Unspoken Words

by K. M. Golland

  He raised his eyebrow.

  “Fine. Your father thought it ironic that your first major football injury involved your groin.”

  He nodded, sarcastically. “It’s the third most common football injury.”

  “It’s also the first most common sexual injury,” I added.

  “It is not.”

  “Is.”

  Chris furrowed his brow. “Is it really?”

  “No.” I laughed and wrapped my arms around him. “But for you, maybe.”

  “Makes sense,” he mumbled against my head, securing me to him. “Only a real man goes at it hard.”

  “Ew. Gross.” I tried to break free and punch his chest.

  “Your struggle is useless.”

  I punched some more.

  “Ah … I’ve missed this. It’s so nice to see you, Elliephant, even if your hair looks weird.”

  “It does not.”

  “Does too. You look like Barbie.”

  “I do not.”

  “Did Moron play with Barbies when he was young? Is that why he wants you to look like one?”

  I pulled back and glared at him. “His name is Byron, not Moron. And, no, he didn’t.”

  My idiot brother smirked but didn’t say another word. He was wise not to bait me further, or perhaps he knew his snipe had hit its intended target. Either way, he let it go, and I was thankful.

  I scoffed. “I guess you can’t help me with my bags then?”

  “Guess not.” He lifted his crutch, as if to garner sympathy.

  “You’re so lazy.”

  He coughed. “Barbie.”

  I coughed back. “Pirate.”

  Later that night, after sitting down at the dining table and eating homemade pizza and lasagne with my family, I stepped outside for some fresh air. Unanswered questions and pestering demons whirled inside my head, nuisances I didn’t want to address let alone acknowledge they existed.

  Rusted metal and weathered linoleum creaked as I lowered myself onto our old love swing, and for a split second, I feared for my safety. We’d had the swing for as long as I could remember, and I knew from experience that nothing lasted forever.

  “Don’t do it,” Chris said, as he slowly made his way down the steps at our backdoor. “You’ve got so much to live for.”

  I giggled and carefully planted my feet on the ground, stopping the swing’s momentum. “True. But sometimes you gotta live on the edge to discover going over it just isn’t an option.”

  “Is that why you’ve come home?” he asked, hopping on his good foot until he’d turned around. “Because you’ve finally realised Moron is an edge not worth wasting your time on?” He fell with a plonk onto the seat, and it made noises I’d never heard it make before.

  “Jesus, Chris! Is this thing gonna hold the two of us?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Then get off.”

  “No, you get off.”

  “I was here first.”

  “So. I’m older.”

  “Oh my God!” I groaned, laughing. “You’re still so bloody annoying.”

  “And you’re still so bloody stubborn.”

  The light next door flicked on, and I gasped, frozen in place.

  Chris’s hand covered mine. “Hey! It’s okay. They don’t live there anymore.”

  I exhaled and offered him a smile of relief. “Oh, good. When did they move?”

  “Shortly after Lilah gave birth.”

  “That long ago?”

  “Yep.”

  “Geez.” Connor and Lilah’s son, Max, would be roughly three and a half years old now. “Why didn’t anyone tell me they’d moved?”

  “Because when you left, we all decided to let you start over with a clean slate. And giving you a play-by-play was only going to dirty it.”

  I nodded. “Right. Thanks.”

  The chair creaked some more, so I removed my hand from under his and held tighter to the support poles.

  “So, the moron … when are you leaving him?”

  “Stop calling him that. And I’m not leaving him.”

  “Bullshit.”

  I glared at my idiot brother. “What’s your problem with him? What’s he ever done to you?”

  “Exist.”

  “You’re a jerk, you know that?”

  “No, I’m a brother who knows when a moron is sucking the life out of my sister, that’s what I am.”

  “He’s not sucking the life out of me.”

  “Yes, he is. Look at you,” he said, gesturing to my hair. “He’s bleached you.”

  “He hasn’t bleached me. I needed a change.”

  “Yeah, from him, not from yourself.”

  “What would you know about my love life anyway? You’re not exactly a good spokesperson on relationships considering yours last the length of an orgasm or two.”

  “Four,” he stated with a cocky grin. “You mean four orgasms.”

  I groaned. “Whatever.”

  Chris slouched back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not the one hiding in Darwin with bleached hair,” he added as if that was a logical explanation.

  “That’s just stupid.”

  “And I’m not the one who’s a stick in the mud and miserable.”

  “I’m not a stick in the mud. And I’m certainly not miserable.”

  “You’ve lost your Ellie spark,” he said, voice softer, almost sad.

  I shrugged. “Maybe I have. But that’s not Byron’s fault.”

  “Fair enough. But if he hasn’t been able to bring back your spark in the two years you’ve been together, then he’s not going to.”

  I knew what Chris was saying was true, but people changed, sometimes for the good, sometimes for the bad, and sometimes for the in between. And that’s where I placed my own transition—in the middle. Sure, I no longer burned bright. But I was stronger, wiser, and much less naïve.

  Letting go of the pole I’d clamped my hands around, I snuggled into my brother’s side. “I’m still me, Chris. Just less colourful.”

  A sound similar to thunder cracked above us, and the next thing I knew we were both on the ground, the swing no longer swinging, support poles narrowly missing our heads as they fell beside us.

  “My groin,” he groaned.

  All I could do was laugh, and laugh. And despite the pain in my coccyx bone intermittently breaking my giggles in the form of ‘ouch’ and ‘ow’, it was the most I’d laughed in a very long time.

  My arse was still sore from the night before as I sat waiting with sweat-dampened palms at Sony Records to meet Saxon Reed. In the centre of the brightly lit room was a spotted circular sofa, which reminded me of a giant sprinkled donut—and probably the comfier choice of seat. Stark white walls were covered with framed records and photos of bands and artists performing live at various venues, and there was a quirky receptionist seated behind a mirrored counter separating the waiting area from a frosted glass wall, blurred silhouettes bustling about behind it.

  I blew out a sharp breath and tried to remember the handful of questions I’d written in my notebook on the plane the day before, questions regarding copyright, royalties, timeframe, and artistic freedom.

  “Ms Mitchell.”

  Snapping my head up, my eyes landed on a tall, slim, blond man, buttoning his perfectly tailored navy suit jacket as he strode toward me.

  “I’m Jackson Kent,” he said, holding out his slender hand. “We spoke on the phone. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  My legs trembled just slightly as I stood and accepted his hand. “Hi. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, too. And please, call me Ellie.”

  “Ellie it is.” He gestured to where he’d just come from. “If you’d like to follow me, Saxon is very keen to meet you.”

  “Excellent! I’m very keen to meet him as well.”

  Jackson led me through the frosted glass door behind the reception counter and down a frosted glass-lined hall to yet another frosted glass door. It was all very arctic, w
hich possibly explained the chill travelling up my spine when he turned the handle and held the door open for me. “Ladies first.”

  I smiled and said, “thank you” but felt as if I were entering an igloo palace, my feet frozen in place when I discovered who was at the head of the conference table.

  “Connor,” I breathed out.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ellie

  “Hi, Ellie.” He stood up and pushed his chair back.

  I shook my head. “You’re Saxon Reed?”

  Connor took a step toward me, so I raised my hand in warning. “Oh no. No, no. NO!”

  “I know this is a shock, but—”

  “Wait a minute!” Jackson closed the door behind me. “You two know each other?”

  My knees gave way, and I stumbled before gripping a leather chair pushed in at the table, my pulse racing, my skin no longer icy. Heat brewed at the base of my neck, and I continued to shake my head in disbelief. Saxon can’t be him. How the hell can Saxon be him?

  Blinking, I opened and closed my mouth then finally managed to push words past my trembling lips. “I … I can’t do this. I’m sorry, but I can’t work with you.”

  Turning around, I went to leave but collided with Jackson. He steadied me with his hands, concern etched onto his chiselled face. “What’s going on?” His eyes flicked from mine to Connor’s.

  “It’s fine. Everything is fine. Ellie and I just haven’t seen each other in years.”

  Everything is fine? Fine? Is he fucking kidding me?

  I snapped my head in his direction and glared, a look that scorched him instantly but then ignited his damn delightful dimples.

  My jaw dropped. My fists clenched.

  “Jackson, would you mind giving Ellie and me a minute? I need to explain a few things to her before she explodes and burns this entire building down.”

  Jackson’s gaze landed on my simmering face. “Sure thing,” he uttered. “There’s a jug of water on the table if you need it.” He let go of my shoulders and looked toward Connor. “Just buzz me when you’re ready.”

  I watched him exit the room, and before I could spring forward and follow him, the door closed, trapping me inside.

  “Ellie, before you—”

  “SHUT. UP,” I growled, fury slicing the air around us like a razor sharp knife.

  He did as he was told but my body sensed him moving closer, goosebumps rising on my arms and the back of my neck.

  I spun to face him, my chest tight with pain. “Don’t. Please,” I begged. “Don’t come any closer. I’m barely standing right now as it is.”

  “Then take a seat.” His voice was as soft as his smoky eyes but it did nothing to ease my turmoil.

  “No, Connor. I’m not staying.”

  I’d barely finished my sentence before he was on his knees at my feet, his hands holding the backs of my thighs, my stockings and skirt bunched in his grip. “Don’t go. Not yet. Please just hear me out first.”

  I stumbled in shock and tried to step back, but he held me tighter. “Connor, what the hell are you doing? Let go!”

  “Promise you’ll hear what I have to say before leaving.”

  I kicked his knee. “No!”

  “Ow.” His lip quirked. “You wear heels now?”

  I kicked him again. “Yes.”

  “Goddamn it, Ellie. Stop.”

  “Let me go.”

  “I will. I swear it. Just hear me out first.” Connor’s eyes were wide and watering, his grip no longer intense.

  “Fine,” I huffed, pushing his hands away and finally stepping back. I hadn’t felt his touch in years. It was too much. I needed distance.

  Smoothing my skirt down, I took another step back. “But make it quick. I’ve wasted enough time already.”

  He rose from the ground like a crane and reached for a guitar propped against the wall. He rested his arse on the edge of the conference room table, sat the guitar on his thigh and tuned the strings.

  “Let me guess, you sing what you can’t say?” I bit out, crossing my arms over my chest.

  He ignored my anger and began strumming the first few chords of a riff, the deep, dark tone instantly reverberating through me. The sound was abrupt and fierce—sadness, longing, and desperation a clear emission through the slow but sharp tempo. I shifted on the spot, but it wasn’t until the oiled timbre of his voice sang lyrics so raw and real that my chest cracked open and my own feelings of despair rooted me still.

  Whispering to you

  Always wanting more

  Only you

  Arrived in my thoughts

  Only to find you

  When the tears start running down

  I open up to you

  When the tears start running down

  I remember the fall

  It don’t mean much at all

  When the tears start running down

  That’s where I wanna be

  Blinking back my own tears, I dabbed the corners of my eyes with my fingertips. “There’s a lot of pain in that song, Connor,” I stated, desperately trying to keep my voice neutral.

  “That’s because there’s a lot of pain in here.” He slapped his palm over his heart and clenched his fist.

  “So why would you want to work with me and dredge up even more? Haven’t we hurt each other enough already?”

  “I never meant to hurt you,” he said, quietly.

  Gritting my teeth, I closed my eyes and sucked in a breath, letting it out as slowly as I could to prevent the emerging fireball he’d warned Jackson about. “I know, but you did, and now our door has long closed. Why reopen it?”

  “Because I can’t do this without you.”

  I opened my eyes and turned to leave once more. “Sure you can. You’ve been doing it just fine for the past four years.”

  He scoffed. “Yeah, the loneliest four years of my life.”

  I paused, letting his words settle deep within, where I didn’t want them, where they hadn’t belonged in years. Tears pooled in my eyes, and a sob lodged in my throat; they’d been the loneliest and most painful four years of my life as well, but I couldn’t tell him that, not here, not now.

  “I miss you, Ellie,” he choked out. “You have no idea how much I miss you. And I couldn’t tell you because I swore to let you go if it was what you wanted. I swore I wouldn’t contact you again.”

  “I never wanted you to let me go.” I reached for the door handle but didn’t turn it. “Everyday I write you notes I throw away,” I admitted.

  A heavy sadness settled around us, and I felt him once again stealing my air.

  “I’m sorry, Connor. But you need to find someone else. I can’t—”

  “You’re my ever after,” he blurted, his tone desperate.

  I looked back at him, tears now streaming my face. “No, I’m not. Ever after doesn’t exist.”

  “How can you say that?”

  He tossed his guitar to the side like a seasoned rock star, the wood-splintering noise making me flinch. My heart hammered in my chest, my hands shaking, my body hot.

  “HOW CAN I SAY THAT?” I released the door handle and slammed my notebook on the table. “Because you gave up on us.” I pointed at him. “You gave up on us when you slept with Lilah.” I pointed at him again. “You gave up on us when you left me for her. And you …” My hand fell to my side. “And you gave up on us when you let me walk out of your life without even saying ‘I love you’.”

  “I didn’t give up on you—”

  “YES, YOU DID!” I threw my hands in the air and rested them on my head. “Why are you lying?”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “You are! You hurt me, Connor. You gave up. And you stopped loving me. It’s as simple as that.”

  Connor swooped toward me, his warm, strong hands securing both sides of my face. “I never stopped loving you. And I never gave up. But I was young and stupid. And I was scared. All I did was what I thought was right.”

  I whacked his stupid hands a
way and shoved his chest. “All you ever do is what you think is right. Have you ever considered that what you think is right is actually wrong? That you’re always wrong? Like now? Like inviting me here to work with you after everything we’ve been through?”

  His thumb chased a tear down my cheek, and my eyelids fluttered before closing at the softness of his touch.

  “You and I aren’t wrong, Ellie.”

  “Yes, we are. I’m with Byron and you’re with Lilah. And you have a son. What’s done was done four years ago.”

  “I know,” he said.

  I sobbed and stepped back.

  “But I’m not with Lilah.”

  My eyes flew open. “What?”

  “Wait! Who’s Byron?” He glanced over my shoulder as if Byron was there, waiting for me.

  “I—I have to go.” I snatched up my notebook and made my way back to the door, securing the handle and turning it.

  “Have dinner with me. Please?”

  I pressed my eyes shut, the desperation in his voice too painful for me to keep them open. But then I remembered he was the reason for the pain. Him, not me. He’d given up on us. He hadn’t called, hadn’t chased me down, hadn’t begged me to come home and try to work through it all. He hadn’t done any of those things.

  He’d been silent when he’d needed to speak.

  “Goodbye, Connor,” I said, opening my eyes and leaving the room.

  The door clicked shut behind me, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding. My hands and legs were trembling, but that didn’t stop me fleeing as fast and as far away from him as I possibly could. I couldn’t be in that room with him any longer, because had I stayed, I would’ve eventually fallen into his embrace and never come out. I would’ve forgiven mistakes and forgotten the wrongs. I would’ve ignored all sense, because a love like ours ran deep below the surface.

  Unseen.

  Unknown.

  Unspoken.

  Connor was everywhere that night when I rested my head on my old pillow, on my old bed, in my old bedroom. His face danced in the shadows and skated through my mind, his voice a whisper on the wind and the sweetest caress to my ears. When I breathed in, he entered my soul. Every time. Every breath. And when I closed my eyes, I felt his touch on my skin, in my hair, and feathered across my lips. He was everywhere, and I couldn’t escape him.