Page 25 of With You

The silence stretches between us, and I have my second epiphany of the day. A humorless laugh leaves my mouth as my gaze darts between all of us in the room before landing back on her.

“You still can’t accept he’s mine, can you?”

Her spine stiffens, and it’s all the admission I need. Shaking my head, I release my hold on Julian’s hand and stride into the kitchen. I absentmindedly grab a clean glass off the dish rack and fill it with water, drinking it all at once.

“Deacon.” My mother’s voice has my jaw clenching in annoyance, but I bite my tongue, put the empty cup into the sink, and turn around to face her. “I’m trying to explain myself and you’re not giving me a chance.”

“You’re right.” Resigned, I cross my arms over my chest. “Please. Explain.”

“I am always looking for Rhett,” she says. “In a book, in a song, heck, sometimes I’m even looking for a sign in the middle of Costco. And yes, when I see Julian, I see Rhett.

“I know that the more time I see you two together, in love and doting on your family, the more your relationship will make sense to me.”

I huff. Her answer makes sense on paper, but I hate it all the same. “Tell me, Mom. Are you sorry?”

Reaching for me, she places her hand on my forearm, her eyes purposefully locked on mine. “More than you’ll ever know.”

JULIAN

While Deacon and his mother deserved privacy, Bill and I clearly weren’t comfortable or confident in giving it to them. My eyes zero in on Deacon’s body language, while the quiet house makes their exchange easy enough to hear.

He looks resigned and defeated, and I have to wonder if her apology is truly just a little too late after all. I hadn’t been expecting much, but I think we were both expecting a little bit more than what she’s giving.

Time has changed her, and yet there are things about her that are exactly the same, and that includes her inability to be vulnerable for Deacon’s sake. She’s still too defensive and argumentative, and what he needed was the apology first and everything else to come second.

Instead, that man sliced his chest open and bled on the floor for all of us to see, and she doesn’t possess the skills to clean up the mess.

Deacon’s eyes dart away from his mother, finally noticing me and Bill for the first time. Straightening his spine, he tips his head to the side, gesturing for me to stand beside him. And I do. With both pride and purpose.

Elaine steps back as I move in closer, and Deacon extends his hand, closing the small gap between us, almost like the smallest distance between us is unbearable. I don’t bother paying her any mind, my husband being my priority.

He pulls me into him and presses a kiss against my temple.

“Want to go for a drive?” he whispers into my ear.

Catching me off guard, I turn to face him. “Now?”

“Let’s leave them here,” he says, referring to his mom and dad. “I need a minute or two. Just you and me.”

Deacon isn’t usually the spontaneous type, so his request for alone time feels more like a cry for help than a rendezvous. I don’t have an objection to Elaine being in our space, because I trust Bill implicitly, and Deacon’s needs are always going to be what’s most important to me.

When I think about just how much we’re dealing with today, it’s to be expected that a conversation about the future would be on the horizon. We have a lot to talk about. We have a lot to think about, and right now, between the family and the drama and all the expectations, our house has become unintentionally suffocating.

Glancing over to Bill, I notice him watching us, clearly eavesdropping on our conversation. He gives me a subtle nod, and I take it as our cue to leave.

“Come on.” I tug on Deacon’s hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I don’t rememberthe last time I ate a burger this good.” Deacon groans as he takes the next bite, and I feel the edges of my mouth tip up in a smile. In this moment he looks young and relaxed and so free of the hurt that was in his every expression earliertoday. “I also don’t remember what it’s like to eat a meal without sharing baby duties.”

“Mhmm,” I agree, shoving a handful of french fries in my mouth. “We took those child-free date nights for granted.”

We’re at a hole in the wall diner that had been recommended to me by some of my colleagues at work. It’s nothing more than a room with a few tables pushed together and a kitchen out back. But the food is mouth-wateringly good.

“We should try and get into a habit of scheduling them more, maybe have Christy and Wade babysit,” Deacon muses before quickly shaking his head. “That’s a terrible idea. I don’t want to have dinner without Reese.”

His answer has me chuckling into my food. He’s rambling about nothing in particular and everything all at the same time. And it would be unobservant of me to not notice that this is extremely unusual for him. I don’t want to pressure or probe him into delving into his feelings, but I can also see that his decision to avoid the tougher conversations isn’t sustainable either.

I want him to talk when he’s ready, but I also need him to be okay. And there’s a fine line between both those things.

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