Page 102 of Without You

You and me.

“Come on,” I whisper. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Dry, exhausted, and naked, we both slip between the blankets. Lethargic limbs wrap around one another, both of us trying to still time. To stall the inevitable.

“We’re going to be okay,” Julian says into the darkness.

“You told me to trust you,” I tell him. “To trustus.”

He squeezes me tighter, and I squeeze him back, burying my head in his neck, tilting my mouth to his ear. “That’s the only reason I’m letting you walk away from me tomorrow.”

* * *

“Hey, man,”Wade greets with a smile.

I widen my front door and gesture for him to come inside. “Did I miss something? Why are you here?”

He raises a six pack of beer. “I thought we could watch some football highlights and shoot the shit.”

I narrow my eyebrows at him. “I’m still not following. Don’t people usually wait for an invitation to come to someone’s apartment?”

He strides in, heading to the kitchen. “Not when the person whose place it is is potentially crying into their cup of coffee.”

“Can you speak in fucking English, before I kick you out for real?”

Placing the beer bottles on the counter he pulls one out of the holder, twists the lid off, and takes a swig. “I’m checking up on you, you broody motherfucker.”

“Firstly, you’re supposed to offer me the first beer.” I counter, irritated. “Secondly, don’t call me broody.”

“Touchy much?” He opens the second bottle and walks it to me. “People don’t get to choose their insults from their friends.”

“It’s not an insult,” I argue, taking the drink off him and dropping onto the couch.It’s a compliment.

“What the actual fuck are you even talking about now?” Wade exclaims.

“Nothing,” I mutter. “Have you checked up on me enough? Am I doing fine by your standards?”

“Well…” He brings the rim of his bottle to his mouth, and looks around the room pensively. “You’re not sitting on the couch crying and stuffing your face with ice cream, so that’s a plus.”

I almost choke on my beer, quickly putting it on the coffee table and hacking up a lung. When I can concentrate back on Wade I glare at him.

“I like a bit of dick now, but I didn’t grow a fucking vagina.”

He shrugs, unperturbed. “I’m just checking.”

Jumping off the kitchen stool he rounds the couch and sits beside me. “Seriously, though, are you okay?”

“It’s been a handful of hours,” I deadpan. “He just went home, it’s not like he threw me out of his life.”

“So, it’s a visit?”

“Hopefully,” I answer with as much positivity as I can muster.

“Do you believe him?”

“I do,” I insist. “I believe he wants this as much as I do. But I’m fucking scared shitless that he’s going to walk into that house alone, and he’s not going to be able to leave Rhett behind.”

I feel like a piece of shit for even saying those words, despite their truth. They’re the crux of every single insecurity I have, and I don’t want him to forget my brother or anything they shared—that isn’t what this is about. It’s just wanting to be enough for now. For his future. For hismore.

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