Page 71 of Our Final Encore

“Will you lay with me?”

I’m dreaming. I must be, because I never imagined I’d hear those words from her mouth ever again.

“Of course.” I cross the small room, pulling down the edge of the comforter so that I can climb in. I quickly toe off my shoes and lay down, careful not to touch her body with mine at all, worried that if I do she may throw her walls back up and tell me to leave.

She rolls over so that she’s facing me. “Thanks. I just…I didn’t wanna be alone.”

My heart stutters and my breath catches in my throat. She’s so beautiful. “No problem.”

A soft smile touches her lips before she closes her eyes. It doesn’t take long before her breaths become steady and her eyelashes twitch like she’s in the middle of a dream.

Against my better judgment, I lean over and brush my lips against her cheek, soft enough that it won’t wake her. Just feeling her delicate skin against mine nearly drives me insane.

Whether she wants to believe it or not, I’m in love with this woman. I always have been, and I always will be.

FORTY-FIVE

Opal

Iblink my eyes, adjusting them to the unexpected darkness. I guess I dozed off for more than a few minutes, it’s pitch black outside now.

The only light in my room is from the small lamp on my desk. My eyes open wider and I flinch a bit when I realize Alex is sitting there, hunched over at my desk in my pink office chair that looks a bit too small for him. His long hair is covering his face, and it looks like he’s writing something on a piece of paper.

Anxiousness floods through my chest.My journals.They’re all sitting in the drawer of that desk, inches away from him. He could’ve easily read everything in any of them, or all of them, considering how long he’s been in my room now.

He probably wouldn’t do that. He’s always respected my privacy in the past, and there’s a large possibility that he’s not even interested anyway. I have a few poems I wrote stuck to my wall, but none of those are very deep or personal, not like the ones hidden away in the drawer.

“What are you doing?” I croak, sleepiness still evident in my voice.

He flinches, pushing his hair back as he looks up at me. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I was just…” he looks back down at the piece of paper in front of him and my heart rate ticks up a bit.Is he reading my writing?“I was writing down some lyrics. I was trying to get them out before I forgot them. I’ll leave now.”

“Where’d you get the paper?”

His eyes bounce between the paper in his hand and me, his brow wrinkled. “The notepad on your fridge.”

Relief floods my veins when I realize it isn’t my writing in front of him, it’s his own. I just have to hope he didn’t go digging through the drawer at any point during his visit. “It’s fine.” I blink a few times. “How long was I asleep?”

“About four hours.”

Now I probably won’t be able to get back to sleep tonight,great. “So…a new song, huh?” I grab a ponytail holder from my side table before pulling my wild, frizzy hair up into a bun.

He glances at the paper again. “Yeah. I haven’t written one in a long time, it just came to me, I figured I might as well try to write it down real quick before I forgot the words. That was two hours ago, though, and I’m still messing with it. I didn’t realize how late it was.”

The edges of my lips tick up slightly. If there’s one thing I miss about our friendship, it’s our mutual love of writing. No one else has ever understood my need to write like he did. Non-writers consider writing a hobby, but writers understand it’s much more than that.

“It’s okay.” Maybe I should be annoyed that he’s still here, but I’m not. I’m kind of relieved. Being all alone in this house would feel strange. I don’t think of it asmyhouse, it’s Mamaw’s house, and without her here it feels weirdly empty. “Do you want some food? I’m starving, I’m gonna make something.”

He blinks at me twice, a non-believing look on his face. “Uh, yeah. That sounds great.” He stands up, folding the paper and shoving it in his back pocket.

I slowly crawl out of bed, realizing I feel a bit sweaty and gross. Night sweats are apparently another lovely symptom of pregnancy that no one ever told me about. I could use a shower, but I’m definitely not doing that while he’s here.

I guess I’ll just keep at least six feet of space between us. That’s probably a good idea anyway.

Sliding my feet into a pair of soft slippers, I pad my way into the kitchen. After a quick evaluation of the pantry, I realize there aren’t many options beyond basic staples. White rice it is, I guess.

“So, will I get to hear this new song soon?” I ask as I start boiling a pot of water.

“I’m not sure. It’s been a while since I wrote one, it could take a minute before I add music to the words.”

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