He didn't need to look at his contacts to know her number. He knew it by heart. He knew the rhythm of the digits, the way his thumb felt pressing them in sequence.
He deletes the numbers. He goes to bed. He wakes up tomorrow and continues the slow, painful process of forgetting.
With a slow, heavy exhale, Jackson hit the backspace button. He watched the numbers disappear one by one until the screen was blank. He locked the phone and flipped it face down on the table. Luke Combs - One Number Away
He presses it. She answers. Her voice is sleepy, confused, and then cold. He looks like the desperate ex who can't let go.
He wasn't ready to be that ghost in her caller ID. Not tonight. He didn't need to look at his contacts to know her number
The rain on the roof of the small Nashville apartment sounded like static on a radio station that wouldn't quite come in. Jackson sat at the Formica kitchen table, staring at the screen of his phone. It was 2:14 AM.
Jackson had his thumb hovering over the green call button. He was exactly one number away from hearing her voice. The Weight of the Last Digit He deletes the numbers
He took a deep breath, his finger descending toward the screen.