Present Day
"How much longer 'til she remembers it's Christmas morning?" Reagan asks, climbing on top of me. Her fingers raise my chin up until I meet her eyes.
It's early. 6 am. Honestly, it's a miracle she's not up already. Last year we'd torn through all the presents and were on to breakfast by now.
"An hour?" She kisses me. "Half an hour?" She whispers. "Ten minutes?" I smile against her lips. She's amazing this way – calm and happy from a good night's sleep beside me...shining as the sun filters through our window. I wish I could see this smile every single morning.
I roll her over and she smiles up at me, her fanned out on the pillow. I must have imagined her this way at least a dozen time since she left. And once I heard about the shit Benson's been pulling, I've been worried I'd never get this moment with her...never see her again. These moments are everything.
"I've got time for whatever you want..." I whisper in her ear and she smiles, but our plans are interrupted by Emmy's squeals from downstairs.
Reagan eyes light up under me, and she leans in to give me a quick kiss before flinging the covers off. She slips into a pair of cotton shorts and that same old red King t-shirt she's always loved. It seems as if she's just as excited as Emmy. And while I'd love to keep her in bed all day, I wouldn't miss this for the world. I step into a pair of navy blue track pants and toss on a white v-neck and we're on our way.
"Daddy! Reagan! Santa was here. He ate my cookies," she runs up to us with the plate of crumbs before we've even reached the bottom step.
"See, Em? I told you did a good job making them. Santa always loves chocolate chip," Reagan tells her as she jumps up and down. "I've never seen him take more than a few bites of them and go, but he finished the whole plate!"
"I know!" She smiles.
Reagan's on the step behind me, looking over my shoulder, and she squeezes my hand. We managed to get the presents out, but I nearly forgot to tiptoe back down to the kitchen last night to handle the cookies. Reagan startled awake at 2 am and shook me, telling me to get my ass up and eat them or else we'd be telling a sad little girl that Santa is on a new fad diet.
"Look at all those presents! Can we open them now, Daddy?" She asks, running to set the plate back on the table. "Pleeaasse! I turned on the coffee pot for you! There are your mugs. I couldn't pour the coffee because it's too hot..." she bites her lip. "But Merry Christmas!"
"Merry Christmas, sweetie," Reagan says, but I'm still hung up on the whole coffee pot thing.
"You did what?" I ask, eyeing the orange light. It's an auto-brew. "That's...amazing, baby. But you gotta be careful," I laugh. Reagan smiles and walks to fill the two mugs with the fresh, dark coffee, doctoring hers up just the way she likes.
Emmy grabs my hand, tugging me to the pile of boxes under the tree as Reagan follows. She helped me set them all out last night. Due to the circumstances, we've managed to cram a lot of Christmas into just a few days, but I wouldn't have it any other way. The best Christmas present she could ever give me is a promise that one day, she'll stay forever.
"I can read this year, so I'm handing them out," Emmy announces as we sit on the floor around the tree. I lean back on my hands and set my mug down beside me on the wood floor.
"I'll bet they're mostly for you," I smile as she scans the gift tags. "Few in here for Reagan, too." I made sure to sneak them in when she wasn't looking last night.
Emmy tears through a few boxes of clothes and dolls before we reach a sparkly silver box. "This one's from Reagan," she smiles, looking over at her. "Can I open it now?"
"Of course you can," she says. I watch her – sipping her coffee, so focused on my little girl as she carefully peels off the wrapping paper like it's the most precious gift.
I know what it is. Reagan told me because she had to get it shipped here since it was too big to bring along. She said she'd found it in a custom shop, but I had no idea the sweet details she'd have added.
"Oh WOW!" She screams, lifting the latches on the black case. "A guitar!." It's just her size, but authentic - acoustic, with natural coloring and a black pick guard with a scripted "E" in pink.
"Is it okay? I know you said you wanted to learn how to play. And I'd love to teach you someday soon. As soon as I can," She says nervously. "If you'd still like that."
She nods and throws her arms around Reagan, nearly knocking her over. Reagan's arms come up to hold her and she whispers, "Merry Christmas, baby." in her hair.
"We can play together some day. When I'm older," She says before releasing her and I can't help but notice the look on Reagan's face. It's like my little girl has just asked her to stay forever, too. "Like a teenager," she clarifies. "Because I'm too nervous now. And I don't know how to play,"
Reagan lets out a breath. It's clear she's in a million pieces right now.
"This one says TO Reagan, LOOOVVVVE Luke," she stretches out the words and Reagan's cheeks go pink as she takes the box. "That means my Daddy loves you," she clarifies and my eyes meet Reagan's. She smiles.
It's small and she unwraps it slowly, looking up at me every few seconds like she's completely baffled I got her something. Please. It'd be a ring if I didn't think I'd scare her off.
"Luke," she says, pulling them out of the box. "They're gorgeous. Thank you,"
It's just a pair of earrings, but they're diamonds and I immediately thought of her when I saw them. Right now, it feels like such an ordinary gift. Completely unspectacular. I'm glad it's not the only one I have for her.
She reaches across to touch my hand and says it again. She must see the trouble on my face. "Thank you." I smile.
"Open mine!" Emmy speeds over to Reagan a tiny package that's slightly bent in on the corners. "I wrapped it myself," she tells her kneeling right in front of Reagan so she barely has room to open it. Her hands work at the red tissue paper until she's holding a silver necklace with a black metal guitar pick strung on it. "Daddy helped me make it. He bought the chain and drilled the hole," she smiles. "Flip it over. You're missing the best part!"
And when she does, I hear her gasp. Emmy's gift to Reagan soooo bumped my earrings to last place. And that's just fine with me.
Reagan's eyes lock on the black pick with "LOVE, EMMY" engraved on the back.
"I wrote it. Then the shop carved it in," she whispers. "So you can look at it and remember me," she says and Reagan completely cracks. She's trying to hold it in, but she's shaking her head and hugging Emmy like she's never going to see her again.
"What's the matter? Don't you like it, Reagan?" She asks pulling away to look at her eyes. She looks at me nervously and I smile, tipping my head at Reagan so Emmy sees her face.
"I love it. I love it," she manages. "I'm going to wear it every day," she tells her as Emmy blinks at her. She's sweet and naïve and I'd do anything in the world to keep her that way. I think we both would. "And I would keep you with me every day if I could, sweetheart," the tears run down her face and Emmy climbs on her lap.
She thinks for a minute, just staring up at the woman I love.
"I love you, Reagan," she tells her and my heart pounds. I know she does, but this is the first time she'd ever told her in front of me. "You don't have to cry. I still love you when you leave,"
"I know, sweetie. And I love you, too. Emmy. So, so much," she takes a breath and lets it out. I need to take one, too. I've been holding mine all along, desperately trying to keep it together, but my heart is about to explode. Holy shit. I'm so in love.
I've loved her for years, and in a lot of ways, but never as much as right now.
She kisses the top of Emmy's head and wipes the tears from her cheeks as my daughter climbs off of her. Then, we all take a breath and reset. How can something be so beautiful?
I sip my coffee as Emmy grabs the next gift from the pile.
"My present for you," Emmy brings me a flat present wrapped in tissue paper. I light up when I see them – paintings she did in school. One of the two of us at a playground. One of me in my uniform. One of the three of us. Our names are painted below us and I'm holding Reagan's hand.
"They're so good," I tell her, pulling her in for a hug. "Thank you, baby." She nods and I move on, even though I'm still stuck on the one of the three of us. This is big. Erin has been a part of her life for years, but she's never once added her to a family picture. Emmy gets it. She gets it so much it scares me.
"Daddy, this one says TO Luke, LOOOVVVEEE Reags," she giggles. "That means she loves you back, Daddy," she whispers and I see Reagan smile. This is, hands down, the best Christmas ever.
The box is somewhat large, but flat. I look up at her and she smiles. Her eyes are still glassy and she's blinking fast to dry them. I tear through the paper. It's taped on every side and I give her a teasing, irritated glare because she knows how much I hate tape. She laughs and gestures for me to carry on.
"It'll be New Year's Day before you get that open," she teases back, but then her smile fades when she realizes she won't be here when January hits.
I work my way through it, opening the lid to see a new, expensive looking leather jacket. I pull it from the box and hold it up, then stand to try it on. It fits perfectly and smell amazing, and she stands and walks over to me to get a good look, brushing the shoulders.
"Fits like a glove," I say. "It's great. Thank you, Reagan," I smile.
"Check the pockets," she says. "Should have the care instructions in there, in case," she tells me and my brows furrow. That's a weird thing to say, but at this point I'd do anything she asks, so I start at the top in the chest pockets and work my way down. Her eyes are wild.
"I don't see anything, but I'm not worried about it..." I assure her. "Like I said, it's perfect. Easily the best jacket I own,"
She's smirking like she knows something I don't. I laugh, "What?"
"Check the inner pockets," she says and I laugh, unzipping the coat again. I reach to the left and feel nothing, but when I reach into the right and my hand hits metal, I freeze. I feel along the edges just to be sure, then pull it out and hold it in the palm of my hand. It's a key. And not just any key – the top is black and embossed with a big HD. Harley Davidson.
"Reagan," I say slowly, shocked, and she nods. I swallow. Am I understanding this correctly?
"It's at the dealer. I ordered it online and asked that they send me a second key so I could pack it. It's paid in full and yours when we can get it home," she smiles. "We can rent a trailer if we need to and haul it back..."
"You got me a motorcycle?" I can't breathe. I stare down at the key.
"You better check some of those front pockets again," she smirks. "I think you missed something,"
I slowly unsnap and unzip the pockets again, and sure enough, I find it. It's an all black Street 500 with red accents on the front fork. I'm drooling. I'm speechless. I can't believe she did this.
"Reagan," it's all I can say at first. After my accident, I got the impression she's terrified of the idea of me riding again. But she knows I loved it and miss it, and that I always wanted one when were together long ago. She trusts me.
"God, Reagan. Thank you," I tell her, drawing her into my arms. "You just being home was plenty. I love it, but it's too much."
"It's not. Let me do this," she smiles. Just because she's got tons of money doesn't mean she's got to spend it on me. She could be spending on it a security guard from Benson, actually...but I'm thankful and completely shocked. "You just promise me you'll be careful on it. And I got you the best helmet on the market," she looks down at Emmy. "You take a picture of your Daddy getting ready to ride it and send it to me, got it?" She tells her, and my stomach sinks. "I want to see how handsome he looks,"
"Got it!" Emmy spins around, but I can't take my eyes off Reagan. Just when I think I know what's coming, I'm wrong.
"Thank you," I whisper again and she pulls me closer by the sides of my new jacket. She leans up on her toes to press a kiss to my lips, and it's the first time she's really kissed me in front of Emmy. It's quick, but sweet and promising, and I'll admit I'm a little nervous to see how my daughter will react.
To my surprise, she's glowing. She suggests she practice her photo taking right now, and she grabs my phone and snaps a photo of the two of us before we carry on with the rest of the presents.
"I have another present for you," I say softly as Emmy digs through the last of the pile. "But it's for later. Tonight when Emmy goes to bed," I whisper in her ear.
"Oh?" Her eyebrow arches and I shake my head.
"That, too. But I'm talking about a real present. It'll be better if it's just the two of us, okay?" I wrap my arm around her shoulder and she nods. And when there's nothing short of a wasteland of wrapping paper in the living room, I know it's time for breakfast.
"You know how to ice skate, right Reagan?" Emmy asks, shoveling scrambled eggs into her mouth. "Because we go every year on Christmas Day before we go to Grandma's. Me and Daddy."
Reagan's been ice skating, but it wasn't pretty. I smile up at her. She looks like a deer in the headlights, even all these years later.
"Sure," she smiles. "I'd love to come with. But I'll warn you. I'm rusty," she sips her coffee and digs back into her eggs.
I remember the first time we went. I was 18, Reagan was 15. Erin begged us to go, but she fell on her first lap around the pond and had to sit the rest of the afternoon out, flirting with the boys at the snack shack. I was the only one who could stay upright, and I ended up pulling a terrified Reagan around in circles until she got the courage to unlock her knees. She was sheet white. I bought her hot chocolate and told her to deal with it, but I never teased her about it again.
She's been through nearly everything with me. No matter the memory, she's there. Nothing took that away from me. Not distance. Not time. Not pain.
There's just a dusting of snow on the ground, but the pond is frozen solid and clear for skating, so we load up the car and head down as soon as we finish breakfast.
It's moderately busy, but nothing crazy. Emmy's in pink pea coat, pink hat and little skates, standing on the ice in no time. I love my new coat, but I swapped it out for something more practical, in case I burn out on the ice. Beside me, Reagan's lacing up her skates. She's in a red knit hat and button up coat with red gloves, and she looks sick to her stomach.
"Been skating lately?" I ask her gently and she shakes her head.
"Not since," she confirms.
"Seriously?" my eyes light up. "Oh, baby. I promise I'll take it easy on you. And when I hold your hand, you won't even have to panic this time," I wink. "You'll be a regular champ in a minute,"
"Right," she smirks and finishes tying her laces. Emmy skates back and forth in front of us and takes my hand as I step out on the ice. She's actually pretty good. "I'll wait til you go around once," she tells me. "I'll have you know I'd only do this for you two," she warns.
"Don't I know it," I raise my eyebrows at her as Emmy and I start our laps. She's adorable, and each year we do this I think about the last one. How much she's grown. How much she's changed. She's been the one constant through everything, and I'll never forget that. She's my entire universe, and I'm so glad Reagan just fits right in with our little family. It's almost like Emmy is hers. It's almost like she's always been hers. When we make it around the pond once, Reagan waves. Emmy will have to come with us when I bring her on the ice – we'll be three wide and look like one of those goofy commercials for family values, but I don't care.
We skate up to Reagan and she takes my hand. She's much sturdier on her feet this time, and it doesn't take long for her to get her bearings. She's still not a pro, but I'm not dragging her this time.
We make a few laps until Emmy asks to go around with just Reagan. I'm surprised when she agrees, having just been horrified of the ice not twenty minutes ago, but I take the opportunity to breathe. To think.
Reagan is headed back to Dublin in two days. Other than her exit from The Wayward, nothing has really changed. We're gonna be in this limbo for five more months, and as of this moment, I have no idea when we'll see each other again.
I've got to start thinking. Planning.
They lap past me and wave. It's adorable, actually. Seeing Reagan – this gorgeous woman with tattoos and a nose ring, who looks completely bad ass and in charge all the time, wobbling on a pair of skates. She's far different than the woman that left, in more than just looks. She's the complete package – smart, loving and gorgeous – and aside from the distance and crazy ex-fiance thing, I'd say we've got a pretty beautiful thing going.
I think about the way she was when she was young – sweet and nervous, but silly as hell. And the way she was as she was trying to find herself – impulsive, but sexy. I think about the stories she shared with me over a few beers the last time she was home. The wild nights. The drinking to excess. The drugs. She didn't hide a thing from me. She laid it all right out there. She gave me the parts of her I didn't know...the pieces of her I'd never know, if not for her honesty.
And it killed me. I knew she was probably in the fast lane; fame and success will do that to a person. But I wanted it to be different for her – not because I'm judging her for her actions, but because I hate the thought of her hurting. I hate the danger. I hate that I drove her away and that's where she ended up. I should've been there for her.
She doesn't blame me, and she doesn't dote on it. She says the only reason she told me is because it's an ugly part of her that I needed to see, and I told I love her all the same and I'm proud of her for overcoming it. Am I afraid to leave her with Emmy? No. 100% No. 1000% No.
Honesty can be so simple if you stop being afraid.
I wish I would've known that years ago.
And Emmy. I think of what this might mean to her, about the hopes and dreams she might have that she never even talks about. It's hard not to be afraid, because her heart is so fragile and perfect and it wouldn't take much to break it. If I was worried about my heart, I was worried twice over about hers. But she sees Reagan in a different light than she's ever seen Erin. There's a good reason she never attached the Auntie to Reagan's name, even after learning we grew up in the same house just like Erin.
She's never come right out and asked my intentions, but she talks about the future all the time, and Reagan's clearly in her mind.
They're laughing when they reach me this time, and they both skate off the ice. "Can we get hot chocolate?" Emmy asks. "I'm freezing." Her little freckled cheeks are red, matching Reagan's. I touch her face with the backs of my gloves and smile.
"Definitely," I say, pulling out my wallet and walking up to the stand. I order three hot chocolates and we sit on a bench, watching the others go by. I sip my warm drink out of a foam cup beside my two girls and dream up a day when I might get to order four hot chocolates. I dream up a little boy with dark brown hair and chocolate brown eyes. Or big blue eyes, just like his sister's. I dream, and I get ahead of myself, and my heart pounds...because I'm terrified.
I look over at them and they're making shadow puppets on the ice from the sunlight.
Jesus Christ. I'm scared to think about it again. Don't get me wrong. I want this life with her. I want the three of us to be a family, all living in the same place. Going to sleep at night and not worrying about the next time we'll get to see each other. I want to marry her again one day, if she'll let me. But not now, because we're not quite there. Not unless she tells me, and even then we'd wait a bit.
I want her to be the mother of my child someday. I want a child that's both of us, and not because we had one and then...didn't. Not because I'm trying to redo history. I want it because I love her, and because sharing something like that with her would be the most precious of gifts. But not now. Not for awhile. Not til we really talk. Til she looks me in the eye and tells me it's what she wants, too. And only then.
It all sounds wonderful, but it doesn't make me any less hesitant, because no matter how it goes, I'm afraid it will always remind her of the last time. I really don't want to push her and I really don't want her to shut down. And if it meant not getting those things – not marrying her, not making babies with her, it won't change how I feel. I could love her forever – just love her forever, if the rest of it would scare her away.
I won't keep these thoughts from her. If she asks me, I'll come right out and tell her. I might scare the shit out of her, so I'll do it carefully, but I won't pretend to be on the fence. My dreams are clear.
It's a lot to contemplate over a cup of hot chocolate, and it's not long before they call me out for being too quiet. We agree to one last lap around the pond before turning in, so we can arrive at the Abbott house just before dinner. We're just finishing our drinks when I hear it – a whistle from the other side of the pond.
I squint. I see him. He's tall, with slicked back dark hair and a cigarette. He's smiling, that bastard. Benson. What the hell? My chest tightens. I panic. I get this crazy picture of him following her on that plane. Following her in a car. Following us here. I can see it now, him finally losing it...driven out of his mind by his obsession.
"Stay here. Don't move," I stand up too quickly and nearly trip over Emmy as I run at full speed around the pond. A crowd gets off the ice and I lose sight of him, but I charge on until I reach the spot. He's there in front of me, turned around. My fists are clenched, my head pounds. I'm losing it. I'm going to hit him. I'm going to kill him.
He's in a long winter coat with the collar pulled up around his neck. I put my hand on his shoulder and prepare to kick his ass when he turns around.
"I thought I told you to stay the fuck away from her," I yell. Everyone stares, but I don't care. "If you think you can come here and mess with my family, you're dead wrong,"
He jumps. He turns. I shut the hell up.
"What the hell, man?" The man pulls away from me, and I stand before him breathless. It's not him. It's not even close. A woman and a little boy come walking up to him from across the pond where I was standing...the little boy takes his hand. I'm wrong.
Am I seeing things?
"Sorry, man. Thought you were someone else..."
Reagan's standing up when I get back. From a few steps away, I see her saying something to Emmy. Her eyes are wide. She takes one look at me and she knows. "Not him," I breathe. She reaches out and squeezes my hand, but I can't shake the idea that he really is here somewhere. Lurking. Everything about that guy is eerie. He's obsessed with her.
"Let's just go," she says gently and Emmy nods. I didn't want to ruin today, but I couldn't risk it. The tension passes. We don't talk about it again, and arrive on time for dinner at the Abbott's.
It's different this time. Reagan holds my hand when we walk through the door. She's still holding it when we sit down for dinner – our hands are linked and out there on display on top of the table. Her mother's eyes scan over us lightly and she smiles knowingly. For the first time in the history of our relationship, we're not hiding a single thing, and it feels amazing. It feels real.