Page 68 of Without You

I feel him scoot a little closer, the place where the corners of the table and our elbows meet, now touching. “And how do you feel now?”

“Honestly?” He nods at me. “I feel like I’m going to spend my whole life trying to make up for something that wasn’t my fault.”

“Rhett always wanted to tell her, you know?”

My throat tightens, and I try to push away the reactive feeling of jealousy and listen to Julian talk with my head instead of my heart. There’s always going to be things he and Rhett shared, just like now there will be things only he and I share.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“You didn’t imagine it, and he would always grumble at why she couldn’t just let up.”

Overcome with emotion, I bury my head in my hands and digest his revelation. His words validate years of inadequacy, years of feeling unbelievably misunderstood.

A strong hand squeezes my shoulder, and I tilt my head to meet his gaze. There’s a fine line between sympathy and pity, and I’m glad I only see the former staring back at me. Sympathy I can deal with, pity is just embarrassing.

“But this weekend has been good for you guys, hasn’t it?” he asks, hopeful.

“It has,” I tell him truthfully. “It’s been better than I anticipated.”

Wanting to take the spotlight off me, I clear my throat and steer us back to an earlier conversation. “The eviction notice said you need to be out of here by the end of the year.”

He drags his hand off me and folds his arms, resting them on the table. “I haven’t really had a moment to digest it. Between the anniversary and everything else.” There’s emphasis on the words ‘everything else’, with a heavy dose of accusation, but I don’t bother arguing, because he’s right. It has been one heck of a weekend.

“Are you okay with moving out?” I query.

“I don’t really have a choice,” he quips.

“That’s not what I meant,” I huff. “I mean leavingthisplace.”

He doesn’t answer straight away, taking a sip of his beer instead. When he places it back on the table, he asks. “Do you ever feel guilty?”

All the time.

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific,” I retort, even though I’m almost certain I know where this is heading.

“Say the owners weren’t selling the house at the end of the year, and I just wanted to move out. Does that mean I’m moving on? Forgetting him?”

Call me conceited, but I feel very responsible about his line of thinking. I’m also painfully aware that maybe my idea of staying and pursuing this in any form is a really bad idea.

Pushing aside our physical connection, and some new developments in my sexuality, I choose to give him advice as a friend, because first and foremost, that’s what I want to be to him.

“The most important thing to remember is you’re never going to forget him,” I tell him. “It’s impossible. But if you don’t feel ready to move on, then don’t.”

I wait for him to acknowledge that he understands what I’m saying. Hoping that he hears the sincerity in my voice. I may like the way his lips meld against mine, and under any other circumstances, I would be chomping at the bit to explore what this meant for me and how far it could go.

But that’s not the case here. He’s who he is and I’m who I am, and I don’t want to, nor would I ever be somebody’s replacement.

Not being good enough, that’s a hard limit for me.

If he wants to move on, he has to do it for him, and only if he’s ready.

“You don’t have to move on to move forward, Julian.”

It takes a few long beats before his russet-colored eyes meet mine. They look at me, searching, almost like I might have all the answers. I don’t, not evensomeof the answers, but I do know for a fact my brother would be turning in his grave knowing Julian’s life was at a standstill because of him.

“Are you finished?” he asks, At first I think he means have I finished talking, but when he points at my plate, I concede on the conversation change.

“Yeah, I am.” I scrape my leftovers into an empty container and then grab Julian’s plate. “Let me clean up, it’s the least I can do.”

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