Words Left Unsaid (16 page)

“Yeah, well, I look better than I feel.” I grin. “Sorry to turn up without calling or anything.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Though you’ll have to excuse the mess. I wasn’t exactly expecting visitors.” He glances behind him and back into the house, his brow creasing as his cheeks turn a slight shade of red. “How did you get my address?” he adds, curiously.

“Ellie.” I grin.

He leads me into the living room, where I make myself comfortable on an old black leather sofa and I immediately feel at home. I don’t know why, but I was expecting something a little flashier, with modern furnishings, funky artwork, and expensive appliances, but his style is more subdued. Nothing matches, but it all works together.

“Do you want a drink?” he asks, reading my mind.

I nod, and he disappears into the kitchen.

He returns a few minutes later carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Hard day, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah. The mediation. It solved nothing, as I expected.” I let out a bitter laugh. “God, I don’t know why I’m so upset. I expected this.”

“Maybe even though you weren’t expecting things to resolve, a part of you was hoping she’d come to her senses before this went any further?”

“Well, look where that got me.” I rub the bridge of my nose and sigh. “She’s taking him out of the hospital this weekend. I just wish there was some way I could make her see how stupid she’s being.”

“She’s a mother who’s struggling to cope with losing her son,” Max says, his voice gentle. “I’m not supporting her actions in any way, but that doesn’t mean I can’t understand them. He’s her only child?” he asks.

“Yes,” I whisper. A pang of guilt hits me. Am I being selfish and not allowing myself to see things from her point of view? “I guess I see what you’re saying. And after Aiden . . . Tilly is the only piece of her family left.”

“We do irrational things when we’re faced with losing those we love,” Max comments.

I sip my wine, the sharp liquid rolling over my palate as I digest his words.

“Maybe she’ll figure it out before things go too far—maybe she won’t. But eventually she’ll see that all she’s doing is prolonging everyone’s pain. And when she does, for Tilly’s sake, you need to forgive her and move on.”

“When did you get so wise?” I grumble, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Trust me, I’ve had plenty of fuck-ups in my life. I’ve learned a lot from my mistakes.”

“Oh?” I grin, raising my eyebrows. I take another sip of wine, the alcohol beginning to relax me. “Well you can’t just say that and leave me hanging. I want details.”

“Okay,” he says, laughing. “Let me think of something I can say that won’t send you running.” He rubs his jaw and sinks back further into the cushions next to me. “In high school, I had a thing for a girl in my class. I wrote her this seriously mushy love letter. It was bad. Some of the shit in this letter…” he shakes his head, cringing. “I’m embarrassed just thinking about it. So anyway, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, but I gave it to her. The next day, right in the middle of class, her boyfriend—who I didn’t know she was with—stands up and reads the letter to the entire class. I was mortified.”

“Oh, you didn’t,” I gasp, laughing.

“Trust me, I did. It took a whole year for me to live that down, too. And my fuck-ups only got worse from there.”

“Tell me about your relationship with Jules,” I say.

He raises his eyebrows, and my face heats up. He’s never mentioned his ex to me before. The little I know I’ve dragged out of Ellie, who’d forced it out of Grant.

“I thought she was the one,” he admits. He sits forward, cradling his glass in his hands. “We met in college and she was my first serious relationship. We were together for about three years before I proposed.” He laughs, his attention firmly on the rim of the glass as he turns it in his hands. “I went all out with the proposal. I was terrified she was going to say no. But it turned out I didn’t have to worry. She was as excited as I was to spend her life with me. Or so I’d thought.”

“What happened?” I ask gently.

“One day out of the blue, literally a few weeks before the wedding, she comes home and says we need to talk. Those words never end well.” He chuckles. “She told me she couldn’t marry me. She was in love with someone else. She insisted she hadn’t cheated on me, and I respect her for that, I guess, but at the end of the day she didn’t love me.”

“Wow,” I mumble. “That’s harsh.”

“Oh, it gets worse. After our breakup, I find out she’s shacked up with some female colleague. I confronted her about it and she admitted that she’d always been into women, and that she pushed herself into our relationship because she thought her family wouldn’t accept her if she was gay.”

“I can’t even imagine how that would feel,” I say, reaching for his hand.

“Really?” He shakes his head. “God, you’re amazing. You’ve been through so much worse than me, and you’re still able to feel sorry for me? I feel bad complaining about my love life when I think about what you’ve been through.”

“I don’t see it as that different,” I reply. “We both lost people we loved without warning. Neither of us woke up that day expecting it to be the last time we’d kiss our partners, or share the words ‘I love you.’ How is what you went through any less of a tragedy than what I’ve been through?” Even as the words come out of my mouth, I realize I don’t truly believe that. His loss is a loss, sure, but is it comparable to mine?

“Because I should’ve seen the signs. I can’t believe I was so stupid to not see something was up. I thought we were pretty good together.” He laughs. “You have no idea what that does for a guy’s self-esteem. The woman I was planning on spending my life with was into girls, and I had no fucking idea.”

“People who have something to hide are experts at keeping that side of themselves secret,” I say. “What I love about you is you went all in, barriers down for her. Why would you question her love for you? Who wants to be in a relationship where you’re analyzing every little detail, wondering if there is another meaning to it?”

“What you love about me?” He grins. He sits back and turns to face me, his eyes sparkling.

My face heats up. I can’t work out if he’s being serious or winding me up.

“It’s a figure of speech,” I say dryly.

“Is that all it is?” he asks softly.

I swallow hard as his hands edge closer to my face. His fingers gently stroke along my cheek. I sigh, my heart racing at the feel of his touch. He leans closer, his eyes not leaving mine. I can barely breathe, but I don’t move. The only thought running through my mind is how much I want to feel those lips brush against mine.

I lean forward and initiate the kiss. His lips brush against mine and a rush fills my body. I sigh as his fingers caress the side of my face, his deep blue eyes penetrating mine, as though they’re looking for a sign to continue. Closing my eyes, I move my hand to the back of his head, where my fingers roam his soft hair as I pull him gently toward me. Our mouths connect, this time with more urgency, leaving him little room to doubt what I need from him.

“I don’t want to rush you,” he breathes, his soft kisses trailing down my neck.

My heart pounds like it’s beating out of my chest. I want him so badly right now it takes all my resolve to slow myself down and think about things.

Do I want this? Am I ready for this?
I’m honestly not sure of the answers, but I know if I don’t try, I’ll regret it.

In response to his question, I reposition myself so I’m sitting in his lap, his strong hands on either side of my thighs. My body grinds against him, his erection becoming very apparent. I bite my lip trying to hide a smile, loving that I turn him on so much.

As he kisses me again, his fingers work my shirt up over my stomach, his warm skin electric against my own. He lifts the shirt over my head, disposing of it on the floor. Next he reaches behind me and unclips my bra—faster than I could do myself. I narrow my eyes, wondering how many times he’s done this before.

He chuckles as if he can read my mind, and brings my face down for another kiss. The moment those lips press against mine, all my concerns disappear. It’s just me and him—there’s nobody else to think about.

Gently, he rolls the straps of my bra down over my arms, tossing it onto the floor with my shirt. He admires my form, naked from the waist up, his fingers gently trailing over the soft skin of my stomach.

I’ve never felt so exposed, yet strangely I love it. I love the way he looks at me, like nobody else in the world could satisfy his desire. When his hands cup my breasts and he slowly massages them, I groan, an unfamiliar buzz pooling in the pit of my stomach.

“Stand up,” he whispers.

I do so and he sits forward, slowly unbuttoning my jeans, not taking his eyes off mine. I feel the unmistakable sensation of my jeans rolling over my thighs and I shiver with anticipation and nerves about what I know is coming next. “You’re fucking beautiful.”

He stands up and pulls my body against him, his hands firmly clutching my ass. I squeal as my feet leave the safety of the ground, and it takes me a moment to realize that I’m in his arms.

He marches down the hallway with purpose as I wrap my arms around his neck. We move into his bedroom, where he gently lays me down on his bed.

“You’re lucky it was laundry day,” he smirks, stroking the hair away from my eyes. “And that I could be bothered changing the sheets.”

I laugh, his joke calming my nerves as my fingers work their way under the confines of his T-shirt, my hands running over his warm, sculpted chest.

With one hand, he lifts it over his head and tosses it through the air. He positions himself between my legs and props himself up on his arm so he can shrug his way out of his sweatpants.

I whimper softy as his hardness presses against my thigh. My body aches for him, but my mind is a mess of conflicting thoughts that I’m struggling to turn off. His lips meet mine again, his smell intoxicating. My heart craves him but my head is screaming no. Pushing him away, I sit up, my body shaking.

I’m a mess. I’m a fucking mess.

“What is it? Are you okay?” he asks, wrapping his arms around me. I shrug him off, even his touch too much for me at the moment.

“I can’t do this,” I say, my voice cracking. “I’m sorry, but I can’t…”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispers. I jump up and start searching for my clothes. All I know is I have to get out of here. Tears stream down my face as I search frantically for my shirt.

“Kiara, look at me.” He stands in front of me now, his hands around my arms, pulling me upright. My face rises and our eyes meet. The pain feels so raw, and the understanding in his eyes makes me feel worse. “Don’t go. We don’t have to do anything, but I don’t want you leaving like this.”

“How can I stay?” I whimper. I shiver, my knees buckling under me. He lifts me into his arms and carries me over to the bed, covering me with the sheets. I don’t fight it. I’m too tired to fight. Climbing in next to me, his body presses against mine, his arms wrapped protectively around my naked waist. Slowly, the panic begins to pass. The room is silent, apart from the sound of my heavy breathing. Max kisses the back of my neck, not saying a word.

We lay there, entangled in each others arms all night. We don’t speak, because we don’t need to. Nothing needs to be said.

Knowing he’s here for me is all I need.

Chapter Twenty

Max

It’s been over a week since we almost had sex, and while I’ve seen her plenty of times outside of work since then, things aren’t as relaxed as they used to be. I chuckle to myself as I sit down at my desk with a coffee. When have things ever been truly relaxed between us?

It’s Thursday evening, and while I should’ve been home an hour ago, I’m determined to get the rest of this shit done, which will allow me to a weekend without worrying about work. We’re getting close to the end of the school year, which means reports, teacher evaluation meetings, and preparation for the next school year.

On top of all that, I’m racking my mind trying to think of a way to show Kiara how much she means to me. I need her to know I’m willing to wait for as long as it takes for her to be comfortable moving on. The thought of not being with her
at all
…it just isn’t an option.

A plan hatches in my head. I call Grant to see if he can help.

“Yo,” he says, answering my call. “What’s up?”

“I need a favor. I want to surprise Kiara with a weekend away. Would you guys be able to look after Tilly this weekend?”

“Sure, no problem. Good work, man. A romantic getaway will serve you well.” He chuckles. “I guess that means things are going well?”

“They’re not going bad.” I grin. “I don’t want to jinx anything, but I really like her. I’m hoping to show her that by doing something nice to take her mind off things, you know?”

“Yeah. She’s a good girl. I hate that all this is happening to her,” Grant agrees. “She deserves to have some good happen in her life.”

We chat for a few more minutes, and arrange to catch up the following weekend for a drink. Hanging up, I’m excited to start planning our weekend away. Work can wait. I pull out my laptop and load up Google. I have the perfect place in mind.

Set in the hills, the retreat I have in mind offers secluded cabins advertised as perfect for a romantic getaway. The description of the wraparound balcony and huge sunken hot-tub in the living room seal the deal for me. I book us for two nights. In the back of my mind, I’m worried that she’s going to say no. If that turns out to be the case, I guess Grant and I will be sharing a hot-tub.

***

Somehow, I manage to get through the next day without giving the game away. She leaves work on Friday, hinting that maybe she’ll see me over the weekend at some point. I take that as a good sign. Not telling her is proving to be harder than I thought. My plan is to turn up at her house tonight after work and whisk her away, but I’ve always sucked at keeping surprises a secret.

As early as I can drag myself away from my office, I go home and pack. I throw a few things in a bag and quickly have a shower before setting off to pick up Kiara. As I pull up in her driveway, panic is beginning to set in. We’ve been getting closer, but spending a weekend together is a pretty big deal. With all the stress she’s been under, I’m beginning to think putting her on the spot like this wasn’t my smartest idea.

Too late now.

I walk up the path, almost tripping over a pair of pink roller skates and a pink bike, complete with training wheels. My heart is thumping so fast when I knock on the door. She’s going to say no. I can just feel it. I’m the master of bad timing.

She opens the door, her eyes lighting up when she realizes it’s me.

“Hey.” She smiles. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.” She glances around. “Tilly is still up, but I guess you can come in.”

Fuck. I didn’t even think about how my turning up out of nowhere would affect Tilly. I should’ve arranged for Ellie to pick her up beforehand. The last thing I want her to feel is pressured to call us something when she’s not ready. How do you explain to a five-year-old that we’re just seeing where things go?

“Are you sure?” I hesitate.

She takes my hand and drags me inside. “She’s got to get used to you eventually, right?” Her head tilts to the side and a smile slowly builds on her lips.

Her words spur me on. I lean in and give her a quick kiss on the lips. Her grin widens.

We walk inside. I’m crazy nervous about coming out about our relationship to Tilly and how she’ll react. As I walk into the living room, it quickly becomes apparent that I needn’t have worried. She sits cross-legged at the coffee table, surrounded by crayons and a coloring book.

“Hi, Mr. Walker,” she says, looking up from her work.

And that’s it. No explaining why I’m there on a Friday evening, no trying to simplify our relationship into a five-year-old’s language—she just accepts it. I can almost feel the weight lifting off my shoulders.

Kiara crouches down in front of Tilly and asks what she’s drawing.

“It’s a princess,” Tilly explains proudly.

I sit down and listen to them chat for a few minutes until Kiara gets up and joins me.

“That went better than I thought it would,” she whispers. Her eyes are bright and happy, and I can tell that Tilly’s reaction to us was a big concern for her. Her phone pings and she picks it up, reading the message with a confused expression on her face.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Ellie just texted me asking what time I’m dropping Tilly off,” she laughs.

I choke back a chuckle. “About that…I asked Grant and Ellie if they’d look after Tilly for the weekend so I can take you away.”

“Now?” Kiara asks, her eyes wide. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” I say with a grin. “Pack warm and we’ll get going.”

Kiara gets to her feet, looking frazzled. She shakes her head and disappears down the hallway, leaving Tilly and I alone in the living room.

I sit forward and study Tilly’s drawing. “You should add a dragon,” I say decisively.

“A dragon?” she whispers, her eyes wide. “Can you draw me a dragon, Mr. Walker?”

“’Course I can,” I brag, joining her on the floor. I stretch my legs out under the coffee table and reach for a crayon. God, it’s been years since I’ve used a crayon. It kind of makes me miss teaching.

Tilly and I continue coloring as we wait for Kiara to get ready. A few minutes later, she resurfaces carrying two small bags, her face flushed.

“I had no idea what to pack,” she giggles. “Especially since you won’t tell me where we’re going.”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” I grin, getting to my feet.