And wait some more.
I hear muffled voices. Mason’s. Shawn’s.
But not Waylon’s.
Fuck.
I’ve never been so acutely aware of just how fucking far away from me he is until this moment, and time is moving at a fucking snail’s pace. Slowing down with each dragging second I don’t have him in my arms. Every beat of my heart that I don’t hear his voice, see his dimples, feel his warm body against mine.
Sure, I’ve missed him like crazy in the last week and a half he’s been in LA. Counting down the days until I could see him again.
Just nine more days.
Just six more days.
And now…
Three more fucking days.
But this is different. This is every fear and worry I’ve had since I dropped him off at the gate, sling-shotting to the front of my brain. Blotting out any rational thought.
How will I ever make it to Saturday after this?
Sure, we knew this could happen. Hell, it wasn’t so much anif,but awhen.One we planned for as best we could.
And now it’s time to put our plans to the test.
A noise reaches my ears, like a frustrated growl, or groan, coming deep from within his chest, repressed like his lips are sealed tight.
“Hey, baby,” I breathe.
His breath hitches, and despite everything, my lips rise. Lashes drop. Peace washes through me, as slow and steady as a summer breeze.
But it’s not lasting.
“Will.”
Fuck.
His voice doesn’t just crack, it breaks. Shatters into gasps. Like he’s been holding his breath this whole time, and now that he finally released it, he can’t keep up. He can’t catch it.
“Easy,” I say, instilling a calmness in my voice I’m 100 percent faking. “You’re okay. You’re here, I’m here. The guys are with you. We’re all good.”
“You’re not here,” he says forcefully. I can practically feel the pressure of his teeth clenching through the words. “You’re not fucking here.”
Shit.
I sink back down on the bed. Elbows on my knees, I rub my jaw with the hand not holding the phone.
“No,” I say tightly. My chest is on fucking fire. “I’m notthere.But I’m here. Right here. Hear my voice?”
I picture him nodding jerkily as he croaks, “Not enough.”
My knuckles rub against my sternum, trying to ease some of the building pressure. “No, but it’s all we have right now.”
He sucks in a choked breath.
I quickly change the subject, shifting it away from what we can’t control, to what we can. Or rather, whathecan. “Mason said you’re at a diner.”