by Nora Flite
If I'm not careful, will I wake up? Will this all shatter around me? The apartment was cozy, adorable, even. The rugs were dark charcoal, eggshell walls decorated in photos of myself and my sister.
I could see the kitchen from where I stood in the main room, the apparent parlor with the sofa and television taking up space.
How big is this place?
“Leah, take your coat off and come sit down,” Dad urged me, sinking deeply onto the couch himself. “It's freezing outside, isn't it? Keep expecting more snow to fall.”
“It snowed pretty bad last night out where we were in Kentucky,” Deacon commented.
“Oh?” My mom chuckled, wandering into the kitchen, her back to me as she fiddled with the sink. “We got some the past couple days, but they keep talking on the news about a big storm still coming.”
“Getting more than a white Christmas this year,” Deacon said. They all laughed politely, all of them but me.
Standing by the door, I still could only stare.
They're just... having a normal conversation. What the hell happened in the last two months? They look so different, healthier and happier.
I feel like I'm going crazy.
“Leah?”
Looking up, I saw Mom staring at me from the stove. Feeling sluggish, I blinked at her. “What?”
“I said, do you want some hot tea?”
“I—sure, okay.” Clenching my hands, I noticed the confused look she sent me. The room felt quiet suddenly, everyone watching me with degrees of worry.
Shaking my boots free of snow, I slid them off, busying myself so I could gather my thoughts. This was beyond a dream, I'd never have thought up a situation like this before.
A house, rented or not, no smell of smoke and they just have this aura around them. This is the weirdest mystery.
Looking up through my lashes, I caught Deacon smiling at my Dad, laughing at something I hadn't heard.
Will he think I'm a liar? That I made up everything I said about my past, with this being all he has to go by?
No, Deacon wouldn't think that. But I doubt he realizes how freaky this is, either.
Peeling off my coat and scarf, I hung them by the door. On stocking-clad feet, I began walking around the room, peering into the doorways. Besides the living room and kitchen, I found a restroom, and one bedroom.
“Here,” Mom said at my elbow. Turning, I took the steaming mug from here, glancing around the apartment again. “Do you like it?”
“It's really nice, Mom. But, I mean, how did you guys...?”
I couldn't place it, the way her eyes flickered, as if they couldn't manage to focus on me. It was like a sudden rush of uncertainty.
She wants to tell me, I think, but she's also... scared? Unsure? Something is obviously going on, though.
Breaking the moment, Dad called out to us from over the back of the sofa. “Come on, come sit down, Leah.”
Mom spun away, gathering up the other mugs of tea to bring to the men. Following her, I shook my head when Deacon made room for me between him and my father on the sofa. “I'll sit on the floor, it's fine.”
Folding my legs under me, I settled on the plush material. In my hands, the mug of tea was almost forgotten.
I couldn't let myself think of anything but the amazing scene in front of me.
Deacon, and my dad, sitting together. Just... sitting there. When my mother joined them, sinking in the middle, the spot that had been meant for me, I bit back a laugh.
Yeah, this is too much.
“So,” Dad sighed, bending forward until his elbows rested on his knees. “Tell us, how have you been?”
“Me?” I asked, blinking. “How have—how have I been, Dad? No, I want to know how you guys have been.” Crinkling my eyebrows, I gave a meaningful look around the room.
Tell me about how this happened!
My parents shared a look, Mom hiding behind her steaming drink. “Another time. Sweety, we're really happy to see you. We want to know what you've been up to. Tell us how California is? Or how,” he added, clapping Deacon on the shoulder, “you met this guy.”
Seeing the blossom of pink travel across Deacon's cheeks brought a helpless smile to me. As weird as all of this was, I couldn't pretend it wasn't exactly what I had always wished for.
Not even Owen got this kind of welcome.
Tugging at the tea bag in my mug, swirling it around, I chuckled. My prickly barrier was falling, defenses crumbling in the wake of how much I just wanted to enjoy the attention. How nice it felt to have anyone, my parents especially, seem so interested in my relationship.
Not picking it apart, not questioning like there's something wrong. They like him already, I can tell. They don't even know him, but...
“It's a long story,” I said, taking a small sip of the sweet water. “Do you guys remember Vanessa?”
“'Course we do,” Mom laughed. “You and her were always running around, drawing little comics together and making up adventures. Didn't she move to... she moved somewhere, right?”
A flash of frustration welled up in me, a reminder that what had been such an important time in my life had meant so little to anyone else.
Tugging my hair, I felt a dull pain. “She left to attend college in California, yes. Her parents ended up moving to Nevada, actually, soon after. To be closer.”
“Oh,” Mom whispered.
“Anyway,” Deacon cut in, drawing every eye in the room to him so smoothly, “Vanessa and I went to college together. We both stayed out in California when we graduated.”
They nodded at him, putting the pieces together in their heads. “And what do you do out there in California, Deacon?” Dad leaned back on the cushions, staring around my mother to watched the southern boy curiously.
“Ah,” he said, a mild tightness creeping into his voice. “I'm a painter, actually.”
He's worried they'll think that's a bad career, the way his family—
“Really!” My Mom blurted, cutting my thoughts off in one brisk swoop. “That's wonderful! Leah, isn't that what you wanted to do? I remember you always drawing when you were little, just couldn't get you to pull away from those sketchbooks and canvases.” Her laugh was gentle, a tenderness simmering in her eyes when she looked at me.
Pure, unadulterated joy hit me deeply in my center. She remembered that? It was as if my memories were jiggling into place, pushing aside the somber ones where I felt ignored.
Felt like I was running away from how bad things were around me.
Now, I was awash with the warm recollection of my mother smiling down at me, fawning over my art, giving me fresh white paper and telling me to go draw something else.
Why didn't I remember her being so encouraging?
“It is,” I said, my throat choking. Taking a long gulp of lukewarm tea, I let myself grasp for steady hold on my emotions. The last thing I wanted to do was show how overwhelmed I felt. “And, actually... thanks to Deacon, I kind of am.”
“Really?” Dad gasped, setting his hand on his knee. “That's wonderful!”
“Yes,” I agreed, my smile firm when I looked at Deacon. “It really is.”
He looked away bashfully.
“We should be celebrating,” Mom gushed, standing and gathering the mugs from everyone. I let her take mine, even though it was mostly full. “This is an amazing occasion, and we're sitting here, drinking silly tea.”
“It's fine, Mom,” I said quickly, watching her scurry into the kitchen. “We had a really long drive, and it's already pretty late. Honestly, this is amazing enough.”
“I'm not sure I have a celebration in me,” Deacon chuckled, sinking deeper into the sofa. “But I won't fight, if you guys want to do something.”
Shaking his head, Dad followed after my mom. “No, Tammy, calm down. They probably want to sleep, if anything.”
My head is too electric to rest.
“Honestly,” Deacon said sheepishly, “driving for as many hours as we did... sleep sounds
kind of nice. But, really, don't let me—”
“I'll get the second bedroom set up.” Mom declared, seeming fixed on helping us out somehow.
Staring after her, I thought that, at least, seemed normal. It's comforting to find some things don't change.
Isn't it?
I didn't know anymore. I'd been preparing myself, working myself up, for so long over the idea of exposing myself back to this life. Now, here I was, in a situation that felt nothing like what I'd grown up with.
Deacon had closed his eyes. Giving his foot a tap with mine, I watched him settle, squinting at me. “Sorry, I'm more tired than I thought.”
“It's okay,” I said, rising and dusting off my pants. “Come on, this way.”
****
“They really don't care if we sleep in the same bed?” Deacon whispered, sitting on the mattress with the poise of someone ready to jump away from a trap.
“They don't mind.” Unzipping my bag, I tugged out a pair of pajamas. After Mom had shown us the room, I'd dragged our luggage inside so we could get ready for bed.
The room was small, yet I was far too aware that it was still bigger than the car my parents had once been living in.
I still have no answers on how, or why, everything changed with them...
Peeling my sweater over my head, I heard a low whistle of appreciation from behind me. Peeking over my shoulder, I saw Deacon was snuggled into the bed, watching me with sleepy eyes.
“I wish I wasn't so tired, so I could enjoy this more,” he chuckled.
Smiling a little crookedly, my fingers unhatched my bra clasp. Like molasses, I took my time, exposing my back to him as I finished undressing.
His groan was pitiful, it made me giggle.
“You're making me feel guilty for even seeing this,” he whispered. “My parents would have a heart attack over the very idea of letting us sleep in the same room.”
“Well,” I mused, hooking my thumbs into the waistband of my pants. “Different lifestyles, different beliefs. At least you can tell your parents we aren't living together, get some extra points,” I teased.
He didn't respond, that silence sending a shiver up my spine. Peering back at him, I caught a flash of unease on that handsome face.
Deacon brushed it away the second he saw me watching. “Ahem,” he teased, motioning me on with a hand, “I believe my ticket allows me to experience the whole show, miss.”
Rolling my eyes, I slid my pants over the firm swell of my hips. I couldn't play the indifference game, not when he breathed out sharply at the sight of me.
Blushing, standing there in only my panties, I covered my chest and turned all the way around. The fog in his honey eyes was obvious, though, even across the room. Deacon was exhausted.
I don't blame him, that drive was intense. And we have to do it all over again tomorrow night. I wish he had let me just drive Bethany's car, but...
Recalling how he had insisted he was fine, even when he'd clearly been not, made me frown.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Don't look so sad. I'm sorry I can't really enjoy this as much as I want, but... you're still beautiful, even just looking at you, Leah.”
Smiling, I didn't correct him over misinterpreting my look of distress. “It's alright, we both should rest. As fun as this all is.” Winking, I drifted my arms away, giving him a full shot of my almost completely nude body.
Deacon winced, squeezing his eyes shut with a bitter laugh. “Damn my weak body.”
Sliding into my warm sweatpants and a long dark shirt, I giggled. “It's not so weak.” Flicking the lamp off, I crawled onto the blankets in the dark.
His hands found me, guiding me up to him so I could snuggle down in the blankets. Cuddling against Deacon, on a real bed, was something I had truly missed.
“So,” he said in my ear, nose tickling my temple. “You made it a whole four days without sleeping next to me, was it as horrible as you thought?”
“Awful,” I confided, my palm sliding under until I found the beat of his heart. “I couldn't have made it another day.”
“Guess you didn't need to.” The strain in his tone was obvious, the yawn that followed sealing the fact. “Sorry, I'm really about to pass out.”
I couldn't see him in the blackness, but that was fine. Hearing his breathing, feeling his warm skin under my touch; that was enough. “How was it?”
“Hmn?” He murmured, sounding far away.
“Meeting my parents, how was it?”
“Oh.” The pause was long, his fingers reaching out to clasp mine over his chest. “It was good. But you seemed a little distracted. What's on your mind?”
Chewing my lip, my forehead pushed into his shoulder firmly. How do I explain? “It just... this all feels so weird, Deacon. This isn't what I was expecting at all.”
“Sometimes people change,” he said, sounding quieter by the syllable. “Sometimes it's a good thing.”
They have changed, that isn't a question. What I need to know is why. Why it happened, and if it's permanent. They seem so good, so happy, but...
But isn't it possible it could all collapse and go back to what it was before? What I ran from?
When I finally spoke, I was sure he was already asleep. “Yes. Sometimes it is.”
His only answer was the steady pace of his breathing.
For a long while, I lay there, trying to fill myself with something other than the thoughts thrashing in my brain.
Even with the man beside me, his heat and essence distracting me, I couldn't do it. Sleep wouldn't come, I had far too much on my mind to let it in.
Gingerly, I untangled myself from Deacon. Tracing my fingers along the bed, finding the far wall, I followed it until I discovered the door knob.
Outside, it was brighter. The light in the kitchen cast enough visibility for me to wander that way. I had no plan, I just needed to move, so it was a good enough direction as any.
Gripping the cold sink, I poured a glass of water. My hope was it would clear my head, or, at least, remove the acrid taste from my mouth.
“You okay?”
I nearly dropped the glass in my hand. Turning, I found my dad standing behind me, the light over the kitchen stove turning his skin a pallid yellow.
Breathing out, I laughed weakly. “Yes. Mostly, anyway.”
Stepping onto the tile, he pulled out a chair at the table and settled into it. He had the look of someone without any plans to go anywhere, still as a mountain. “Talk to me.”
“I'm not... Dad, I don't know if I can.”
“Come on,” he chuckled, tapping the flat surface. “Try me.”
Clicking my tongue, I let myself sit across from him. The glass was brought to my lips, chilly and refreshing. For a while, I drank, staring at the darkness of my eyelids.
It was more than half empty when I set it down with a soft 'clop' on the table. “Alright. You really want to talk to me?” I didn't want for an answer. “Dad, what is all of this?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” I said, exasperated. “Look around us. This place? You and Mom? How is this even possible, what happened after I left?”
His face fell, a level of defeat I didn't understand. Sitting forward, he ran a hand over his face, groaning. “Right. I was going to let your mother tell you. I'm not sure if she was ready, when she saw you.”
“What is it?” The dread flooded down my limbs, coiling around my heart. “You're scaring me, please just tell me.”
“Leah,” he chuckled, squinting at me in consideration. “Calm down. You sound like it's bad news I'm about to tell you.”
“I... I don't know what kind of news you have, Dad. Honestly.” Rubbing my upper arms, I felt cold in spite of the warm room.
He took a deep breath, sitting back in his chair, increasing the distance between us. His voice matched the level of the dim light. “It's hard to talk about. Not because of what came of it, but because of how it began. You... you probably remem
ber the day you told us you were leaving.”
“Yeah. Of course I do.”
How could I not?
“Well,” he said, meeting my gaze with those raw, wet eyes so similar to my own, “that day you left, it changed everything. I mean it, everything. Some of it, maybe you could have predicted. The rest, though? Impossible.”
“Stop dancing around it,” I whispered.
His mouth became a tight line. “It might sound awful, that it took something as severe as you packing up and leaving here, leaving us, to open our eyes. But that day, when you gave us the news, we had been feeling at our lowest for who knows how long. Months. Years, maybe.”
My throat was dry; drinking from my glass did little to help. Did they really feel so bad? I can't imagine being in that mindset for as long as he's implying.
“Anyway,” he mumbled, looking down at his lap. “Your visit, it messed with us. You seemed so cold that day.”
“I wasn't trying to be cold,” I said, defending myself quickly. “I just—I just felt like you guys didn't care! That you didn't even understand why I was doing what I was doing, what it meant to me...”
“Shh,” he said gently, his fingers twitching on the table. I wondered if he had debated reaching out to take my hand or not.
I left mine there, on the cold surface, just in case.
“Leah,” he went on, “we couldn't know why you were leaving. We had guesses, we thought maybe... maybe you were trying to get away from us.” His voice broke, he covered it with a grunt, pretending to clear his throat.
I saw right through him.
“Dad, no. That's not why.” He sounds so hurt. “I left because I needed to get away, yeah, but it was from someone else.”
He was having trouble looking at me. Reaching out, I touched his arm; we were both trembling. “Who, then?” He whispered, not sounding convinced. “Who, if not us?”
“Owen.” Breathing his name, it sent a jolt down my spine. Dad froze, looking up and finding the fear that must have been plain as day on my face.
His fingers closed around mine, gripping my hand tight on the table top. “Owen? Leah, tell me what happened. What did he do to you? I knew... I knew he was trouble, I just never wanted to tell you what to...”
