It was a familiar feeling – settlingonto the mattress, snuggled back against his sturdy frame. His eyeswere on the television, but his right arm was tracing your side,fingers tracing each curve idly, as they'd done thousands of timesover the last fifteen years. You feel his lips press gently to yourshoulder, his day old stubble brushing your cheek on the way back.Smiling, you turn your head up to meet his eyes. They're brown,almost amber around the pupil, set under dark eyebrows, and oftenthese days hidden behind a pair of tortoise shell frames. He restshis chin on the spot he'd kissed and gives you a soft grin, theafternoon light from the bedroom window falling over his face. Therewere lines on it now, mostly on his forehead from too muchoverthinking. Even though he hardly looks different to you, he stillbears the telltale signs of a man his age; tired and achy at timesbut still just as childish as ever at others. With such a lightamount of facial hair the dimple in his chin stands out and youwonder if there were always so many freckles along his jaw. With aninternal shrug you decide there had been, then lean in and put yourlips on his. Being that close was like torture if you couldn't get ataste of him. It's a quick peck, but as soon as you disconnect hetightens his arm around your middle and lays his head against yours.
These lazy days were so precious, stretched out across themassive bed with Moose napping on the floor and snow coming downoutside. In a few weeks he would be back on the road, and all thecomforts of home would be traded for tight bus space and way too muchfast food. It had actually taken a while for you to embrace tourlife, what with your early dating days being a bit troubled as youboth worked through your own quarter life crises. The strain ofnormal life colliding with his professional obligations had lead toseveral "breaks" and more than a few fights. When he hit a roughpatch and decided to step out of the spotlight for a while, he calledand asked if you wanted to get together. It had been just over sixmonths since you'd last seen each other and it hadn't exactly been apeaceful parting. The weekend before you left had mostly consisted ofslammed doors and yelling that had alerted a few neighbors. Luckilyno one called the paparazzi, as with previous rows. It was never funto end up on the internet the morning after a blowout. Warily you hadagreed to meet him in LA, where he was packing up some stuff for hisnext move. The whole plane ride there was nausea-inducing, and whenyou stepped into the terminal you'd never been more sure that someonewas about to witness you hurl into a public trashcan. This wasn't thefirst time you'd done this – met back up months after falling out –but it felt so different this time because he'd sounded so genuine onthe phone about getting himself together. You'd been waiting forthose synapses to connect for a long time, and the thought that maybethey finally had was more than you could bear. So when your eyes hadfinally found him among all the people waiting for loved ones, yourbreath had caught in your throat. His smile was sheepish, as ifremembering the way you'd left him the year before, and you could seehim holding up a little sign. It had your name on it, of course, butit also said "I'm sorry." You'd almost visibly sagged with reliefand emotion, the mental baggage from the trip dissolving as he'dpulled you in for a hug. Four months later he proposed.
Shiftingto your other side, you lay your left hand against his cheek. Thesame sun warming his face was now casting glitter across the ceilingas it caught the diamonds on your finger. Seven years of weddedbliss, interrupted only slightly by the recent long stretches of tourdates and album press. He'd spent so long silent, his voice taken bythe botox and surgeries after discovering the granuloma on his vocalchords. Almost two years of his life was spent writing things out onan iPad, handing out cards to people apologizing for his silence,unaware of how long it would take to get it all back. Some days hehad been bright with positivity, sure in his bodies' ability to healand get him back on the path to making more music. Other times he wasawash in a dark funk that would sometimes last for days as hestruggled with the possibility that his voice would never return tohim, and that even if it did it wouldn't be the same. Those days werethe hardest, despite your best efforts to cheer him up. Oneparticularly sunny afternoon in the spring, you'd come in fromplanting flowers to find him missing from the couch. You'd lookedeverywhere until finally you'd heard him through the open studiodoor, muffled sobs echoing out into the hallway. Seeing him cry,hearing that strained sound as his frozen muscles protested,completely broke your heart. At almost 6'4", he had always been theprotector, towering over you and making you feel safe, but seeing himcrumpled up on the floor...it was like looking at a stranger. Yourhand moves through his soft hair, the same way it had that day whenyou'd held him close and rocked him like a child until he calmeddown.
With a small shudder you thank all the stars that suchan awful time in both your lives had now been replaced by sold outshows. Considering all of the beginnings, you couldn't be moregrateful for the crowds that continued to show up and support thisamazing life. The one where you got to stay huddled in his arms, awayfrom the Montana cold just outside, and stare at him forever.
"Whatare you thinking about so intensely?" he asks with a curious laugh.
"Life," you say simply.
His face changes and youknow he's on the same page with you. "We've been through ourshare."
"Would you change any of it?"
He kisses you slowly, resting hisforehead against yours afterward.
"Not for the world."
