Page 146 of Unspoken Words
“We should be celebrating this together.Weshould be togeth—”
I smiled. “We can. I’m—”
“I’m sorry,” he said, cutting me off. “I didn’t mean to ring out of the blue like this. I hope I haven’t interrupted anything. I just … I just really wanted you to hear it.”
My stomach butterflies took flight at what I was about to do, and I opened the car door, stepped out into the rain, and closed my eyes, breathing in as I let the tiny droplets splash my face. There was something magical about standing in the rain, that perfect moment before a perfect moment.
“Actually, Connor,” I said, opening my eyes and smiling to myself. “You have interrupted.”
“Sorry. I’ll let you go—”
“No, don’t,” I blurted.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’teverlet me go.”
“Huh?”
“Promise me you’ll never let me go, ever again.”
“I … I promise. But…” He sighed. “I don’t have you to let you go, Ellie. You’re a million miles away.”
“No, I’m not.”
“What?”
“Look out your window.”
His curtain moved and then his front door flew open. Connor stepped out onto his porch, his face frozen with shock, his phone still pressed to his ear. Ripped, denim jeans hung low across his hips, a t-shirt hugging his chest, his feet bare, his hair a mess.
I bit my lip and said, “Hi” into the phone, raising my hand to wave. “So, do you promise?”
He didn’t answer, he just dropped his phone and leapt down the steps, and I couldn’t tell if he was going to cry or smile. I squealed, pushed off from the car, and ran to him, our bodies colliding, our mouths beginning where the other ended.
Warmth coursed through my body despite the rain pouring down my face and neck, and I knew, like I’ve always known, that he was my home. My life. My ever after.
“You’re here,” he mumbled around my tongue, his hands wild, clasping my face, my shoulders, and my face again, as if he had to touch me enough to know I was real.
“Yes. I’m home.”
He finally settled his hands on my arse, squeezing lightly before lifting me up.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and hungrily nibbled at his jaw, panting as I whispered, “It’s right, Connor. It’s finally right.”
He didn’t answer, his words, as per usual, unspoken. Instead, he plied my face and neck with kisses and walked us back to the house, not stopping to put me down when he fumbled with the door. Water squelched with each step he took on the floorboards towards his room, but he didn’t seem to care, his focus solely on my mouth, on my body, onme.
“You’re here,” he mumbled again, as he set me on my feet at the foot of his bed, his fingers frantic as they undid each button of my shirt. “You came back.”
“Of course I came back. You’re my Tom.”
I reached for the buckle of his jeans, but he stopped my hand, holding it still, his eyes his wide and adorable.
“Who the fuck is Tom?”
I giggled. “Tom Hanks, silly. And I’m your Meg.”
The poor thing looked confused, and I couldn’t blame him.
