Page 15 of Without You

“Can you come to my place?” he asks.

“What?” I stare at him, confused. “Why?”

“You asked me a question and I want to answer it.”

“About the candy?” I shake my head. “I just want to know why you took it.”

“I know what you want Deacon, so can you please just meet me there?”

Do I want the answer that bad?

Without a word, I turn and head to my truck. I jump in and forcefully slam my door shut.I guess I do.Even though I know the way, I find myself waiting for Julian to take the lead.

I follow him, my palms beginning to sweat, and my mind racing with a million reasons why I should let this go.

I dislike the guy. I always have, and Rhett being dead shouldn’t change that.

Julian and Rhett’s place is only fifteen minutes from the cemetery. He swings his car into his driveway, and I haphazardly park behind him.

We both step out, the adrenaline that fueled my insistence to follow him slowly wearing off.

What am I doing here? Again.

I stand at the bottom of the stairs as he opens his front door. He cranes his neck, his gaze finding mine. “Are you coming in?”

Nervous, I scratch at my brow. There’s no point backing out now.

Their place looks different in the light of day, the windows opening up the space and showing off all the ways they made it their own.

Accentuating their youth, and all the different stages of their life together, the apartment is decorated with mismatched furniture. Things they picked up from the thrift store and things they would’ve saved up to buy.

I remember how persistent Rhett was that he and Julian did everything on their own. Unless it was a hand-me-down, they didn’t want anything they didn’t earn.

It’s weird, but I respect them for it.

Standing in the middle of the living room, I watch him walk away and into his bedroom. He reappears with a box in hand, one very similar to the one I left here that night.

Placing it on his dining room table, he gestures to the seats surrounding it. “Please, sit down.”

With no reason not to, I anxiously oblige. When we’re both seated, facing one another, our expressions on display, he pushes the wooden box in my direction. “Open it.”

I rub my hands up and down my thighs nervously, before placing them both on the table. “Look, Julian. I was angry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Impatient, he flicks the lock on the box open. When he removes the lid, my chest tightens in both confusion and appreciation.

There, in front of me, is what is obviously twenty-six bite-sized packets of candy corn. That familiar tongue twisted feeling that seems to happen around him returns.

“You kept them,” I state in disbelief, the observation almost rendering me speechless.

“I didn’t like the idea of a stranger finding them,” he supplies, matter of fact. “Keeping them. Eating them. Throwing them out.”

“They’re just candy,” I pacify.

He gives me a knowing look. One that says, we both know it isn’t just about the candy. One that says, if it was as simple as candy, you wouldn’t be so angry about me ‘stealing’ it. “It’s a gift. From you to him, and I wanted to keep that sacred.”

“Sacred?”

“I didn’t know you were the one bringing them—not that the revelation changes anything—but I loved that someone else was trying to keep his memory alive,” he explains, his eyes imploring me to listen. “Like someone, besides me, was still trying to keep him close beyond the grave.” His body shifts forward and he places a warm, comforting hand on top of mine. “Driving ten hours every second weekend to see your brother. There’s no way that should go unnoticed.”

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