Broken Chords

by Carrie Elks

  “It was the best.” I smile and nestle into the bedcovers. My hands are clasped together, beneath my cheek. I never want to move.

  “Good.” He does that sexy little smirk with the corner of his mouth. I could eat him up.

  “Did Max wake up?”

  Alex shakes his head. “He slept through. We must have worn him out.”

  “You wore me out.”

  More smirking. “We need to get a bigger flat.”

  “Why?”

  He says nothing. Instead he grabs my hand and pulls it down, until it meets hard, hot flesh. His, of course.

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, oh.” He sighs loudly. “I'm not used to waking up in bed next to a gorgeous woman.”

  This time it's my turn to smile. “I bet your mum brought you in a cup of tea every morning.”

  He groans. “Don't talk about my mum.” He's deflated, in every sense of the word. Which is a good thing, because I can hear Max stirring at the foot of our bed. It won't be long before he starts to stand up in there, demanding attention. Alex is right, we do need a bigger flat.

  One with two bedrooms.

  “We can't afford anything bigger in Shoreditch,” I'm thinking out loud. “We might have to move out East.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Plaistow?”

  I make a face. “Stratford maybe. Or Romford.” It's one thing to move closer to his mum, another to live right on her doorstep. As much as I love Tina, that would drive me crazy.

  “I'll call some estate agents tomorrow.”

  Taking advantage of Max's slow return to wakefulness, I roll over and close my eyes. Alex spoons into me, his arm slung across my waist. It feels so natural, so easy. Very different to the awkwardness of the past few months. The perfect contrast to the arguing, the bitterness.

  He's grown up. We both have.

  “How are you feeling?” he murmurs, lips pressed against my neck. “Have you been to the PND group recently?”

  “I went last week after I heard about Lawrence’s son. I feel so much stronger now, I think I’m going to be okay.”

  His lips press against my skin. “Yeah?”

  “Mm.”

  He runs a finger down my spine, lingering at the sensitive base. “That's a shame. I've got a really good cure for depression.”

  I'm smiling as he says it.

  “All you have to do is swallow three times a day.”

  “Piss off,” I say in good humour.

  “Seriously. It cures everything. Depression, stomach ache, you name it. I'm a walking bloody miracle.”

  “You are.” I reach behind and punch his side. “Now shut up, I'm trying to sleep.”

  “It's good for that to—” His retort's cut off by Max's cry. I watch as he clambers out of bed, boxers slung low around his hips, revealing curling vines that climb up his side. He reaches down, scooping Max into his arms, grinning at his son who smiles toothily back. “Hey, Maxie.”

  The baby’s wails melt into babbles, and he reaches up to grab Alex’s ear, tugging hard enough to bring water to his eyes. I simply sit and watch, pleased that for once I’m not the one bearing the brunt of the injuries. Then Alex carries him back to bed, putting Max between the two of us, so his pudgy soft baby skin is pressed into ours. It’s warm. Smooth.

  “We made this,” Alex whispers, looking over Max’s head and right into my eyes. “The two of us, we did this together.”

  His words choke me enough to fill my throat and wet my eyes. Because he’s right. Max is amazing. He’s everything.

  “The job isn’t done yet,” I say. Max rolls over, grabbing hold of my pyjama top; he scrambles to his knees, ready to lunge. Before he can, Alex sweeps him up again, holding him above us, swooping him up and down like an aeroplane. Love for them both rushes through my body. It marks me, burning me, because they’re my boys, my men. The two people I can’t imagine being without.

  I don’t want to waste a single minute.

  “We’ll never be done. I wouldn’t want to be.” He pulls Max in for a kiss. Dark stubble rubs against chubby cheeks, making Max cry out. His tiny nose wrinkles and he pushes Alex away, indignant.

  When Alex kisses me, there’s no pushing away. No anger, no cries, only the tiniest sigh that escapes my lips, whispering across his own.

  “I love you,” he murmurs.

  “I love you.”

  Max clambers over us, giggling delightedly at this climbing frame made of flesh and bone. Our eyes meet again and I see mirth buried deep beneath the brown, a wrinkle of the skin, a curl of the lips.

  “Shall we stick to the one baby?” I ask.

  Slowly Alex shakes his head. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”

  And though I know it might be years before we have another, I marvel at how far we’ve come. Somehow we’ve made it through the first months of Max’s life by the skin of our teeth. Battered but not broken. It makes me proud. Lucky. Not everybody gets second chances at love, at life. But we’ve got it and we’re taking it, letting life lead us where it wants to.

  And it feels good.

  It feels amazing.

  It’s everything.

  EPILOGUE

  2 months later

  I hold up a chipped mug with the words ‘Aussies do it better’ emblazoned in red across the front. “You want to pack this?”

  David grabs it from my hands. “Of course. It’s my favourite mug.”

  “I’ve never seen it before. And what exactly is it that you do better?”

  “Oh, surfing, sex, life.” He gives me a smile that’s full of happiness. He’s only back for a few days, just long enough to finish packing up his flat. Then everything’s being shipped back to the northern territories. To Mathilda. To home. He’s finally got a custody agreement and he’s chomping at the bit to start it.

  “So…” I wrap glass in bubble wrap and glance across at Max. He’s sound asleep on a pile of cushions. His fingers are bunched in his mouth and he’s slurping rhythmically. “Have you seen Andie since you’ve been back?”

  It’s none of my business, I know that, but I’ll be seeing her on Sunday and I don't know what to say. Since David left six weeks ago she’s not mentioned him once. But there’s been this expression on her face that makes me want to cry. She looks so sad.

  “She won’t talk to me.”

  “Have you tried?”

  He looks resigned. Eyes downcast. “Yeah, I’ve tried calling her. Texting her. I even wrote her a letter. Nothing.” His shrug does nothing to make me feel better. There’s too much emotion bunched in those shoulders.

  “Maybe she needs time.”

  His smile doesn’t meet his eyes. “I’m going to be nearly ten thousand miles away. If she’s not talking to me now, I can’t see that helping much.”

  “Maybe I can talk to her?” I offer.

  He smiles again, bumping his shoulder against mine. “Just because you’re all loved up, doesn’t mean everybody else has to be. You can’t sort out everybody’s lives, Lara.”

  I sigh. “But you were here for me when I needed you. I want to help you in return.”

  “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Well, it should.”

  The door opens and Alex walks in, carrying a corrugated cardboard tray of coffees. Placing it down on the bare table in the middle of the room, he pulls out a Styrofoam cup, passing it to me. As much as I want to carry on the conversation, I know I can’t, because this is Alex’s sister we’re talking about, and Alex is blissfully unaware of her relationship with David. That sort of thing will only ruin the small entente that David and Alex have managed to build.

  I may be nosy, I may be well-meaning, but I’m not an idiot.

  “How’s it going?” Alex asks. “Do you need any more boxes?” We have a stash of them upstairs. It’s in disarray. Half our things are packed, while the other half is in piles where we’ve been trying to empty the drawers and cupboards. Max has been wearing the same three outfits for the past few days. I wash an
d dry them when he’s asleep.

  I don’t care. I’m so excited to finally be moving into a flat with two bedrooms, I’d happily live out of boxes for years.

  “Better than yours, or so I hear.”

  I try not to grin.

  “Kids have a lot of stuff,” Alex says.

  “I know.”

  The two of them exchange a glance. It’s not friendly, exactly, but it isn’t full of ire either. It’s interest mixed with wariness. The type of look two captains from opposing teams give each other right before a match. Shake hands then in for the kill.

  I shudder at the analogy. Maybe it’s better if Andie and David are over. I can’t begin to imagine Alex and David as brothers-in-law.

  Alex passes David a coffee and we all sit and sip, making small talk about Mathilda and about David’s plans for work. He’s hoping to buy a house once he’s back in Darwin.

  Alex is on his best behaviour, hardly sniping or remarking, and I reach my hand out to take his. He squeezes and I squeeze back.

  I love the way he’s become so much more chilled out since we’ve been back together. Both of us have managed to smooth our ups and downs into small hills and dips, rather than the mountains and ravines they were before. It feels as though we’ve overcome the challenge, slayed the beast. Now we get to run off with the virgin and enjoy the spoils of victory.

  Or something like that.

  “I reckon that’s about it,” David finally says. He steps back, running a hand through his over-grown sandy hair. He already looks more Australian. A few weeks back there and his skin has darkened, his hair lightened. It’s as if the sun has stolen any English influence away.

  “You’re all done.” I nod, and for some reason I want to cry. Which is stupid, because we’re moving, too. It’s not as if we were going to be living near him forever.

  “Thanks for the help.” He reaches in to hug me, then shakes Alex’s hand.

  “You’re welcome.” My reply is gruff. I don’t tell him I’m going to miss him, even if I am. And I don’t let him see the tears, even though they want to fall. I simply hug him again, and tell him to keep in touch, smiling when he promises he will.

  When Alex takes us back to the flat, he holds me a little tighter, as if he knows I’m feeling fragile and sad. His lips are soft against mine as he pulls me through the maze of boxes that line our living room, and his words are sweet against my ear.

  “I love you,” he says, swinging me around until I’m pressed against the wall. “Always.”

  And that’s enough for me.

  * * *

  Two Years Later

  “We’re going to need a bigger place.” Alex glances around at the living room. It’s stuffed to the gills with garish toys, plastic primary colours covering every surface. Max knocks down the bricks he’s built, laughing loudly, begging us to “look, look!”

  When we don’t go immediately, he gets up and barrels towards us, throwing himself against me. I stagger back, half-laughing, half-wincing, and Alex kneels down to Max’s height, looking carefully at his son.

  “Max, you need to be careful with Mummy, remember?”

  Max nods seriously. “Yup.”

  “You okay?” Alex glances up at me, reaching up to rub my bump. “Anything hurt?”

  I shake my head. “I’m fine.”

  “Baby.” Max points at me.

  “That’s right, Maxie.” Alex nods, still looking serious. “There’s a little baby in there. Your sister. You need to look after her, all right?”

  Max’s eyes widen. For a moment he looks so much like his daddy. I touch my stomach, wondering if this tiny life is going to be the same. Dark hair, dark eyes, serious smile.

  I hope so.

  “Everything okay?” Tina walks out of the kitchen, carrying a mug full of steaming coffee. “Are you two not off yet?”

  I smile. “We’re saying goodbye to Max.”

  “Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye,” Max sings. I try to work out which of his many favourite programmes that song is from. All of them, maybe.

  “Bye bye. Be good for Nanny.” I lean down and press my lips to his head. He smells of baby shampoo. It’s still one of the best smells in the world. “We’ll try not to be too late.”

  “Take your time,” Tina says, shooing us out. “I’m going to catch up with all my programmes while this little monster sleeps.”

  “Not little monster,” Max protests. “Little boy.”

  “Of course you are, Maxie.”

  Eventually we get away. Alex holds my hand, carrying his guitar case in his other. It swings along as we walk. I get a flashback to the old days, to the way he’d tense up before a gig. Getting angry and cocky.

  The way he’d smoke too much.

  He’s not like that at all, anymore. He hasn’t been since he’s been playing small venues again. Nowadays, it’s only Alex, his guitar and the mic. He says he likes it better this way, prefers the connection with the audience.

  I only care about his connection with me.

  “You okay?” he asks again, looking down at my stomach. “I’m not walking too fast?”

  His concern irritates and gratifies at the same time. I hold on to the gratification and ignore everything else.

  “I’m good, honestly. I’ve got another three weeks yet, anything could happen.”

  He smiles. “We should take advantage while we can.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Before we have another little kid sleeping in our bedroom for months.”

  “Cockblocker.” He grins when he says it, even though I elbow his stomach.

  “Language,” I chide. The smile remains.

  When we get to the pub, it’s already full. He’s become a minor celebrity around these parts. The man who chose art over fame, family over celebrity. A site manager by day and YouTube sensation by night.

  Yeah, he still gets his fix. Although, this time the only hits he gets are on his website, and I’m okay with that.

  I quite like it. It’s kind of sexy.

  “You want a drink?”

  “Can I have a water?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.” He brings it over and chats with me, while slowly sipping a pint of beer, and I feel warmth wrap around my body. The past two years haven’t always been easy, but they’ve been worthwhile. Every time I see him sitting behind the microphone, a big smile on his face as he sings slow and deep, it makes my heart clench.

  Tonight, he’s trying out a new song; a slow melody accompanied by clashing chords. He closes his eyes as he breathes into the microphone, words spilling effortlessly out of his lips and carrying across the room. Though it’s dark I can see the pulse in his neck, the rise of his chest as he takes in some air. And as the song comes to a stop, and he thanks the audience, I notice his eyes locked on mine.

  “Okay?” he mouths.

  I nod, smiling.

  “Stay there.”

  I’ve seen those words before. Mouthed across a crowded room while an audience cheers and sweat pours down his face. And though we’re older, wiser, maybe slightly jaded, they still make me feel things.

  Everything.

  When he reaches me, pulling me up, against his damp chest, I’m still breathy from his performance. He kisses me with warm lips, laughing when the baby kicks him through my stomach.

  “Was it all right?”

  I kiss him back, this time pushing my fingers into his dark hair, while his palms press against my hips. “It was amazing,” I say. “I’m a lucky girl.”

  He laughs. “I’m the lucky one.”

  The baby kicks again, hard enough to make us both jump, and he reaches down to press his hand onto my stomach.

  “The luckiest guy in the world.”

  The End

  ALSO BY CARRIE ELKS

  Coming Down (Love in London #1)

  Fix You

  Sempre Foi Voce (Brazilian Edition)

  COMING SOON

  (Love in London #3)

  If yo
u’d like to get an email when I release a new book, please sign up here:

  http://eepurl.com/GdS8j

  ALSO IN THE LOVE IN LONDON SERIES

  Coming Down (Niall and Beth’s Story)

  Beth finally has her life back on track. A job she loves, a wealthy husband and a beautiful home are a far cry from the tragedy that struck when she was nineteen. But now that her past seems firmly behind her, an old flame walks back into her life. Bringing back painful memories of a time she's worked hard to forget, reviving a passion she tried to bury years before.

  Niall is an up-and-coming artist, recently returned from success in America. Volunteering to teach in an inner-city drug clinic, the last person he expects to see is the girl who broke his heart nine years earlier. Working closely together allows their old wounds to heal, forging a deeper connection between them. One that slowly starts to burn.

  As she becomes tangled up with a neglected child and her drug-addict mother, Beth finds herself drawn to Niall. But neither of them can anticipate how hard it is to tread the thin line between friendship and desire.

  Read on for an excerpt from the first chapters.

  An Excerpt from Coming Down by Carrie Elks

  The night air smells of freshly cut grass and rain. I move through it, my hips undulating to the sound of music that stopped playing an hour ago. Blood fills my veins like thick black treacle, making me feel weightless, dizzy. High.

  The party is over, the rain has seen to that. When the downpour started, everyone ran inside, heading for dorm rooms or calling cabs. I stayed where I was, inclining my face to the sky, letting the rain cool my flesh. It washed away my makeup and the stench of alcohol. It felt so good.

  My clothes are stuck to my body. My hair is plastered to my head, but still I dance. The ecstasy I took earlier hasn’t worn off yet. I feel strong and invincible, as if I’m some kind of goddess.

  I see shoes first—blue Nike Airs sticking out from under a copse of trees. A plume of smoke spirals above the leaves. A few steps closer and I smell it: smoky and sweet. That’s when I see him.