Unspoken Words

by K. M. Golland

  “So you don’t like Meatlovers anymore?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Coke?”

  “No, I didn’t say that either.”

  “So you’re saying you still like what you liked?”

  She pressed her fingers into her temples, a small smile shadowing her frustration. “You’re still very annoying, Connor.”

  “And you’re still very easy to stir.”

  Lifting her napkin once again, she reapplied it to her lap. “Fine. I guess some things don’t change.”

  “No, they don’t.”

  I stared straight into her eyes. Unblinking. Unwavering. My feelings for her were one of those things, and I wanted to tell her that. I wanted to take her hand in mine and trace a heart on her wrist, on the spot I owned. But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to give her a reason to take flight. I had to play this slow. There was no margin for error, so I couldn’t fuck this up.

  Silence fell between us, the only sound to be heard that of metal scraping stone from within the walls of the kitchen.

  “So tell me about this recording contract,” Ellie said, breaking eye contact. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you yesterday because … well … I was in shock, but I’m very excited for you. And proud. Sony is a massive achievement.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How did it all come about?”

  “Right time, right place, I guess.”

  “Really? How so?”

  Her interest seemed genuine; it gave me hope. “There’s an open mic night where I used to teach guitar—”

  She stopped fidgeting with her napkin and smiled a little. “You taught guitar?”

  “Yeah, mostly school kids. Some adults too.”

  “Do you still teach?”

  “No. Unfortunately, I haven’t had time. And offering lessons every now and again isn’t fair to my students. They need consistency.”

  She nodded her agreement.

  “Anyway, the venue I taught at doubled as an open mic night on a Thursday and Saturday. I often performed to encourage my students to do the same and step out of their comfort zones. Then one night, unbeknown to myself and my boss, Sony sent a talent scout to watch, and the rest is history.”

  “Wow!” Her face lit up and the sight of it near knocked me off my seat. Those eyes; that damn emerald sparkle. It had haunted my sleep every night since she’d left and now it was here, right in front of me once again, and I’d made her do it.

  “Yeah.” I choked as I swallowed. “I’m still kicking myself.”

  “Well, don’t kick too hard. You’re very talented. You always were.”

  Unable to help myself any longer, I reached across the table for her hand, heat crawling over my skin when our fingers touched. “That means a lot, Ellie.”

  She jolted, as if I’d given her an electric shock, and retracted her hand, her cheeks almost as red as her hair used to be. “Um … so, the contract … is it for one album, two albums? How many songs?” She fidgeted in her seat, the hand I just touched awkwardly resting by her ear.

  “One album, twelve songs. I’ve also negotiated the option to include three acoustic versions of selected material.”

  “Impressive. What have you completed already?”

  “Ever After, The Fall—”

  Her hand fell to her lap. “Ever After? You’re going to record and release Ever After?”

  “Yeah. If that’s okay with you?”

  She shook her head as if to shake away what I’d just said. “Of … of course. It’s your song.”

  From the corner of my eye, I noticed Anthony approach, a drink tray balanced at head height on one hand. “One Coke for the pretty lady,” he said, politely interrupting as he placed a glass in front of Ellie and poured her drink. “And one for the handsome man,” he added, repeating the same process for me.

  Ellie smiled at Anthony, and I internally high-fived him for lightening the mood.

  “I’ll be back soon with your meals, yes?”

  We thanked him before I continued our conversation. “It’s your song, Ellie, not mine. I wrote Ever After for you.”

  She picked up her glass, and I watched her glossy lips wrap around the straw, the motion stirring my dick. It had felt like a lifetime since a woman had turned me on, and she managed to do it so easily. Faaaaark.

  I dropped my hand below the table and gave myself a quick inconspicuous readjustment while focussing on the red and white chequered tablecloth. Red squares. White Squares. Red squares. White Squares. There was nothing remotely sexy about them.

  Ellie paused sipping her drink. “Technically, Connor, you own the copyright, so it’s your song, not mine.”

  “It’s your song. Always was, always will be. End of story.” I lifted my glass and took a swig. “So feel free to say no to me recording it, or suggest any changes it may need—”

  “It doesn’t need anything. What you sang over the phone last night was raw, honest, and perfect. Don’t decorate it any further. Leave it as is.”

  I swallowed my drink and nearly choked again with emotion as words I didn’t want to say too soon tumbled from my mouth, because they were true and needed to be said. “You’re so beautiful.”

  Her eyes instantly welled with tears, but she blinked them away just as quickly as they’d come. “Please don’t.”

  “Don’t what? Tell you you’re beautiful?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you are. I may not be used to the blonde, but you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, inside and out.”

  “Connor, stop.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re making me feel uncomfortable.”

  I raised my hands in defeat. “Okay. I’ll keep my compliments to myself.”

  “Thank you.”

  As if he couldn’t have timed it more perfectly, Anthony approached once again, this time with a large pizza tray. “Buon Appetito,” he said, placing it in the centre of the table.

  He stood back and scrubbed his hands together with pride.

  “Yummmm.” She licked her lips. “This looks great!”

  The sight of her tongue, wet, silky, and smooth made me adjust myself for a second time. I wanted to lick her lips too. It had been so long, and I’d almost forgotten what they tasted like.

  Reaching forward, I manoeuvred a slice free for her. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” She shovelled it into her mouth, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “What? I’m starved,” she mumbled.

  “Even beautiful when mowing down a pizza like a warthog.”

  One of her eyebrows cocked and she stopped chewing.

  “Hey!” I raised my free hand in defence. “That wasn’t a compliment. Warthogs are hideous.”

  The pizza crust she’d just been gnawing all of a sudden became airborne before it plummeted to the plate, her shoulders bouncing, emerald eyes once again sparkling like they had many years ago. Everything but Ellie in that moment stopped: the world around us, time, my heartbeat. It all just ceased to be at the sight and sound of her laughing, and I used the moment to take it all in, gasping when I realised it was time to breathe.

  Ellie’s laughter died down, and she sighed. “Connor, why are we here? Why am I here?”

  I broke eye contact and picked up a slice of pizza. “Because this album is great, really great, and with your help, it’s going to be fucking amazing. I just know it.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  “Honestly? For now, yes.”

  “For now?”

  Rocking back on my chair, I eyed her with intent. “Yes. For now, I want to work with you, our talents side by side.”

  “I see. And after?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  She pursed her lips and rubbed her temple.

  “Look, the last thing I’m going to do is lie to you. You deserve better than that. So, yeah, for now, that’s why you’re here.”

  “In that c
ase,” she said, picking up a piece of pineapple with her fingertips and popping it into her mouth, “yes, I will work with you. For now. As a trial.”

  I smiled, or perhaps smirked, because if I played my cards right, for now would become ever after.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ellie

  “You idiot. What did you just agree to?” I stared at my dumbfounded reflection in the mirror before flicking the tap on and washing my hands. “A carnival in Hell, that’s what, with little red naked demons juggling fire sticks while swinging from the rafters, and the devil himself—the ringmaster—seated centre stage with an appetising platter of forbidden fruit. And don’t get me started on the fucking clowns.”

  The door to the restaurant bathroom swung open, so I quickly stopped berating myself and dried my hands, watching as an elderly lady hobbled in, discomfort pinching her wrinkled brows.

  “Here, let me hold that for you,” I offered, smiling as I reached out and clasped the door.

  “Thanks, dear. My bladder isn’t what it used to be.”

  I chuckled. “Not a problem at all.”

  She made her way into a stall while I performed one final check of my hair and makeup, my new blonde do pinned back with a clip shaped as a butterfly. Admittedly, I’d always wanted to die my carrot top, but what I’d gone and done at Byron’s suggestion was now undeniably excessive—Madonna Blonde Ambition Tour excessive.

  Connor probably hates it. I pulled a face and poked any loose tendrils behind my ears. Who cares if he hates it? It doesn’t matter. Byron mattered. I mattered. Oh my God, why am I even thinking this?

  My reflection cocked an eyebrow and answered the question for me, “Because you still love him. You always have and you always will.” Pfft. My reflection knew jack shit. Sure, I’d always care for Connor despite what we’d been through, but that was all it would ever be—a deep fondness forged by a strong friendship.

  “You keep telling yourself that,” my reflection added. “That surge of electricity that coursed through your body when he touched your hand … yeah, I felt it, and I know you felt it too. All those memories. All those times you were together, in love and in lust.”

  “No, no, no, no. NO.” I stared my reflection down, ready to slap her if need be.

  “Is everything all right out there, dear?”

  Huh? Oh, shit! The little old lady. “Y—Yes. Everything is fine. I just … er … I just smudged my lip gloss.”

  “Don’t you worry your pretty little self about that,” she said over the flush of the toilet. The door of her stall swung open, and she stepped out, rearranging her floral dress. “There are far worse things than smudged lip gloss.”

  I nodded my agreement and pretended to fix my lip gloss by dabbing at my lips. “Yes, you’re right. There are far worse things.”

  Like falling back in love with the ex who shattered your heart.

  After holding the door open for her to leave, I stopped behind a brick wall pillar, a faded photo of the Colosseum nailed to the mortar. I could see Connor sitting at our table, his fingers tapping a beat onto the chequered tablecloth as he waited for me to return. He was comfortably outstretched and comfortably edible. A grown man with a tall, lean, well-defined grown-man body.

  Heat travelled the length of my spine as my eyes roamed him from top to toe. His hair was still chin-length and stylishly dishevelled, more brown than copper but still one of his best features. My fingers itched to touch it, but only for a split second, and only for old time’s sake.

  Shaking my body like an Olympic swimmer does before they dive into the pool, I tried to rid myself of the ridiculous thoughts in my mind when Anthony rounded the pillar.

  “Ahh, Bella. You like to dance?”

  He went to place his serving tray down, which is when I realised “O Sole mio” was playing.

  “Oh no! No, no.” I laughed albeit awkwardly. “I don’t dance. I was just … stretching.”

  “Stretching, eh?”

  “Yes, stretching.” I reached toward the ceiling for added effect. “See?”

  He chuckled and wandered off, mumbling Italian as he went.

  What are you doing, Eloise? Stop being stupid. Go sit back down and do what you came here to do, to discuss your job.

  Making my way back to the table, I couldn’t avoid looking at how Connor’s t-shirt clung to the muscles of his abdomen and biceps, the hint of tattooed ink creeping out from underneath the black material.

  “You got a tattoo?” I said, nodding toward it.

  He lifted the sleeve of his t-shirt to reveal an ampersand. “I did.”

  I cocked my head, curious. “An ‘and’ symbol?” It was an unusual tattoo to have, especially for a guy. “I was expecting a skeleton, or perhaps something music related.”

  “It’s a broken infinity.” He ran his finger over it. “A broken ever after.”

  I blinked, barely able to speak. “A broken ever after?”

  “Yeah. But it’s also an ‘And’. You know, to symbolise more.”

  For quite possibly the tenth or one-hundredth time in my life, Connor Bourke stole my air, and I slowly lowered myself to sit at the table, unlatching my watchband to show him the small heart I had tattooed on my wrist. “I trace it when I miss you the most,” I admitted, tears blurring my vision.

  His warm, soft fingers brushed the ink. “Ellie, I’m so sor—”

  “Don’t.” I retracted my hand and secured my watch. “I can’t do this here.”

  “Then let’s go somewhere else and get this over with.”

  “What?”

  “We need to talk. You need to yell. I need to let you yell. And then we both need to cry and hold each other.”

  “But, Connor—”

  He took my hands and pulled me back onto my feet. “Come on. It’s long overdue.”

  We pulled up outside an old but cute weatherboard home, and I followed Connor along a small path until he was sliding his key into the lock of his front door.

  “So this is your house, huh?”

  He stepped inside and held the door open for me. “Yep. This is me and Maxey.”

  I went to enter but paused when a ray of sunlight shone through the stained glass feature of the door, illuminating a trout splashing out of the water. I laughed. “Hey, that looks like Trevor.”

  Connor shrugged somewhat sheepishly. “That is Trevor.”

  “What?” My eyes met his.

  He touched the trout with a sweet fondness. “I kiss it when I miss you the most.”

  I whacked his smartarse arm but couldn’t help smiling. “You do not.”

  He chuckled. “You’re right, I don’t. But I smile every time I open and close the door because he’s a little piece of you I get to see every day.”

  My chest seized at his words, tight and heavy, my heart thumping quick and strong. It was all too much, seeing him again—the memories, the love, the hurt, and the shame. I didn’t know how much more of it I could relive before I crumbled before him. I’d tucked everything that was Connor and I into a box and buried it deep within. No key. No map. It wasn’t supposed to resurface. It wasn’t supposed to be found, least of all by me.

  So I diverted my gaze from his and kept moving along his entryway only to find adult boots paired on the floor next to toddler boots, another gut-punching reminder of his life—the life he was meant to live with me.

  Taking in a deep breath, I exhaled slowly and moved farther into his house, mentally bracing myself for the conversation we were about to have. Wounds would soon be reopened and new ones created, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that or if it was the right thing to do. We’d both moved on, created new lives, and I now realised that some things were better left unsaid.

  He’d taught me that.

  “Just through here is the kitchen and lounge room.” Connor directed me into another room and, all of a sudden, I felt intrusive.

  He had the bare minimum of furniture: a black leather sofa, TV, stereo, and a coffee table. Th
e style was a typical bachelor pad apart from a toddler table and chairs, and bursts of coloured toys in tubs neatly stacked in the corner.

  “Take a seat.” He plumped a cushion for me. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “A water would be good.”

  Connor disappeared behind a wall, and I heard a refrigerator open and close together with the clang of glasses.

  “Do you prefer tap or bottled?” he called out.

  “Either is fine.” I smoothed my hands along my lap, needing to busy them. It was something I did when I was nervous. I don’t belong here. Why am I here?

  This room, his house … I wasn’t supposed to be in it. I wasn’t a part of his life anymore and sitting among family photos and kindergarten handprint paintings only heightened my anxiety, as if I were an imposter ready to destroy it all.

  I shifted uncomfortably, which was when I noticed a photo to my right of a dark-haired, midnight-eyed little boy sitting on a ride-on tractor, dimples beaming from his adorable cheeks. He was Connor all over despite the rich, stygian hues of his mother and uncle.

  Taking hold of the frame, I brushed off a light film of dust just as Connor entered the room, holding two glasses of water.

  “This is Max?” I asked, my throat dry.

  “Yeah.” Connor smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. I sensed it was because he feared my reaction, and that was disheartening. Max was his son, his pride and joy, and he should be able to openly show that without fear of upsetting me.

  “He’s gorgeous. I can see you in him.”

  “Really?” Connor handed me my water. “Mum thinks he looks like Lila—”

  I choked, her name a shard of ice in my throat. “Yes, I can see you both.”

  “Sorry, Ellie. I didn’t mean—”

  “Didn’t mean what …” I took a sip, “to speak the truth? Don’t be silly.” I put down the picture and smoothed my hand over my lap again. “So where is Max now?”

  “He’s at kinder. I dropped him off this morning, and his mother will pick him up. He’ll stay with her until next Thursday and then I get him for a week.”

  “So you get him for a week every fortnight?”