Page 7 of Without You

Julian

His name shifts every part of me from irritated to curious. The mention of Josie and the fact that I’ll have to tell them we broke up does absolutely nothing to sway where my thoughts are leading at just the mention of him.

I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought of him since the night I spontaneously held him in my arms, only to wordlessly rush out of there the moment he fell asleep.

Every now and then the image of him lying helplessly on the bed pops into my head, making my heart hurt for him, and my mind worry. The irrational feelings of contempt and jealousy I’d become accustomed to associating with him, in the years before Rhett’s death, are nowhere in sight. They’ve been replaced with a baffling amount of concern, and a flurry of nameless emotions bubbling underneath my skin.

I’ve hung on to every morsel of information my family has let slip into conversation over the last eleven months. What he’s doing, how he’s coping, if they’ve seen him plenty or not enough.

“Deacon.” My dad’s voice comes through the phone, interrupting my wayward thoughts. “Sorry about your mother, she’s just a bit stressed lately.”Well, that’s the understatement of the year.“How are you, son?”

Always the mediator, my father once again steps in and tries to salvage the conversation. “What your mom meant to say was that she would love to see you. We both would.”

Growing up, my dad was my go-to parent. He was my hero—still is, but even for him, it’s been too hard to pretend everything is okay between me and my mother. “Like I said to Mom, Dad, I’ll try.”

“Okay, well our door is always open for you.” There’s an odd pause before he speaks up again. “You know that right, Deac?”

“Yeah,” I croak.

“Okay. Good. Love you, son.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

The call disconnects, and out of pure indignation, I launch the phone across the room hard enough to hear it thump against the wall and crash to the floor. Because all the words in the world will never explain how broken I feel in this very moment, I walk to the beat-up cell and throw it at the other side of the room for good measure.

Who the fuck needs to stay in contact with anyone anyway?

* * *

“Is that the last of it?”I ask Josie as I load another box into the back of her car. “I can do one more sweep.”

“No. That’s it.”

It’s been a month since Josie and I broke up, and every day since has been a whirlwind of emotions. From hurt, to anger, to some uncertain version of acceptance; Josie has taken this way harder than I expected. And I’m ashamed to admit I haven’t felt nearly as upset by it all as I should be.

She had enough nerve to sleep with another man in a ploy to get my attention, yet she can’t see the fact that I drove her to make such a consequential decision means we’re not right for one another. We’re no longer compatible, we’re borderline toxic, and the most important piece of information is I don’t love her as much as I should.

She deserves better. She deserves more. I just wish I could somehow get her to see that.

I slam down the door of her trunk.

“Will we keep in touch?” she queries. I must look at her confused, because she’s quick to add. “As friends.”

“Sure,” I huff, not really seeing the point in arguing with her. “We can try being friends.”

“When I get settled in my new place, I’ll have everyone over for a small housewarming party. It will be great.”

The lease on the apartment we shared together may be in my name, but I was willing to be the one to move out if Josie needed me to. But since she insisted she needed the fresh start, and wouldn’t be able to do that with reminders of our relationship, we decided I would stay.

Truth of the matter is, I’m barely home, so I don’t place too much importance on the four walls around me. I spend all my time at the garage, getting lost in all things cars. My love for anything on four wheels is the one thing that hasn’t diminished over the years. In fact, the garage, around the guys I work with, the smell of oil, metal, and grease, is the only place that feels like home. The confidence I have under the hood of a car morphs me into a man not even I could recognize. Centered. Grounded. Whole.

Surrounded by metal and machinery, I’m content. I’m at peace. If I could bottle up that zen and use it for all the other times my life has turned to shit, I sure as fuck wouldn’t be standing outside my apartment saying goodbye to quite possibly the only woman who will ever love me and all my fucked up flaws.

“Be good to yourself, Deacon.” Placing her hands on my shoulders, she uses me for leverage and rises to her tiptoes, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “I know things have been hard since Rhett died.”

I hang my head low, avoiding her gaze. “We don’t need to talk about it, Jos.”

“You’re right.Wedon’t need to talk about it, butyoudo.”

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