Unspoken (The Woodlands)

by Jen Frederick

  It didn’t make sense to me. I hadn’t wanted him to leave, but I never got a chance to say so. Instead, Bo just disappeared. He didn’t come to class. He didn’t return my phone calls. But he kept on singing about all the changes he was going to make. Other doors or windows in the apartment complex opened and invectives were released.

  “Shut up!”

  “This isn’t the place for losers to audition for American Idol.”

  “If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to come down and shut your mouth for you.”

  But still Bo wouldn’t stop singing. I held up my hand and both the awful singing and the guitar playing stopped. “If I let you come up, will you stop torturing my neighbors?”

  “I will,” Bo said into the microphone.

  “You’d better come inside then, or we’ll get kicked out.”

  Bo jumped down off the car and held out a hand to Adam. They slapped their hands together, and Adam got into Bo’s car and drove away. Instead of going to the front door like a rational human being, Bo vaulted onto the first-floor fence and swung his way onto the second-floor balcony and then the third floor.

  “You’re a crazy person, Bo Randolph.”

  “But you love me anyway?” He spread out his gloved hands in front of me, trying for innocent schoolboy but not quite pulling it off.

  “I guess so.” I sighed and turned to go back into the apartment. Inside, I felt all shivery. Love? Did he really love me? Bo followed me inside, locked the door, and pulled the shades.

  “Your security here is really bad,” Bo noted, trailing me into my bedroom.

  “I don’t think anyone else is going to scale the walls to get into our apartment,” I said dryly.

  “Still, I think it makes sense, from a safety standpoint, to sleep here every night.”

  “From a safety standpoint?” I asked, dropping the blanket and starting to help Bo out of jacket and gloves.

  “Yeah, don’t want the owners to get sued for unsafe premises.” Bo allowed me to unzip, unbuckle, and unsnap.

  “That would seem to be something that would jeopardize my lease,” I agreed. “I like living here, with Ellie, and across from Sasha.”

  I pushed his jacket off and ran my hands across the uneven texture of his thermal shirt, lightly kneading the muscles underneath.

  “No, we wouldn’t want to do anything that would create unnecessary friction,” Bo murmured, a hitch in his breath as I dragged my nails down his chest to his belt buckle, but before I could undo the fasteners, Bo grabbed my hand.

  “We need to talk.”

  Four of the most hated words in the English language. I knew we should talk, but I didn’t want to, which was why I was trying to undress Bo before either of us thought too long and hard about this. Was this a precursor to him telling me we were done? That he just wanted to be friends? That it was him and not me? I bent to grab the blanket and wrapped it around me like the fibers and threads could somehow prevent his words from hurting me.

  “I was scared I was going to hit you,” Bo confessed. His admission cut me off at the knees and I had to sit down.

  “You wanted to hit me?”

  “No!” Bo exclaimed. He squeezed the back of his neck with one hand and covered his eyes with the other. “After I struck the wall, I saw you look at me. With fear. Like I was going to hit you. And I ran away. I found a fight, or several, and I used those guys to beat out every ounce of feeling inside of me, but each time they hit me or I hit them, I kept thinking of you.” He dropped to his knees in front of me. “I was afraid for you, for me.”

  “Because your dad hit your mom?” I guessed.

  Bo reared back onto his haunches. “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t, but it was the only thought that made sense to me.” I smoothed a hand over his shoulder. “I never thought you’d hit me. It was an emotional night. I was just taken off guard.”

  Bo rocked forward and dropped his head in his hands. “I’m so screwed up, AM. I don’t know why you’d want to be with me. I’m not sure when dear old Dad started beating my mom, but I remember the first time I caught him doing it. I was at Little League and had gotten sick to my stomach. One of the coaches drove me home early. I came in and Dad was hitting my mom with his belt, across her arms, her chest, her legs. She was just sitting there, curled up in a kitchen chair. His face was red and each blow seemed to fire his rage hotter and harder.” Bo’s tone hadn’t changed, but his breathing was becoming choppy, faster, as if he were reliving the moment. His eyes stared, unseeing. I kept stroking his shoulder even though I really wanted to hug him to me. I bit hard into my tongue to keep my tears from falling. If the ducts were unleashed, I was afraid I’d fill the room with my tears.

  “I launched myself at him and felt the sharp end of the belt across my face for my efforts. I was bruised for days. I can still hear the whistle as the fucker swung the thing through the air.” Bo lifted a hand up to his temple as if remembering the blow.

  “What did they say, your parents?”

  “Nothing. My dad sent my mom up to her room, like she was a disobedient child. Then he turned to me and said I wasn’t to ever to come between them again like that. It was his right as the man of the household. What did I know? I was a motherfucking ten-year-old.”

  “Did he stop?” I knew he hadn’t, or Bo wouldn’t be so torn up by this, but I asked anyway, hoping.

  Bo shook his head. “No. I didn’t see it often, but I could tell by how my mother moved, tenderly, cautiously, if she’d had a beating. I don’t ever know what she did to deserve it.”

  Nothing. But Bo knew that, I’m sure. I stroked his head, smoothing down the strands of his hair.

  “I’ve never felt like you’d ever hit me, Bo, but maybe you’ve got to stop letting physicality be your first response, no matter how instinctive it is.”

  “Yeah, I know. That was some bullshit I spouted to you, wasn’t it?” Bo leaned his head against my leg, as if in need of comfort.

  “Violence is part of history, but I understand that you don’t want it to control you.”

  “No, that’s right.” Bo sighed, and allowed more of his weight to rest against me.

  “I won’t transfer because my father went here and his father before him. It’s the only legacy I have of him.” With this, Bo drew back away from me and I felt the ache I’d been battling with tears, liquor, and ice cream invade me once again.

  “This is the first time you’ve ever spoken to me about your dad.”

  “He’s not really my dad,” I explained. “He’s just my mother’s lover. She’s the ‘other woman,’ you see.” At Bo’s look of incomprehension, I said, “My mom’s his mistress. He has a legitimate family with two perfect and legitimate children. They’re about ten years older than I am. They were Central alums, too.”

  The more I spoke, the more Bo understood, compassion flooding his expression.

  “He pays for me to go here, but I felt like he’d rather I didn’t exist. My mom has never held a job for as long as I can remember, and she survives on the gifts he gives her. I was afraid that if he knew of the rumors about me, that he might just cut me off or, worse, cut her off.”

  “Your dad might rival mine for the Darth Vader award,” Bo said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Worst dad ever,” he explained. “You aren’t afraid anymore?”

  “No, I don’t think so. He called me just the other day and we kind of talked for the first time.” Even I could hear the wonder in my voice. “My mom’s convinced that if we just spend some time together, we could get along better.”

  “Sunshine, I wouldn’t want to spend time with him either. It’s a wonder you don’t hate all penises after what’s gone on.”

  I shook my head. “When I was a kid, my mom always told me to be careful with my reputation. Never do anything that would call attention to myself. Keep my head down. As I got older, I understood better, but I never fully comprehended what she must feel like in our small
town until I came to Central. Leaving Central would be like giving up or something. I figured that even if Roger didn’t want to acknowledge me, I’d take this opportunity to get a degree from a great college, and I’d be a success,” I declared.

  Bo took my hand. “I believe it. I believe you.” He squeezed my fingers and bent to press kisses on the tops of my legs. “Do you know why I think we’re going to make it when others don’t? Because you don’t let me get away with any bullshit, and I’ll keep you from going too far into your own head. Plus I know all your dark secrets and you know mine and we still feel the same about each other.”

  “Is that right?” I said, almost giddy with his affirmation.

  “Yes,” he replied firmly. “And pretty much twenty-four-seven I’m thinking about boning you.”

  “Goddammit, Bo.” I pushed him so he rocked back.

  He laughed. “See—no bullshit.” He slipped his arms around my waist and pulled me onto the floor with him. “You have no idea. Whenever I see something even halfway interesting, I turn to tell you, share it with you. Nothing makes sense unless you’ve seen it, too. That’s how far you’ve crawled into me. I’m sorry for running away. I’m sorry for being afraid. I’m sorry your dad is a dickhead. But together, you and I, we can do this.”

  He stood and picked me up to carry me the short distance to the bed. He took off his shirt, pulling it over his head with one hand. His undressing was too hurried for my taste, but I liked to cut my wrapping paper off and carefully preserve it. I would have liked a slower reveal so I could savor the body underneath, all sinewy muscle. The bruises of his fight had purpled, but he moved like he couldn’t feel them. Hard-edged hipbones jutted out over jeans, which rode dangerously low on his hips. His thighs were powerful and his calves lean. His abdomen was ridged and defined so sharply that I often wondered how I didn’t cut my tongue on the edge as I swept it along the ridges and valleys. The light smattering of hair on his chest arrowed down to a single line of darker golden hair leading straight into his jeans and under his boxers.

  I noticed his hands had stopped on his jeans, in the processing of unzipping them. I swung my eyes upward and met his. They were gleaming with amusement. But he said nothing. He didn’t have to. I smiled a bit ruefully and waggled my eyebrows, acknowledging I’d been caught, but my gaze drifted down to his hands again and another time, maybe Bo would have played it up for me, grabbed himself. Stroked himself.

  I remembered where he liked to be touched, remembered the day I’d learned. Sitting in my chair, with the afternoon light caressing him, he’d run my hand over his body, pressing lightly at his most sensitive spots and groaning audibly to let me know when he wanted my touch heavier, tighter. The vision of his head tipped back in pleasure was burned into my memory. I don’t know that it could ever be excised. Or that I could ever have enough of him. I raised the blanket to invite him in when he’d disrobed, nude as always.

  He slipped in next to me, sliding an arm under my neck and pulling my head onto his chest. The fingers of one hand stroked through my hair. The other he wrapped around my cheek and chin so he could tilt my face upward. He pressed his lips hard against mine, his tongue plunging forward. I gripped his shoulders and he dropped his hand from my hair, wrapping it around my back. I could feel the heat of his body, the protectiveness of his embrace. His mouth was wide and open, eating at my mouth, my lips.

  When he finally pulled away, I felt dazed. Like he’d consumed part of me with that kiss.

  Bo’s hand traveled from my face and ran slowly down my arm, raising the flesh and making me shiver. He bent his head toward me, biting me softly between my neck and shoulder. He laved the bite mark and moved up my neck, alternating nips and licks. He slid a hand down the front of my jeans and pressed his fingers hard against my clit. His fingertips rested near my opening. He began to rub me, gently but with firm pressure. I could feel my body lubricating his fingers.

  Our heavy breaths filled the night air. I was so close to succumbing. My nails raked up his back, and I could feel the play of his muscles responding to my attention. I wished I could see his body in the moonlight, watch the beams caress every dip and hollow.

  We shoved my jeans off together, a mix of hands and feet until I was as nude as he was.

  I pushed him backward and laid my tongue against his pectoral. I kissed and licked my way across the acres of moonlit skin. I rubbed myself against his chest, abrading my nipples against his chest. His fingers still stroked me, readying me for his intrusion.

  He lifted his already-covered cock and positioned the tip between us. I lifted my hips to accommodate him and sank down slowly, allowing my body to accustom itself to his girth. Even though I’d had him before, my body still acted surprised and shy. He placed both hands on my hips and pushed upward.

  I gasped.

  “You all right, Sunshine?”

  “Yes,” I groaned out, “keep going,” and I moved around on his shaft. He took over, pushing hard into me. I allowed him to control the pace, but it wasn’t enough, and soon he’d flipped me underneath him, dipping a hand between the two of us and rubbing me hard while thrusting swiftly. His skin was pulled tight over his bones and he looked like a fierce hawk at that moment, the hard planes highlighted by shadows.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  AM

  “WHAT’S THIS?” I ASKED, PULLING a round, heavy object from the mishmash of coins, keys, and bottle caps that represented the contents of his pockets. He’d dumped it all on my dresser before pulling off his jeans, as was his regular habit. After taking a bathroom break, I wandered over to look at the collection.

  Bo sat up and the blankets pooled around his waist, leaving his chest bare. The morning light peeked through the shades. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath, afraid he would disappear, until he threw back the covers and climbed out, uncaring that he was naked. I stared at his obvious arousal, a flush of heat and embarrassment mixing to bring color to my cheeks and the tops of my breasts.

  Following my gaze, he looked down and then up to grin unrepentantly at me. Spreading his arms, he said, “What can I say? You turn me on.”

  “I think a stiff wind would turn you on,” I mocked, trying to hide my own pleasure at this thought.

  His arms wrapped around me, and I felt his erection press against my side. “This is all yours, stiff wind or no. You can’t expect me to wake up in your bed, surrounded by the smell of us, you looking all rosy and hot, and not get a stiffy.”

  He sat on my chair and pulled me down facing him. As always, he arranged me to his liking. My legs over his, straddling him. The tip of his morning wood pressing lightly against me. I squirmed a little, the light pressure turning me on more than I thought it would. Had I thought it’d been good with old what’s-his-name? I didn’t know what good was.

  Bo tossed the coin in the air a couple times as if considering its value.

  “It’s a challenge coin. A challenge coin is something that an officer or, I guess, anyone can have minted. It’s given to people, usually in the military, to inspire. I was just finishing Basic and a guy comes up to me, really random, and hands me this coin. I could tell by the look of him that he’s a BAMF. He has two prosthetics on his legs, from right above the knee down to the foot. “

  “BAMF?”

  “Bad ass mother fucker.”

  “Does every military acronym include a curse word?”

  “Yes and if it doesn’t, you add the F and it’s all better.” Bo pressed my head against his chest and resumed his story. I took it as a request to be quiet. “I didn’t recognize straight off who it was or what I was receiving. I just saluted, and said, ‘Thank you, sir.’ With all the shit that was going on with packing up and returning home, I didn’t remember the coin in my pocket until I was unpacking the dress blues at home. I pulled it out, and it has the Medal of Honor emblem on it. I knew immediately who it was then. I didn’t know how to get a hold of this guy, but when I get to SOI, School of Infantry, I ask my comm
anding officer, who sends me all the way up to battalion command.

  “I’m a POG, the lowest of the low in the Marines, and I’m nearly shitting my pants standing in front of the LT. He asks to see my coin. I hand it over. He fingers it for what seems like an eternity, then hands it back. Tells me I’m dismissed and doesn’t say another word.”

  “So he doesn’t tell you who it is?” I asked.

  “Nope. At the end of the five weeks, we’re at a bar, just off the Camp San Onofre base. In walks the battalion commander and every officer underneath him. They walk up to the bar. Pull out these coins and slam them down. Everyone else in the place rushes to the bar and slaps their coin, if they have one, on the table. LT looks at me and tells me to pull out my coin. I don’t even know why I have it but I do. I carried it everywhere. LT passes the coin down and without a word everyone looks at it and passes it back. The LT calls for a round for the bar.

  “Then he tells me about how this guy earned his Medal of Honor. He was on patrol and his squad comes under heavy fire. His squad leader falls. This guy covers the squad leader with his body, all the while discharging his weapon accurately and killing several insurgents. He single-handedly saves other members of the squad from being killed and pushes another out of the way of incoming artillery, the last action resulting in injuries so serious that it requires the double amputation of his legs above the knee.

  “LT tells me that he contacted the MoH recipient and asked him why the hell he would have given one of his challenge coins to a sorry-assed Marine such as me. The response? That inspiration should be given to those who are trying as well as those who succeed.

  “I wasn’t the best Marine at that point or throughout my enlistment, but—” He fell silent. I left my head resting against his chest, enjoying the rise and fall against his chest as he took easy, even breaths.