by Eli Grace
The third kiss seemed to never end, like we were under the surface of the lake, floating about the water in a waltz set to a mysterious music played by unseen airless life.
“Laurie.” He whispered my name against my neck, his hot breath making goosebumps sprout along my arms.
Tanner. Tanner. Tanner.
“Laurie.” Tanner breathed out once more, beginning to kiss my neck and work his way toward my jawline. I moved my body so that I was kneeling and he moved with me until we faced each other, our forms so close that I could scarce breathe for fear of being somehow vertically crushed by what was becoming an overpowering, fantastic, unreal sensation of movement and hands and kissing.
His hands curved around my back, lowering and cupping around my cheeks. I jumped a little when he gave them a firm squeeze and then he leaned forward to nibble at my right shoulder.
We were so tightly pressed together that I could feel the hardness of him grow and press against the space between my thighs. I moved my legs a fraction closer together, shifting my knees against the bunched-up blanket, gently pinning the length of his shaft between my legs. He writhed then, moaning and shifting his hips up and down slightly so he could feel himself rub against me. The top of him pressed against my groin, making places low in my body begin to tighten and grow hot.
I broke away, falling backward against the quilt and holding a hand up. Stop. Wait. I need to catch my breath.
Tanner lay down beside me, watching my face and no doubt feeling like a high school boy at senior prom being shown the promised land, just to be denied entry a hot second later.
I’m sorry. I haven’t been with anyone since Ross. Truthfully, I’ve not been with anyone except Ross. I finger spelled ‘truthfully’ because I knew ‘truth’ but not how to say the fully part, or even if it was necessary.
“Laurie, I’m not in a hurry.”
Really? I lifted myself up on my elbows and looked pointedly at his crotch, which was still hard and ready.
“Hey, now. A guy can’t really help that. And it’s been a long time for me.” Tanner signed and spoke now, no longer overcome; though he still watched me with a hunger in his eyes that, like the readiness of his body, probably could not be helped.
I don’t mean to be a tease. I sat all the way up, willing him to believe me. There’s so much on my mind. And… I want you. I really want you, but I also don’t want to fuck this up by rushing things.
“I don’t want to fuck it up either, Laurie.” Tanner once again moved closer to me. “PG, maybe PG-13 until we’re both ready. Deal?”
Deal, I signed back, leaning into him for another kiss. As soon as our lips touched, my body felt like it was being torched. Heat and passion and all of the things I wanted to do with him. Ross had been my first. He’d been my only up until now. But that would change. And I knew that it would change because of Tanner.
I knew that so much was going to change because I’d met him.
Chord D7.
VOCAL CORD PARALYSIS: When the nerve impulses sent to your larynx are interrupted. It can affect speech. It can affect breathing. Vocal cords do more than make sound.
They do more.
They do more.
It was my first visit with Doctor Logan. He was a portly man with too much scruff about the face, although it was obvious he’d made an effort to appear well-groomed. His suit jacket, two times too small, was stretched across his middle. I felt sorry for the buttons struggling to keep the front of it closed.
“Are you listening, Laurie?” His voice was kind though, like a Christmas mall Santa Claus without the overbearing jolliness.
I nodded that, yes, I was listening. Doctor Logan decided that we wouldn’t need an interpreter for our visits; he said that the point of our talks was to encourage functioning like I was already able to speak again. He thought this would push me past whatever emotional barrier might be keeping me mute. I wasn’t sure about his methods.
I wasn’t sure about anything.
Vocal cords do more than make sound.
They do more.
They do more.
Chord A7.
I was beginning to think Tanner was a psychosomatic symptom of whatever emotional trauma was keeping me from talking.
It was obvious that he couldn’t be real.
He was too kind, too generous, and too patient with me.
I wanted to tell him so- that he was making it harder to move past whatever’s holding me back, because I was already afraid to lose him. I was afraid. And Doctor Logan made it clear that I have an issue with abandonment, going back to my father who died even though that wasn’t his fault, to my mother who moved from my childhood town and lost herself in liquor, to Ross who left when the going got too tough.
Doctor Logan felt that Tanner has prompted me to want to speak, to want to move forward, but that he was also stunting further progress. In short, I thought Tanner would eventually abandon me too.
It had only been a month since Tanner and I had started seeing one another. It was a short time in the scheme of a life, but it felt like forever to me. I loved Ross, I know I did, but Tanner was something other to me. Something more real than I ever could have imagined, could have dreamed.
It was pizza night with Mom again. She ordered only veggie this time, no Hawaiian reminder of Dad. I wondered if that was because she’s feeling more sad than usual. His birthday was yesterday. He’d always hated celebrating, Mom had always insisted. She’s walked around in a daze today, humming ‘Amazed’ by Lonestar. It was Dad’s favorite song.
We sat in silence, eating the pizza one small mouthful at a time, both staring off into the distance and thinking vastly different thoughts. Hers would be for a past love, mine for a current. I opened my mouth after finishing a second slice of pepper and olive pizza, trying to force out a lyric. She was at my personal favorite part―the way you whisper in the dark.
It put me in mind of Tanner, of the evening we’d spent together last week at what we were calling ‘our spot’ next to the lake. The trees were still too summer-full of leaves and bird’s nests, but we could see a small expanse of the night sky. He’d piled blankets and pillows in the bed of his truck and I’d nestled into his arm, into the perfect me-sized crook there.
He’d had to work that day and rushed home to shower and change out of his uniform. He smelled strongly of pine-scented body wash and it was the perfect complement to the scene around us. We hadn’t talked much, simply held one another. It had been the most perfect date so far.
“Laurie, I miss your dad.” Mom’s voice floated to me, carried on a sea of sadness. It was palatable, choking. The sound of those five broken words made my eyes fill with tears.
I know, Mom. Me too. I pointed at my chest with my index finger and then I made the ‘hang ten’ sign and shook it back and forth slowly in front of my body. Me too.
The next day, Sunday, Mom and I almost stayed home rather than go to church. She was normally the one to insist, but seeing her wrapped in the afghan on the sofa, wearing one of Dad’s old plaid shirts, I told her that I wanted to go and I didn’t want to go alone. She’d gotten up reluctantly, changed, and let me drive―something she hadn’t done since I moved in. I mean, I drove, but if she was with me, she insisted on taking the wheel. Like that was another way she could protect me. Yet, she would have had me reconcile with Ross. She made no sense to me at times.
It wasn’t until we got to church that I noticed she was wearing Dad’s shirt still, hidden under her pinstripe jacket and tucked into the matching skirt. That sight made me stop her outside the double wood doors that led into the sanctuary. It made me stop her and hug her tightly, like I hadn’t done in a very long while. I hugged her like it was years ago and I was a child needing comfort from a mother. Only she was the child this time.
Without thinking, I opened my mouth against her ear and I tried to say ‘I love you, Mom’. It came out as a weak, pathetic thing. A bird in the early morning with little voice to sing. But it ca
me out. That strangled, almost too-quiet-to-be-heard whisper made us stiffen against one another and when we pulled away, we both wore matching wide-eyed gazes.
“Did you just…” Mom couldn’t finish her question.
I nodded quickly.
“Can you do it again?”
I don’t know.
Mom pulled me back into a fierce hug. “I love you too, Laurie.”
When we finally walked into the church, holding onto one another still, the children’s choir was singing This Little Light of Mine.
***
I was at the bar again watching Tanner play and Silas sing. I needed to meet the other band members―the man with his brunette hair pulled into a low pony and the woman on the drums who looked like Janis Joplin and Dolly Parton had a love child.
The song was one I wasn’t familiar with, but I tried to hum along anyway, even if the sound felt odd and strangled in my throat. No one could hear me over the actual music. Even without the music pushing its way through the large room, it was likely people wouldn’t hear me. I could barely hear the sounds myself in a quiet, still room without a soul around.
At our last appointment, Doctor Logan said we still had a lot of work to do, but the fact that I was able to force sounds―no matter how inaudible they seem―he felt was proof positive that my continued loss of voice is mental and not physical. I was still coming to terms with that. He said it was important that I spoke to Tanner about my fears of abandonment, even if it led somewhere unpleasant.
Looking at Tanner, sliding his fingers up and down the strings of his guitar, I knew in my heart that I shouldn’t be afraid, that I didn’t have to keep silent on what was holding me back. I wanted to give myself to him completely, without reservation. To do that, I had to be honest.
The set was an hour long and when the music died and the band said their goodnights, Tanner packed up his guitar and headed toward me, a smile on his face. Silas was behind him, looking his rocker best, with hair wild about his face and eyes wide and searching.
“Hey, Laurie,” Silas said as he passed our table. “Love to stay, but a hot date calls.”
I waved and laughed, this time no sound coming out.
“Don’t let him fool you. Silas doesn’t really date. He’s… I don’t know… got too much jumbled in his head for romance.”
Maybe he’s like you, married to his work and waiting on Mrs. Right. I didn’t know the sign for ‘Mrs.’ so I finger spelled that. I really liked the sign for ‘married’―two hands reaching for one another and joining, palms both turned toward your body.
“That could be.” Tanner agreed and smiled at me. “Hard to believe we’ve only been going out a month or so.”
Exactly a month. I corrected. E-X-A-C-T-L-Y.
“Exactly a month,” he repeated, his smile widening. “I suppose I’m in the dog house now for forgetting our anniversary.”
I suppose you are. S-U-P-P-O-S-E.
“Feel like a walk?” Tanner reached his hand to me and I took it without a second thought. It was automatic to go to him, like breathing. And I knew what it was like to not be able to breathe.
As we left the bar, the cool night air brushing against our faces, I realized something.
Maybe I didn’t need to tell Tanner that I was afraid he’d leave me, afraid of abandonment and loneliness. Maybe I needed to come to terms with the fact that you couldn’t predict the future. You couldn’t predict cancer or someone dying or someone leaving you unexpectedly. You couldn’t plan for it and you couldn’t spend every waking hour worrying over it. That, in and of itself, was like a little death.
Several blocks from the bar, I stopped, moved away from the comforting security of Tanners’ arm around my shoulders, and I dug out my cell phone. I didn’t want to have to sign what I was going to say.
Opening my texting app, I started typing.
Me: Tanner, something I’ve started to understand is that life is unpredictable. It’ll throw cancer at you and the loss of a parent and the betrayal of a significant other. I don’t want to be scared of things I can’t change or control. I don’t want to be held back by that anymore. I don’t want to hold myself back.
Tanner stood there patiently, wondering what I was doing, but not interrupting.
I debated erasing the message, but I didn’t.
SEND.
Tanner jumped when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, clicking a few buttons before seeing what he’d received. His gaze flicked to me and then back to the words I’d sent.
Tanner is typing…
Tanner is typing…
Tanner is typing…
Tanner: You can’t control or change some things, but being with someone who loves you, someone who won’t leave you no matter what, not for cancer or anything else, makes it doable. It makes the fight worth fighting. I can be that person, Laurie.
I realized that he thought I was hinting at moving forward without him, that he was part of what was holding me back. Nothing was further from the truth.
Me: You don’t understand what I’m saying.
SEND.
Tanner is reading.
Tanner is typing…
Tanner: I hear you, Laurie.
Me: I love you, Tanner.
Me: Maybe that’s stupid to say after only a month, but I need to tell you. I need to say it.
Me: This isn’t coming out right.
SEND. SEND. SEND.
I felt awkward and unbalanced. He stood right in front of me, an arm’s length away, and I was saying those three, most important in the world, words via text message.
Me: I love you, Tanner.
SEND.
This time, when I saw Tanner’s cell phone light up in his hands at the receiving of the message, I pushed my own phone into my pocket and reached for his. He gave it willingly. I opened the text and found what I was looking for. Pressing the little button on the screen, the phone read my text message slowly, distinctly. It was computerized and awkward. But it said what I wanted said out loud.
“Message received from Laurie. I love you, Tanner. End message.”
I think we both would have laughed had the moment not been so serious. Instead though, I gave Tanner back his phone, which he pushed into his own pocket out of sight, and we kissed under that same broken street lamp from our first date.
And it was soundless magic, like the whole world had lost its voice for that singular moment.
ELI GRACE
Romance with a twist. Sweet heat. Southern humor. Unexpected love affairs.
Adores all things quirky, eats ice cream with a fork, and likes warm Dr. Pepper (on a cool day). Once thought she'd marry Martin Short... until she discovered Alan Rickman. #Always (Might also have Dustin Hoffman on her 'I get a pass' list). Also writes as Eli Constant & Eliza Grace.
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A note from the author.
A Silent Heart was originally written for inclusion in the ‘Hunks to the Rescue’ anthology. I enjoyed the experience of working with other romance authors and found that I was completely inspired by their collective dedication to the genre.
This story is near to my heart in more ways than one. I love the idea of a couple having to find different modes of communication. People that can hear and speak with no effort take that ability and that method of connection for granted. I’ve been in my step-daughter’s life for ten years. She was born deaf and I’m still finding ways to communicate my feelings to her and show her that I love her beyond, literally beyond, words.
&
nbsp; I send you my sincerest thanks for purchasing A Silent Heart! I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I loved writing it. Keep a watch on social media for the release of Heart Beat, a rocker redemption romance that connects to Laurie and Tanner’s love story.
Kisses,
-Eli Grace
*read on for an unedited sneak peak of Heart Beat*
A ‘Rocker Redemption’ Romance Novel
Eli Constant writing as
Eli Grace
Verse 1.
I ain’t got the words no more
To talk it out, to scream and shout
You want to yell my name and curse
Only god, the father, can reverse
The mess I am and what I’ve done
No room in heaven for this son
Can’t take it back, can’t make him live
The devil take me for my sins
‘You can’t save a man who’s drowning
When land’s within reach
And he ain’t swimming
I lost a friend; I lost my soul
Nothing left to fill that hole’
The great and broken I am
I woke up drenched in sweat, still feeling the itch of that need under my skin— the desire to shoot up and let the world fall away. It made me want to claw at my arm, rip out the hurt, but it was all memory. Lodged in my brain. A scalpel couldn’t cut it out.
Even now, I’m an addict. If you put me in a room with heroin, I’d use. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. It hits you seconds, just seconds, after you push. The relaxation, the feeling of floating, the warmth. I dream about it- choosing the vein, tapping the needle, watching the liquid leave the syringe as I push the stopper.
Sinking into water.
Floating.
Freedom.
I threw off the covers and got out of bed, my sweaty bare skin instantly sprouting goosebumps against the chill of the fast-moving fan above. Even the sheets were soaked. I pulled them off to find the mattress underneath only a little damp. Gathering up the bed things, I walked out to the closet that housed the washer and dryer. I stuffed everything in, closed the door, started the machine, and realized I’d forgotten the soap.
