Eternally Daydreaming

Maybe it kept him grounded, maybe it kept him from making the same mistakes again. He didn’t really know why, but the reasons didn’t matter. Whenever he felt the prickling hand of anxiety curl around the back of his neck, a touch of that pick was all he needed to push it away. If the stress of home was growing too strong or another woman turned his head, he’d run his thumb across the pick, feel her phantom marks, and remember the beauty and pain of loving her. 

It was hard to keep it a secret, but happy was easy to fake. He smiled for the cameras; laughed when he needed to. He turned up the charm so those around him couldn’t tell he was shattered inside. 

There was sand on the sheets and salt on their skin. 

Jensen pushed up on his strong arms and hovered over her, staring into her eyes and making her blush for the thousandth time. 

Rebekah bit her lip and shied away, unable to stand the way he looked into her heart so deeply, so contentedly.  

“Don’t do that,” she whispered, turning her head. 

Jensen chased her gaze. “Why not?” 

“Because you’re freaking me out.” 

He grinned and drew his pink tongue across his plump bottom lip. “Why’s that?” 

Beka’s throat tightened and her eyes burned. Emotions were too high, she was too drunk, and he was too beautiful. “You’re like… digging into my soul. It’s strange. No one looks at me like that.” 

He sighed gently and sat back on his ankles between her knees. “They should,” he answered. “They’re missing out.” 

Embarrassed, she tried to hide her face in her hands, but he wouldn’t let her. Tender fingers wrapped around each wrist as he lowered her hands and set them down on her hips. 

“Don’t…” 

Jensen dipped his chin and let his gaze sweep over her nakedness. It was dark in the room but the moon sent streaks of pale silver through the sheer curtains, highlighting every soft curve. “You’re beautiful.” 

Her body tensed. She tried to squirm from his grip and grab the sheet, bury her face, and hide herself away. “Stop it.” 

“No.” He released her wrists but held on, slowly sliding his big hands up her arms. “You are. I’m sorry no one tells you that.” 

His hands went higher and her chest grew tighter. She blinked a tear away but he never closed his eyes, watching every flinch, every breath. 

“You should hear it every fucking day.” 

“Jensen-” 

When his palms settled on her cheeks, her protests fell aside. Transfixed by his gaze and the song of his voice, Beka melted into his touch and invited his kiss with a shy smile that drove him wild. 

“We really shouldn’t be here,” she whispered before his lips found their target. 

“I know, but…” He closed his eyes and his lashes brushed across the apple of her cheeks. His hands pushed through her black hair, holding her close. “Just one night. Please.” 

She always turned off the light. 

It felt safer in the dark. She pretended to believe that if she couldn’t see him then it wasn’t really happening and if it wasn’t really happening, no one would get hurt. No vows were being broken, no hearts would shatter. 

She wished she’d kept the lights on. 

Wished she had kept her eyes open, memorized every line on his face, every hair out of place, every tiny smile. She should have studied him closely, tucked away his image in her mind, and savored his taste on her tongue. She should have stayed focused and pushed away the mind-numbing pleasure and the time blindness that adrenaline brings. She should have tried harder to remember every second with him. 

“This just isn’t fucking working!” 

Jensen ripped the headphones from his head and tossed them across the room. They hit the wall with a crackling thud and Beka watched the black plastic pop off the band and shatter. 

He spun away from the microphone and raked a hand through his hair, aggravated at himself and the time they were wasting. His face was red, his jaw tense, eyes wild. 

Beka leaned on her guitar and watched him pace. He could spend hours like this, running his mind through every tiny mistake, desperate to perfect each note. She sighed. 

“It’s not as bad as you think,” she told him. 

Jensen laughed bitterly as he kicked at the broken headphones. “Yeah. Right. Did you go deaf in the last ten minutes?”

She could tell they wouldn’t get anywhere with him throwing a fit. She huffed her cheeks up and let the air out in a half whistle. “Jack?” She waved at the sound engineer watching them through the big glass window. “Wanna take five?” 

A thumbs up appeared and Jack left them alone.

Carefully, she set her guitar on the stand and hopped down from the stool. Barefoot, she padded over the worn Oriental rug to the door and turned the big dial next to it. The overhead lights dimmed and Jensen froze in place. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m giving you a break.” 

He balled his fists and rolled his shoulders. His body was tense; his blood pressure was high. “I don’t need a break,” he growled. “I need this fucking song to be done!” 

Rebekah wet her lips and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting. 

“It sounds like shit! Everything I fucking do sounds like shit!” 

She kicked her right foot back and leaned against the door, watching. 

“Fifteen fucking takes and it’s still wrong! The whole fucking thing is wrong!” He threw a punch at nothing, expending a surge of rageful energy that had collected in his bicep. “This is pointless!” 

“I don’t think it’s pointless.” She kicked off the door and took a step into the room. “I think it sounds great so far.” 

Jensen looked up at the dark ceiling and sighed. He waved her away, annoyed. “You don’t get it.”    

“I don’t get what? That you’re a perfectionist and it’s giving you an ulcer?” 

His jaw twitched. Green eyes pierced through her like daggers. “You don’t understand what kind of pressure I’m under all the fucking time! It has to be perfect! I have to be perfect!” 

His voice echoed through the studio but did not escape the expertly crafted walls. It simply bounced back and slapped him in the face. 

Beka sucked her teeth and took another step closer. “You’re right.” 

He balked; eyes narrowing at her. 

“I don’t understand what it’s like,” she went on. “I don't know what it’s like to spend every day working my ass off and every weekend being talked at, screamed at, and touched by strangers.” 

Jensen sighed heavily and shook his head, annoyed. “That’s not-” 

She kept going. “I don’t know what it’s like to absorb a million camera flashes or hear my name said over and over.”

“I don’t mean it like that-” 

“I don’t understand what you go through, Jensen.”

He softened. His shoulders dropped, his hands unclenched, his breath slowed. He closed his eyes.

“But I do understand what I hear in your voice.” She finished closing the space between them, standing only inches away. “I understand what I feel when I read your words.” 

He shook his head, still unbelieving and frustrated. 

Her voice dropped low. “I know what I know when I’m with you.” 

Jensen opened his eyes and met her gaze.

“And what I know is that you are… amazing and talented and truly… incredible.” She smiled and he dropped his head, too tired to fight and needing every word. “You awe me every day, Jensen. Every part of you is simply incredible.” She lifted her hand to his chin and drew his face up to hers. “And if you want to spend the next… forty years getting these songs out of your beautiful mind… Spend a decade recording them over and over again until they’re painfully perfect, I’ll be here at your side until you’re satisfied.” 

A peaceful warmth washed over him and she could see it in his eyes. He grinned. “Until I’m satisfied?” 

She rolled her eyes at his teasing joke. “I should really choose my words better.” 

Jensen reached for her. “I think you chose them perfectly…” His big hand wrapped around the nape of her neck and he pulled her close. 

His lips were cracked and dry but his tongue was hot, wet; hungry. She sighed into him and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, digging her fingers into the soft black cotton. 

“You’re fucking amazing,” she whispered as he walked her backward; his long strides forcing her to keep up until her back was flush against the wall. “So fucking amazing.” 

He licked into her mouth, dragged his hand down her body; rocked his hips against hers. She tugged at his hair and gasped as his teeth scraped over her pulse. 

“We shouldn’t do this here…” 

“I know…” Jensen sucked a mark behind her ear. 

She shivered at the hard pull of his lips. “Maybe… just a quick break…” 

He never slept much. 

The hours just before dawn were the worst. He’d lay awake staring at the clock on his phone, begging the minutes to pass or the kiss of sleep to return. Too early to move, too anxious to rest. He still craved those midnight masses in her arms, those nights when nothing mattered but her breath on his skin and her lips at his ear. Her sacred whispers too blasphemous to repeat but too beautiful to forget. 

Some nights he would wash his face in the blue light of his screen, scroll until he saw her face, and then hug the phone to his chest. Could she feel him across the miles? Did she know she was on his mind? 

A gentle buzz woke her, the vibration of her nightstand made her move. 

Blinking into two a.m. darkness, Rebekah grabbed her cell and swiped quickly to shut off the alert. Her husband snored beside her, halfway across the world in their king-sized bed. 

The light burned her eyes but the message soothed them instantly. 

‘You up?’

Jensen. She smiled and rolled onto her side with the phone clutched tight. 

‘Kinda. why are you? Can’t sleep?’

‘My head’s too busy. Can I call?’

She closed her eyes and took a breath. Hubby shifted in his sleep. 

‘Yeah. lemme go outside’

‘Meet you there.’

Carefully, Jensen slipped out of bed and crept down the hall. He avoided the creaky spots on the floor and held his breath when he passed the twins’ bedroom. 

The night air was warm and he sat on the patio, staring at the moon’s reflection on the surface of the swimming pool, wondering how cold the water was. He thought to stick his toes in, but before he could move, his phone vibrated. 

“Hey.” 

Beka exhaled a sweet breath into the phone. All nerves and worry faded when she heard his voice. It was always like a blanket around her, warm and safe. “Hey, Jen.” She sat on the back deck under the stars, a bit chilly but it felt good. “What’s got your brain running around?” 

 “Oh, you know. Work. Life. Wife.” 

She laughed softly. “Yeah, I get that.” 

The quiet between them was never hard, the distance never awkward. Just hearing her breathing was enough for him. His gentle hums made her smile. 

“Wrote a new song this morning,” he told her. “One of those ‘in the shower’ moments.”

“I don’t think you can put out a song about jerking off in the shower, sir.” 

He laughed. She could see it in her head: that brilliant smile, his head tipping back, his shoulders quaking. 

“Not like that!” 

“Yeah, yeah. Dirty old man…” 

“So what, you never jerk off in the shower?” 

Her cheeks burned. “I’ve been known to rub one… or two… out in the shower, yeah.” 

He licked his lips, intrigued. “And what do you think about when you do?” 

“You.” 

Jensen shifted, unconsciously spreading his bowed legs. “Oh yeah?”

“Generally, yeah.” 

“What are you wearing right now?” 

She chewed her lip and slid down in her chair. “PJs.” 

He laughed. “Tell me.” 

“Um… burgundy tank top…” 

“Nice… and? Shorts?”

“Nope.”

“Those cute lacy panties I like?” 

She clenched her thighs. “Perhaps…” 

He hummed in lustful approval. 

Beka ran a hand slowly down her body. “And you?” 

“Boxers. Blue stripes.”

“Nothing else?” 

He laughed quietly. “It’s warm here.” 

She moaned. “I wish it was warm here.” Her fingertips grazed her nipple. “I wish you were here.”

Jensen sighed. “Me too, Bek…” 

They watched the sky slowly lighten. He caught the rays first and then a few moments later they hit her face. The hour had come to tear them apart, but neither wanted to move. It was too easy to keep talking, too perfect to give up. 

“The man will be up soon,” Beka said finally. She let out a heavy exhale and sat up, pushing her bare feet onto the old wooden planks. “I should go.” 

“Not yet…” 

Jensen closed his eyes against the light and pictured himself next to her. The pink sunrise glowing on her pale skin, the June breeze lifting her long hair. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to sweep the hair off her shoulder and kiss her there, to pull her close and spend the morning in her arms.

“Jen- you gotta go, too. She’ll be up any minute.” 

He swallowed down the fantasy and huffed. “Yeah… I know.” 

“I’ll see you soon.” 

He smiled sadly. “Not soon enough…” 

His wife was still out cold when he laid back down. Jensen closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand down his face. Calls weren’t enough. Texts were pointless. He needed to see her, needed to feel that rush again. 

Beka rolled toward the middle of the bed and tucked her phone beneath the pillow. None-the-wiser, her husband breathed deeply and woke, stretching his left arm out to catch a hug. She curled into him and won a kiss atop her head. 

“Morning, Princess.” 

She breathed back a tear. “Morning.” 

She always loved the little bottles of alcohol they hand out on airplanes. A few sips of vodka did wonders on a flight from coast to coast. A mini bottle of Jameson masked turbulence enough for the clouds to rattle through the plane without invoking any fear. A nip of Bacardi helped lull her to sleep when the cabin was freezing and her neighbor sat too close. 

Tiny bottles of magic. Magic that made long journeys seem a little shorter, a little easier. They helped lessen the guilt that struggled to hold her back, the pain of wanting, and the fear of the eternal end.

The carpet was thin but her ass was numb. She sat on the floor, leaning against his hotel room door, lamenting her choices and hating her circumstances.  

There hadn’t been nearly enough booze on the flight to Chicago to erase the sins graffitied on her heart, but there had been a liquor store. 

She took a long drink straight from the bottle and hummed as the sweet honey glaze of the whiskey coated her tongue. The sting was long gone. She swallowed hard as the elevator door opened and looked up. 

Through the drunken blur, she saw him. Boots first. The brown ones with two-inch heels, muted gold rivets, and tan laces. The cuffs of his dark jeans were turned up at the ankle and she followed them up his bowed legs. She’d know those legs anywhere. He was so perfectly imperfect that it made her want to cry. Everything about him was wrong in some little way, but it all came together in a heavenly masterpiece. Crooked nose, rocket-fin ears, bowed legs- he was beautiful. 

Tears welled at the thought and Beka wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. 

Jensen stopped a few feet away, eclipsing the light above and casting a shadowy figure over her face. “Waiting for someone?” 

She laughed despite the tears and cleared her throat, trying to hide the emotions running rampant. “Well, I was supposed to meet this guy for dinner but apparently his photo ops ran long and he didn’t feel the need to call and tell me…”

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” He hung his head and sucked at his bottom lip. “Things were crazy today; everything was off schedule. A light popped during solos and the rig almost fell over and crushed Chris and-” 

Beka was staring up at him with disappointment written on her face. He sighed. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She took another drink and shrugged. “Shit happens.” The bottle, half empty, found a nest in the carpet fibers as she dropped it beside her thigh. “What can ya do?” 

“You drink all that yourself?” he asked, crouching down to catch it before it tipped over. 

“Well… yeah.” She sat forward and leaned close. “Ain’t nobody else here, is there?”

He grabbed the neck and she grabbed his wrist, wrapping her fingers around tight. Her bottom lip trembled and a dimple in the center of her chin appeared. She pulled in a deep breath. 

“I really wanted to see you tonight,” she whispered. 

“I’m right here.” 

“You know what I mean!” 

He closed his eyes for a moment as her anger dissipated. She was never mad at him for too long but she needed to let him know she felt slighted. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She nodded. “I know. I am too.” 

Carefully, he took her other hand. He rocked back on his heels and stood up, dragging her with him. She stumbled on a sleeping left foot and fell against him. 

“Oops.” She laughed and wrapped her hand around his neck; nuzzled her lips against his ear. “You caught me… my hero.” 

His laugh tickled her cheek. “You’re very drunk.” 

“No shit.” 

Jensen stepped toward the door and shifted her in his arms while trying to dig the key from his back pocket. Beka held on as if the floor would open up and swallow her whole if she let go. 

“Oh! I got you a present,” she said, remembering the tiny plastic bottle in her pocket. “Lady on the plane gave me gin.” 

“You hate gin.” 

The lock clicked and he opened the door. 

“I know. That’s why I saved it for you and your stupid negronis.” She let him lead her into the dark room and stood still while he flipped on the light. “I know you like those things. I don’t know why. They taste like shit and-”

His hands were on her in an instant, knocking the words from her mind as he spun her around. 

“Please shut up and kiss me,” he begged. “I miss you.” 

“But I’m drunk,” she reminded him, smiling in his arms as his fingertips brushed the bangs out of her eyes. 

Green eyes lured her in, plump lips sealed the deal. 

“I don’t care.”

Sometimes he had trouble remembering. 

One moment, he would be flooded with memory- the taste of cold coffee and stale cigarettes in the diner that first week; the feel of the old, ratty air conditioner blasting down on the back of his neck. The accidental touch of her knuckles as he reached across the table to steal her pen. He’d smile, breathe deep, and linger in the phantom feelings. Then it would all fade. He’d struggle to bring back the taste of her skin, the sound of her humming harmony to his melody. She was slowly fading and he hated it. 

He kept her words in his wallet: a worn slip of paper from the register covered in her handwriting. The first song they’d written together seemed to come so easily in that little diner in the middle of the night. Words and a feeling. Rhymes and a shy smile. 

He missed every part of it. 

The brewery was buzzing with excitement. The crowd was grooving; the band was on fire. 

Jensen clung to the mic stand as if it were the only thing keeping him standing. His knuckles were pale, his cheeks burned bright red.

Rebekah kept her eyes glued to him, ignoring the crowd and the friendly faces that stood out. She watched his stage fright slowly subside as the audience accepted his new songs; saw his shoulders relax and his smile soften. His voice grew stronger and his confidence soared. 

When he looked over his shoulder, she was there just like she had promised. He smiled when their gaze met, so ready to sink into the rich brown of her eyes, the warmth of her body, the taste and smell of her. She blushed and hit a wrong note, her fingers sliding off the strings, distracted by his freckled beauty. 

He had his brewery ballcap on backward and she wanted to reach out and whack the bill, flip it off his head, and let his long hair cascade into his face. She wanted to grab him by the collar and tug his lips down to hers. To crush her guitar between their bodies and lick deep into his mouth, suck gently on his plump lips, take his breath away. 

Applause broke her fantasy and she ended the song with a dramatic sweep over the strings. 

Jensen gave the crowd a little wave and a humble nod. “Thanks so much, guys. Thank you!” He paused and took in the room. The energy was high and so was he, drunk on beer and the moment. He sighed heavily and happily. “Thank you so much for coming out tonight and helping me launch this album. I’m really proud of it and I hope you like it.” 

A pop filled the room and he bit his lip at the adulation. 

Beka was close to tears as she watched him. Incredibly proud. Perfectly amazed. 

“So, uh, I want to just take a second to thank my writing partner…” He turned and waved at Beka who winked in return. “Rebekah Jordan, everybody! Doing everything behind the scenes- writing, singing harmonies, playing drums… badly.” 

“Hey! I told you I wasn’t a drummer!” she shouted back. 

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me you were so bad!”

She shot up two middle fingers and Jensen smirked. A spark of clear arousal struck them both and he quickly looked away, back to the crowd. 

He cleared his throat. “And- my beautiful wife! Thank you for all the support and inspiration.” He gestured to the back of the room where she stood behind the bar. Arms crossed in obvious displeasure, she simply nodded at her husband. 

“Anyway- this is another new one. Hope you like it…” 

Four simple chords rippled through the air and Jensen closed his eyes. He held the mic in both hands and let his voice float like honey, covering every person there until the audience was swaying in time with the band. 

“So long gone, too far away, 

Spent my life on the road.

Whipping wind and freezin’ rain,

Crossing the river as it overflowed…”

Jensen looked back at her, singing their words and missing her touch. 

She lifted her head to find the microphone, ready to sing behind him, but she caught his eye and gasped. He was too beautiful. He was staring too hard. 

“But ever since I met you I’ve been home.

Doesn’t matter where on earth I roam.

All I have to do is reach out for your hand and I’m

Right back where I’m meant to be…” 

She kept his bandana. Even though she couldn’t look at it, couldn’t touch it without breaking down, it held too much of their time together to get rid of.

The black fabric was soft from years of use, the white design dingy and nearly see-through. It had collected his sweat and wiped away her tears, even staunched the blood when she’d scraped her knee outside of that bar in Pittsburgh. He kept it tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, ready to dab barbeque sauce from his lip or dry a spot for her to sit after a rainstorm. 

It lived forever in a box hidden in the back of her closet somewhere between her winter boots and pants that fit two sizes ago. 

She never took it out, but she knew it was there. 

Ten shows under their belts. Ten small stages knew their chemistry; heard their voices mixing like cream and sugar. Perfectly blended, perfectly in sync, perfectly unable to keep their smiles casual or their eyes from lingering. 

When they sang together it was like there was no one else in the room. Jensen would lose himself in the melody, letting her voice wrap around his mind and heart. She’d be stuck staring at his hands so tightly wound around the mic stand, or the way he leaned back to hit a high note. They were too comfortable with each other, too obviously connected. 

For an hour and a half each night, they were in their own little world. 

For hours after they’d lay in each other’s arms, watch the sun come up over a different city, and share their dreams. 

One Saturday night after a show Rebekah was lingering around backstage, feeling a little out of place around the actors there for the convention. She knew them all from afar but never dared to mingle. It felt strange to insert herself into his life in that way. She was only there for the music, only there for Jensen. 

He was off talking to a short blonde, laughing and enjoying the buzz from being on stage all night. Now and then, he’d catch a glimpse of Beka on the sidelines and smile that secret smile he saved only for her. Every time, it made her heart swell and her cheeks burn. She’d wink back and look away, embarrassed by her girly reaction. 

“Great job out there.” 

She turned to find a shirtless Matt Cohen redressing in front of her as if to impress her. She clicked her tongue and looked around him back at the group. 

“You too.” 

He grinned and followed her line of sight back to Jensen. A knowing smirk turned his lips. 

“You and Ackles are really getting along, huh?” He moved to stand beside her, his back to the wall, mirroring her stance. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah, I guess. He’s a great guy.”

“The album is really good,” he went on. “That one song- what is it? Something about the beach?”

“‘The Salt on Your Skin’?” 

He nodded and kicked a foot back against the cement wall. “Yeah. That one. Really nice.”

“Thanks.” 

“Very romantic.” 

He looked over at her. His green eyes were pale but intrusive. She shivered. 

“I suppose,” she replied, trying to hide the nerves growing in her gut. “It is a love song, so…” 

Matt tongued his cheek. “Very… personal, I think…” His eyes flew to Jensen and back again. 

Rebekah tensed up and took a step away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You do. We all do.” He shrugged and pushed off the wall. “But whatever. Have fun just- be careful.” 

Her stomach dropped as he walked away. His warning wasn’t a surprise; she’d been getting looks for weeks, but hearing it out loud, knowing that people knew- she couldn’t stop the dark shadow of guilt from creeping over her face. 

When Jensen finally broke free of the conversation, she was gone. 

The back of the building was quiet and empty. Fans spilled out around the front, milling about and filling the bright walkways with laughter and excitement. 

Rebekah stood in the dark. 

She closed her ears to the distant noise, replaying Matt’s condemning words and hating herself. If he knew, then everyone knew. 

Everyone. 

Since they’d debuted the album, fans had been whispering online, sharing theories and conspiracies, pointing to lyrics and photographs, spinning a web of fantasy around her and Jensen. Mostly, they’d been wild, elaborate stories about a house at the beach, messy divorces, and a secret love child. 

She barely paid attention, but there was a hint of truth in every speculation, and she knew what had to be done before things got out of hand. 

Lifting her face to the pale half-moon, Rebekah let a tear slip and she closed her eyes. She saw her husband’s face in her mind, heard his voice, and felt his touch. She saw his wife’s hateful stare, her accusing gestures, her utter avoidance. 

Things had gone too far. 

“Bek?” 

She sighed. “Yeah?” 

The security door shut behind him. “You OK?”

She shrugged. 

He moved to her side. “What happened? You just left.” 

“I don’t know. I just… needed some air.” 

Jensen reached for her hand and she flinched away. 

“Did something happen? Cohen say something to you?” The worry in his voice made her turn to face him. His brow was creased, his lips tight. 

“He did,” she confessed, “but it doesn’t matter. It’s…” Her throat grew tight, her eyes stung. 

“Tell me.” 

She shook her head. “No. I don’t want to do this right now. Not here.” 

Jensen leaned in. Worry warped his face, thickened his voice. “Do what? Beka- what happened?” 

Her heart ached. “We happened.” 

The meaning struck him in the chest but he refused to give it attention. 

“What are you talking about?” 

Rebekah spun away and hid her face. 

“Hey, come on-” 

“Us! Jensen. Us. We happened.” She dropped her hands and took a shaky breath. “We happened and everyone fucking knows.” 

Stunned into silence, Jensen dropped his hands to his sides and stared at the light post across the alley. 

“We have to stop,” she whispered, praying the wind would carry the words away and he wouldn’t hear it. 

He heard it. He felt it.

“No.” 

She turned back, brown eyes flooded with tears, pale skin glowing under the moon. “We have to. It’s gone too far and if… if some random soap actor who doesn’t even know me can tell… then everyone can. Everyone.”

Jensen refused her logic. “No. No one knows. No one’s said anything-” 

“Matt did. And who would say something to you? ‘Hey, Jensen, long time no see! I hear you’re fucking your writing partner. How’s that going?’”

He sighed. His shoulders dropping as reality crushed down on him. “OK, so… maybe some people know but that doesn’t mean we have to stop. I don’t want to.” 

A deep breath calmed her tears. “Jensen…” She stepped up to him and stared into the green eyes she dreamt of every night. “If this continues, there will be consequences. Real fucking problems. Your career, our families… it will all fall apart.”

He shook his head. Silent. Unyielding. 

“If we keep going… if we…” She knew what she had to do even though it would rip her in half. “Everyone is gonna get hurt if we fall in love.” 

He winced. 

She swallowed hard. 

He opened his eyes. “If?” 

“Yes,” she whispered. “If.” 

His jaw clenched and he held back a tear. “And if… I’m already in love?” 

It felt as if her heart would stop right there and she’d fall dead at his feet. She cleared her throat, pushing all the pain aside. It had to be done and he wasn’t going to do it. 

“Then this will hurt even more.” 

His tears fell and she held her breath. Everything inside told her to shut up, to take it back, to ignore everything and hold on to him. 

“I love you,” he breathed. “Don’t do this.” 

She dug her nails into her right palm, a bit of pain to keep her on track. She shook herself and put on a mask of indifference. 

“Come on, Jensen. This was never going to be anything more than a dalliance.” 

He stiffened. “A dalliance?” 

“A mistake.”

“You are not a mistake.” Anger lifted his voice. “This was not a mistake.” He pointed at her and then clutched his chest. “Not you and me. Never.” 

Unable to think of anything else, any way to get him to understand, she turned away and wave him off. 

“Go home to your wife.” 

Desperate, Jensen rushed at her, grabbed her upper arm, and swung her around. Her long hair whipped around them both and she nearly lost her grip. 

“Tell me that you don’t love me,” he said. 

“Jensen, stop it.” 

“No!” His fingers tightened. “Tell me you don’t love me and I’ll walk away right now.”

Her jaw dropped but the words refused to come.

“See? You can’t say it because it’s not true! You love me. You do.” He was insistent and breaking, so close to losing it all. 

“Jensen…” 

He grit his teeth, refusing to let her go. “You do. Say it. Tell me you’re in love with me, Beka.”

Shaking, she held his gaze and exhaled a deep breath. 

“I don’t love you.” 

It crackled through the air like lightning and she thought for sure they’d both be struck down.

His hand fell from her arm. He could see the lie written on her face, feel the pain pulsing off of her skin. “I don’t believe you.” 

Slowly, Rebekah pushed up on her toes and pressed her lips to his cheek. She held them there for longer than she should have, breathing in one last breath, savoring one last taste of him.

Without another word, she turned to leave, ready to step into the darkness and leave him alone to pick himself up off of the ground. 

Jensen dragged his hands through his hair as he spun around, confused, hurt, and on the edge of insanity. After everything they’d been through, all the love they shared, all the promises they whispered in the night, he couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t watch her leave without a fight.  

“Fuck you.” 

The words cut right through her and she froze on the spot. 

“Fuck you for doing this!” His shout rang out and shook her to the core. “You’re breaking us. You’re breaking me!”

She tried to stay strong, appeal to his logical brain. “You’ll be fine,” she said calmly. “Your wife loves you. Your family loves you. You’ll be fine.” 

He took a step forward but held himself back from rushing at her and demanding she stay. His voice softened. The tears fell heavy down his face. 

“Please don’t do this.” 

She turned back and her heart shattered. “Jensen, please-”

“Don’t end this,” he begged. “You bring something out of me. Something I haven’t felt in so long. Maybe ever. You can’t tell me that you don’t feel the same. I know you do. We’re better together.”

It took everything in her to stay standing. She wanted to run into his arms and scream her apology, take every word back and shove them into the depths of their forgotten memory, never to resurface.  

“I do,” she said softly. “But it’s… It can’t go on. I’m sorry.” 

His weight shifted. He started to go to her. 

“What am I going to do without you?” 

She met him halfway. 

“Write me a song.” She smiled sadly. “Write me a song, just for me. And whenever you play it, I’ll know you’re thinking about me.” Her shoulders shook. “And… that will have to be enough. For both of us.” 

The distance between them faded and Jensen lifted her chin with two tender fingers; kissed her lips with undying passion. She lay her hand on the nape of his neck and held on, saying ‘I love you’, saying goodbye. 

He pressed his forehead against hers and clutched her hand between them, locking it to his heart. 

“Every word I ever write will be for you,” he whispered. “Every song I sing… will be yours.”

It was never a mistake, not to him. 

It never felt wrong when he was with her. 

When the days were long and he felt like crumbling he’d pull out that old guitar pick and run his fingers over the dents her teeth had made. When the work was hard and his mind was a mess, he’d read her words and remember the way they were then. 

So lost in love. 

So wrapped up in the melody. 

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