Page 70 of Revived

Chapter 22

Luke

Fighting the pit in my stomach since my dream last night, I mustered up enough resolve to enjoy the rest of the day with Rachel. I knew this time together without Grayson was priceless and I owed it to us to keep building what we feel for one another.

This morning when she surprised me in the garage during my workout—it was like a fantasy come true. And I’m not going to lie, being rough with her and knowing she enjoyed it helped quell the anxiety from my nightmare. I needed to let out that frustration. I needed that connection. I needed the reminder of what has brought us to this point—this well of feelings that has slowly been filling since she entered my life. It started out as an attraction and has built into something that is so much more. She’s a part of my life, and Grayson’s, which reminds me of how crucial it is that we handle telling him about us in the right way. Knowing he’s so attached to her anyway, I know he’ll be thrilled. It’s more of what happens after that that has me unsure still, especially after my dream last night. My future with Rachel is still uncertain to me, and I hate that I feel this way.

Call it intuition or a gut reaction, but something is holding me back from jumping in with both feet. The fact that I’ve found someone else in my life that has made me feel things even remotely close to what I felt for Hannah has been difficult to accept. But I can’t help but wonder… am I always going to compare what I have with Rachel to what I had with her? Will I ever be able to fully let her in? Will my fear overwhelm me and cause me to push her away, like I have with other people in my life, especially after I lost my wife? Will I ever want to remarry? That’s a question that’s been stored away in my mind for years, but I never thought I’d actually have to face it. Luckily for me, the stunning brunette that’s living with me is forcing me to face it, and much faster than I’d expected.

I know that anxiety is a response to living in the future instead of the present. So although I’m still slightly on edge even after a four-mile hike and another round of sex, I remind myself to breathe and not feel rushed to make any concrete decisions tonight. Just the fact that I finally felt ready to sleep with another woman speaks volumes about how far I’ve come. So I’m gonna let myself celebrate that fact before I map out the rest of my life.

I figured tonight we’d stay in and I would cook dinner for her, since that went over so well the last time, and then spend more time exploring each other’s bodies before passing out.

As I make my way down the hall to use the restroom really quick before I start dinner, I hear Rachel’s voice in her room.

“I’m in love,” she whispers, but it’s loud enough that I can make out the words as my heart stops momentarily in my chest and then picks up speed again.

She loves me.

That thought is both a relief and then a spiraling truth that starts to unravel all sorts of questions in my mind. There’s a pause in words from her and then she answers the person on the other end of the line.

“No, he’s the one, Pfeiffer. I want to spend my life with this man.” And if I thought the spiraling was strong, now I feel like the wind is being knocked out of me while I spin around on the tilt-a-whirl at the fairgrounds.

She wants to marry me, spend her life with me. She’s come to this realization after one night together.

It’s not that I don’t want her to feel that way. That’s not what’s twisting my insides in circles. It’s the fact that she’s so sure about it, and I’m not. That’s what is making my knees feel like they’re about to buckle.

Knowing I shouldn’t be eavesdropping, I back up quietly to the kitchen, turn around, and then try to remember what the hell I was about to do in here while my heart rate increases to unhealthy levels. I vaguely recall having to pee, but now that natural urge has been replaced with a need for distraction, something to keep me from freaking the fuck out and running out the door, hurting Rachel in the process.

She’s convinced we’re meant to be, and part of me feels that too.

And then the other part—the slice of the man that had his heart ripped from his chest when he lost his wife—he speaks up and reminds me that I once felt that way about another woman, and then I was left a widower with a newborn son.

There are no guarantees in life, no certainty that you can keep your promises. And Rachel deserves that. She deserves a man who is sure, who is certain that he can commit to her one-hundred percent without fear.

In this moment—that’s not me.

I swallow hard as this realization slams into me. I spent so much time in my marriage thinking about the future to have it stripped from me, it’s the one thing I don’t want to think about anymore. And I definitely don’t want to cause that pain to someone else.

The issue that kills me the most is that I was finally happy, genuinely opening up to the idea of her and me together, pushing myself to keep moving forward in my relationship. And then one nightmare yanked me three steps backwards and the questioning game has officially begun.

Maybe time will help me get there though. It’s not as if she’s going to expect a ring from me tomorrow. Or what if she does? What if she’s hoping that our future will progress rapidly because she’s already living with me and taking care of my son? The only thing that is left to do is asking her to marry me.

Suddenly, it’s getting hard to breathe and the temperature is rising tenfold.

Instead of shattering what we’ve spent the last twenty-four hours building and letting one overheard revelation ruin what we’ve started, I decide to just try to enjoy the time remaining and hope that I don’t make an ass out of myself tonight. Drinking this beer I just opened probably won’t help that, but I need something to take the edge off.

Bending over to reach for a pot in the cupboard, another stack of metal pans tumbles to the floor, crashing loudly and echoing throughout the house. As I scramble to pick them up, Rachel’s voice immediately makes me tense up.

“Hey. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, uh. Everything is fine. Just dropped a pan…” I glance over my shoulder at her, taking a moment to notice how beautiful she is without a drop of make-up on, but also how confused I feel about everything that just transpired.

“Okay…. Well, let me help you.”

“No!” I shout, and then instantly regret it. I sigh in defeat as I put the pans back on the shelf and close the cupboard, turning back to her, her eyes wide and worry etched all over her face. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you. I mean, I’ve got it. I’m supposed to be showing you how much I care about you.” And I do. I care about this woman so much. But is it love?

“I know you care about me. You don’t have to cook for me to know that.”

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