Page 20 of Without You

I watch the muscles in Deacon’s jaw clench, and his eyes burn with fury. Contrary to what I know is going on in his mind, I’m not about to spill his secrets.

“I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Sutton,” I address to show off my annoyance. “I’m going to have to go. I’m not feeling too well,” I lie. “I think it would be better if I went home.”

“But you didn’t finish your food,” Elaine says, the only one oblivious to my ploy of distraction. “Let me put some in a takeaway container for you. You can reheat it later when you’re feeling better.”

“Of course.” I nod, not wanting to argue with her. “I’d really appreciate that.”

When she leaves, the tension level becomes stifling. Neither man can look at me, or look at one another. It’s not my job to patch up the hole in this family that Rhett’s death left, and the truth is, there’s nothing I could do that would even work. But I can’t, in good conscience, know what I know and watch her humiliate him. Our history is irrelevant; the fact he dislikes me even more so.

Elaine returns with a pyramid of containers. She points to the one at the top. “This one has dessert in it. It’s apple pie, your favorite.”

Great, something else Deacon can hate me for.

Stepping to the side, I tuck my chair in and reach for the food. I give her a quick kiss on the cheek and direct a small smile at the Sutton men in front of me. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well,” Elaine adds casually. “Will we see you tomorrow?”

The answer comes out of my mouth before I even have a chance to second guess myself. “Of course, but I’ll just meet you guys at the church.”

Elaine’s mouth presses into a tight line, but she doesn’t say a word. I wait for a verbal lashing, I almost welcome it, and much to my disappointment it never comes. Apparently harsh words are reserved for Deacon, alone.

With nothing left to say, I walk myself to the front door and hop down the steps. Checking my watch, I mentally go through my work calendar and wonder if anyone would want to give me their shift.

Even though I don’t usually work Friday nights, the thought of going home and stewing for hours on end about what happened inside makes me feel queasy.

Opening my car door, I stretch myself across the middle and place the food on the passenger seat. As I’m righting my body to climb in the car, I hear the screen door slam. Looking up at the house, I see an irritated Deacon racing down the few steps.

“What was that inside?” he grits out.

Playing dumb, I respond, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fuck, Julian, I don’t need you to play nice for me.”

I ignore the anger and the hostility in his voice, determined not to let it throw me off exactly what I want to know.

“Why didn’t you just tell her?” I ask.

“It doesn’t matter—”

“Yes,” I shout, silencing him, and surprising us both. I lower my voice, trying to regain some normalcy. “It matters. She was tearing into you, and you just let her.”

He turns away from me, facing the house and running his hands through his short hair. Expecting him to walk away, I’m surprised when he says. “What am I supposed to do? She lost her son. She’s allowed to be angry.”

Coupled with his cracked voice, his words slice right through me. It wasn’t what I expected. The honesty, or the pain. “We all lost someone,” I remind him. “It doesn’t mean it’s fair. It’s not your fault he’s gone.”

Looking back at me, he straightens his spine and slips his mask back into place. “I already told you to stop acting like we could be friends. I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

“Fuck,” I breathe out. “What the hell is your problem with me?”

A sliver of shock graces his face before it turns into annoyance. “Nothing,” he spits out.

“That’s not how this works. If you’ve got such an issue with me, then fucking explain it. Tell me what it is, so I can make sure to live up to whatever fucking picture you have of me in that head of yours. Or better yet, so I can stay out of your fucking way.”

“I’m just saying,” he starts, his voice calmer than mine. “I’m not him. I can’t be him. I can’t be your fill-in friend.”

A humorless laugh leaves my mouth. “Fuck, Deacon,” I scoff. “Firstly, as I’m sure you already know, no matter what role he played in anyone’s life; Rhett is irreplaceable. Secondly, whatever shit you’ve got going on up there,” I point to my temple, “don’t try and project it onto me. I was being nice, I was on your side in there, because it was the right thing to do. Nothing more. Nothing less. So, why don’t you get over yourself, huh?”

I brace myself for a fight, but instead he reminds me of just how much he really doesn’t want to be around me. Without a second glance, he walks away, and I watch him the whole time, hoping for something more. But it never comes. When he closes the front door, I accept the action for what it is.

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