Elliot, Song Of The Soulmate (Love, Austen Book 5) by Anyta Sunday

Author:Anyta Sunday [Sunday, Anyta]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-10-10T16:00:00+00:00

Beneath the painful silence

My soul forever sleeps

W. McAllister, “Bumblebee Breakup”

Elliot blinked at the reporter. She was waiting for his opinion, what he thought about seeing Wentworth every day.

“It’s never boring. I never have any idea what might come out of his mouth. I never go home without learning something new.”

His neck prickled where Wentworth’s warm arm pressed against his skin, and his profile prickled more from Wentworth watching him. Elliot’s mind raced at what Wentworth might make of his statement. Did he understand?

“I hope,” Elliot continued, “his time here inspires more words from him.”

“Lyrics, you mean?” she asked.

“As long as they’re soulful.” He laughed as if it were a joke, but the subtle increase of pressure at his nape told Elliot Wentworth understood him perfectly.

Elliot dared a glance at him. His slight frown suggested apprehension. But his eyes were not as cold as they had been the rest of the week.

After the reporter got what she wanted, she beat a hasty retreat.

What wasn’t so hasty? Wentworth dropping his arm from his shoulders.

“McAllister!” Someone hailed him. “We need your opinion.”

At last the pressure slipped away as Wentworth went, and Elliot moved below deck to breathe in the quiet.

Only, it wasn’t quiet. No people crowded the narrow rooms, but memories did. And they were loud. Pulsing in his head.

He shouldn’t be down here. He had not been invited. Yet, he could not help it. He opened the cabin door.

The single bed, the digital piano, the guitar . . . Everything exactly as Elliot remembered.

All this might have been ours . . . There might have been ten thousand more memories made here together.

His phone buzzed loudly; he snatched it out of his pocket to mute it. He didn’t want anyone visiting the lavatory to know someone was in here. He did not want anyone passing that on to Wentworth.

He perched on the piano stool, set his phone atop it, and drifted his fingers over the cool keys. Memories tinkered around him: Wentworth pounding out a jig, laughing, swapping lines for lyrics; keys clunking under their naked, undulating bodies; the silence as the instrument bore witness to that day.

“But . . . I love you, Elliot.”

“I can’t say it back.”

“Can’t right now?”

“Can’t ever.”

A sound outside the cabin startled him, and Elliot discreetly checked the hall. Someone heading into the lavatory.

A sign he should return to the party upstairs.

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