Title: Snapshots: Anthology of a Life Well Lived

Author: Kimberly21570

Fandoms: Guiding Light / All My Children

Pairings: Olivia and Natalia / Lena and Bianca

Disclaimers and Other Assorted Ramblings: The characters of Olivia and Emma Spencer, Natalia and Rafe Rivera, Maureen "Maury" Reardon, Ashlee Wolfe, Phillip Spaulding, and Beth Raines are owned by CBS/TeleNext and Proctor & Gamble. The characters AJ Chandler is owned by All My Children, ABC/Disney and Prospect Park. The original characters of Jordan Montgomery-Kundera, Tracy, Jacob, Dylan, and Gia Jackson-Morgan are the property of this author, and any resemblance to fictional characters, or real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

No copyright infringement intended with regard to Guiding Light, CBS/TeleNext, Proctor & Gamble, AMC, ABC/Disney, or any other person or entity. The dialogue, settings, and story content in these scenes are original. Written for fun, not profit. All other standard disclaimers apply.

Rating: Overall, Chapter 8 is rated R, though this particular update is rated PG-13 for mild sexual content and strong language.

Synopsis: It's a stroll down memory lane for Olivia and Natalia, Lena and Bianca, and their friends and family, as two of our favorite couples' daughters prepare to enter into wedded bliss, in a double wedding… of sorts…

Author's Note: Pay particular attention to the transitions in time, as this chapter contains flashbacks within flashbacks.

While I wouldn't exactly call this update "comforting," I thought we could all use a little something extra with all that's going on in the world right now. Stay safe and healthy, friends. I hope you all enjoy.

Snapshots: Anthology of a Life Well Lived

Copyright September 2012

"No one would have crossed the ocean if he could have gotten off the ship in the storm."

Charles Kettering

Chapter 8.4—Showers and Thunderstorms:

The Farmhouse of Love—Saturday, December 18, 2021, 2:30 p.m. Central Standard Time

A few weeks later, winter break brought Emma, Dylan, and Jacob home from their respective universities, much to their own delight and that of their family and friends. Arriving home mid-afternoon the Saturday after finals, Emma and Sutton, who had long ago been adopted as part of their family, were greeted by Olivia, Natalia, and the girls, and within minutes the farmhouse hummed with its usual amalgam of love and chaos.

Growing up, the tradition had always been to decorate the house for Christmas the weekend after Thanksgiving. But that had changed Emma's freshman year of college. Since most of the family was either in Michigan or Ohio for Thanksgiving weekend every year since then, and Emma couldn't be home until after finals, the decision was made to postpone their annual Christmas decoration frenzy until the start of winter break. And now that Emma was home, Rafe and Ashlee came over with the kids, and everyone launched into full decorating mode. Within hours, the outside lights were up and twinkling, the tree was in place beside the hearth and fully adorned, the banister was draped in holly and ivy with white flashing lights for an accent, and the whole house smelled like Christmas.

Dylan joined them for dinner later that evening, with a stern warning from Emma beforehand to be on his best behavior until they were able to sneak off to the garage apartment. He laughed and asked her when she was finally going to tell them. Emma simply grinned in response, alluding to the fact that sneaking around made it all the more fun—didn't it?

But was that the real reason why she didn't want anyone to know?

Somehow, she'd managed to convince herself that it was. Now all she had to do was keep up the façade. How hard could that be?

Though the question was rhetorical as she silently pondered it, an answer would soon reveal itself in a raucous clash between truth and denial. And as a result, her future, and that of others she loved deeply, would be forever changed.


The Farmhouse of Love—Saturday, December 18, 2021, 6:30 p.m. Central Standard Time

Complete with flickering candles in the hand-crafted floral centerpiece, their dining room table was covered with all of Emma's favorites, right down to the homemade blueberry crisp for dessert. The clamor of talking and laughter surrounded her as they ate, and she found herself even more grateful than usual to be sitting there with so many people that she loved, including her dad and Beth, Sutton, of course, and Maury. And yet, a part of her felt sad, because for all the love surrounding her, Jordan wasn't there, and that made her heart inexplicably lonely. Still, she smiled and laughed with her family, enjoying every story, savoring every morsel of the delicious meal her Mama had prepared for them, and basking in the warmth of the Holiday Season in the only real home she had ever known.

After they finished dinner and the kitchen was once again in order, Natalia retreated upstairs to get the girls into the shower or bath and ready for bed, while Olivia pulled Emma aside in the kitchen. The expression on her face said she meant business; but not in a way that meant Emma was in trouble.

"Everything okay, Mom?" She sounded concerned as she settled into a chair at the worn wooden table that still bore the markings of her childhood doodling.

Olivia contemplated her words before speaking. "Listen, Em, I know things are different now that you're older…"

"But?" Emma had a feeling she knew what was coming. Her mothers had been watching her interactions with Dylan all evening.

"Not 'but'," Olivia corrected. "And…"

An eyebrow arched, making Emma look even more like her mom. "And?" Now she was curious.

"And it isn't fair of us to expect you to live like you're still a teenager," Olivia said. "I can't tell you not to have sex in your own home anymore," she granted. "But…"

Emma signed. "I knew there was a 'but' coming."

"N-n-n-n-no," Olivia was quick to counter. "All I'm asking is… if you're planning to have sex with Dylan while you're home, just please be mindful of your sisters. Make sure he uses the outside door to the garage apartment if he's staying over?"

The corner of Emma's mouth twitched into an unsteady smile, and she hoped she hadn't looked surprised her mother knew her secret. "Sure, Mom," she nodded. She had moved out there upon her return home from freshman year, and was used to having guests arrive and leave through the outside door anyway. "We can definitely do that."

Olivia offered a slight smile in response. "Thank you," she said softly.

Emma's gaze flickered away for a moment. "How did you know?" She hadn't told a soul except Sutton and Gage. Especially Jordan. God, she couldn't tell Jordan!

A light chuckle fell from Olivia's lips. "That you and Dylan are having sex?"

"Well, yeah," Emma shrugged.

An eyebrow vaulted. "The two of you weren't exactly quiet when you snuck back into the penthouse the morning after the Big Game," Olivia reported. "And the gas receipts for weekend jaunts to OSU didn't help either," she teased.

"Fuck," Emma cursed. She had forgotten that all of her transactions were recorded for her mothers to see. It had never mattered before. Her gaze met Olivia's. "Does Ma know?" She looked worried.

"She pays all the bills," Olivia said, allowing the facts to answer the question.

Emma's face fell.

"Relax, Honey, everybody knows," Olivia informed matter-of-factly. "And your Ma is fine."

Her mother's word did little to ease her anxiety. "Really?"

Olivia smiled. "Really," she nodded. "We argued about it the entire way home, but she's calmed down now. Everything's fine."

The fact that her mothers argued about her sex life for nearly seven hours didn't surprise Emma in the least. That her Ma was actually cool with the issue now certainly did. "She's not gonna flip out on me if Dylan is here in the morning?" She checked in one more time.

"Just… make sure he's fully clothed, and wearing something other than what he has on right now," Olivia requested. "Never poke a stick at the bee's nest—that's like begging to get stung."

Emma laughed. "I think you've been living on this farm a little too long, Mom."

"Oh, the things we do for love," Olivia said wistfully, as she leaned her elbow on the table, and planted her chin in her upturned palm.

"Indeed," Emma sighed. "Good thing Dylan hasn't unpacked his car yet."

"Has he even been home to see his family?" Olivia wouldn't have been surprised if he hadn't. Emma had gone to see him every weekend between Thanksgiving and the end of the semester, so it was clear that things were quickly growing serious.

"Of course," Emma laughed. "He's been home for almost a week."

"And he hasn't cleaned out his car." More statement than question, Olivia sounded amused. She had forgotten Tracy's mention that he was already home earlier in the week.

"What can I say?" Emma shrugged. "He's not a details kinda guy. He's more into action, than planning."

Launching a pointed look at her daughter, Olivia said, "Well, he'd better have some details in order."

Emma clearly understood the implicit message. "We've got it covered twice over, Mom," she assured.

"Good," Olivia said firmly. And then she grinned. "And for God's sake, lock the goddamn door."

An unlocked door was what had gotten them caught the last time. And they both knew how the girls liked to burst in on their big sister in the morning—especially when Sutton was home with her. "Yes, Ma'am," Emma chuckled.

Olivia patted Emma's cheek, and stepped toward the back door, intending to check the locks as she always did before heading upstairs for the evening.

Emma reached out, gently touching Olivia's arm. "Mom?" she called softly.

Turning toward her daughter, Olivia's eyes were soft with affection. "Yeah, Jellybean?"

A wistful smile fell across Emma's lips at the sound of that endearment. She hadn't heard it in quite a while. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Innately, Olivia understood the totality of what Emma was saying to her. She stepped into her daughter's personal space, as Emma stood from her chair, and pulling her into a tight embrace, she brushed a kiss against her temple. "I am so damned proud to be your mother," she whispered against Emma's ear.

Overcome with emotion, Emma fought back tears, as she clung tightly to her mother. More tightly than she had in years. And Olivia simply held her, not taking a single moment of it for granted.


The Farmhouse of Love—Saturday, December 18, 2021, 11:30 p.m. Central Standard Time

After saying goodnight to Dylan later that evening, Emma slowly climbed the stairs and slipped through the inner door that led to the garage apartment. She felt both tired and conflicted. Sutton had begged off early, claiming exhaustion. But Emma knew better than that. She was just trying to give Emma time alone with Dylan—something Emma would have done herself, if the situation were reversed. So, hugging Sutton goodnight, she settled down in the family room to watch a movie with Dylan, which turned into a make-out session on the sofa. And when things turned too steamy for public view, Emma had led him out to the apartment, where their clothing quickly became floor ornaments; their hot, entangled bodies, welcomed recreation. Their initial encounter was swift, and wild, and oh, so satisfying; and they laughed together, as they struggled to catch their breath.

And then Dylan was kissing her, slowly, as their encounter shifted from a desire-driven fuck to tender lovemaking. His mouth was warm against her body, as he reveled in her soft, sweat-soaked skin. He loved every last inch of her, and never wavered in his desire and dedication to please her.

She sighed, and groaned, in turn, as he kissed and licked his way down her body, pausing to tease her nipples, belly button, and that sensitive place on her inner thighs. And then her breath hitched, as he reached his desired destination; where he took his time, loving her until she cried out in completion. He held her close then, kissing the sweat-dampened chestnut tendrils that teased at her temples, and murmuring against her ear.

It was those murmurs of love that always clenched at her heart. He was so sincere. She knew he was. But even that couldn't make her heart feel something that it didn't. She was grateful when he drifted off to sleep, as he often did afterwards. And then, in the quiet, in the darkness, her unbidden tears began to fall.

When Dylan awoke a short time later, he sprang from the bed laughing, as he struggled into his jeans. "My moms are gonna kick my ass," he said, noting the time.

"It's not that late, D," Emma said, looking amused. "What, are you on a curfew?"

Dylan leveled her with a look. "Shut. Your. Mouth." he teased, causing her to laugh. "No, but they'd be none too pleased by a sleepover. Besides, I promised Gia I'd take her to kids' church in the morning."

She didn't bother conveying the content of her earlier conversation with her mother. Given who his mothers were, both of them should have known that Dylan wouldn't be staying over anyway. And so she had walked him out to his car and kissed him goodnight before heading back inside to get ready for bed.

Once in her bedroom, Emma pulled sleepwear from her dresser and tossed them onto her bed. Slipping out of the jeans and t-shirt she had slipped back into just minutes ago, she tossed them into the hamper in the corner of her room. And then she stripped off her bra and panties, sending them on a similar trajectory. Grabbing her robe from the back of the door, she slipped it on, and padded across the hall to the bathroom, careful not to wake Sutton, who was asleep on the pull-out sofa in her living room.

A quick shower and fresh sleepwear left her feeling physically refreshed. But emotionally, she was still restless. She sauntered through the inner door and down the hall toward her mothers' bedroom, praying that they were still awake.

Noting the light underneath the door, she breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully, they were still up.

Lightly, she tapped on the door, and waited for a response before entering.

Glancing at the bedside table, Olivia noted the time. "Come in," she called out, curiosity in her tone.

Opening the door, Emma found her mother propped up in bed, reading.

Her gaze sliding over the top of her book, Olivia smiled, as she removed her reading glasses. "Hi, Baby," she greeted warmly. Marking her page, she set the book aside. "I didn't expect to see you again tonight."

"Is this a good time?" Emma asked tentatively.

Nodding, Olivia motioned her inside. "Sure," she said. "Come on in. Close the door."

The door clicked behind her as she pushed it closed, and Emma glanced around the room. The bathroom door was open, and the light was off. Natalia was nowhere to be found. "Where's Ma?"

"She's in with Bella," Olivia answered. "Bad dream."

"Ah…" Emma nodded. She remembered those days with an odd sort of fondness. She remembered Natalia falling asleep on her bed at the Beacon when her mother was sick and she felt too scared to sleep alone. And then there were the countless nights after they moved to the farmhouse, where both of her mothers would come to her room when she had a bad dream, especially when her dad was sick. They would check on her together, reassure her, and then one of them would stay with her until she fell back to sleep. Ma would probably be a while.

"Is Dylan asleep?"

"No, he's on his way home." She felt like such an ass for being relieved that he had to go.

Olivia grinned. "Didn't wanna chance it with your Ma, huh?"

Emma laughed. "He promised Gia he'd go to kids' church with her in the morning."

"He's a good big brother," Olivia observed.

"Yeah, he is," Emma agreed. She took a deep breath. "May I ask you something, Mom?" Her tone was tentative, as she walked toward her parents' bed. "It's… really personal."

"Of course, Honey." Olivia's tone welcomed conversation, as she gestured toward her bed, silently inviting her to take a seat. "What is it?" she asked, as Emma climbed onto the bed next to her. Leaning back against the headboard, Olivia wrapped a protective arm around her daughter.

"How different was sex for you with Ma, than it was with Daddy?"

"Oh, wow," Olivia exhaled. She was a bit surprised by the question, though not uncomfortably so. "You really don't pull any punches, to you?" she teased.

"Sorry?" Emma grimaced.

"There's no need for that," Olivia said, dismissing her daughter's concern. And then she paused for a moment, considering the question. "Well, I would say it was different in a lot of ways, Em. Not just physically, but emotionally, too," she answered honestly. "What makes you ask?" She needed a better understanding of the context of Emma's question before she could answer fully.

"Did you… like it equally as much?"

Not the least bit thrown, Olivia nodded. "I very much enjoyed sex with men. I would never deny that," she answered forthrightly. "But… the physical relationship I share with your Ma is so much more fulfilling for me."

"Why?" Emma asked.

Olivia smiled. "Because she was the missing piece of my puzzle," she declared. "I had a lot of sex before I met your Ma, Em. And I even believed that I made love before her. But one time with her, and I knew how wrong I had been. I had a lot of fulfilling experiences in the past, but… nothing has ever compared to being with her, and nothing ever will."

She watched as Emma absorbed the information, and reaching over, she took her daughter's hand. "What's on your mind, Em? Why are you asking about this?"

"I don't know, Mom. I guess… I'm wondering if I'll ever have what you have with Ma," Emma answered. "Don't get me wrong, sex with Dylan is incredible," she admitted unashamedly. She knew her mother wouldn't scoff at her bluntness. "Just like it was with Maury. I mean, it's different, which makes sense, but… I don't know. I guess I'm just surprised at how different it is. And… I wonder why I've never felt the same connection with either of them that you share with Ma."

"Do you love Dylan, Em?" Olivia's tone was gentle.

Dropping her gaze, Emma avoided eye contact with her mother. "I do love him, Mom," she answered.

"But…?" Olivia gently pressed.

"But not the way you love Ma." Emma was quiet for a moment, contemplating. "Is that wrong?"

"Is what wrong?" Olivia asked, seeking clarification.

"Having sex with someone when you're not in love with them?" Emma answered, her tone asking the question. "I know Ma would say it is, but…"

"Honey, if it were, I would've been on the fast train to hell a long time ago," Olivia answered candidly.

A hint of a smile tickled the corners of Emma's mouth. She had always appreciated her mother's candor. "Sometimes, I feel guilty, Mom," she admitted. "I know Dylan wants more of a commitment, but I just can't."

"Three trips to OSU in three weeks isn't a commitment?" Olivia questioned.

"No," Emma denied. "It's three weekends of really great sex, and not having to feel so alone." Not having to think so much about her.

Shaking her head, Olivia chuckled. "So what you're saying is I'm footing the gas bills for your booty calls."

"Well, when you put it that way…" Emma's tone started out lighthearted, but changed mid-sentence. "God, Mom, I feel like even more of an ass."

She dropped Olivia's gaze again, focusing on her hands as she clutched them in her lap.

"Dylan means so much more to me than just a convenient weekend fuck. He deserves so much better than that, and so do I," Emma admitted. "But I'm just not ready to make a real commitment to him."

"Does that mean you might be able to in the future?"

"I don't know," Emma admitted, sounding lost. "I know I could be happy with him, but…"

"Is there someone else, Em?" Olivia asked, already knowing the answer.

Emma was quiet for a long while. "No one who matters, because it's impossible," she finally answered.

"If there's someone who makes you ponder the possibility, then it's not impossible," Olivia reasoned. "Your Mama and I are living proof of that."

Wordlessly, Emma reflected on Olivia's contention.

Gently, Olivia swept her fingertips through Emma's shoulder-length, chestnut locks. "Is this about Jordan, Sweetie?"

The expression on Emma's face spoke of astonishment. "How does everyone know that?" she muttered to herself, but loudly enough that Olivia heard her.

"Is she the reason you and Maury broke up?"

Emma nodded. "Yes," she admitted. "She said I was different when we came home this summer. And that she's known for a long time that I felt something for Jordan."

"That's not the least bit surprising to me, Em," Olivia commented. "Anyone who's seen the two of you together, knows there's something there."

They were both silent for a few moments, and then Olivia asked, "Are you in love with her?"

"She's seventeen," Emma sighed.

"And she'll be eighteen in four months," Olivia countered. "But that's not what I asked." Patiently, she reiterated her question.

"I think so, yes. I don't know," Emma answered. She was truly conflicted. "I know I'm more attracted to her than I ever have been to anyone else. And that I'm drawn to her, and I can't stop thinking about her. God, sometimes it drives me fuckin' crazy," she sighed. "But she's committed to AJ, Mom. And she's never been involved with a woman before."

"Neither had your Ma or I before we fell in love," Olivia countered.

When Emma didn't respond, Olivia pressed forward. "Look, Honey, it isn't my place to speculate about Jordan's sexuality," she said. "All I know is what I've seen, and when that girl looks at you, I see nothing but love in her eyes."

"What if I fuck it up, Mom," Emma sighed. It wasn't really a question. "What if I break her heart? At least now, I still have my friend. I don't think I could ever face her again if things didn't work out."

"And what if you put yourself out there and don't fuck it up?" Olivia countered. "Sometimes confessions lead to strange bedfellows, Jellybean. Ones of the very best kind."

Emma laughed. "What does that even mean?"

"It means that sometimes love surprises you. Sometimes it comes in the last person you'd ever expect, but if you confess your love to her, then maybe you'll get the same gift that Mama and I got when we finally found the guts to confess the truth."

"A best friend and a lover all in one beautiful package," Emma correctly assumed.

"Exactly," Olivia confirmed.

Curling herself around her mother's body, Emma buried her face against her chest just like she had as a child. "Honest to god, Mom, I don't know what I'd do without you."

A faint smile swept across Olivia's lips as she pressed them against the top of Emma's head. "Same, Jellybean," she whispered, her fingertips gliding smoothly through Emma's chestnut locks. "Same."

An hour later, Natalia quietly crept back into the bedroom, finding her girls sleeping soundly. Olivia's arm was wrapped around their daughter, her cheek resting against the top of Emma's head.

Mouth wide open, a soft snore drifted from Emma, who was pressed against Olivia's side, her cheek against a breast, with one leg draped over her mother's thigh—just like when she was little.

Natalia smiled fondly at the image as she quietly padded toward them. She loved that some things never changed.

Leaning over, she pressed a kiss to Olivia's temple, and another to Emma's forehead. And then she carefully pulled the covers over them, and switched off Olivia's bedside lamp.

She moved quietly then to her side of the bed, carefully crawling beneath the remaining covers. A quick flick of a switch, and she was shrouded in darkness, but for the moonlight that always seemed to bathe their bedroom. Moments later, she was snuggled against Emma, and drifting off to sleep.


The Farmhouse of Love—Friday, December 24, 2021, 11:45 p.m. Central Standard Time

It was late on Christmas Eve—nearly Christmas Day, to be precise—and Emma lay in bed next to Dylan, quietly watching as he slept. God, he was handsome—roguishly so, with that wayward swatch of dark curls that always fell across his forehead, and that ever-present five o'clock shadow that she adored. Running her fingertips across his cheek, she delighted in the light, prickly texture, remembering how it felt against her nipples, and inner thighs, and elsewhere, as he made love to her not long before. Parts of her still tingled from the sheer pleasure of it.

The wind whipped wildly, howling outside her window, and she wondered briefly if the snow was still falling as she pulled the sheets tight against her bare breasts, and moved closer to him, pressing a light kiss to his slightly parted lips. And then her hand drifted lower, exploring the chiseled contours of his chest. Being with him was so different from being with a woman, and to her surprise and delight, she found that she enjoyed it equally as much. At least physically, anyway. She couldn't allow herself to think beyond that.

Her fingertips fluttered through his chest hair, and she grinned as she remembered him vowing to have it waxed—he hated that it was covered in hair. But she convinced him to leave it alone, by whispering to him about how much she loved the way it tickled her nipples, much as she enjoyed the way his facial hair tickled other things. He responded by saying that he wished he could grow more.

She smiled to herself as she remembered the sincerity in his tone. He was always so willing, so eager, to please her, in every imaginable way. Her earlier doubts had eased a bit after her talk with her mother, and her guilt over being with him, enjoying sex with him without a commitment, was waning. But still, remnants of it lingered. Especially in those moments when thoughts of Jordan overcame her.

The stillness broke when her cell phone rang, pulling her from the moment. Glancing at the Caller ID, irrationally, her heart fluttered in her chest. It was Jordan. They hadn't talked in weeks. Not since Thanksgiving weekend, actually. She'd been avoiding Jordan's calls. But now, all she could think about was how desperately she wanted, she needed, to hear her voice.

Nuzzling against Dylan's cheek, she pressed a light kiss against it, and then quietly slipped out of bed. In that moment, she was thankful for his propensity to sleep soundly after sex.

Cradling the phone against her ear, she slipped into her jeans. "Hi…" she whispered softly.

"Merry Christmas, Em."

The sound of Jordan's voice was a soft caress, despite her heartache over Jordan's decision to take things to the next level with AJ. It instantly brought tears of longing to Emma's eyes, as she slipped into Dylan's discarded shirt. The scent of his cologne engulfed her, and she felt the pangs of guilt clench within her. Though her mind told her it was disingenuous, leaving Dylan's bed to focus on someone else, her heart said she needed this time alone with Jordan.

"Merry Christmas," she quietly reciprocated, an affectionate smile playing on her lips. God, it's good to hear your voice. "Give me just a sec, okay?"

Wordlessly, Jordan grinned into the phone. She would have waited all night for a few precious moments with Emma. She was just happy that Emma had answered her call.

Without bothering to fasten the shirt, Emma tiptoed out of her bedroom, past the pullout sofa where Sutton slept, and slipped out into the upstairs hallway, closing the apartment door with a quiet click. "Sorry about that," she said, her voice still hushed as she moved past her parents' bedroom door. "Didn't wanna wake Sutton," she offered, by way of explanation.

"It's not too late to call, is it?" Jordan inquired as an afterthought. "I'm sorry, I always forget about the time difference when you're back home." Not that it mattered anyway, she realized after the fact, because Pine Valley was an hour ahead of Springfield, not an hour behind. She might've felt self-conscious about that, had Emma not distracted her with the most intriguing response.

"It's never too late, Jordan," Emma answered sweetly, as she padded barefoot down the stairs into the living room, welcoming the warmth of any remaining embers in the hearth.

Whether or not there was a subliminal message within Emma's response, her choice of words brought a smile to Jordan's face. The overt message meant just as much to her. "I'll make note of that."

Emma smiled, as she curled up under that old quilt on the sofa. "How are you, Jordan?" God, how I've missed you.

"I'm fine, except for missing you," Jordan said softly. She seemed to be reading Emma's thoughts, echoing her heart. "We haven't talked since Thanksgiving. Why haven't you called?"

Frowning, Emma released a discontented sigh. It was true—they hadn't talked since Thanksgiving—and Jordan had no idea Emma had gone to bed with Dylan. But after their last conversation, Emma just couldn't bear the thought of hearing Jordan talk about her first time with AJ. And so as difficult as it was to ignore her, she had avoided her calls.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she formulated a response. "I've just… I've been really busy with classes. My labs have been killer this semester," she said, bending the truth just a little. She knew it sounded lame, and she hated being so dishonest with Jordan, but she didn't know what else to say. It wasn't as though she could admit how much her end of summer conversation with Maury had thrown her, or that hearing Jordan say it was "time" with AJ, despite those moments they'd shared in Provincetown, she had run to Dylan's bed in an attempt to stifle her growing feelings for the girl on the other end of the line. And she certainly couldn't admit that he was asleep in her bed right now!

"I'm sorry I've been so out of touch," she apologized.

"No worries, Em. I get it," Jordan said sincerely. "I've just missed you a whole lot."

An affectionate smile flickered across Emma's face. "I've missed you too," she whispered. "Like crazy, actually."

Jordan's heart skipped a beat as she smiled. Emma missed her. Like crazy!

Willfully stifling her emotions, Emma cleared her throat. "So how's AJ?" she asked, biting the inevitable bullet.

"He's fine, I guess," Jordan answered tentatively. She was honestly surprised Emma was asking about him.

"You guess?" Emma sounded confused and a little concerned.

"I broke up with him," Jordan reported, sounding confused herself. "Emma, I told you I was gonna…"

Emma's heart stopped in her chest. "Wait—what?" she exclaimed, her voice unsteady. "When?"

"Thanksgiving weekend," Jordan answered. "I called you…"

"Wait—," Emma said again in bewilderment, interrupting Jordan's response. "I thought that was the weekend you were finally gonna…" She couldn't bring herself to even think about it, let alone actually say it out loud.

"Em, I…" Jordan swallowed hard. She couldn't believe what she was hearing between the lines. "Did you really think I could fuck him after that week in P-town?"

"You said it was time!" Emma reminded, her head reeling. She thought about Dylan, and how she had ended up with him in her bed after hearing those words from Jordan. What the fuck had she done?

"Yeah," Jordan said. "Time to break up with him."

"Fuck my life…" Emma barely managed to exhale beneath her breath as the weight of the world crushed her, body and soul.

"I should be pissed at you for even thinking I could do that with him after everything we've shared," Jordan said sternly. And then her voice softened. "But I love you, Emma Spencer," she whispered sincerely. "I know you know it's true."

"It doesn't matter what I know," Emma said in defeat. It only matters what I did, she thought, chastising herself. And what I did was exactly what you could never do—run to someone else to try to forget how much I love you.

"Bullshit," Jordan declared, calling Emma on her crap. "It matters because I know you love me too."

Pursing her lips, Emma gathered strength for yet another round of heartache and denial. "You know I can't, Jordan."

"Why not?" Jordan asked desperately.

"Because you're only seventeen, and I'm…" A complete and utter fucking fool…

"I'll be eighteen in four months, Em," Jordan quietly reminded.

"Christ, why does everyone keep saying that?" Emma muttered, more to herself than Jordan. Despite her resolve, she could feel her resistance wearing down.

On the other end of the line, Jordan smirked. "I see you're out of arguments."

Coming from anyone other than Jordan, that comment might've sounded smug. Instead, it sounded like permission to admit her truth. She knew Jordan was right. Hell, everyone was right! Including her mother, whose argument was incontrovertible—she and Natalia had taken a true leap of faith, and they'd never regretted it for a moment. So why was she so afraid to take a chance with Jordan?

Dropping her head, Emma pinched the bridge of her nose and drew in a deep breath, blowing it out slowly as she scrambled to collect her thoughts. "I love you, Jordan," she said softly, finally admitting the truth aloud to herself and the other woman. "I do. I can't lie to you about that anymore, but… I also can't do this. Not right now. And I can't explain why. I just…"

Jordan's heart soared, even as it broke. Emma loved her. She actually said it! Still, nothing between them had really changed. Emma was still keeping her at bay. "Emma, please?" she practically begged. "Just talk to me. Tell me what's going on?"

"I can't," Emma insisted. "Now now, anyway."

"Soon, then?" Jordan sounded hopeful. "Maybe you could fly out during break," she suggested. "Or I could come to you..." She desperately needed to be with Emma, to touch her, to hold her.

Emma needed that too. So much. But she knew if she did, it would never be enough. "I wish we could," she whispered longingly. "But if I see you right now, if I touch you, I swear to God I'll never be able to let you go."

"Then don't..." Jordan breathed, extending permission for what they both needed so desperately.

Closing her eyes, Emma sighed. "Just know that I love you, okay?" she breathed, feeling her heart both swell and shatter in the same moment. "It's always been you…"

Eyes fluttering open as she whispered those words, they fell into familiar onyx pools, now shiny with tears as she focused on them. Her breath caught in her chest, the look of anguish on Dylan's face nearly destroying her. Her own eyes filled with tears as she remembered Jordan was still on the line. "I, uh… I'm so sorry, but… I have to go," she barely managed to sputter into the phone. "I'll call you later."

And with that, she disconnected the call.

Tossing her phone onto the sofa, she moved toward Dylan, desperation in her eyes. "Dylan, I… I'm so… This isn't what it looks like," she stammered.

"So, you're not in love with someone else?" Dylan demanded. He looked bewildered, and couldn't have articulated his feelings if he tried.

"What does it really matter?" Emma deflected, reaching for him. "I'm with you." She stressed the nature of her relationship with him, even as she silently rebuked herself for giving him false hope. She would never love him—or anyone else—the way she loved Jordan.

"It matters, Emma," Dylan insisted, stepping away from her. "It matters because you're sharing my bed, but your heart belongs to someone else."

He didn't even have to ask who it was. He'd known all along; he just couldn't bring himself to admit it. But it all made sense to him now—she never returned the sentiment when he expressed his love for her. Not even when they were making love. "Do you even love me at all?" His voice cracked as he asked the question, and he was afraid to hear her answer.

His pain was so palpable, he sounded like a wounded child, and her heart ached for him. "Of course, I love you," she said softly. "I always have. You know that."

"But not the way you love her." It wasn't a question, and Dylan's eyes challenged her to deny it.

"She's seventeen, Dylan," Emma said lamely. After the conversation she'd just had with Jordan, she knew damned well that didn't matter anymore.

"And I was a convenient distraction."

"It wasn't like that, D," Emma insisted.

"Wasn't it?" His dark eyes flashed with challenge.

When she said nothing in response, he pressed for more clarity. "Why did you take me to bed that first night?"

"Dylan…" Everything in her wanted to run.

"Why?" he demanded, fists clenched. "It came out of nowhere, but I didn't question it, because I love you so goddamned much."

Emma felt the pressure of the knife as it sliced through his heart—the handle was firmly embedded in her own traitorous hand. "Because I needed to forget that I'm in love with her," she finally confessed.

And there it was: The truth that had loomed like an anvil between them for longer than he could even recall. It punched him in the gut with the force of a Category F5 hurricane, and his lungs burned as the air was ripped from his chest.

"I'm so sorry, Dylan," Emma sobbed, her heart aching for him as she watched her truth destroy him. She stepped toward him again, and he moved further away. "I never meant to hurt you. I swear…"

His silence echoed between them, a castigating rebuke of her unpardonable sin.

"Please don't hate me," she begged, as she watched his retreat toward the door.

Suddenly, he felt relieved that he'd gotten dressed before going in search of her. Reaching into the front pocket of his jeans, he produced a tiny red velvet box. Still, he said nothing. He simply opened the box, revealing the most stunning engagement ring Emma had ever seen.

She gasped, her body swaying as her legs threatened to buckle beneath her. "Dylan…" she breathed.

His heart ached as he looked at it—the gift he had planned to give her the following morning—the one he had been praying she would accept along with his promise of forever. Struggling for air against the tightness in his chest, his fists clenched at his sides again, the tiny box crushed in his right hand. His chin quivered and he fought for control as the dam broke, and a surge of hot tears rushed down his cheeks as the box slipped from his hand, tumbling to the floor. And then he turned and silently walked out the door.

Stunned, Emma bent down, retrieving the discarded box from the floor. She stared at it in utter disbelief for only a second, and then she chased after him, following him out the door into the cold, dark night. The wooden planks groaned beneath her bare feet as she ran to the edge of the porch, calling out his name, begging him to come back. Warning him that it wasn't safe, that the roads were too slick, the storm too fierce.

But he ignored her cries, wrapping his arms around himself, a paltry shield against the brutal elements as his own tears froze harshly against his cheeks. What had started as a light snowfall, gently blanketing the landscape, had suddenly turned fierce as he stepped out into the midst of it. And a moment later he disappeared from her sight, swallowed by the blinding whiteness of a blizzard-like storm, the bitter-cold winds whipping and howling mercilessly around him.

In the distance, she heard the sounds of an ice scraper as he chiseled away at the ice on his windshield, and her thoughts turned to the fact that he wasn't wearing a coat, or even his dress shirt. He was out there in only a t-shirt, and he must have been freezing!

Everything in her wanted to go to him. To protect him. To comfort him. But she knew it would be in vain. He was so angry, so hurt, he hadn't even yelled at her. That was worse than any fight they'd ever had. And so she waited, chastising herself for being so careless; wishing he had never heard that conversation, yet not sorry that she'd had it. Regardless though, of how she might have felt about it, the truth was it was too late. The damage had been done.

A few minutes later she heard the echo of his car door as it slammed, and tears of fear and regret rolled down her face as the powerful engine roared to life. Momentarily, his tires spun, but he quickly gained traction, thanks to the layer of rock salt and cinders he had spread across the driveway for them before the storm began. And then she stood there helplessly, watching the taillights of his vintage Mustang disappear in a swirl of ice and snow as he tore out of the driveway and onto County Road 9 toward Springfield.

Slowly, she sank down onto the old wooden bench, and propping her frozen feet against the seat, she buried her face against her knees. The ring still clutched in her hands, her thoughts flashed back to her mothers' wedding—to the passage from I Corinthians 13 that she had recited for them as they joined their lives together…

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.

It was then that her thoughts drifted to that fateful night in her apartment—to the decision she had made in a moment of weakness, a desperate effort to selfishly assuage her own pain without any regard for how her choices might impact the people she loved most…


Emma's On-Campus Apartment, University of Michigan—Sunday, November 28, 2021, 2:15 a.m. Eastern Standard Time

"You look… incredibly sexy wearing nothing but my jersey," Dylan practically growled as Emma moved slowly across the room. Her hair was mussed from sleep and sex, and dark eyes, hungry for more of her, scraped across her body as she crawled across the bed toward him once again.

She arched a querying eyebrow. "I thought you were thirsty," she reminded, gesturing with her head toward the tall glass of ice water she'd placed on the nightstand. It was the only reason she'd gotten out of bed.

"Now that I've had a taste, I'd rather drink you," Dylan declared, his voice a velvet caress.

A swirl of emotions swept through Emma's heart, reflecting on her face, but before she could put any of them to words, Dylan threaded his fingers through the hair at the back of her neck, and pulled her close, covering her mouth with his own. Slowly, deliberately, he kissed her, saying with his mouth and tongue, what he couldn't yet say with words. And she responded to him in ways she never had before, each passage of his tongue against hers driving them deeper. And when he finally lifted his mouth from hers, he met eyes turned deep turquoise with want. He kissed her one more time, and then whispered, "I'm so glad I waited for you, Em. I'm so glad it was you."

Yanking her from a desire-induced haze, Dylan's words struck her like a blow. Her mouth went dry and her throat tightened to where she could barely breathe. Oh, my God… what have I done?

The expression on her face brought him back to reality as well, and planting his hands on the mattress beside his hips, he slid upright in her bed. "You okay, Em?" he asked, his heart racing in his chest. "What's wrong?"

Her thoughts scattered like a pinball, bouncing to and fro, and she struggled for words. "Tell me you're joking," she said, finally settling on what she hoped would sound coherent.

Dylan looked at her strangely. "I, uh… I don't understand."

Releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, Emma closed her eyes, steadying her nerves. "Please, tell me tonight wasn't… your first," she said, wrestling to maintain her composure as she somehow managed to look him in the eyes.

A bashful, lopsided grin teased at the corners of his mouth as the heat colored his cheeks. "You've been my first everything, Emma Spencer," he whispered. "And hope you'll be my last."

Delivered with eyes that sparkled with sincerity—and just a touch of mischief—as they peered at her through that wayward swatch of dark curls that always fell across his forehead, his declaration captivated her with his unique amalgam of roguishness and boyish charm. Her heart melted, even as it broke.

"I'm just glad I wasn't as nervous tonight as I was the first time I really kissed you," he said, sounding relieved.

"Nervous about kissing me?" Emma sounded surprised.

"Yeah!" Dylan laughed. "Oh, my God, I was a total wreck that night," he confessed.

"Were you afraid I was gonna tattle on you again?" she joked, harkening back to that childhood kiss he had planted on her.

"No," Dylan answered softy. Gentle fingers raked through her soft blondish mane, and he met her gaze in the soft moonlight that filtered through her bedroom window. "I was so afraid I'd mess it up."

"Why?" Emma asked, confused. "It's not like you'd never kissed a girl before."

"Yeah, but none of those girls was you, Em," Dylan whispered. "You're the only girl who's ever had the power to crush my heart."


The Farmhouse of Love—Saturday, December 25, 2021, 12:30 a.m. Central Standard Time

And crush his heart, you have, she silently chastised. Into a million pieces…

Shivering now, she pulled his shirt more tightly around her, and once again the scent of his cologne engulfed her, this time accompanied by a rush of fear and guilt and shame.

Love does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking. It always protects; it never fails, she repeated in her mind as her tears splashed against the sparkling diamond ring in her hand.

How could he ever forgive her?

How would she ever forgive herself?

"Oh, god," she cried out into the night, as she pondered the question that would haunt her for years to come: What kind of person am I that I would use Dylan, and hurt him the way I did?


County Road 9 South—Saturday, December 25, 2021, 12:30 a.m. Central Standard Time

Music blared, a failed attempt at drowning out the thoughts and images that inundated Dylan's mind as he sped along the narrow two-lane highway that distanced him from Emma—at least physically, anyway. Blinded by both tears and snow, he could barely see the road before it disappeared beneath him. And he was driving far too fast for the road conditions, especially given how useless his vintage rear-wheel drive convertible was on any surface that wasn't completely dry.

But he didn't give a fucking damn.

Today was supposed to be the day.

As per their long-held tradition, his family was joining hers at the Farmhouse after the frenzy of Christmas morning had waned at their respective homes. And he'd planned to surprise Emma with a proposal as they opened their gifts. Sure, it was quick by some people's standards. But for him, it was long overdue. After all, he'd been hopelessly in love with her since they were children. In his mind, they had always seemed like such an inevitability. And he was so certain of the outcome, so excited to slip that ring on her finger, right there in front of the fireplace, surrounded by all the people they loved. Even beyond that moment, he had it all planned—a long engagement, culminating in a summer wedding after graduation the following spring.

And now that moment would never come.

It all made so much sense now—the sudden reemergence of her in his world that night—her insistence on being with him, after years of being apart. What was for him, the fulfillment of a lifelong dream; for her, was just a momentary distraction. She was trying to forget someone else. And when she realized it was more than just a fling for him, she'd tried to turn a one-night-stand into a relationship to avoid dealing with the truth. And that was the truth that shattered his heart.

How could he have been so stupid? So totally fucking blind?

Engaging the clutch as if by instinct rather than conscious thought, he slammed the transmission into the next lower gear in an attempt to slow the car and maintain traction as he rounded a particularly sharp curve near the outskirts of town. But the action was too little, too late, given the rapidly deteriorating road conditions. The tires slid beneath him, and he lost control of the wheel. In a panic, he slammed on his brakes and the car skidded, careening off the road with a force he was powerless to control. And in those final moments before it made impact, all that his mind could see was the image of Emma Spencer fading from his life amidst a swirl of blinding snow.

TBC in Chapter 8.5…