Unspoken Words

by K. M. Golland

  “Okay, good. Let’s go!” I playfully pulled on his hand, hurrying him through the arrival terminal. “If we get to the car quickly, I won’t have to pay for the extra car parking hour.”

  “Elle, slow down.” He laughed and dug his heels into the ground. “You’re not seriously gonna drag me running through the airport terminal just to save a few bucks are you?”

  I shrugged then nodded, because that’s exactly what I’d planned to do. It would be fun, but more so because I wanted to get home before Mum and Dad did. I had an itch to scratch, and I needed Byron to help me do it.

  Byron wheeled his suitcase toward the back door. “So this is where you grew up?” he asked, looking up at the trees surrounding our yard, some bare with leaves piled at the trunk while others were full, leafy, and evergreen.

  “Sure is. Mum and Dad bought the house before Chris and I were born. They’ve lived here ever since.”

  “It’s nice. Very homely.”

  I nearly scoffed at the word homely but remembered Byron had experienced a different upbringing to me. He’d spent his high school years in a Darwin boarding school, away from his parents who owned a chain of shopping malls in the Northern Territory that—one day—Byron would take over after completing his honours in a Bachelor of Business.

  Dismissing his insensitive remark instead, I picked up my netball that had almost become one with the soil it rested upon and brushed it clean. Smiling, I raised it above my head, shooting for the ring still attached to the garage roof. I missed, badly, but Byron managed to rebound the ball with his free hand, bouncing it once before taking his own shot and making the goal.

  Surprised, I applauded his effort. “Nice shot.”

  “It was better than yours.”

  “It was,” I said, laughing and sliding my hand behind his back as we walked inside. “Mum and Dad aren’t home. They’ll be back in a few hours.”

  “A few hours?” His eyebrow arched, a lewd grin creeping onto his face.

  “Hmm.” I tapped my chin with my finger. “What should we do in the meantime?”

  “You should show me your room.”

  “Don’t you mean your room for the weekend?”

  “Is it your room too?”

  I giggled. “Maybe.”

  “Then, yes, show me my room.”

  Winking, I gave him a ‘come hither’ flick of my finger. “With pleasure. Follow me.”

  “This can’t be happening,” I whispered to myself as I sat in my bathroom on the toilet—lid down—my head in my hands trying desperately not to cry. Byron was on the other side of the door, lying in my childhood bed, post-reunite-sex, and I felt nothing but emptiness. The small spark we’d once shared, the tiny glimmer I’d always clung to, was gone, and not even the promise of an orgasm after five long weeks could reignite it.

  When he’d kissed me and lifted my t-shirt over my head, I’d felt hope. When he’d skimmed his fingers over my bare breasts and squeezed them gently, I’d felt despair. And when he’d laid me down on the bed and told me he loved me, I’d felt dread. No spark. No heat. Nothing. Until I’d closed my eyes and imagined it was Connor there with me, that it was his fingers sliding underneath the lace of my underwear, his tongue caressing mine, his hips rocking against mine, and his moans a poetic symphony with mine. It had all been him and, yet, it hadn’t, not even close.

  Standing up, I splashed some water on my face at the basin and gazed into the mirror. It’s got to be some kind of sex malfunction. It’s got to be. I nodded to my reflection, unconvinced, a tear descending my cheek. I was annoyed … and determined, so I wiped it away. We should go again. Yes.

  Yanking open the bathroom door, ready to prove my body wrong, the rumble of a car pulling into the driveway stopped me. “Shit! Mum’s home.”

  “What?” Byron threw the covers off his body and scrounged around for his clothes. “I thought you said we had hours.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Damn it, Elle.” He snatched up his jeans and threaded them over his legs. “This is your parents’ house and we need to show them some respect.”

  My face scrunched. “You say that now?”

  “Well, yeah, now that I know we were at risk of being caught.”

  “We’re not kids, Byron.” I threaded my t-shirt over my head. “And my parents aren’t prudes.”

  “Maybe not, but it sure as hell isn’t respectful when you’re busted fucking their daughter in her bedroom.”

  “So this is all my fault?”

  “You said we had hours.”

  Staring at him as if he were an alien, I couldn’t help but think that if it were Connor and me in the same situation, we’d be giggling and trying to fix each other’s sex-messed-hair.

  “Fine. It’s my fault.” I turned to leave the room when he grabbed my arm to stop me.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get angry. I just don’t want to give your parents a bad impression. Not this weekend.”

  “You won’t.”

  “I’ve only met them a few times, Ell.” There was an unusual hint of fear in his eyes, and I couldn’t help but sympathise.

  “Oh, Byron, always trying to please the higher power.” I glided my hands down the sides of his face, held his jaw, and placed a quick kiss on his lips. “Don’t worry. You couldn’t possibly disappoint them.”

  A little white lie.

  Because he could, and he did.

  Or, more accurately, because I did, for dating a man they knew I would never love enough.

  “That was absolutely lovely, Mrs Mitchell.” Byron wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed back his chair, standing at the dining table to help clear our dinner plates.

  My mother drank the last of her wine, her warm, emerald eyes glimmering over the rim of her crystal glass. “Thank you, dear.”

  I, too, drank my wine, all of it—the third glass. Dinner had been awkward. Forced. Artificial. Dad had hardly said a word, over-chewing his food while avoiding eye contact with me. And I could tell Byron was nervous; he’d practically talked about himself and his parent’s shopping malls non-stop. It had been an I’m-naked-in-a-room-full-of-people situation, which had me on edge because it wasn’t as if they’d never met before. They had, a few times. And it had never been as unpleasant as this.

  Standing up to help clear the table with Byron, the chime of the doorbell was a welcome relief. “I’ll answer it,” I said, practically skipping out of the room.

  I rushed to the door, realising I’d have to concoct a perfectly good reason to excuse Byron and I from further torture in the presence of my parents so ran a few options through my head: food poisoning, random onset of narcolepsy … mysteriously vanished. I laughed at the craziness of it all right before opening the door and nearly dying on the spot.

  “Hey, beautiful.”

  “Connor?” My eyes travelled his body: white tee, leather jacket, black jeans. He was James Dean incarnate minus the cigarette, a smile so rogue, so sinister and sexy, that just looking at him no doubt placed me on Santa’s naughty list.

  “H—hi,” I stuttered, swallowing hard. “What are you doing here?”

  He ran his hand through his hair and glanced over my shoulder. “Returning your notebook.”

  Connor took a step closer, his eyes settling on mine once again, and held it out to me.

  “Thanks.” I lowered my voice. “But you didn’t have to bring it here. I could’ve just got it from you on Monday.”

  “But I thought you might need it before then.” He looked past my shoulder again, and I knew exactly whom he was searching for. Damn, sneaky, calculated, shithead.

  Snatching the notebook from him, my smile was anything but sincere. “I don’t need it, but thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Connor winked and stepped around me, entering the house.

  “What are you doing?” I hissed, just as Byron entered the hallway.

  “Elle, is everything okay?”

  “Yes, of course.” I smo
othed my hands down my jeans. “Byron, this is Connor. I mean, Saxon Reed, the musician I’m collaborating with. Connor, this is my boyfriend, Byron.”

  “Oh.” Byron held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” Connor shook Byron’s hand even though ‘likewise’ wasn’t the vibe rolling off his tense body, his handshake firm, his stare, firmer.

  Mum entered the hallway, pleasant surprise twinkling her eyes. “Connor, darling, I didn’t know you were coming over.”

  “Hi, Beth. I wasn’t. Ellie left her notebook at the studio yesterday, so I thought I’d drop it off on my way home.”

  I held it up and waved it to Mum and Byron, as if to validate Connor’s story. “And that was very kind of you,” I said, smiling through gritted teeth. “But you really shouldn’t have.”

  Connor leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. Casual. “It was nothing.”

  “How’s Max’s arm?” Mum asked as she wiped her hands on the tea towel she was holding before draping it over her shoulder.

  “Good! Really good. His cast comes off next week.”

  “That’s wonderful news. I bet Max can’t wait to be rid of it.”

  Connor laughed. “I don’t know about that. He thinks he’s Iron Man.”

  “I bet he does.” Mum gestured we all head toward the living room. “Would you like to come in? We just finished dinner but I do have plenty of pie to go around.”

  Damn it, Mum. No.

  “Beth Mitchell’s infamous home-cooked pie?”

  She winked, proud. “The one and only.”

  Connor groaned. “I’d love to, but I really should get going.”

  “Nonsense.” She swished her hand.

  “Mum.” I pierced her with my stare. “Connor just said that he needs to go.”

  She quickly glanced at Byron then to me and to Connor. “Right. Sorry. Maybe some other time.”

  “Yes. Definitely,” Connor said, smiling.

  I inched toward the door and held it open, hinting it was now time for him to leave.

  “Say hi to Raelene and Curtis for me,” Mum added. “Tell them to drop by for a coffee sometime.”

  “Will do.”

  “Lovely.” Mum turned to Byron. “Byron, dear, would you mind helping me dish up the pie? I hope you like apricot.”

  He didn’t, but I was sure he’d pretend to.

  “Of course, Mrs Mitchell.” He held his hand back out to Connor. “It was good to finally meet you, Saxon.”

  “Connor,” Connor said, correcting him with an arrogant shake.

  “Yes, sorry. Connor.”

  “It was good to meet you too. Enjoy the pie.”

  Mum linked arms with Byron and practically whisked him away, and when they were both gone from sight, I turned to Connor, punched him on the arm, and shoved him out the door.

  “Ow!” he shrieked, laughing. “What was that for?”

  “You know what that was for.”

  Rubbing his arm, he smirked and nodded toward the hallway. “He’s … er … nice.”

  “He is.” I placed my hands on my hips. “He’s very nice.”

  “I don’t like him.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Our eyes held together, steadfast, and I knew, just as much as he did, that what we were saying was pointless and, yet, we said it anyway to prove a pointless point.

  We were hopeless and stubborn; we were each other’s strength and weakness.

  Sighing, his shoulders slumped, all silly playfulness now gone. “Have a good night, Ellie.”

  Connor leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on my cheek, his featherlight touch sweet, swift, and heartbreaking. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t tell him all the things I wanted him to know because, deep down, I knew he knew them already.

  So I watched him walk to his truck and drive away, and then I went back inside and closed the door behind me, jumping out of my skin when Byron stepped from the shadows of the hallway.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  I forced a smile and took his hands in mine. “Yes, of course.”

  “You know him.”

  “Huh?”

  “Saxon,” he said, gesturing toward the front door, his deep earthy eyes searching mine. “You know him. Your family knows him.”

  “Yes. Connor and I are friends, we grew up together.”

  It wasn’t a lie.

  At least, not entirely.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Connor

  What a vest-wearing, Poindexter, arse-licking, pencil dick. Byron was the type of guy you picked on in high school and ended up working for years later. Mr University Jockstrap with his perfectly combed blond hair. He was the guy you hated but wanted to be and, right now, he had something that belonged to me. But she was sleeping in his arms tonight and not mine like she should be, and I hated that. Just thinking of her with him made my skin crawl and bile rise to my throat.

  “Fucking wanker,” I muttered to myself as I got out of my truck and walked into Anthony’s Pizzeria.

  “Daddy!”

  My eyes darted toward the sound of Max’s voice, and before I knew it, he was latched around my legs. “Hey, Buddy, what are you doing here?”

  “We getting pizza,” he said, pointing to where Lilah was paying at the takeaway counter.

  I picked him up and sat him on my hip before walking over to his mother.

  “Fancy seeing you here,” she said, smiling as she handed over a twenty-dollar note to Grace, the cashier.

  “I live here. Ain’t that right, Anthony?”

  He gave my shoulder a friendly pat as he walked past to greet waiting customers.

  Lilah playfully rolled her eyes. “Have you ordered yet?”

  “Yeah. I rang it through on the way here.”

  “Order for Connor?” Grace called to the kitchen, winking at me.

  I smiled and nodded my appreciation.

  “One minute,” Marco answered.

  Lilah accepted her change and collected her pizza. “Well, if you were just planning to go home and eat, you’re more than welcome to join us at my place instead. I have … um, something to talk to you about.”

  Max bounced like a Yo-Yo in my arms. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

  “Settle down, monkey,” I said, chuckling, before turning to Lilah. “Like what? Anything important?”

  “No, not really. I mean it’s nothing to worry about.”

  “If you need to talk to me about Max, then we’ll talk.”

  “Good. Because I do.”

  “Okay. I’ll meet you back there.”

  “We can wai—”

  “Order for Connor,” Grace announced, placing the pizza box on the counter.

  I gave Max the money and told him to hand it to her, and before I could gather my pizza with my free hand, Lilah did it for me.

  “You bring the boy, I’ll bring the pizzas,” she said.

  “You wanna ride with Daddy?”

  Max bounced again, so I followed Lilah out of the restaurant and into the car park, taking in the sun’s high position on the horizon. “Actually, we’ve probably still got an hour or so left of sunlight. Why don’t we eat over at the park instead so Max can play?”

  Lilah shrugged. “Sure, sounds good.”

  We crossed the road and rounded the corner to the local park, and I found a nice, grassy spot under a tree. “Is this all right?”

  Lilah’s nose crumpled. “Not exactly. I’m wearing white.” She held the pizzas up and pivoted, showing me her very white pants. “They’ll get stained if I sit on the grass.”

  I placed Max on the ground and shrugged off my jacket, laying it down for her to sit on. “Will this do?”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  Max took off like The Flash toward the slide, so I ran after him and scooped him back into my arms, flipping him upside down to hold him by his ankles. “Where do you think you’re going, Mr?”

  He squealed,
giggled, and cried out, “Play. Play.”

  “You can play after you’ve eaten some pizza.” I placed him down once again and gave him my daddy-is-the-boss face. The little monkey glared back, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “It’s okay, sweetie, you can go and play,” Lilah said to Max.

  He didn’t waste a second and ran off.

  “We had a late lunch so he might not be hungry.”

  “It’s seven p.m. If he doesn’t eat now, he’ll be too tired to eat later.”

  She rolled her eyes and dismissed my concern. “It’s fine, Connor.”

  It wasn’t fine. I knew the drill all too well, because she would rather give in to our picky, cranky toddler than to lay down—and stick to—the rules he so desperately needed at his age. She was a decent mum; loving and playful, but she was too soft and never consistent, and it infuriated me. Max needed discipline and boundaries, and he needed his mother and me to work together. Except, I was the one working and she was the one playing.

  “So …” Lilah scooted a little closer and licked pizza oil from her fingers. “I’ve been thinking about us.”

  “Us?” I shot her a confused look but quickly diverted my attention back to Max. I didn’t want to lose sight of him; it only took a second for a child to disappear.

  “Yeah, you, me, and Maxey.”

  “And?”

  “Well … this is nice, don’t you think?” She gestured to the park, to the families playing soccer and throwing sticks for their dogs, to Max playing on the playground, and to us sitting and eating pizza.

  “Sure.” It was a nice park.

  “I want to do this more often. It’s good for Max, and for us.”

  Biting into another slice of pizza, I agreed. “Okay. We can come back to the park again. No probs.”

  She lifted her hand and wiped something from my chin, her finger lingering, her eyes fixed to my lips as her mouth parted. My eyebrows rose, I’d seen that look before.

  Leaning forward, Lilah kissed me, and before she could deepen the kiss any further, I moved back.