23. Unspoken Melodies

CHAPTER 23

Unspoken Melodies

LIAM

I felt like I'd been hit by a truck. No, scratch that. A truck would have been kinder. This was more like being trampled by a herd of elephants, then backed over by a steamroller for good measure.

Every inch of my body ached, from the pounding in my head to the dull throb of my ribs. I groaned, trying to pry my eyes open, but even that small movement sent a fresh wave of pain crashing over me.

"Fuck me," I muttered, my voice rough and scratchy. "What the hell happened last night?"

As if in answer, I felt a rough little tongue start lapping at my face, accompanied by a soft, insistent mewing.

Peanut. Of course. My little furball of a nurse, always ready with a dose of feline TLC.

I managed a weak chuckle, reaching up to scratch her behind the ears. "Thanks, baby girl. I appreciate the wake-up call, but maybe take it easy on the sandpaper tongue, yeah?"

Peanut just purred, butting her head against my hand like she couldn't get enough of my attention. I smiled, feeling a rush of affection for this tiny, fierce creature who had become such an important part of my life.

But as I lay there, trying to gather the strength to sit up, I realized something was off. Something about the way the light was filtering through the windows, the angle of the shadows on the wall wit was wrong. Different from the way it should have been, if I'd woken up in my own bed like I usually did.

Frowning, I forced my eyes open, blinking against the bright sunlight that seemed to stab into my brain like a hot poker.

And that's when I saw it. Saw the familiar lines of my living room couch, the battered old coffee table that had seen better days.

I was on the couch. In my living room.

What the fuck?

I tried to think back, tried to piece together the fragmented memories of the night before. But it was like trying to assemble a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing and the other half covered in mud.

I remembered the bar. Remembered the burn of whiskey in my throat and the dull ache of misery in my chest. Remembered the anger, the frustration, the overwhelming need to just escape. To run from the pain and the heartache and the suffocating weight of my own fucking life.

And then there was a fight. A blur of fists and fury, of snarled insults and the sickening crunch of bone on bone. But after that, nothing. A blank, a void where the rest of the night should have been.

How the hell had I gotten home? And more importantly, who had brought me here?

As if in answer to my unspoken question, I heard the front door creak open. I tensed, my heart kicking into overdrive as a sudden, irrational fear swept through me.

Fuck. I really needed to start locking my doors.

I tried to sit up, tried to prepare myself for whatever fresh hell was about to walk through that door. But my body had other ideas, a fresh wave of pain and nausea slamming into me like a freight train .

I collapsed back against the cushions with a groan, my head spinning and my stomach churning. Peanut meowed in concern, her little paws kneading at my chest like she was trying to physically hold me together.

"Stay still," Caleb said, his tone gentle but firm. "Your wounds from the fight haven't healed yet."

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. Caleb. Caleb was here, in my house. Caleb had brought me home?

The memories started to trickle back, slow and sluggish at first, then faster and faster until they were a raging torrent that threatened to sweep me away.

The fight. The cop breaking it up, pulling me away from the chaos. The realization of who that cop was, the shock and the disbelief and the overwhelming, gut-wrenching sense of déjà vu.

And then Caleb, holding me as I fell apart. Caleb, murmuring words of comfort and reassurance as I sobbed into his chest, as I clung to him like he was the only solid thing in a world that wouldn't stop spinning.

Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. I had broken down, completely and utterly, in front of the one person I had sworn I would never let see me so vulnerable again.

The humiliation was a physical thing, a hot, prickling rush that spread from my cheeks to the tips of my ears. I wanted to sink into the couch cushions, to disappear and never have to face the consequences of my own weakness.

But Caleb was still there. Still watching me with those deep, knowing eyes, his brow furrowed with concern.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly, his voice low and gentle, like he was talking to a skittish animal.

I almost laughed. Almost let the bitter, brittle sound tear itself from my throat. Because how the fuck did he think I was feeling? Like shit, that's how. Like my entire world had been turned upside down and inside out, leaving me reeling and raw and so goddamn lost I didn't know which way was up anymore.

But I didn't say that. Didn't let the acerbic words spill from my lips like I wanted to. Because as much as I hated to admit it, as much as it galled me to be so fucking vulnerable in front of him a part of me was glad he was here. Glad that I didn't have to wake up alone, with nothing but the throbbing pain in my head and the sour taste of regret in my mouth.

So I just shrugged, wincing as the movement pulled at my sore muscles. "Like shit," I said, my voice a rough, gravelly rasp. "But I guess that's what happens when you try to take on three guys at once, huh?"

Caleb chuckled, the sound warm and rich and so achingly familiar it made my chest hurt. "Yeah, well. You always were a stubborn son of a bitch. Never could back down from a fight, even when you were outmatched."

I felt my lips twitch, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Because he was right. I had always been the type to throw myself into the fray, consequences be damned. It was a trait that had gotten me into plenty of trouble over the years, but it was also one of the things that made me who I was.

Impulsive. Reckless. Passionate to a fault.

And look where it had gotten me. Lying on my couch with a face that felt like it had been used as a punching bag, my head pounding and my heart aching in a way that had nothing to do with the physical pain.

I sighed, the sound heavy and weary. "What are you doing in my house, Caleb?" I asked, my voice quiet but direct.

Caleb's smile faded, his expression turning serious. "I stayed the night," he said, his voice low and measured, like he was choosing his words carefully. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

I flinched, the words hitting a little too close to home. Because he was right. If he hadn't been there, if he hadn't stopped me from going off the rails completely who knows what I might have done? Who knows how much worse things could have gotten?

"I just got back from the bar," Caleb continued, his eyes never leaving mine. "I took your car home and brought some food because…well, because there's nothing here."

He gestured around the room, taking in the bare walls and the empty shelves, the boxes still stacked in the corner from my recent move.

I felt a flush of embarrassment, a hot prickle of shame that crept up the back of my neck. Because he was right. There was nothing here, nothing but dust and cobwebs and the lingering ghosts of a past I couldn't seem to escape.

I was still living out of boxes, still existing in a state of limbo that felt more like a prison than a home. And the sad truth was, I didn't know if I would ever feel truly settled, truly at peace in this place that held so many memories, so many scars.

I couldn't let him see just how fucked up I really was, how deep the cracks in my facade really ran. It was also too much, too soon. Too raw and honest and real, in a way that I wasn't ready for. In a way that I might never be ready for, after everything that had happened between us. So I did what I always did when things got too heavy, too intense. I deflected, I ran, I pushed him away with a sharp word and a brittle smile.

"I need a shower," I said abruptly, struggling to sit up and swing my legs over the side of the couch. "I feel like I've been rolling around in a dumpster."

Caleb frowned, his hand tightening on my shoulder. "Liam, wait. I don't think that's a good idea. You're still hurt, you need to rest."

I shrugged off his touch, ignoring the way my body screamed in protest at the sudden movement. "I'm fine," I snapped, my voice harsher than I intended. "I can take care of myself."

Caleb's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. I could see the frustration in his eyes, the hurt and the concern and the stubborn, unyielding love that had always been there, even when I was too blind to see it. But he didn't push, didn't try to stop me as I hauled myself to my feet and staggered towards the bathroom. He just watched me go, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim light of the living room.

And as I stumbled through the door and slammed it shut behind me, as I leaned against the cool tile and let the tears finally fall, I knew that I was making a mistake. Knew that I was pushing away the one person who had always been there for me, the one person who had never given up on me no matter how hard I tried to make him.

But I couldn't help it. Couldn't stop the walls from slamming up, the defenses from locking into place. It was a reflex, a survival instinct honed by years of pain and disappointment and heartbreak.

As much as I wanted to let him in, as much as I ached for the comfort and the solace that I knew he could provide I wasn't ready. Wasn't strong enough to face the truth of what I felt for him, of what he meant to me.

Not yet. Maybe not ever.

And so I turned on the shower, letting the scalding water wash over me and drown out the sound of my own sobs. Letting it scour away the blood and the sweat and the shame, even if it couldn't touch the deeper wounds that festered beneath the surface.

I don't know how long I stood there, letting the heat and the steam envelop me like a cocoon. Long enough for my skin to turn pink and raw, for the pounding in my head to fade to a dull, distant ache.

But eventually, I had to face reality. Had to turn off the water and step out into the cold, unforgiving light of day.

I toweled off quickly, not bothering to look in the mirror. I didn't want to see the bruises, the split lip, the haunted look in my eyes that I knew would be staring back at me.

Instead, I focused on getting dressed, on pulling on a clean pair of sweatpants and a soft, worn t-shirt. Clothes that were comfortable, that didn't make me feel like I was suffocating under the weight of my own facade.

As I stepped out of the bathroom, I caught a whiff of something delicious wafting in from the kitchen. Bacon, maybe, or pancakes. Something warm and comforting and homey, the kind of food that wrapped around you like a hug and made everything seem a little bit brighter.

My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten anything since, god, I couldn't even remember. The night before? The day before that?

Time had lost all meaning, blurring together in a haze of alcohol and anger and soul-crushing despair.

I found myself wandering down the hall, my feet carrying me of their own accord to the one place that had always been my sanctuary.

The music room.

It was one of the few spaces in the house that was fully unpacked, fully set up and ready to go. My guitars lined the walls, my amps and pedals and recording equipment all neatly arranged and waiting to be used.

And there, in the center of it all was my piano. My beautiful, beloved baby grand, the one constant in my life that had never let me down.

I ran my fingers over the smooth, polished wood, feeling the familiar grain beneath my fingertips. It was like coming home, like finding a part of myself that I hadn't even realized was missing.

Almost without thinking, I sat down on the bench, my hands finding their place on the keys like they'd never left. And as I started to play, as the first few notes rang out in the stillness of the room everything else fell away. The pain, the fear, the overwhelming sense of loss and longing that had been my constant companion for longer than I could remember.

It was just me and the music, the melody flowing through me like a river, washing away the debris and the detritus of my fucked-up life. And then, slowly, gradually, I realized what I was playing. Realized the significance of the notes that were spilling from my fingers like raindrops, like tears.

It was a song I had written years ago, back when Caleb and I had first fallen in love. Back when the world had seemed bright and shiny and full of endless possibility, when our love had felt like the center of the universe.

I had poured my heart into that song, had bled out every ounce of my soul onto the page. It was a love letter, a promise, a vow that I had meant with every fiber of my being.

And now, playing it again after all these years, it was like a punch to the gut. Like a knife to the heart, twisting and tearing and ripping me open from the inside out.

Because god, I had been so young then. So naive and hopeful and full of dreams, full of a love that I thought could conquer anything. But I had been wrong. So fucking wrong, in ways that I was only just beginning to understand.

The song built to a crescendo, the notes ringing out like a cry, like a prayer.

Then I felt a presence behind me. Felt the weight of eyes on my back, the prickle of awareness that meant I was no longer alone.

I didn't turn around. Didn't acknowledge him, didn't break the spell that had settled over me like a blanket. But I knew he was there. Knew it with every beat of my heart, every breath in my lungs.

He didn't say anything at first. Just leaned against the door frame, watching me with those deep, dark eyes that seemed to see straight through me, straight to the core of who I was.

"Keep playing," he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion. "Please."

I swallowed hard, my fingers faltering on the keys. But I didn't stop. Didn't let the music die, didn't let the connection between us fray and snap.

Instead, I kept playing. Kept pouring out my heart, kept baring my soul in the only way I knew how.

Caleb moved. Crossed the space between us in a few long strides, his hands reaching out to grab the guitar that sat in the corner, waiting to be played.

And then he was there, right beside me. His fingers finding the strings, his body swaying in time with mine as we fell into a rhythm that was as natural as breathing, as effortless as the beat of our hearts.

We played together like no time had passed at all. Like we were still those lovesick kids who had dreamed of conquering the world, of building a life and a future and a forever.

Like nothing had changed, even though everything had.

The song came to an end, the last notes fading into silence. And for a long moment, we just sat there. Breathing in sync, our eyes locked and our souls laid bare.

But then Caleb smiled, a soft, sad thing that made my heart clench in my chest.

"Breakfast is ready," he said quietly, setting the guitar aside and standing up. "We should eat before it gets cold."

He held out his hand, an offering and a question all in one. And I hesitated, my mind whirling with doubts and fears and the bitter sting of old betrayals.

Because this was dangerous. This easy intimacy, this unspoken understanding that flowed between us like a current, like a livewire.

It was everything I had ever wanted, everything I had ever dreamed of. But it was also everything I was afraid of, everything I had run from for so long.

Because what if I let him in again? What if I opened up my heart, let down my walls and allowed myself to hope?

What if he hurt me again, broke me in ways that could never be healed?

I didn't know if I could survive it. Didn't know if I had the strength to pick up the pieces, to put myself back together and start all over again.

But as I looked at Caleb, as I saw the love and the longing and the quiet, steady certainty in his eyes I knew that I had to try. Knew that I couldn't keep running, couldn't keep hiding from the truth of what I felt for him.

So I took his hand. Let him pull me to my feet and lead me out of the music room, down the hall and into the bright, airy kitchen that smelled of coffee and bacon and the promise of a new day.

We sat at the table, Peanut curling up at my feet with a contented purr. And as Caleb served up plates of scrambled eggs and crispy potatoes, as he poured me a mug of steaming, fragrant coffee I felt a sense of peace wash over me. A sense of rightness, of belonging that I hadn't felt in longer than I could remember.

"When did you learn to cook?" I asked, taking a bite of my eggs and savoring the way they melted on my tongue. "Last I checked, you could barely boil water without setting off the smoke alarm."

Caleb chuckled, the sound warm and rich and achingly familiar. "Couple years ago," he said, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his coffee. "When my mom got sick, I had to drop out of college to help my dad with the ranch. Learned a lot of things I never thought I'd need to know."

I felt a pang of sympathy, a twist of guilt in my gut. Because I hadn't been there for him, hadn't been there to help or to comfort or to share the burden of his grief.

I had been too wrapped up in my own pain, too lost in my own selfish spiral of self-destruction.

"I'm sorry," I said softly, my eyes fixed on my plate. "About your mom, about…about everything."

Caleb shook his head, reaching out to lay his hand over mine. "It's okay, Liam. You don't have to apologize. We both had our own shit to deal with, our own demons to face."

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with emotion. Because he was right. We had both been through hell, both been shattered and scarred in ways that would never fully heal.

"What about Jake?" I asked, my voice tight and strained. "He was there last night, at the bar. He…he pulled me off those guys, stopped me from doing something stupid."

Caleb sighed, setting down his fork and running a hand through his hair. "Jake is complicated," he said finally, his voice heavy with unspoken history. "He's not the same person he was back then, Liam. He's changed, grown up in ways that might surprise you."

I felt a flare of anger, a hot, bitter surge of resentment. "So what, you're on his side now? After everything he did to us, everything he put us through?"

Caleb shook his head, his eyes sad and serious. "I'm not on anyone's side, Liam. I'm just trying to see things for what they are, not what they were."