Page 32 of Higher Ground
Emory and Byron jumped apart at the sound. She stared at him for a while, unmoving, before Clayton called down the hall again. Emory’s mouth dropped open, and Byron thought she might have said something, but instead she turned on her heel and raced toward her son.
Chapter 15
Emory
Groaning, Emory dropped her head into her hands, then lower until it rested atop the books she had spread over the dining table. Instrumental tunes blasted into one ear, but it did little to drown out the clanging of Clayton’s toys as he occupied himself in the living room. She felt as though they were taking up the whole house.
If Byron was still down this end of the house, she might have felt awkward, pulling out all her university texts. It wasn’t as though she had tried to hide her studies from Byron. They’d just … never come up in conversation. She was always honest when she picked Clayton up, so he knew she spent a lot of time at the library, but Emory was always quick to change the subject, and Byron had never prodded for more information. He either wasn’t interested or was too afraid of the answer.
But if Emory had any hope of getting her last assignments finished while they were trapped here, she might have to ask for help. Clayton continued to use the toy cars and blocks as musical instruments, and the noise made it impossible to concentrate. Her second earbud wasright thereon the table in front of her,but she didn’t dare put it in. For something so small, they did an impressive job at blocking out surrounding noise, and she did actually need to hear Clayton in case he called for her. She took the one in her ear out, dropping it next to its sibling.
Byron had escaped down the hall shortly after breakfast, and she hadn’t seen him since. She thought they might have shared a moment down there, the previous day. But an odd silence had lingered between them all afternoon and long into the night. And although Byron had cooked breakfast again, as was becoming the norm, it seemed all the things they left unsaid and undone still hung about in the air.
It was probably her turn to cook a meal by now, but every time she came close to starting, Byron was already there. Chopping vegetables or frying bacon, and every time she offered to help, he would shoo her away. It was nice, being looked after for once. She could get used to having her meals cooked for her.
But then again, she couldn’t. She shouldn’t. The books spread around her were a glaring reminder that no matter how trapped they might be right now, this whole situation with Byron was nothing more than a temporary hiccup. She’d have to remind her heart of that. The silly little thing was getting all racy now. Anticipation flooded her veins, and even though Byron wasn’t in the room, she knew it was his house she was making herself at home in. Her body remembered the searing heat that coursed through her at all the not-so-subtle glances he threw her way. They’d made an unspoken agreement, in a way. Both of them well aware of the attraction they shared. It seemed like it was a matter of when, not if, they gave in to the temptation.
Leaning back in her chair, Emory stretched her arms high above her head and rolled out her neck. The hard wooden chair was making her butt numb. She wriggled in her seat, scooping her legs up underneath her before picking up one of the heavy texts she had laid out. The bright cover was deceptive. It madethe book seem appealing, but it was mind-numbing. ‘Marketing Principles for Social Media Management’; even the title made her yawn. Mya had ordered this one and the rest of the books on the table, down from the state library in Sydney, just for Emory, but that didn’t make it any easier to digest. If anything, it made it worse because Emory knew her friend would remember. She was sure to get a message any day now. “Hope those books are helpful,” it would read, and Emory would be obliged to say thanks, again.
She was thankful, truthfully, but that didn’t make it any easier to find them useful or entertaining. All she wanted was to be done with the last of her assignments so she could start applying for graduate programs. Then a trip to the rural university a few towns over for her final exams and … done. She would graduate and finally,finally, have her ticket out of this town. The thought thrilled her. Not just the moving to the city but thefinishing. She’d started her degree a year out from school, but two years in, she’d been swept away by Jaxon’s charm. That thought had bile rising in her throat. But no matter. After the hardest, earliest months of Clayton’s little life, Emory had realised returning to her degree was what she needed. She applied for a remote—and part time—tuition, and thankfully, most of her credits were still valid, so she didn’t have to repeat too many units. It was all coming along nicely.
All except this final essay. Emory ran a hand through her hair, pulling at the knots slowly forming in the split ends that were far overdue for a trim. She just needed one more solid reference to help her argue her point. Because God forbid someone completing an undergraduate degree should have an original thought. Flicking through pages, she looked for any cues that the author might, maybe, almost, agree with her that social media was an ever-changing, always moving beast that a business could never really keep up with.
Words blurred on the page as Clayton’s banging and shouting droned on. She had no idea what he was playing, but he still hadn’t demanded her attention, and a quick glance—she didn’t dare attempt anything more than that—showed her his mess was still contained to the living room. So, it was fine. Just noisy and annoying.
She gave up, throwing the book back on the table with athudof her own. Clayton didn’t even look up as she huffed, he just continued right on using the coffee table as a drum and a toy car as his drumstick.
Emory moved quickly into the kitchen, opening the pantry door and hiding behind it. There had to be something good in there. Scanning the shelves, she found it. Perfect. Well, almost perfect. She’d have to remind Byron that chocolate belongs in the fridge, but the packet of Tim Tams on the highest shelf was practically calling her name.
She moved slow as she opened the packet, peeling the crinkling fabric gently as Clayton continued to bang away in the living room. She pinched the biscuit between her fingers and took a delicate bite. The chocolate melted on her tongue and warmed her soul. Stretching up, she placed the packet back on the shelf, but made no move to leave her hiding spot. If Clayton saw her, all hell would break loose. He’d demand chocolate, and she’d eventually end up giving in, and then he’d go on a sugar high. It was an inevitability she was hoping to avoid.
But the clanging from the living room had stopped. Tiny footsteps padded into the kitchen, and Emory shoved the rest of the biscuit in her mouth. She chewed as fast as she could, but Clayton was too quick.
“Choccy?” he asked, with his little puppy dog eyes and precious smile.
Ugh, even at three, he knew right how to play into her weakness. Emory didn’t even try to resist, but she did break thenext Tim Tam in two before giving Clayton his piece. She kept the other half for herself.
They stood in the kitchen, enjoying their little late morning treat. Emory closed the pantry door and slid her back down it until she was resting on the floor. Clayton climbed onto her lap, as he always did. She held him close, smelling his hair a little. When she hugged him like this, she still wondered how he ever managed to fit inside her. How she managed tocreatehim.
She was still marvelling at her own maternal abilities when Byron reappeared.
He rapped his knuckles on the table as if to get their attention. Clayton jumped out of Emory’s lap, running to hug Byron around the legs.
“Papa!” he cheered. “We got choc’late.”
Byron ruffled the boy’s hair and gestured to the table. “What’s all this?”
“Oh, sorry. It’s just some uni stuff. I’ll clear it up.” Emory stood and rushed over to the table.
She hastily stacked all the books into a pile. When she moved her hand to close her laptop, her fingers connected with Byron’s as he reached to do the same. She pulled back from the zap that sparked between them.Was he permanently charged with static electricity?It sure felt like it.
Byron removed Emory’s hand from the laptop and held it against his chest. Clayton, maybe sensing the weird tension that had begun to sizzle or maybe just having the attention span of a three-year-old, shoved the last of his biscuit in his mouth and ran off towards the living room.
Looking down at the table as she used her free hand to gather the last of her things, Emory felt Byron’s intense gaze on the back of her neck. Her fingers burned where he held them, but she didn’t try to fight against his hold. She did take her timeturning her attention to him, though, thinking—hoping, really—it would allow her a moment to compose herself.
It didn’t.
When she finally dragged her eyes up to meet his, she gulped. Visibly. Byron’s eyes were dark, his usual whisky-coloured irises were nothing more than a thin, rich brown rim around his wide pupils. A strange pulling tugged behind Emory’s lungs. No, deeper. In her core. Still, he held her hand against his chest, and she could feel the way his heart raced underneath it.
