Silent Scars (Surviving #4) (7 page)

“So you and he?”

“I’m not the prettiest toy on the self, Ryan, but I’m not desperate. We’re best friends. Have been since we were kids. We were about ten years old when our dads met. My dad likes to play it cool and say it wasn’t love at first sight, but when Dad looks at Alec, it’s so evident there has never been anyone other than Alec for him. Harry and I have been best friends ever since he pulled my pigtails and said my dress was ugly.” At my blank stare she chuckled. “I hated pigtails, and I definitely hated the dress I was wearing.”

“So…Harry’s mom?”

“She died during child birth. I don’t know much about it to be honest. Neither Harry nor Alec will talk about it. You hit a wall of ice when you even try and discuss it. So I wouldn’t mention it.”

“Because I’m all about personal chats.” I huffed.

She blinked at me, before grinning. “There is a sense of humor hidden underneath all that sexy muscle,” she joked, but then her words seemed to settle in her mind, and a very deep blush rose up her neck. Her hands fiddled with the items she’d pulled out of the fridge, and she started rambling quickly; it was hard to follow.

“Alec is bi-sexual. According to Dad, he was in a relationship with a man before he met Harry’s mum. But he fell in love with her, they married had a baby, but then tragically she died. Harry doesn’t remember his mum at all. He has pictures of her but no connection emotionally. He’s close to
my
dad, but he doesn’t get along with Alec.” She sucked in a deep breath.

“Why don’t they get along?”

Her shoulders lifted in a gentle shrug as she washed her hands in the sink. “Don’t know.”

“You don’t know or don’t want to say?”

She busied herself emptying packets and bags onto the counter. I bent and grabbed my pre-bought dinner. I held it up as I headed into the kitchen.

“I have my own dinner. No need for you to cook for me.”

She turned her head to look over her shoulder. Her mouth gaped open slightly, and her brow furrowed. “I don’t know whether to be offended or not.”

“What? Why?” I glanced down at the box in my hand and back to her.

“I’m preparing steak Diane, and you are choosing a dried box of noodles instead.”

I glanced down at the box again. “I didn’t expect you to make my food.”

“Okay, you are going to be living in my house until this nut is caught. You wouldn’t eat that crap at home, would you?”

“I do. I have them in different flavours.”

“What?”

“They do different flavours.”
Ryan, you fucking tool get a grip.
“It’s kind of what I’m used to. Ready meals.”

Her eyes widened slightly, before her lips lifted in an apologetic smile. “Well, in my house they are banned. I’m forcing you to eat steak.” She paused, and her smile quivered

“Yes, ma’am.”

She beamed and quickly turned back to her ingredients. I watched her for an inappropriate amount of time, the way her back moved as she chopped vegetables, how her hips swayed to unheard music.

“How do you like your steak?”

“Medium, please.”

“’Kay. Grab a seat. Do you want a beer?” She opened the fridge and bent giving me a delectable view of her ass.

“Sure,” I choked out.

“I have Bud or Crafty Hen.”

“I generally drink Bud, but what the hell is a Crafty Hen?” I scoffed out a laugh.

“Ale, like the proper stuff. Not this pathetic shite Harry drinks.”

“I’m your bodyguard. I can’t be known as pathetic.”

“Crafty Hen it is.”

She reached into a cupboard, grabbing two glasses, and poured out our beers. It felt foreign sitting in a woman’s kitchen drinking beer and having her cook for me. Yeah, Ane, Will’s mom, had done that before, but this felt different.

“So you’re a dancer?” I asked again, mesmerised by the gentle sway of her hips.

“Hmm?”

“You said Harry is your dance partner.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, kind of. I only dance in there.” She pointed the knife in her hand at the music room. “Nowhere else, unless I’m out at a club, but that rarely happens.”

“Why? Are you so bad at it?” I joked taking a swig of beer.

Her laughter was nervous.

“Kind of. I just like to keep it private. Dancing and my piano are my guilty pleasures.”

“I guess I’ll get to see you, seeing as I’ll be here all the time.”

“Yeah.” Her hands stopped chopping, and her shoulders tensed. “Maybe.”

“Will that be a problem?” I asked, stepping around the counter. My body was drawn to her; for some inexplicable reason I needed to be close. She remained silent for the longest time, and I didn’t think she was going to answer. She simply continued chopping.

She sniffed.

I waited.

She sniffled again. I sidled up beside her to get a better look, and clear as day tears were streaming down her face. Panic hit me with a force, and I almost staggered back.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Onions get me every time.” She laughed. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked up at me. Her big brown eyes were glossy and amused. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. I must have stared too long because she lifted her hand and wiped at her eyes and then cried out.

“Mother-fluffing-chicken. Why did I do that?” She ripped her glasses from her face and lifted her hands to wipe at her stinging eyes again, but I grabbed her wrists to stop her. Her eyes were screwed together, and her nose was all wrinkled.

“Ryan, it hurts.” She wriggled, trying to free her hands, but I held on.

“Don’t touch your eyes; it will make it worse. Come on.” I grabbed a towel from the worktop and pulled her to the sink. She stumbled, so I brought her close. I turned the faucet on cold and held the towel underneath, clenching my fist around the wet rag to squish excess water out. I released her wrist and cupped her chin, lifting her face up to me. She had one eye closed and was squinting at me with the other. I held the towel up to show her what I was about to do and brushed it over her eyes.

She sucked in a breath. I wiped from her cornea outwards. Her lashes looked super long and dark. I gazed at her a moment, her mouth slightly agape, her cheeks pinked, as I held her face in my hands. She was pretty tall, but still her forehead was just above my chin. I wanted to slide my hand into her hair and release it from that messy bun, see it tumble down her back. I wondered how long it actually was. Would it be to her shoulders or further? Straight or curly?

“Okay,”

She blinked slowly, her lashes fanned against her creamy skin, long slow waves, as her dark chocolate eyes focused. They had small flecks of gold near the pupil, radiating out like an exploding firework. A little bloodshot, but still stunning. She looked dazed as she stared up at me.

“You okay?”

“Hmm?” She licked her bottom lip, pulling it into her mouth and scraping her teeth over. I stared at the ripe plump and incredibly ruby lip. I yanked my hand away and stepped back. Stunned by my sudden movements, she blinked rapidly and adjusted her glasses into place before muttering something I didn’t catch. She turned to the counter she had been working at. I watched her as her lips moved, talking silently to herself. The angry set of her shoulders and aggressive chops at the onion kind of indicated she was pissed.

I grabbed my beer and took a healthy swig, Aloura craned her neck to look at me, and the corner of her mouth lifted in a cute smile.

“What do you think?” She nodded to the beer in my hand.

I was a little taken back at first that she wasn’t making things awkward, but then maybe she hadn’t noticed my reaction. Maybe I read the situation all wrong, and she wasn’t pissed.

“You can grab a Bud if you don’t like it,” she offered.

“I like it.” I cleared my throat. “It’s actually really nice. You may have converted me.”

Her delicate chuckle warmed a place deep inside.

“Thanks for...” She pointed her finger to her eyes. “I’m not generally a klutz in the kitchen.” She grinned before turning to continue chopping.

“Onions are pesky things,” I said dryly, earning me a soft laugh. I stepped closer to her again, feeling the tension leave my body with every word we passed between us. “Do you need any help?”

“Nah, I’m good. You go relax for a bit.”

“I’ll sit here if you don’t mind me watching. I find cooking fascinating, especially since I’m terrible at it.”

She chuckled softly, that free laughter she offered so willingly. This job was going to be harder than I thought because I was beginning to
like
being around her. Getting attached was a dangerous thing, you could be easily left behind.

I jerked up to a sitting position in bed, sweat covered my brow. I sheltered my ears from the echoes of the M16 rifle shots and grenades. I panted, sucking in air as my surroundings registered. I was in Aloura’s house, safe. But the smells and sounds were so real, so incredibly tangible. I felt sand on my skin, the incessant grains in my mouth. The sweaty odour of men, the smell of metal, gunpowder and diesel fumes. All choking me. I pinched my nose, trying to drive out the stench. Clear my senses. I glanced around the room, knowing it couldn’t be real, but it felt so vibrant, so alive in here.

I wiped my trembling hands down my face, feeling the sweat against my palms. Some dreams were worse than others. The ones where the horrors of war mixed with my father were the worst. The ones where my every weakness was exposed and abused. I glanced down to see two wide eyes staring at me expectantly.

“What?”

The little rat went from sitting to standing, wagging its tail with that tiny tongue hanging out. My sneakers were bigger, and she had to call it Hercules.

“You want to go out?” I asked like a fucking idiot. It did a weird jump and spin type thing before heading for the door, checking I was following. I grabbed my sweater and yanked it over my head, pulled on my sweatpants, and finally my beanie. There was no point in waking Aloura just so the damn dog could take a leak.

I shushed the mutt when it yapped as I stood. Aloura’s door was slightly ajar, and I wanted, no I craved, to look inside at her sleeping. But I knew one glance wouldn’t be enough. I would want to stay and watch her all night: I was turning into a creeper.

Herc – no, I can’t do it. The rat scampered down the stairs. I followed, not making a sound. As I hit the bottom step ready to grab my sneakers, I heard a gentle sound. At first I wasn’t sure what it was. My brain still woozy from my dream. But then it registered.

The piano.

I stood in the dark hallway leading to the lounge, listening to the gentle sound. I closed my eyes and absorbed the peaceful feeling as the music danced in my ears. I let my head fall back as a strange harmony swarmed me. Usually after I woke up, my muscles twitched and ached. I needed something physical to do, like hit a bag in the gym or run a few miles. But always with silence. I pushed away noise. I hated the fucking noise
.

But in this instance, I found myself craving the serenity of the music. I headed towards the sound, knowing it must be Aloura. Was she so against me hearing her she would come down in the dead of night to play?

I opened the sliding door and let the rat out. Then as quietly as possible, I pushed the door to the music room a little further open, and I watched the perfection before me. Aloura was in profile, moonlight streaming into the windows and a small lamp glowing on top of the piano illuminating the keys.

Her entire body moved with a gentle flow; her fingers glided over the keys as if they were an extension of herself. She sat perfectly straight and swayed as her hands moved. I rested against the doorway and absorbed the sound, like it was my saviour. The horrendous visions from my nightmares were abated. All my head was filled with was
her.
Her eyes were closed, and I had no idea how she knew what to play. That’s when I noticed there wasn’t any sheet music in front of her. My mouth twitched at the corners, and I realised with a start I was fucking
happy.
Never, not once had I ever woken from a nightmare and felt anything but anxious.

The rat scampered into the room, his claws creating an erratic scratching sound as he tried to gain traction on the slippery floor. Aloura turned, hands still playing, at the sound. A small smile toyed at the corner of her lips, but when she saw me, she gasped and jerked her hands back. The music stopped immediately, and my insides twisted.

“Oh God, I am so sorry. I never meant to wake you.” She stood, sending the stool clattering behind her. The rat yelped and ran from the room. Aloura took a step towards the door but I blocked her path and held my hands up.

“Don’t go,” I begged.

“I really thought...I didn’t think...I’m sorry.” Her hands twisted together in a nervous gesture.

“It’s your house.”

“I know that, but you’re a guest. I forget it isn’t soundproofed.”

“Aloura.” I stepped forward and lifted my hands to place them on her shoulders but caught myself before I made contact. I jerked a little because it had felt so natural to comfort her. “I slept like shit. I was taking the rat
...”

She let out the cutest little growl.

“
The dog
needed to take a leak. We were heading out. I didn’t want to wake
you.
Then I heard you playing.” I lifted my shoulders and stepped back; we were standing far too closely. “You sounded amazing. Kind of made waking up a pleasure for a change.”

She tilted her head to the side and regarded me.

“I can go back upstairs if you want,” I offered, but I prayed she would let me stay.

Her chest lifted with the breath she sucked in. She glanced at her piano before her gaze came back to me. “I liked hearing you. You helped kill the
noises
and fill a silence I need.”

She regarded me a moment. I was ready to leave the room when she lifted her hand and pointed to a pile of throw cushions in the far corner. “You can use those or bring a chair in from the kitchen.”

I bobbed my head but refused to leave the room in case she changed her mind and ran from me. I was being a selfish son of a bitch for backing her into a corner, but my head needed this right now, and I’d not felt a need like this before. A total craving for someone
else
to take away the
noise.
I headed over to the corner where five large floor cushions were piled. I scattered them in a makeshift cot and sat down on them. I pulled my shoes off and lay on my side to watch her.

“What do you want me to play?”

A pit formed in my stomach at the nervous quiver in her voice. I opened my mouth to tell her to forget it, and I’d go back to bed, but the words that came out betrayed my intentions.

“Hell if I know. The last time I heard music was that confounded Disney song all the kids are crazy over. So anything
but
that.”

She giggled and bobbed her head. A few moments passed as she stared at the keys. Then she pulled her shoulders back, lifted her hands, and with a whisper of a touch, caressed the keys, and then heaven surrounded me.

Bliss.

The hairs on my arms stood on end, my spine tingled, and goose bumps raced all over my body. She closed her eyes and lost herself to the music, and I lost to myself to her. She was faultless.

I slowly sat up. I needed to see her, to watch her hands, her feet, her face. But more than anything I was jealous of the peaceful serenity that poured from her. I forced myself to stay on the pillows, and not go to her and absorb her. How was it possible to know someone for only a few hours and
feel
so connected to them?

That’s when I realised there was nothing. For the first time in forever, there was nothing in my head but this, the music,
her.
I had no idea how she had done it. Had she drugged my steak?

It was all her.

Only her.