Present Day

The morning sky is white and it's so damn cold I can't feel my feet. Wool socks do nothing for below zero wind chills, but I'm wearing them anyway. They're soft and thick and from Henley, which makes them the best damn pair of socks in the world, in case that wasn't clear. It's New Year's Day, and as my boots crunch a fresh pattern through the snow, I can't think of a more peaceful way to start the year.

I woke up with a dull headache, so I'm hoping the bitter cold will help kill this minor hangover. I did tear it up a bit, but didn't go overboard. A few shots and a few bottles of beers over the span of six hours had me buzzing pretty hard, but I haven't gotten completely trashed for awhile. I can think of one night in particular while Henley was in a coma, but the aftermath of it kept me from having more than a few beers for a long while. Henley, on the other hand, will probably be paying for the amount of alcohol she consumed last night. Unlike me, she doesn't have a memory to tame her.

Don't get me wrong; I don't want her to hurt, but a girl's got to learn her limits somehow. I smile thinking of her warm little body wrapped in the many blankets on our bed. She barely budged when I slid out of bed to use the bathroom, or when I slipped on a pair of jeans and boots and headed outside. I'm not worried she'll wonder where I am when she does wake up; mornings have gotten pretty routine since last week. I actually have a reason to pull my ass out of bed early on the weekends. Besides, she's warm as a heater when I crawl back in bed and pull her back against me.

"Let's make it a short one today, okay?" I say and wait as if I expect a response. "I can already picture the look on her face when we do get back inside. She'll flip on her tablet and realize we're out here in negative temps and then we'll get the look," I warn him with a smile. I don't even feel ridiculous talking like this. Besides, he's gonna have to know what he's gotten himself into.

Next to my footprints are the tiny, unmistakeable prints of my new buddy, Diesel. It's safe to say Henley is awesome at hitting the mark with sentimental gifts. I've only been friends with our pup since Christmas, but I can already tell he's the best damn dog in the world. He's quickly falling into place as the companion she intended him to be, sleeping at the end of the bed and sporting a ridiculous dog jacket she insisted he wear when we go on our short winter walks.

"Yeah. See you do know the look. It's the one she flashed you as you tried to wiggle your way out of your snow gear," I remind him. "Get used to it, because it's not going away." I smile. Every given day is another confirmation that I have my wife back.

No dog of mine is wussy enough to need protection from the wind, but I wasn't about to take the thing off him after watching her struggle it on him for ten minutes. I nixed the boots though, because really. I stop as we approach a tree and smile as I watch my buddy circle it a good ten times before he finds the perfect spot to do his thing. The whole potty-training thing is a work in progress, so he could walk around here for hours and I'd be fine with it, as long as he's not pissing on my favorite chair.

Diesel's a cool guy because he's a lot like me. And I'm not just talking about our light hair. He looks pretty tough and I've seen him do a stupid thing or two, but he's got a soft spot for love. He's only been with us a short while, but his loyalty is evident. He's not a purebred anything, and he didn't come from a family who wanted puppies. He was picked up by a shelter when he was just a few weeks old, which means our home is the first real one he's ever had. And Henley moved up another few notches on the awesome meter for the fact that she took the shelter approach. I mean all dogs are deserving of a good home, but she could've gone for a pup from a breeder who was in perfect condition. Instead she chose Diesel, a little tough guy with a scar across his black nose, with no knowledge about him aside from the fact that mutts make good family dogs. And I have to believe she picked him because he reminded her of us - rebels out on the road. Wanderers.

He's small, but he won't be for much longer. He's a pretty decent dude on his own, but it's the symbolism behind the gift that touches me the most. Yeah, my name was in big bold lettering on the tag on his collar as he ran up to me on Christmas morning, but she loves him as much as I do, so it's pretty clear he was a gift to both of us. To our new life together.

I crouch down to his level and laugh as his tiny paws go in four different directions and he lands on his belly in the snow. A small shake and I'm covered in a dusting of snow, and I smile and pick him up in my arms. "Happens to the best of us," I tell him as my gloved hands rub the remaining snow from his ears. He looks up at me as if I have the answers to all of life's questions, then warms my nose with a few licks. As I stare at him, I see more than just a new pet. I see a friend. A companion. Someone I can talk to about the tough things without fearing disappointment. I know this little man will be cool with whatever I say to him, and I know he'll bear my troubles right along side me until I'm ready to share them with Henley.

It's not like I think she'll leave me for it, though I'm sure there are many women who would. It was stupid and something I'll never do again - there's nothing in the world more important than the people I love, namely Henley. And I've been dealing with the fact that I didn't just put her second. I put her third or fourth. I made it seem like she had no say in my life even though we were married, and I gave her plenty of reasons to doubt me.

A lesser man might say I'm lucky she doesn't remember a thing. Maybe I'm playing up on it a bit by not sharing the details of my accident, but I'd feel guilty for the rest of my life if I let her carry on oblivious to our problems. Like I said, I'm not a hero. I put her in distress and was too messed up to save myself, let alone her. All the credit goes to Henley, because if I had been in her shoes back then, I'd have peeled right out of the parking lot and left my sorry ass behind before I ever had the chance to break her heart.

I let out a breath and watch as it swirls before us. We've been out here for about fifteen minutes and we've rounded the last corner that leads to the house. Soon we'll be back inside our toasty home in front of the fireplace, or if I get my way, crawling back under the covers with Henley.

My mind goes back to last night and I realize we're not alone. The way Harlow was downing them last night, I'll be surprised if she's sober this morning. After it was over, Harlow and Andrew managed to nestle themselves in one of our guest rooms. Not so quietly, I might add. And let me tell you, it's been years since I've partied with my sister. I'm not talking about knocking back a few bottles of beer around Mom's kitchen table, either; I'm talking pub crawling. Andrew's a saint for his self-imposed one beer rule; I wasn't wasted but there's no way I could've gotten behind a wheel. Must've been something to party with the likes of us, but I get why he did it; Harlow's eyes were just as bright with excitement as Henley's and it's been too damn long since those two have let loose.

The best part? It was all Henley's idea.

Twelve Hours Earlier

"Damn adorable, aren't they?" Andrew asks, smiling as he lifts his bottle of Bud to his lips. My eyes shoot to the bar where I see our girls knocking back a few shots. They're surrounded by a small crowd-all locals watching Henley like a hawk as if she may fall into another coma at any given moment, but every now and then I feel her eyes fall on me.

We're seated at a small table in the corner of Renner's, a little bar just a few blocks downtown. It's our second stop of the night and the clock's about to hit 9:30pm. She's got about three drinks in her, but the way she wiggles her sexy hips tells me she's buzzed, and I'm itching to get my hands on her again.

"Whole lot of trouble when they're together, too," I add with a laugh as I tip my own bottle back. Henley's eyes go wide as she brings the double shot glass to her lips and sends the burning liquid down her throat. She cringes for just a moment, then laughs as she sets the empty glass down on the bar next to my sister's and throws her arms triumphantly in the air. "Look at 'em up there, beautiful as hell and stealing the show."

"Always have," he reminds me as I reach into the tin bucket of shelled peanuts at our table and pop one into my mouth. "Always will, I hope. Nice to see Harlow smile like that again, even if hanging out with Henley has revived her interest in cooking," he laughs, then reaches for a peanut. "Small price to pay, you know?" His eyes are stuck on my sister and I can't help but smile.

This moment. This second right here is the very reason I love this guy. He's a hell of a brother-in-law, and not just because he loves local beer and a lot of the same things I do. He's real in the way good men should be, and knows when to laugh and when to bite his tongue. He's the kind of guy I'd be friends with even if he wasn't married to my sister, but the way he treats her only gives me more reasons to like him. He looks at her as if she's the only thing that matters, and as her twin, that means a whole hell of a lot to me; she's one of the most important people in my life, and it's reassuring to know she's well cared for and loved in a way she deserves.

As twins we've always been close, but the events of the last few years have really drawn us together and made me appreciate my family. They loved Henley dearly within hours of meeting her that first Christmas, and they've been nothing but supportive us through the twists and turns since. My accident and hers, and someday soon when it all comes flooding back to her-because I know it will-I hope remembers she wasn't alone.

I reach back to smooth the hair at the back of my head and touch my scar. We're hours away from a new year, which means I've got another 365 days to show her how much she means to me before we wind up here again. This year brought us so many good things; I can't help but feel the highs. But there were lows, too. I won't pretend I wasn't devastated to find out she didn't know who the hell I was when she woke up, and I can't say I'm not worried she'll never get it all back. Of course I am. Who wouldn't want his wife to wake up next to him one day and remember every single moment they've shared?

But after so many years wishing she'd come home to me so we could finish what we started, it's easy to push those troubles aside and embrace what we've been given. You better believe I'm celebrating the hell out of this year, because I'll never get a better year than this. The good news is, I've still got another two-and-a-half hours left to revel in it, and my gorgeous wife is headed my way.

There's good music pumping in these walls, and while it's more of a laid back place, it hasn't stopped the ladies from rearranging the tables to make room for a dance floor. I like Renner's because it doesn't cater to just one crowd. It's known for hosting some of the best upcoming local bands across all genres, and it's a cool enough environment to just kick back and let loose without spending a ton of cash. Since it's New Year's Eve and the house is packed, they've brought in their most loved band, Thayer's Love. It's a folksy-rock kind of band that doesn't lend much to dancing, but some of their slow stuff is pretty good and I'll use any excuse to press up against Henley.

Either these beers are settling in my blood, or she's taking all damn day to cross the room. I use the opportunity to enjoy the view, as she really outdid herself tonight. I told her not to worry about getting all dolled up; it's cold and windy and she'd look beautiful make-up free and in a potato sack, but all that got me was her trademark eye-roll and a smirk. I'm pretty sure she actually saw it as a challenge to the look the sexiest she ever has. She wears red lipstick like it was made just for her, and her wavy hair falls loose around her bare shoulders. She insisted on wearing a red wide-necked, off the shoulder sweater and a blank tank underneath, so I'm glad the crowd's making it toasty in here. I'm glued to her legs in those tight black jeans and the pair of knee-high black leather boots I bought her last week as she finally reaches the table.

Her hands fall on my shoulders and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"Having fun, Ryan?" She asks, and I nod as I continue to appreciate her.

She wobbles a little forward, so I reach out to grab her hips to steady her.

"Woah, there," I smile, gripping her more tightly. "You okay?"

She's warm, and my thumbs brush against her bare skin. I should be worried she'll freeze on our walk to the next bar down the road, but all I can think about is how good she feels.

"I'm amazing," she tells me, smiling as she steps between my open legs until her warm thighs are cinched between mine. She's close enough to feel the hard-on starting in my jeans, and if things take the corner I believe they will, we'll be on that makeshift dance floor in moments.

Her soft hands run across my shoulders and lift her gently to get her settled on my leg. She's light as a feather, though she eats well, and when she's comfortably perched up on my knee like this, I'm on top of the world. I feel her warm forehead press against my temple as she says,

"Drunk enough to dance with me yet? We bought a pitcher," She says, and I reassure her I could be sober as hell in a room with no music and still want to dance with her. She's got an empty hand now, but I'm sure she'll be shooting another few fancy alcoholic concoctions before the clock strikes twelve. She may not recall, but she's got a pretty decent tolerance; it's the only reason I'm not following her around like a watchdog right now. I know her limits and I won't let her pass them. I don't want her waking up on a cold bathroom floor on her first morning of the new year, but I'm happy she's letting her guard down tonight. Every day I see a new, beautiful side of her, and this is one of them. Carefree looks amazing on her, and I hope it's just the beginning of what's to come for us.

I down the last of my beer and scoot the empty bottle beside the other two. I'm not drunk by any means, but I'm relaxed enough to not worry about who's watching. I know a lot of people here...probably all of them. That's the thing about small towns-news travels fast and every one knows everything about their neighbors. It can be annoying as shit at times, but out of all the places I've lived and traveled, I couldn't have picked a better place to settle down. Their nosiness is just a blemish on the beauty of what these people bring to our lives. They've got warm smiles and genuine hearts and I've shared my troubles with more than few of these faces over the years. As I look around and see the people smiling at Henley, laughing with her and sharing stories, I realize I'm blessed, because it's not just my family celebrating Henley's return; it's everyone. Together, we may just give her a chance at some memories. If not, at least she'll gain a lot of new friends.

Beside us, Harlow and Andrew are engaged in a tournament of tongues. And I've seen enough. Trust me, I get it. My sister's tolerance of alcohol is quite a bit lower than Henley's, and her inhibitions are lowered enough right now not to care that she's groping her husband in a public bar. Whatever, but they're coming home with us later and I'm gonna have that shit running through my head all night.

I'm just about to tap my boot against her shin lightly when I feel the backs of Henley's feet bump into mine. Alcohol brings out her playful side, and she's swinging her legs back and forth while she sits on my knee. Andrew was dead on with the 'adorable' comment; I'm half thinking about calling a cab right now and ringing in the New Year between Henley's thighs. Instead, I scoot to the edge of my stool until she hops off my knee, and grab her hand as we head to the center of the bar where a few couples are swaying to the music.

"I really like this one," Henley says as she draws her arms around neck and pulls me closer. Thayer's Love is a band of three brothers from just a few towns east of us. We've heard them play just once before, but they've got lyrics and a sound that sticks easily. Before long, they're playing a cover of Chris Isaak's Wicked Game, and I hear Henley's sweet voice softly singing the lyrics against my neck.

And it's just a cover song. Just a local band made up of a few guys slightly younger than us. And this is just a moment, like every other we've had-only it feels like a whole lot more. It feels like they're singing Wicked Game right to us. And in my arms, it feels like she's singing it only for me.

We're moving for an eternity and I don't want to let go for even one second. We must've danced hundreds of times in all the places we've been, but it's never felt more right, and I've never been more sure that I'm doing exactly what I want to be doing in life.

I used to fear this-settling down, but not for the reasons a lot of men my age or younger typically do. In college, the first time around, I couldn't really concentrate on my degree. It never felt like I was doing it for myself. I loved and respected my father more than any other man on the planet because he never forced me to do anything I didn't want to do. He didn't push me into the business field. I went willingly, because while I had dreams of doing so many other things, the dream of becoming a good man and a good father like him far outweighed anything else. But as the years ticked on, I found myself slipping up. Convincing myself I was doing what made me happy. And when he died, it all just went to hell. Those dreams-the ones I left school to live out...the one I risked my life and my marriage to pursue? It turns out they were temporary. I would've never thought I'd choose something over my wife. And I'll never do it again.

This-this unmistakeable feeling in my gut-is contentment. This is the feeling I've read about in magazines articles and blogs from guys happily married and well-adjusted. I don't feel like life cheated me, or us or even that I have the right to question the way we've gotten here. I just know I'm here. We're here together, and if I only ever spend every New Year's Eve for the rest of my life in the arms of this woman, dancing the small town bands in this amazing bar, I'll be damn lucky.

She's warm against me, and her hips meet mine in exactly the right rhythm to get me started. More than ever, I'm happy we've said our present I love you's. It makes thinking about taking her home and screwing her a lot easier on my conscious; she's the type of drunk to want in my pants, and I'm not sure I could've kept on doing her without knowing how she really felt. Not because I'm afraid of getting hurt; it just wouldn't feel right after awhile, knowing I'm so wrapped up in her and wondering if she's even half as happy as I am. Now I know-we're golden.

The song ends and our feet stop moving, but I feel her body relax against mine. I kiss the top of her head, and when she looks up at me with dark, beautiful eyes, I'm not sure we'll make it to midnight. I'm just about to bust out an innuendo when her smirk turns into a yawn.

"It's not even 10 o'clock!" I tease. "Though you always were a bit of a snoozer after a few. Trying to lie down in the street