It makes her feel close
Makes her smile
It's like he's with her almost.
~Rascal Flatts "Close"
A long delicate finger traced the trail of a melted snow flake down the window pane as she stared outside at the blanketed ground before her. Moonlight danced across the pristine white snow, pulling at her memory causing her lips to curve upward into a gentle smile.
She saw them, laughing in the snow. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close as his lips trailed kisses along her long slender neck, his fingers dancing across her slightly exposed skin.
She had clung to him, there in the cold mountain air, letting herself fall just a little more in love with the boy that stole her heart long ago.
His words of love were muffled as he lifted her off the ground and he buried his face in her curls as she whispered those same three little words back. It was real and true and overwhelming and all consuming.
It was there in that moment, with the moonlight shining down that she saw forever in his eyes of blue and it stole her very breathe away and she leaned forward, their foreheads touching and whispered she needed him, wanted him for all eternity with the snow coming down.
He had laughed, laughed until there were tears in his eyes and they were tumbling to the snow covered ground, his arms wrapped tightly around her, holding her close with the words Marry me falling from his lips.
She had cried, sobbed really, her hands latching onto his jacket, pulling him closer until their lips were meshed as one. They parted slightly and she softly whispered that one word that made his smile grow and her heart to soar as he tenderly spoke those three words that still made her cry; I love you.
It was all a memory now and he wasn't there and she was learning to make it on her own. Make it in a world were he didn't exist.
Sighing, she pressed her forehead against the cool glass, her warm breathe fogging the window and traced a pattern against the window with her finger, watching as it slowly faded, knowing it would return if only she'd breathe.
But breathing had become harder and living without him was something she was still trying to understand.
"Your phone's beeping." A sleepy voice said behind her, pulling her from her thoughts.
Pushing away from the window, she smiled faintly before turning and taking the phone from his out stretched hand with a whispered thanks. Flipping it open, she pressed the voicemail button and lifted it to her ear, her eyes watching the man before her, his own dark eyes watching her closely. She had come to hate that look but over time she had become accustomed to it. She saw it every night.
With a smile she turned away, her eyes closing, listening to the voice that played in her ear, her heart fluttering at its sound. It was familiar. It was home. It was comfort, all the things she once told him she needed and he gave her with the simple promise of forever.
She had memorized that message, knew it by heart but she still smiled at his words like they were new and she was hearing it all for the first time. Her smile grew when she heard him say they miss her. He misses her that he needs her and he loves her. They both love her. Her eyes mist over when he pauses momentarily and lets out a sigh before softly whispering that he's sorry for all sorts of things and they'll be there by nine and they'll sit by the fire and watch the snow fall.
And then there it was that sound, that unmistakable sound of squealing tires, a scream and metal against metal that takes her breath away each time and her eyes flutter shut, a tear slips down and she stands there, waiting for the silence to end and her heart to steady once again.
And it does when that computerized voice fills her head, indicting the end of the message and she pulls the phone from her ear, her finger brushing against the number 7. It would just take one push and he'd be gone and that night would disappear and she could move on, that's what she tells herself every time. But she doesn't and her finger inches to the number 9, saving that message from over two years ago to play it in the dark again tomorrow.
"Why do you save it every time?" He asked, shuffling across the hardwood floors on bare feet, until he was standing before her. His arms folded across his defined chest.
"Because," She whispers, lifting her watery eyes to meet his in the dark. "It makes me feel close to him."
"Honey…"
"I know," She said, her eyes closing when he pulled her to him, his chin resting on her golden head with a sigh. "I should delete it but…"
"You miss him." He finishes. His own eyes closing when he felt her arms slip around him, hugging him close.
It had become a nightly ritual. She slips from their bed, he'd lay there pretending he didn't notice and wait for that familiar sound of her phone beeping, indicting the time. An alarm she set once long ago, to go off at the exact time he had called that night so long ago.
A consist reminder of a night she wouldn't let go of.
A night she wishes she could change.
Pressing his lips to her forehead, he pulled back, his hands lifting to her shoulders as he looked into her eyes, "Come back to bed."
A sigh escaped her lips, her eyes fluttering shut as she bowed her head, her arms falling from around his waist, "You go," She whispered softly, lifting her head, her eyes opening and meeting his. "I'll be there soon."
"It's late," He drawled out, his own hands falling from her shoulder and took a step back. "And you haven't…"
That's when he noticed that old faded blue shirt she wore. Her fingers gripping the hem and he could see her standing beside another, hands clinging to blue and sighed.
He had found it once, buried deep in her closest, when he was making room for his things. She had said she would do it but she kept putting it off and he had grown tired of living out of boxes, so he moved those old boxes of hers, stacking them on-top of each other until one fell over, scattering it's contents across the floor.
Cursing under his breath, he knelt on the ground picking up each item, careful not to ruin those old memories she had packed away. There were forgotten sketches done in high school of a boy and girl, yearning for something neither understood. He had seen them once, long ago and he knew he'd never have her heart. Not the way he wanted it, so he let her go. But that was long ago and now she was his and he loved her. He gathered the stack of sketches together before carefully slipping them into the box, his dark eyes catching sight of three girls dressed in an old familiar cheerleader uniform, captured in a photograph.
Picking up the stack of photos, he brushed his finger across her smiling face, her arms tossed around two smiling brunettes as confetti fell down around them, the state championship. With a shake of his head, he flipped through the stack, stopping when one of her kissing another, fluttered to the ground and those words she had whispered once, in the dark, about another, long ago echoed in his mind.
With a sigh, he picked up that picture, staring at the couple that once seemed destine forever only for life to turn its ugly head and yank it all away. He had heard, back then, she had finally gotten her chance at happiness and he had been truly happy for her but staring at that picture, he wondered just how different it would be if he had never let her go.
Shaking his head of those what ifs, he tossed the pictures into the box and reached for the rest of the fallen items, his hands stilling when he lifted that old familiar shirt off the ground. He sat there, holding that folded blue material in his hands, staring at the worn out white letters across the front. He knew what it was. He had one himself packed away in a box full of old memories.
He had seen pictures of the blonde haired man wearing it, scattered around the house. Each different, moments captured forever. But it was the ones sitting on her bedside table that played in his mind as he sat there holding that old shirt; a smiling blue eyed blonde man, holding a smiling green eyed girl in his arms, while she clung to his arm. Her own gaze looking up at the pair beside her, her eyes full of life and he knew they held love.
And there she stood now, wearing that shirt and listening to his voice.
Running a hand through his dark hair he let out a sigh as he lowered himself down upon the couch, his dark eyes watching her, "You're wearing his shirt."
"Jake…" She drawled out taking a hesitant step forward, her actions stilling as he dropped his head with sigh.
"You're never going to let him go, are you?" He asked, lifting his head once again, his eyes glistening with tears.
"I loved him." She whispered, her arms wrapping around her waist as she stared at the man before her. "I still love him."
She never intended to lead him but he had reappeared in her life when she needed someone the most. Needed someone to hold on to when everything was slipping away and he was there and she missed another. "Jake, he's…I don't…"
"I know," He said, standing from the couch, his voice low, watching her as she wrapped her arms tighter around herself. She was broken, shattered and he wanted to fix her.
To be that man she needed but he wasn't and she was broken.
Sighing, Jake stepped forward, reached out and cupped her cheek, his thumb lightly brushing her tears away, "He's Lucas and your Peyton."
