The Days Without You: A Story of Love, Loss, and Grief

by Skylar Wilson

  Kylie couldn’t argue with that. She had messed up her Cutback, a maneuver involving carving the wave’s wall. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her pulse raced as hot anger washed over her.

  “Screw you,” she spat. “I don’t even know why they let you enter. You’re horrible to everyone there.”

  “You’re just jealous because I’ve won and you haven’t,” said Samantha in an angelic voice. Other patrons began to stare. “Like I said, maybe you should sit this year out and practice some more. It’s too bad your dad didn’t teach you better before he died. What was it, tenth grade, when he kicked the bucket? Poor you and your crazy meds. The whole school knew about that, you know.”

  Kylie’s heart faltered. How had the entire school known? How did Samantha know? Swallowing hard, she felt winded, as if Samantha had punched her in the gut.

  Samantha’s eyes gleamed. The room seemed to grow exceptionally, deafeningly quiet. Kylie froze, and the world around her seemed to grow hauntingly still until Samantha dumped the half-full plates of food onto Kylie’s lap. Bits of chicken, greens, asparagus, and filet mignon splattered down her legs, and buttery sauce soaked through her dress as the ceramic plate clattered onto the floor at her feet. The restaurant went quiet for real, and people gaped and stared with forks still halfway to their mouths.

  “Oops.”

  “Oh, that’s it!” Kylie jumped to her feet, food falling from the pile in her lap. She cranked her fist back, muscles tensing as she was about to swing, but a hand caught her arm. Spinning on her heel, she saw Adam standing there, his face crimson.

  “Samantha, what the hell is wrong with you?” he bellowed. “I saw the whole thing!”

  Cat returned, rushing up to them, but Kylie barely heard Cat’s words. She pulled away from Adam’s grip, her face hot and flushed, tears stinging in her eyes. “Don’t you dare talk about my father, and don’t you dare make fun of me for taking meds! You think you’re so much better than everyone that you can treat people like shit! Well, guess what, you can get off your high horse, you fu—”

  But Samantha had snapped her arm back and swung wide, her knuckles colliding with Kylie’s cheekbone with a loud smack. A burst of white clouded her vision, pain stung her skin, and tears built in her eyes. She held her cheek, her jaw slack.

  Clark rushed over, a deep red hue blossoming from atop his head, and grabbed Samantha’s arm, ushering her into the kitchen.

  “Nothing else to see!” he called over his shoulder, then leaned into Samantha and muttered, “You’re done here” before they disappeared behind the hinged door. A few patrons reluctantly returned to their meals, still sneaking discreet peeks.

  The pain in Kylie’s cheek pulsed.

  “I hate her,” she choked out through gritted teeth.

  Cat gathered their purses, her eyes flickering toward the kitchen. “We need to call the cops, press charges for assault or something.”

  “No, I’m not pressing charges,” insisted Kylie.

  Adam brushed messy locks of hair from Kylie’s cheek. Holding her chin between his fingers, he tilted her head from side to side and grimaced.

  “That bad, huh?” she muttered.

  “It’s gonna need some ice.”

  Cat, whose face remained pale, said, “Come on, let’s just get out of here.”

  Kylie looked up at Adam. Anger still bubbled inside her, but also a sense of determination, even more so than the other day at the sandwich shop. Once and for all, she had to put this rivalry to rest, and winning the Gidget this year would be her only hope.

  “Go on home. I’ll meet you there in a bit, okay?” said Adam.

  Furious had to be the understatement of the decade. What the hell had Samantha been thinking? The thick traffic only added to his aggravation, having to stop every half a block. By the time he arrived home, he was sure Kylie had made it to West Ashley. He buzzed by Shawn, changed, and buzzed back out the door to his truck. Traffic finally thinned as he neared her neighborhood.

  “Hey,” Kylie greeted, stepping aside to allow him in. She had already changed out of her dress and into sweatpants. Adam tried not to cringe at the bright bruise already blossoming around her eye. She sighed. “I know. It’s hideous.”

  Closing the door behind him, he pulled her into a hug. Cat gave a half-hearted wave from the far end of the sofa where she was watching television.

  Kylie took his hand and led him to the sofa.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, easing himself onto a cushion.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” She nodded. A moment passed, and her face screwed up in a painful expression. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Has she ever mentioned anything to you about the Gidget? Like paying off—”

  “Kylie,” warned Cat.

  “No,” answered Adam. “First time I even heard her mention surfing was that day you and me went to Kaminsky’s. Said she knew you from surfing. She knew your name, which kind of surprised me.”

  Kylie nodded, brows knitted, and grabbed a bag of frozen peas from the coffee table and leaned back, wincing as she placed the bag on her eye. Laying her head back and letting the ice pack rest by itself, she let her hands rest in her lap. Adam noticed again the way her neck lengthened with her head leaned back, and his gut lurched. He swallowed hard and looked away. Despite the night’s events, Kylie seemed to be in a fair mood, giving him hope that she was bouncing back from her mother’s death.

  “Think she’ll show up at the Gidget?” asked Kylie suddenly.

  Cat scrunched up her nose. “Hopefully not. I still think you need to file a complaint or press charges or something.”

  “That would make a bigger mess, one that I don’t feel like dealing with.” Kylie yawned.

  “All right, all right.” Cat rolled her eyes. “I’ll leave you two alone. I got the hint,” she grumbled and winked at Kylie. Opening her mouth, Kylie sat up quickly, the bag of peas falling, but Cat interrupted. “Chill out. I’m joking. I have work in the morning, anyway.” She kissed Kylie’s cheek before grabbing her purse. “Have a good night,” she said, singsong, before heading out the door.

  After a few moments, Adam glanced at Kylie, whose cheeks were flushed. She set the peas down and leaned against him, and he rested his arm around her shoulders. She remained quiet for several minutes, her gaze far away.

  “Do you still miss your brother?” she asked quietly.

  “All the time,” he murmured. “I think about all the things I wish I’d done before he died.”

  “Like what?” Her fingers toyed with the worn bracelet on his wrist.

  “Well,” he breathed, “I wish I’d been nicer to him. Been a better brother. Said a better goodbye.”

  “Oh.”

  She stared at her hands. A smile played on her lips, but it held a faltering quality.

  “What’s on your mind?” he asked.

  Her fingers paused. “Amanda asked me to take over the advice column. I had an entry earlier this week from a woman whose husband died overseas. In her email, she said how lonely she was, how she didn’t have any friends. How depressed she was. Well…it had me thinking…it made me feel grateful that you’re here and that you understand.” She let out a small sigh and held his hand, entwining their fingers. Hers felt cold on his. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

  “Of course.” He kissed her.

  She held the gentle kiss. Her lips felt soft, and her hand squeezed his. Slowly, she pulled away. “Thank you for the song, by the way. It was sweet.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Leaning into her, he pressed his lips to hers again with more urgency this time. His palms cradled her cheeks before finding her hips and guiding her onto his lap, and she eagerly straddled his thighs. Her breath warmed his lips, fueling his fire, and the warmth seemed to spread through his very core.

  “I’m sure this time,” Kylie murmured in his ear with a small laugh, her hands tugging at his shirt. “And there’s no one to interrupt
us.”

  “Thank God,” he said with a laugh, raising his arms as Kylie slipped his shirt over his head.

  Her gaze was bright and sure, her fingertips traveling down his bare chest and torso. His stomach lurched with desire stronger than he had ever known. His kiss found her neck while Kylie unbuckled his belt before tugging her own shirt off. Her body was soft beneath his fingers, and his kiss explored her collarbone and shoulders, down to her breasts. The softest of moans escaped her lips.

  Somehow, this time was different. Behind their mutual urgency was a certain sensuality, a slow-burning fire stoked by the need for one another. Kylie led him to her bedroom where, fully undressed, she lay beneath him on top of the quilt, both their bodies exposed. He explored every inch of her, and she his, until, finally, he made love to her.

  Kylie awoke the next morning, still naked and curled up beside Adam. She reveled in his warmth, squeezing her eyes shut and wishing the night hadn’t ended. After a long stretch and a yawn, she planted a kiss on his cheek and slinked out from beneath the covers to hop into her sweatpants and t-shirt.

  She leaned over the bed to kiss his cheek once more. “I’m going to make some coffee. Do you want some?”

  “Sure,” he answered through a yawn.

  Padding into the kitchen, she busied herself with starting the coffee and rifling through an old pile of mail that had been sitting in the corner on the counter. Her hands paused at an opened envelope with scrawled writing. Inside was tucked a folded leaf of paper with the same barely legible handwriting.

  Sarah,

  I hope I have the right Sarah, and that your maiden name is Duffy. My name is Colton O’Donnell. I’m sure this letter seems abrupt or out of the blue. I’ve contacted several other Sarahs already, but I’m still looking for my birthmother. I was born on March 27, 1982 in Mount Pleasant. Please call me at 843-222-1987 if I have the right Sarah.

  Sincerely,

  Colton O’Donnell

  Kylie stood, frozen, with her jaw slack and her lips parted. Colton. Her mother had asked for a Colton on her deathbed. Had this been the Colton to whom she had referred? Birthmother. Had this Colton been Sarah’s son?

  Adam entered the kitchen just then, dressed in his boxers and a t-shirt. He paused, studying Kylie’s expression. The coffee pot beeped, signaling a full pot.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She leaned against the counter, still staring at the letter in her hands, which had begun to tremble slightly. Looking up at him, she offered the letter.

  His dark eyes darted back and forth as he read it, and his jaw dropped.

  “Birthmother? Kylie, is this guy…your brother?”

  “I…guess so.”

  “You have to call him.”

  Kylie took the letter with a grimace, as if it were something unsightly or diseased. “What, and tell him, ‘Hey, she’s dead!’”

  “He needs to know.”

  She sighed. “I guess you’re right. I’ll call him sometime.”

  Don't you think he deserves to know?

  A barrage of questions about Kylie’s black eye permeated her Monday morning. Although she had done her best to cover it, makeup only did so much. The bright purple and yellow hues still managed to peek through and make themselves known to everyone who passed.

  All morning, Kylie’s mind was still swirling from the weekend’s events. She had Colton’s letter tucked away in her purse. There were other letters she’d found, ones dated as early as January. You have to call him. Adam’s words echoed in her head. Yes, she had to call him to break the news that their mother had passed away and to reveal that Colton had a sister.

  It’s what Mama would have wanted me to do, she told herself firmly.

  Lunchtime came and went, and she still had yet to call. Something about having to break such terrible news to someone she didn’t even know made her gut turn into knots.

  “Holy—did someone hit you?” Bruce gawked as Kylie passed his cubicle on her way back in from lunch.

  Kylie sighed. “It’s a long story, and I’m not particularly interested in discussing how this happened.” She pointed to her eye and brushed past him, ducking into her own cubicle.

  Bruce followed.

  “It’s okay, really. If anything happened, just say the word. I’m here for you,” he pressed, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  She pulled away, out of reach. “Nothing happened.”

  “You could use a man to protect you. A man like me.”

  Spinning on her heel, she faced him with a glare. “One, I don’t need anyone to protect me, and two, I have a boyfriend, so back off.”

  The word caught her off guard, coming from her own lips. Had she actually said boyfriend?

  “All right, fine.” Bruce rolled his eyes and stalked off.

  Kylie gave an exasperated sigh.

  The rest of the day, the letter—Colton’s letter—lingered in her mind, which was a whirlwind of thoughts. Since her mother’s death, part of Kylie’s mind had pushed Colton from her consciousness in the fuzzy, hazy midst of it all. Now, however, that her mind was starting to clear and fight through it, the letter had jogged her memory, of her mother calling out for Colton. Part of her felt angry that her mother had never told her that she had a brother. Another part didn’t want to believe it. A third part was curious: What was he like? What did he look like? Was he anything like their mother? Still, she had yet to bring herself to call him. What if he was upset about having a sister? Resentful? Fear paralyzed her.

  The last hours of work passed in a blur, and she barely focused on work.

  For most of the day, Shawn and Adam had been at the kitchen table with the laptop open in front of them. Adam couldn’t decide if his buttocks were sore or asleep from sitting for so long. The song edits were complete, and now they burned CDs to sell at shows. Excitement nearly overtook him; he wanted to drumroll his hands on the table and bounce in his seat in a fit of energy. Benny had designed the cover with flourishes of blue and green surrounded by ONE NIGHT YOUNG in big, bold letters—all printed on thick, heavy paper. The cover looked as close to professional as they could get without shelling out a ton of money to have it done for them, Adam thought. While Shawn performed the computer work and burned the discs, Adam assembled each jewel case with a cover and stacked them in a neat pile on the counter.

  “So, I’ve decided to do a ninety-in-ninety,” Shawn said as he handed him another disc.

  Adam arched a brow. “A what?”

  “Ninety meetings in ninety days.”

  He remained quiet while he closed a jewel case and added it to the stack. Although he was glad to see his roommate doing so well, a thought occurred to him.

  “What about our upcoming shows? Will you be able to play?”

  “Of course.” He pulled out a schedule of meetings from his pocket while another CD burned in the drive.

  Had Shawn understood his question? Not that he’d physically be able to be at a show—he wondered if Shawn would have a hard time around the alcohol, as most of their gigs happened in bars. While Shawn studied his list, Adam slid the laptop toward himself and checked the band’s website, also designed by Benny. The band had a growing group of fans, especially since Kylie’s article about them, and it always sent his blood racing to see familiar faces at shows.

  A knock sounded at the front door. Jumping up and abandoning Shawn at the table, Adam jogged through the house to answer it. A smile overtook his features as Kylie stepped in, carrying a few grocery bags.

  “Hey,” he said, his cheeks feeling warm, and took the bags from her to peek in them.

  She kissed his cheek. “I thought I’d make chilaquiles.” At Adam’s expression, she laughed and added, “Cat’s mama used to make it for us all the time when we were kids, and it was always my favorite.”

  Adam followed her into the kitchen and began unloading the bags. Shawn tucked away his paper.

  “Hi,” Shawn greeted her, getting up to examine the groceries. “C
all me when dinner’s ready.” He headed out the kitchen archway and into the living room without another word.

  Frowning, Kylie watched him leave.

  “He’s been pretty private since what happened. Don’t worry about it,” Adam said, waving a hand.

  She nodded then set about digging through the drawers for utensils and heating the stove while Adam seated himself at the table.

  “So,” he started, “have you called Colton yet?”

  Kylie poured some oil in the pan on the stove then picked up a CD case, remaining quiet. A sadness clouded her eyes, and they looked duller than normal. “These are nice. Did you make them?” she asked, studying the cover.

  Adam waited a beat while Kylie continued to study the case, turning it back and forth. Her cheeks brightened while he watched her, and she sighed. “No, I haven’t called him yet.” She set the case down and returned to the pan of oil heating on the stove. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  “Don’t you think he deserves to know?” he murmured, hoping he wasn’t pushing it.

  “I don’t want to discuss it.” Her face grew red, but she still avoided his gaze.

  He nodded and went quiet. Even if the guy turned out to be an ass, Adam thought, didn’t he deserve to know? Drumming his fingers on the table, he stared out of the small window above the sink.

  Returning to the CDs, Kylie picked one up again. “Can I take one of these?”

  “Of course. Take one for Cat, too, if you want.”

  “Awesome, she’ll love it.” She turned to the pan and stirred its contents, her eyes down.

  Adam watched her quietly for several minutes while she cooked, and he couldn’t help but smile. She didn’t seem to notice—her head remained bowed, her focus still on the stove.

  “Thanks for making dinner,” he said.

  “No problem.” She looked at him and gave a small smile. “You have a show on Friday, don’t you? Where is it?”