Letting You Know (36 page)

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?”