Page 24 of Without You

“Sure. Would you like me to drive behind you and bring you back home?” he asks.

“Nah, I’m okay. I’ll work it out.”

Raising the bottle to his lips, he drains the rest of his drink before speaking. “Well it’ll be good for you two to catch up anyway.”

“Dad.” Whatever he can hear in my voice stops him. “You know Julian and I were never friends. We’re not friends,” I correct.

“I’m well aware of that Deacon, I was here while you were both growing up under this roof,” he retorts. “But you’ve both been through a lot, and you can never have too many friends.”

I’m stumped at what to say in return, the usual argumentative response nowhere to be found. I don’t know why he’s pushing it so hard, but seeing as I never in a million years would’ve expected to be holding a key to Julian’s car, replacing his battery and driving it to his house, I don’t really have any legs to stand on.

“Okay, well, I’m gonna get going,” I tell him, heading for the door. “I’ll see you later.”

For what seems like the hundredth time today I drive to Rhett’s place; well Julian’s place now. And it isn’t lost on me that I’ve made this drive more times now that my brother is dead than when he was alive.

Pushing that thought aside, I pull into his driveway and psych myself up for telling Julian his car is now fixed. Walking to the front door, I contemplate leaving the key in the mailbox. It’s the easy way out, the option that makes the most sense, the expectation when two people are virtually strangers.

Before I chicken out, I ring the doorbell and wait for him to come to the door. The seconds feel like minutes, and instantly I’m taken back to the night I came in and found him helplessly laying on his bed.

Does he still get sad like that? Does he deal with that alone?

When the door swings open, an unexplainable sense of relief fills my lungs as I notice he doesn’t look upset, or anything remotely close to that night. Out of his clothes from earlier, he’s in sweatpants and a t-shirt, looking comfortable, and relaxed, and all kinds of confused.

His mouth opens and closes, his surprise rendering him speechless. I try to fill in the awkwardness by holding up the key.

“I brought your car over.”

His eyes flick to the car and then back to me. “You got it to start?”

I lower my gaze and rub my hand over the back of my neck. I realize I’m not worried about his reaction, I’m more concerned with why I felt the need to overstep.

“I got you a new battery,” I mutter.

“You what?”

I apprehensively look back up at him, and the anger and annoyance I expect is nowhere to be found. He’s surprised, for sure, but it’s the genuine gratitude in his expression that assures me, no matter how out of character this is for me, I made the right decision by him.

When he doesn’t say anything else, I hold out the key to him again. “Take this. I still don’t mind picking you up tomorrow morning, I just figured it was one less thing you’d have to worry about.”

He holds the key, but doesn’t pull it out of my grasp. “Do you want to come inside for a drink?”

Still connected by the object between us, we stare at one another in some kind of unexplainable standoff. We don’t make an attempt to move and I can only give a feeble nod as my answer.

The air feels thick and charged as I follow him inside. Standing behind him, I see how rigid and stiff his back is, and I wonder if me being here is actually making him feel uncomfortable.

The invite was probably just him being polite.

“Is something wrong, Julian? My dad said you’d be pissed and the last thing I want is for you to feel obligated to be hospitable to me if you’re mad. Especially after the way I treated you today.”

He spins around, and I raise my hands on instinct to stop myself from walking into him. My palms brush against his chest, and a low, short gasp escapes Julian’s mouth.

He takes a step back and shakes his head vehemently. “I’m sorry,” he says, surprising me. “You just caught me off guard, that’s all.” He scratches his forehead. “I want to pay you for the battery.”

“I didn’t pay for it,” I respond. Without any hesitation, the lie slips off the top of my tongue. I don’t know his financial situation, and even though my dad may have thought that was the reason he wasn’t quick to service the car, it wasn’t the first thing to cross my mind when I decided to help him.

When I saw him sitting in the car outside my parents’ place, the obvious fatigue and despondence on his face, I couldn’t knowingly just do nothing. I still can’t just do nothing.

Call it guilt, or call it paying a debt to my dead brother, but for whatever reason, leaving Julian to fend for himself doesn’t sit right with me.

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