A/N: I've run out of adjectives to describe how awesome, fantastic, and wonderful your reviews and your feedback are. Read on...
Tremolo: an Italian word, the definition of which is "trembling". It is impossible to achieve this quick repetition of a single note on most instruments.
"Hey, Blondie."
Peyton whirled around, dropping the album in her hands. She'd been doing some organizing for Tric, and hadn't been expecting anyway to sneak up on her. It was, after all, six o'clock in the morning.
"You're an early bird today," she replied, her tone delicate. "I didn't…think we were speaking."
"You let me into your life for about ten seconds and then pushed me right back out. I'm fairly sure that you're the one who made that decision."
"Don't," she said sadly, bending down to pick up the album and setting it aside. Her eyes felt heavy, burdened by tears and strained by how very little sleep she was getting. "This isn't what…I don't…" She sighed. "I didn't want it to be like this."
"It seemed that way."
"Stop. I'm sorry. I'm indecisive and I'm hurt and this summer has already kind of been hell on earth even though it's barely been a week, and I just…it wasn't what I intended. I want you to believe that."
He leaned against the bar. "Alright. I do. I believe you."
"Okay," she breathed.
He tilted his head to one side, studying her contemplatively. "Peyton…if this isn't what you intended, then what did you intend?"
"I don't know," she whispered, looking down at the floor in shame. "I didn't exactly think that far ahead." Her head was still spinning with uncertainty, but she relished the hesitant conversation they were ploughing their way through. She hadn't thought she'd be so happy to see him again, but the sight of him was grounding her in a way.
"Huh."
Her eyes flew back up to meet his, familiar frustration flaring within her. "That's all you have to say? That's your reply?" She shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry. God, I…I should be glad that you're not yelling at me."
He shifted his weight from foot to foot nervously. "I…" He sighed. It was one of the few times she'd seen him look so uncomfortable, so unsure in front of her. "I guess…I guess we both made…assumptions that we shouldn't have made."
A part of her was strangely proud of him for getting those words out, for shouldering some of the blame in their fucked-up situation. "Yeah. We did. And I'm sorry."
With a heavy sigh, he said, "I'm sorry, too."
"It's just…it was just that you…you're you. And I'm me." She shrugged, laughing awkwardly at her own words. "That can't make any sense."
"It does," he assured her, in a tone more gentle than she would have expected considering everything they'd been through. "It does."
She nodded, thanking him with her eyes, not able to trust her voice at the moment.
"Maybe it was wrong, but I wanted –"
"I know," Peyton cut him off. "I know, and part of me…" She exhaled shakily. "Part of me did, too, but I…" she trailed off, a lump forming in her throat. "I…"
He waited a moment before he opened his arms slightly and gently tugged her into his embrace. "It's okay," he said into her hair, and she buried her face in the folds of his shirt, taking deep breaths to keep from crying. "I know."
She pulled away, wiping her eyes and avoiding his gaze out of embarrassment. "I know you know. I know, too. Everyone knows. Brooke knows," she added sadly.
The smallest smile graced his lips. "Everyone knows," he agreed, "but no one wants to admit it. It should be easier than this, shouldn't it?"
"Yeah," she agreed in a whisper.
"I'm going to go, okay?" he asked, his voice husky. She knew what he was saying. I'm going to go before this goes places it shouldn't. The places I want it to go, the places that will hurt us both in the end.
"Okay," she said with a nod.
"Are you okay?"
A laugh escaped her lips without her permission. "You don't have to worry about me."
"Yeah…but I might just do it anyway." He gave her shoulder a squeeze before they parted, letting his fingers linger on all the bare skin; only the smallest bit was covered by the thin strap of her tank top. She didn't say a word as his hand brushed gently down her arm. It was a goodbye sort of touch, intimate but final.
She was determined to get through a stretch of time without crying, so as he walked away, she spoke up rather than breaking down, throwing a playful observation out into the air between them: "Hey. Chris Keller has a heart. Who would've guessed?"
He threw her a look that was partially an agreement and partially a scolding. She held up her hands in surrender, happy that he could still make her smile.
"Don't worry," she assured him softly. "Peyton Sawyer's going to keep her mouth shut."
"Luke!" Brooke called from their bedroom, which was right next to his office, or his 'writing room' as Haley had nicknamed it long ago. "Luke!" she yelled, leaning toward the mirror as she put on her lipstick. Still, she received no reply. Sighing in exasperation, she picked up her earrings and put them on and she walked into his office, frowning. "Lucas Scott!" she said again, tucking a couple loose strands of hair behind her ear and planting her hands on her hips.
He jumped at the sound of her voice, slamming his laptop shut and spinning around in his chair.
She scowled suspiciously. "Were you looking at porn?"
He rolled his eyes as he stood and walked over to her. "No, just writing. I'm getting really good stuff down lately."
"Why don't you want me to see it?"
"You know how I am about my writing, Pretty Girl."
She couldn't debate him on that one. He'd always been very secretive. "Fine, fine. I'm going in to work, and I'll drop Miranda off at dance class on the way there. Mrs. Anderson's picking the girls up again and Mira's staying there for dinner…so I might be able to swing by and pick her up on my way home…"
"We'll figure it all out. If you can't pick her up, I will."
Brooke sighed. He made it all sound so easy. "Okay. Yeah. We'll figure it out." She hesitated. She wanted to ask him something, but didn't want to get into a fight – she really had to get to work, Millicent had to be swamped. "Luke…we will figure it out?" she asked, posing the same words as a question.
"Yeah, babe, like I just said," he replied, frowning in confusion.
"No, Lucas…everything. We'll figure everything out?"
He smiled, placing his hands lightly on her hips and leaning in for a simple kiss, his lips brushing hers. "We'll figure everything out," he confirmed.
Brooke held onto those words like some sort of sacred promise, nodding and kissing him one last time before she left. "Mira!" she called out into the hallway. "Let's move, baby! You don't want to be late."
"I'm ready, Mommy, let's go," their daughter chirped, standing in the doorway of the room in her leotard and a pair of sweatpants. "Bye, Daddy," she added.
"I'll see you later, princess; I love you." He turned his smile to Brooke. "And you," he said.
Brooke let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding, extending a hand to her daughter. "Come on, munchkin," she said, guiding her down the hallway.
"I'm glad Daddy's back," Miranda said simply, in all her sweet, five-year-old innocence.
"Yeah, it's good," Brooke replied quietly.
In their house, safely enclosed by walls, windows, and doors, it was very good. But out there in the world, with Peyton Sawyer, it was not quite as perfect.
"Hello?" Haley asked, having answered her cell phone without checking the caller ID. Jenny was practicing a song on her guitar, and Haley spoke quietly so as not to distract her.
"Hey, you," came Brooke's somewhat breathless reply. "How's it going?"
"Good. Brooke, I love you and everything, but I thought you had a really busy day today."
"Oh, I did. I do. I'm just taking a breather."
"Uh-huh," Haley said knowingly, smiling in spite of herself. "Okay, honey, talk to me."
"About what?"
Haley rolled her eyes. "About whatever the hell you called me about."
"Busted," Brooke sighed. "I don't really know, I just wanted to talk to you. Always makes me feel better."
Haley grinned and blushed, though Brooke couldn't see her. "How are things with Luke?"
"They're…they're okay. I just feel like such an insecure bitch sometimes. There are moments when I think I'm validated in what I believe…but then he just gives me this look and I'm know I have no right to say what I'm saying."
"Lucas loves you."
"Yeah," Brooke sighed. "What about you, Hales?"
"Me?" Haley asked. "Uh, Nathan and I are great."
"Not you and Nathan, tutor girl," Brooke replied, and Haley could practically hear her rolling her pretty brown eyes. "You and Peyton."
"Oh, um…" Haley ran a hand through her hair, which was growing a little frizzy from the humidity of the studio. "Not so good. Kind of…nonexistent right now." She cleared her throat. "What about you and Peyton?"
Brooke laughed bitterly. "There's no such thing as me and Peyton now that Luke's back in town."
"Brooke," Haley berated her. "You've got to let go of all that."
"Haley, I'm willing to trust him, and I'm willing to trust her. I just can't trust them both. Does that make sense? Please tell me that makes sense."
Haley sighed heavily. "In some ways, I guess it does."
There was a long silence, and when Brooke spoke again her voice was thick with tears. "You should make up with her, okay? You two should be friends again. She needs somebody."
"Oh, Brooke…" she said mournfully. "I know she does. We just need some time. To let all of this…cool off."
"I want her to be okay."
"Oh, honey," Haley cooed sympathetically. "She will be. Do you want me to stop by and give you some company for a bit? Jenny should learn some musical independence; I can steal away for a while. We could have tea," she added, offering up the classic comfort beverage.
"No, tutor mom, thank you…but I really am swamped here. Thanks for listening."
She was determined to remain optimistic. "Everything's going to be okay, Brooke."
For such a smart woman, Haley James-Scott had never been good to learn from her past experiences. Every time she said "It's all okay" or "Everything's perfect" the lights went out or her car broke down or some tragic, dramatic event befell someone she loved.
Haley, of all people, should have been well-acquainted with the following cliché: Famous last words.
After Brooke and Miranda hurried out of the house an their way to their respective activites, Lucas returned to his computer and sat down. His fingers fell easily on the keys, typing at incredible speed and rarely hitting the wrong keys. He hadn't been able to write like this, so sure of his words, in quite a while. Without consciously knowing it, he found that the section he was writing was coming to an end, and he instantly thought of the words to provide just the right amount of closure.
As he wrote the final sentence of his chapter, he realized that he was unaware of exactly what the story he'd just documented…was. He started to read again, in an effort to understand the words that seemed to have gotten from his fingers to the keys to the screen without ever having consulted his brain.
Lucas sat back in his chair, slowly scrolling down the pages of his document, staring in amazement at the words that had sprung from his mind and spilled from his soul. He realized he needed that subtle kind of closure for himself, too, not just for his chapter.
When there was another knock on her apartment door that evening, Peyton felt a sudden rush of dread, wishing that she could pretend that she wasn't home. Haley and Brooke wouldn't be paying her visits anytime soon. Jenny or Nathan would have walked straight in. Hell, Chris Keller would have walked straight in. That left a single possibility.
If only her music hadn't been blasting at full volume, she would have waited out the knocking, pretending that she was away. Out and about, busily doing important things. She wished she had more to occupy her time, more to distract her mind.
Safely settled within the walls of the apartment, she was comfortable. Still a little lost, a little heartbroken, but both Nathan and Chris had been sweet enough to seek her out to offer some much-needed caring words. And Jenny, without knowing it, always helped heal her.
Sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of popcorn and her laptop open in front of her as she sent back advice to the group currently running her record label, she had a sense that everything might work out, that everything could be okay.
And then came that knock on the door, and it could only be one person, the only person who could ruin her carefully structured plan to get back on track.
"Hi, Luke," she said wearily as she swung open the door. She kept one hand clutching at the knob, steadying her, while she planted the other on her hip, appearing a lot more authoritative and confident than she actually felt.
"Hey," he replied, and there was a tender quality to his voice that somehow threw her into a brief state of euphoria and annoyed the hell out of her at the same time.
"You know, Lucas, I really doubt that your wife is pleased that you're here. Oh, wait," she said, scoffing and letting her eyes bore into his. "She doesn't know you're here, does she? You wouldn't be that stupid."
"Peyton, look –"
"Why are you here?" she asked desperately. He needed to provide her with some sort of reasoning for everything that happened to her head and her heart and her body when he came looking for her.
He recognized her anguish; she could see the flash of saddened realization in those blue eyes she'd never been able to resist. "Peyton, when I came here yesterday, I wasn't trying to…"
"To what? You're married! This, whatever there is between us, it can not and it does not exist, do you understand me?" She shook her head, her hair whipping back and forth.
"Peyt…I just want for us to be friends again." He tilted his head, listening to the music that filled the apartment. "You know that you were listening to Dashboard Confessional the first time you really looked at me? The time you almost ran over me. This very song."
She cursed karma, thoroughly despising fate and every other higher power that was toying so cruelly with her. "Did you know," she mimicked him coldly, "that you remember every single stupid little detail about every single stupid little thing?"
Lucas studied her face sadly. She looked so hurt, so upset, and the words she was flinging at him were a classic defensive mechanism. "Peyton, please." He grabbed one of her hands, warm and slender and a perfect fit to his. "I want to go back to what we had. I've missed you so much."
"What we had wasn't friendship, Luke. Call it what you want, but I am done lying about it all. We were more than friends. It's how we started, and maybe you don't want to admit it, but it's how we ended. I hate that. I hate that I have to…"
"Have to what?" he prodded. Have to love you? he wondered, his heart palpitating at the possibility.
She tugged her hand out of his. "You mean a lot to me, Lucas," she said, obviously struggling to stay calm. "No matter the time and distance between us."
"Back at you," he said in a quiet voice full of conviction. "Peyton, eight years ago, you –"
"We are not children anymore," she cut him off, gesturing frantically with her hands. "Can you understand that, Luke? When we were kids you could kiss me in the hallway and tell me that you shouldn't have picked Brooke…but, god, I just…" She swallowed thickly. "You proved that you should have, didn't you? You proved that you made the right choice. I said no, for her sake, and you went back to her. You could've waited for me, Luke. I know it's a lot to ask, but you could have waited for me."
Lucas' head spun wildly. He felt like he'd loved two women since the first time he'd ever been in love, and he was never quite clear on who he'd loved first. He loved them for different reasons. He loved them in different ways. But he didn't think he'd ever be able to pick one to dedicate every bit of his heart to. Or maybe he'd just picked the wrong one to try it with.
"And Lucas, eight years ago, you just proved it again. You can't wait. I don't know…is it because you want what's easy? Is it because you don't want to deal with all the drama?"
"I…I don't know," he confessed brokenly.
"I hope it's not," she said bluntly, honestly. "I hope it's because you love Brooke more, because you love Brooke entirely, and because you've given her your heart. Otherwise, Luke, you've damned us all to hell."
"I do love Brooke," he said, and he wasn't sure why. He did love Brooke, so it was an honest fact. He also said it because it had become an automatic reflex over the past few days. And he said it because he didn't want to disappoint the girl standing in front of him with so much tragedy in her dark green eyes.
"Okay," she said evenly, tearing her gaze from his. "So why are you standing here right now?"
"Because…even if you wouldn't call it friendship, Peyton, I want back what we had. I want you back in my life." I need you back in my life, he wanted to tell her, but knew that that would scare her away.
"I'm afraid to tell you exactly what it was. I'm afraid to go back to it. Because it was friendship plus so much more, and we can't go back there, Luke. Why do I feel like you can't comprehend that?"
"Because maybe I don't want to!" he cried rebelliously, frustrated with the conversation. He shrugged, softening his tone. "Because I still feel that way about you, Peyton, whatever way it was."
"Luke," she said, her voice mangled by emotion.
He opened his mouth again to speak, to tell her more. To give more, to ask for more. Just to have more.
"No!" she cried out. "I don't want declarations, Lucas. I don't want –"
"Peyton, I love you," he said simply. He didn't know what he was trying to tell her, but it was the one and only thought that made itself clear within the mess of his mind.
She buried her face in her hands. When she finally let her arms fall again, her curls were falling in her face and her chest was heaving in her effort to control her breathing. Her whole body seemed to be trembling. "That's it, right there, what I didn't want," she muttered. "I don't want you to define the parameters of that love, Luke, because the thought of your answer alone scares me to death. You've said that to me so many times…and never once did you mean it the way I wanted you to in that particular moment. I have a feeling that this is no exception."
"Fuck, I am so sick of crying," she mumbled, wiping away a tear before it could fully escape her eye. "Lucas, just leave."
"I can't do that. Not now."
"What am I to you?" she breathed impulsively, longing for some sort of closure on the infinite number of issues between them.
"My muse."
She was taken aback; her body actually jerked away from his a bit. Lucas looked as shocked by his words as she felt. "Excuse me?"
"That didn't come out how I wanted it to," he rushed to explain. "You're not…well you are, but I didn't mean to say it…like that."
"So…I'm really useful in your life cause if I'm around you can write books and get some cash?" she demanded bitterly.
"I can put pen to paper," he said calmly. "No books, no money. Just a clarification of everything I've been thinking for a long time. You just…you helped me get it all out, I guess."
"I'm glad for you," she said carefully. "That you can do all of that again; it's good for you." She paced the couple steps she needed to take back over to the door. "Now, Lucas…just go home. Go home to your beautiful house and your beautiful family and write the beautiful book I know you can write."
"Can't we talk? Really talk."
"I'm hurting already, Luke, okay? I'm hurting, I am. So now you know – everyone knows. I don't need you to add to that. I can't handle you adding to that."
"You couldn't possibly think –"
"I think," she cut him off purposefully. "I think that I love you, too. As the boy who captured my heart in junior year of high school, and absolutely nothing more." She gulped. "I would…let's just think of each other that way, okay?" she all but pleaded.
He stayed silent and she chose to see it as agreement. "Goodnight, Luke," she muttered, nudging him out the door and starting to close it. She couldn't believe that they were doing all of this again. She knew that Lucas had a heart condition that affected his game, but she was beginning to wonder if it also caused his heart to be the most indecisive heart that she'd ever encountered.
"Peyton –" he said again, flattening his palm against the door to keep her from slamming it in his face. There it was, the part of his heart that she'd long ago made claim to, resurfacing again. She wanted to shove it back at him, but a bigger part, a part of her she was ashamed of, was clinging to it as tightly as she could.
She couldn't bear to look at the unadulterated longing in his eyes, the vulnerability in his steady gaze. "You and me. After all these years," he said softly. "I still feel it in my heart…Don't you?"
She squeezed her eyes shut as her mind was assaulted with the memory of his lips against the skin of her abdomen in a motel room so very long ago, the infinitely tender way he'd handled her. She shivered when she finally made eye contact with him. "It was wrong then," she said firmly, her face falling into what she hoped was a mask of stone. "And it is very wrong now."
The look on his face as he backed away, surrendering to her declaration, tugged painfully at her heartstrings. She closed her eyes again for a millisecond. "But…Luke," she whispered and he instantly turned back to her with undisguised hope in his eyes. Maybe his heart was divided, but it was her heart that was powerless to it all, that ultimately did them in. "I do," she confessed breathily. "Of course I do."
A/N: What's going to happen? Next chapter's a big one, and there might just be a revelation, something you've all been wondering about for a long time...
