
After rolling away from her warm body, I walk to the bathroom and clean myself off, not wasting any time before I move back to my bed. Quietly I lie back down and pull her into my arms. Even in her sleep she curls into me, her head hitting my shoulder, arm curling around my stomach and her legs tangling with my own. I reach down and hike her thigh over my hips and smile to myself while fighting another erection when her wetness hits my hip.
Sitting there, looking into the darkness I know I’ve finally found her. I’ve been searching for her for as long as I can remember. That person that would make my heart beat faster.
When you grow up with parents like mine, you know without a shadow of a doubt that a love worth fighting for is a love worth keeping. The fight—that drive—the desire to have the person you love, love you back just as fiercely? That’s all it’s about. They showed me that when you want something, you don’t stop until it’s yours.
I think I was about eight when I first realized the relationship my parents shared was something . . . different. I was about sixteen when I realized that different was something I wanted. They had some sort of magical power to their love. Nothing that you would ever be able to describe, but when you saw them together there was no denying it. They would look at each other and it was as if there was some invisible cord that connected them completely. Mom would give Dad a smile and he would laugh softly under his breath, always causing her face to redden. He would walk into the room and her whole body would jolt like it had been struck by lightning. Her skin would pebble with goosebumps and she would always snap her eyes to wherever he was. Of course it took me years to understand what that look meant.
They felt each other.
They knew each other past a feeling that could be physically felt.
They had a love that went past anything explainable.
And just like I knew when I first met Megan, she was the person that I would have that with. I knew when I was younger when my person stepped into my path, there would be nothing that could stop me from making her mine. I wanted what my parents had and now there isn’t a damn thing that will stop me from getting that.
Megan isn’t going to know what hit her.
With that final thought, my lips tip up and I let my body drift off to sleep, while I hold my future in my arms.
Two Months Later
“TELL ME ABOUT YOUR HUSBAND,” Dani asks softly.
I look over to where she’s sitting in my living room, reclined back against the love seat, her legs propped up in the seat next to her, and her baby boy, Owen, sleeping against her chest.
I don’t answer right away; instead I watch her hand rubbing his small back. The diamonds in her wedding ring glittering against the sun that shines through the window.
Jack.
She wants to know about Jack.
It shouldn’t be this hard to talk about him, but even after almost three years it still feels like yesterday sometimes.
“He was my best friend,” I tell her honestly.
“Like Cohen and me?”
“Nothing like you two,” I laugh humorlessly. “God, Dani, it feels almost like a betrayal to his memory to even admit that out loud. What you and Cohen have . . . that’s a love story for the record books. Jack and me . . . well, we kind of fell into love in the most unconventional ways. No, that’s not right. We fell in love with each other all because of Molly.”
“What do you mean?” she says, her voice just over a whisper.
I sigh, “We grew up together, Jack and I. It sounds so much more glamorous when I say it that way, like we were kids that would run on perfectly paved sidewalks and in each other’s backyards until we were called for dinner. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. We lived in the backwoods, wrong side of the tracks, trailer park from hell, in a small town in nowhere Georgia with one blinking caution light and the only store for miles was a mom and pop grocery store that, most of the time, only had expired goods for sale. It was hell on earth, really. But Jack, God Jack, he was always seeing the brighter side of life. He had these huge dreams. He was going to get a scholarship to the best football playing college, play for a few years until he was drafted—early of course, or so he would say. He wanted to play with the big boys, Dani, and he could have. He really could have. He was that good.”