Page 80 of Without You

He guides me. Encourages me. Until the visual he wanted me to create sits in beautiful, unfiltered focus behind my eyelids.

“Deacon,” I choke out.

“Don’t say anything,” he says softly. My eyes burn with emotion as he whispers, “The world is waiting for you.”

* * *

My body wakesup with a startle, my eyes blinking repeatedly as I try to remember why I feel out of sorts. And then it hits me. Skating my hand around my mattress, I finally find my phone underneath one of my many pillows and stick it in front of my face.

Fuck. I don’t even remember falling asleep. There’re a few notifications from Deacon, the last one four hours ago.

Deacon: Sleep well.

Deacon: Just reached Spring Gulch to refuel.

Deacon: On the last leg. See you soon.

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I mentally calculate how long he’s got left in his drive and then tap his name on the screen and bring my cell to my ear.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says gleefully.

“Fuck, you’re chirpy this morning,” I respond groggily.

“Coffee and energy drinks will do that to a guy. How’d you sleep?”

“Good. I think. I’m sorry I fell asleep.”

“Lucky we didn’t bet on it,” he gloats.

“Shut up.”

“What do you have planned this morning?”

“I have to get up at some point. What time is your mom expecting us?” I say without thinking. “Everyone,” I correct quickly. “What time is she expectingeveryone?”

Amused, Deacon has the nerve to chuckle at my wording. “She’s expecting us anytime after two, but you know she wouldn’t care what time you showed up.”

“I’ve got a few things to do around here first,” I inform him. “Then I’ll head over.”

He doesn’t ask what I’m doing or mention seeing one another before he heads to his parents’ place, and I try not to let it bother me.

My focus for this morning is to start the day off better than I did last year. Being so close to Rhett’s death meant the day went by in a blur, and while I don’t have some attachment to the holiday, I am using it as a marker to do better. Be better, for myself.

I don’t ever want to be that person I was after he died, especially when deep down I know this time around, I have a few extra things to be grateful for.

“Can you send me a text before you leave your place?” he asks.

“Umm. Sure.”

There’s an awkward pause that’s never been there before, and it’s unsettling. What changed between last night and this morning?

I don’t know if it’s because there’s something he wants to say, or because there’s something he doesn’t.

“Okay, I’m going to get back to the drive,” he says stiffly. “I’ll speak to you soon?”

“Yeah,” I answer numbly. “Bye.”

I don’t bother to wait for a response, ending the call and tossing the cell back onto the mattress. I’m not going to let that throw me off my game this morning. We can work it out later, or we won’t. Either way, I’ve got shit to do.

---