The Longest Five Years (Completed)

Reagan

"Thank you," I say, settling back against the seat. Alan looks over his shoulder at Luke, who gives him the nod and closes the door. "We were about to get soaked."

"If you really insist on going to Erin's tonight, then I'll be coming with you," he says seriously from the other side of the cab. "Fiancé or not, that guy's got a death wish talking to you that way,"

"I don't insist," I say, but he cuts me off.

"I'll sleep in the hallway. Wouldn't be the first time,"

The cab stops fast when a cat runs across the road, and I hold my hand to stop from slamming forward. The tequila's messing with me. My heart is, too. I glance at him cautiously, afraid I'm too obvious. The cab is spinning, I'm really warm, and he's still completely gorgeous.

"Can't promise I'll sleep though," he says seriously.

"I said I'll come to your place," I clarify, looking away from him and out the window. "If that's still okay."

"Alan," Luke calls, and I can hear the smile, "New plan."

It's one of those nights I know I won't sleep, and having Luke around will be awkward, but the alternate is worse. Despite how it seems, I'm not really afraid of Benson. I've been working through this mess for awhile now, on my own.

Five years ago, Benson seemed like the perfect escape from a life that had turned hard fast. He was no-nonsense and fun, and he made me believe life is a lot easier if it's not taken so seriously. Now here I am, running back to the man I left behind.

Sometimes it feels like all I do is run.

He pays the driver as I yank my guitar case from the back, and the rain hits just after we make it inside. Luke's house is warm and quiet, and he flips the lights on as we enter.

He double bolts all the doors and peeks outside the windows. I feel like we're in a horror movie, and he doesn't even realize what's going on. I need to tell him.

"You gonna be okay?" He asks simply, a worried look on his face. I nod, because there's just no easy way to answer.

"You can take the room you had last night," he tells me, opening his fridge and grabbing a beer. "I'll be up for awhile, if you need anything," he adds as I walk to the room to change.

He seems to have dropped the Benson issue for now.

The thing is, I've just worked up the courage to talk, and honesty is one thing my 19 year-old-self could really use a redo on.

"Got one for me?" I ask, pointing to his beer. "Sleep is nowhere on my radar,"

"You just about tipped over getting out of the cab. Are you sure you really want more?"

"Positive," I tell him, popping the cap off a bottle and taking a big swig.

I'm not an alcoholic, but my lifestyle makes it a pretty regular part of my nights. It's gotten me in a trouble a few times, and I've made some crazy decisions when I was in no shape to do so, but I don't depend on it. Right now, it's lubricating this conversation, and it might be the only way I get through it.

Luke kicks off his shoes and sits on the couch, resting his feet on the coffee table.  It looks comfy, so I try to do the same, but my balance is off and I nearly miss.

"Easy, Reags," he says, steadying me beside him. He pulls my feet into his lap and gently tugs each heel off slowly.

I've always loved the feel of his hands on my feet, so soft and strong. He gives massages that few feelings could beat. For a second, I think he's going to leave them in his lap, but then he shifts them back to the table and leans back.