Meg Lewis had so many different personas, she was starting to lose track of what she really was-American spy, wife to a Nazi, courier, half-Jewish...She didn't want to break John Egan's heart and she certainly didn't intend to pioneer the world of s...
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A/N: And not a single brain cell was present for this chapter....these two...yeesh. I will warn you though, there is some heavy tea spilling and talk about marital abuse in this chapter! So be prepared! As always, let me know what you think!
For Bucky Egan to have a woman in his bed— the woman that he compared every single other woman to —and to not be making a move? God himself must have intervened for something like this to take place.
Shortly after she had broken down crying, they had moved rooms—and Bucky had quietly let the hotel management know that they wanted to share a room. It had piqued some eyebrows, but the way that he saw it, it was none of anyone's business what Meg and he did or did not get up to while they were together for the next few hours of Saturday evening and into their Sunday morning.
And now that it was just the two of them, she had sunk into the bed—and at first, he had insisted on sleeping on the ground. Any space between the two of them was probably a good idea given how things had been progressing in the bathroom.
But then she was looking at him like he was stupid. And so now they were in the same bed and he just felt like his breath was eternally caught in his throat. What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to even do? She didn't want to be alone and things were complicated to say the least. She had told him that she still loved him and he had told her that it would pass.
It had been a drunken honest thought—and one that he was half-regretting now. Because the taste of her still lingered on his lips and any thoughts of alcohol, of other women, of anything that was distracting —it all just melted away. He had started drinking initially because he needed something to fill in the gaping hole that she had left. And the minute that they had kissed—the minute that she was in his arms again— all the need for those other things just melted away .
He was intimately familiar with being drunk—but being drunk on Meg Lewis was something that he had missed . And staring at her in his bed, the way that her chest rose and fell with each breath, the way that her face relaxed as she tried to find rest— he knew that he was damned . Because he was wholly still in love with her and he had screwed that up with his words the other night.
Consequences be damned. His heartbreak was slowly beginning to be forgotten. Like every moment spent with her again made up for the years of aching loneliness. It was always going to be her—he had known that the minute that she had left. There was a reason why he kept that damn ring on him for all of these years.
But something held him back—tugged on him like some sort of rope. He wasn't sure if it was self-preservation or something else, but he was grateful. Because if he let himself fall again, if he opened up his heart again, he was entirely certain that Meg would become that destroying angel and there would not be a Bucky Egan left if she broke that heart again.
