Page 12 of Once Upon A Christmas Song

And we had, he was right, and it wasn’t fair of me to want more just because I’d thought I was made of stronger stuff. But the fact of the matter was, our connection was suffering no matter what either of us wanted.

“You can’t be on the road with me,” he said, reiterating our conversation from a year prior. “You have a business to run, you have people to take care of, and I get all that, I do, but I need you too. Do you understand?”

I did, because the longing in me was just as desperate. I’d never had anyone in my life who just looked at me and knew, without a word passing between us, how I was, how I felt, what I needed.

“And just because we started fast,” he went on, “doesn’t mean this isn’t real, so don’t try and end us over the goddamn phone just because this is harder than you thought it was gonna be!” He got loud, probably more so than he meant to, but it made sense. If my heart was breaking over the thought of letting him go, his heart had to be doing the same. I didn’t doubt either his love or commitment, but the distance was doing damage I hadn’t thought it would.

“No,” I husked, brushing away the tears he couldn’t see. “I don’t want to end anything. It’s just the visits, me flying there, you flying here… It’s not working. It’s not helping anything.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Am I wrong?”

Quick clearing of his throat. “No, you’re—it’s hard when I have to go, but what then? I won’t see you until God knows when?”

“There has to be a break in your schedule. There must be.”

His breath was halting, choppy. “So we’ll wait for then.”

“Yeah,” I murmured. “Because I want to stay with you when I’m there, and you want to visit. It’s not a question of desire, it’s just a question of timing.”

“But you understand, don’t you? That this is my shot?”

“Of course I do.”

“And that being away has nothing to do with⁠—”

“Yes,” I promised him. “And you know that not joining you on the road has nothing to do with not loving you. That’s not even a⁠—”

“I know,” he rushed out. “So never call me again with parting in your head or on your lips. That won’t work.”

“Parting on your lips,” I repeated. “What’re you, a songwriter or something?”

He scoffed. “I’m just a man who will not be broken up with, and especially not over the goddamn phone. You get that, don’t you? If you want to be done, you’ll have to fly out to wherever I am and tell me to my face.”

I chuckled. “Yessir, I understand.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Dawson?”

“I am alone in the world but for you and my band. I’m not losing anyone.”

“No,” I agreed.

Deep breath then. “Okay. So what’re you wearing?”

“Oh dear God.”

“What?” he grumbled. “Maybe FaceTime me and show me the goods.”

By then I was laughing.

“No?” he whined playfully. “What if I beg?”

He didn’t have to beg.

Six months later, still promoting the first album, the crowds huge, filling arenas…through no fault of his, or mine, it became harder and harder to connect. Because not only were we apart, but we were also two very different people. We had clicked seamlessly when we occupied the same space, but now it took work. Being on opposite ends of the country, we couldn’t put in the time needed.