Page 85 of Worth the Fight

I think a lot of relationships fail, not necessarily because the love changes, but because life is stressful. A demanding job, financial strain, a decline in health, each one takes a toll on a person, and we tend to want to place blame on someone other than ourselves.

You can fall in love with someone as a teenager, and the beauty of making a relationship work is that you get to fall in love with them again and again. He was a different person when he was twenty and played baseball. He was different when he became a Marine. He was different when he lost his way and became the angry man I didn’t recognize anymore. He’s different again, today, but in some ways, he’s back to the teenager I first loved.

I’ll see different versions of him in the future, too. I’ll see the version that really steps into fatherhood, one that raises his children, teaches his kids to play baseball, and how to ride a bike. He’ll be a different man when Ivy has her first broken heart and runs to him for comfort. When we get old and gray and our health starts to fail, we’ll learn to lean on each other in a different way, and I’m sure I’ll love him all over again.

Love looks different once you know what it’s like to cry together, to fight together, to shed tears over making a relationship work. Because even when it’s hard, I can’t imagine trying to make it work with anyone else.

When it’s all said and done, I’ll be able to look back on this life we created together and know that it was worth all the pain we went through. All of the hurt, the distance, the tears, the lonely nights, and unanswered messages. The way we had to fight to find our way back to each other—getting to be with Lukas is worth it all.

Epilogue

LUKAS

Six months later

Itake a left at the bank, maneuvering my truck down Main Street as the sun starts to dip lower in the sky. With one hand on the wheel, I roll down my window, resting my arm along the frame. My gaze flicks over to the manilla folder in the passenger seat, and a smile crosses my face at the sight.

Smiling is something I do constantly now, what feels like every moment of every day, so polar opposite from the man I was a few years ago.

And it’s likely due to the woman waiting for me at home.

With some more convincing, Mags did return to Paris to finish the season. I thought the next five months would go by in a blur, and in many ways they did. But each morning when I counted down on the calendar the days until she was here, until she was in my arms each night, it felt like it’d be an eternity before we would be together again.

But one month ago, I stood with Magnolia’s parents and the entire Paris Opera House as they applauded Mags at the end of her last performance. The cheers from the crowd were nearly deafening, and it was a sight to see her years of hard work came to an end.

I stayed in Paris for another week, and we packed up her clothes and sentimental items. We donated what dishes and furniture she didn’t want and shipped back box after box to Copper Ridge.

Her friends threw her a surprise goodbye party at Raymond and Ronaldo’s house. I stood in the corner, choked up as she said her tearful goodbyes.

We boarded a plane, together, and now we’re living in Copper Ridge, together. We put the finishing touches on our house, and she managed to take these four walls and a roof and turn it into a real home. A shelter, a place of comfort for both of us and Ivy.

Flicking my blinker on, my stomach dances as I take the turn off the main highway onto Hart Road. Less than a half mile later, I’m turning onto our gravel road, and when the house comes into view, my heart kicks up, fluttering into my throat at the sight of Mags perched on the front stoop next to a picnic basket.

Her long legs are peeking out from cut-off denim shorts, stretched down to rest on the lower step. She’s leaned back, palms pressed to the wood as she tilts her head, smiling up at the setting sun.

God, just when I think I’ve already loved her as much as I possibly could, she flashes me that coy smile, and I’m suddenly fifteen again, falling in love with my best friend.

Reaching for the folder next to me, I tuck it under my arm as I slide out of my truck, the slamming of my door echoing across the fields. “Hey, baby.”

“Hey, cowboy.” She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as I approach. “Thought I could seduce you with a picnic dinner out in the field.”

“Baby, you wouldn’t need a picnic dinner to seduce me.” I wink at her as I reach the end of the stone path, and she smirks, eyes flicking to the folder under my arm.

“What’s that?”

I take the first step up, and she spreads her legs to give me space so I can take the next one. I fall to my knees, and her breath catches as I lean forward, pressing her against the edge of the stairs to capture her mouth in a kiss. “A surprise,” I say against her lips.

“Oh?” she asks, her hands sliding up my arms to wrap around my neck. “For me?”

“No,” I deadpan. “For the other love of my life.”

She playfully swats at my chest then pulls back, her hands grabbing at the folder, brows twisted together as she opens it up, flipping through the pages inside.

Sliding the picnic basket to the side, I sit next to her, reaching an arm over to brush my palm along her back, feeling her muscles tense the further she reads. “Lukas … we talked about this. I-I can’t…”

The other night, over family dinner at the main farmhouse, Mags had mentioned she was on the hunt for a job. She wanted—needed—something to occupy her free time. Now that the house was finished and she felt settled, she was ready. The hard part is that her entire life has been dedicated to ballet. She’s pondered going back to school, but for what, she didn’t know.

My family tossed out plenty of ideas. She was welcome to work on the farm. Holly is always looking for front desk help at the clinic. Harper offered her a bartending job at The Tipsy Tractor.