Page 105 of Words We Didn't Say

It’s always the quiet ones.

The glass-panelled walls morphed into rich, dark wood on the other side of the floor. Those walls hid the partners, but I knew they were in there, crowded around the boardroom table, planning everyone’s future—mine—with the devil himself sitting at the head.

I’d faced those same eight people two years ago. Chris had stood over me, spitting hatred into me like bullets for letting down the firm, and no one had said a word. Billings too low. Mistakes being made. Couldn’t have a weak link leading a team. Not his fucking problem my mother had cancer. Those partners had twitched uncomfortably in their seats, but every last one of them had kept their heads down.

No one had even asked about Mum.

No one had said a word to me until two days later. The woman from Human Resources had waltzed into the hospital in her burgundy suit and parked her arse next to my bed, even though Dad had demanded for her—and everyone else—to fuck off and leave me alone.

She’d asked a lot of questions, too.

Did you really mean to walk in front of that car? Are you sure you weren’t just tired? Maybe you should talk to someone?

That night had been the second time I’d seen my father cry. He’d folded over on the plastic chair in the emergency room and tried to hide the tears behind his hands, and I’d never felt so damn low.

But this wasn’t like two years ago.

I yanked open the boardroom door. Ignored the shocked faces. My eyes zeroed in on Chris. His chair flew back, and he scurried backwards like the coward he was.

“Zach, you need to calm down.”

“I’m calm.”Socalm.

He tried to dive past me, but he was too slow. My hand snatched the collar of his overpriced shirt, dragging him back. A panicked shout yelped from someone behind me. Chairs crashed and toppled around the room, and a stampede hurtled at me, but they were stuck in quicksand compared to the speed of my anger.

Chris wrestled an arm free to shield his face, but my fist connected with his cheek, pain searing up my arm, and the sickening crack of bone-on-bone scorching a wave of vomit up my throat that I forced back down.

“I warned you.” I ploughed my palm into his chest to force him against the wall. “Hurt Eden, and I’ll hurt you.”

Air whooshed out of Chris in a strangled grunt when my other fist slammed into his stomach. He bent over, gasping for breath, until he turned to me, his lips curled in a taunting sneer. I lunged for him, but a mix of hands gripped my shoulders, my arms, my side—too many people to fight off. They hauled me back.

“All this over some hairdressing slut?” Chris laughed. “You’re really going to throw away your career over her?”

“Why not? Didn’t you?” I spat back. “I saw the bruises on Eden’s arm. I know what you did. The same abuse you inflict on your fiancée, you evil piece of shit!”

The hands clutched around my shoulders disappeared as one of the partners stepped back…as if they were shocked by what I’d said…as if we hadn’t all been pretending not to see exactly who Chris was for years.

Smirking, Chris touched a hand to his cheek. He squared his shoulders. He wasn’t fazed. Helovedthis. “I hope joining the queue to fuck that whore was worth it.”

The boardroom turned scarlet.

My fist smashed into Chris’s jaw so hard he reeled backwards, crashing past a chair that rolled away under his grip. He hit the floor with a thud.

“You’d benothingif it wasn’t for me.” His voice was a broken wheeze as he struggled to stand. “How many times have you failed everyone in this room?”

“I never failed you.”

“You walked in front of a fucking car!”

“Becauseyoufailedme!”

His laugh was manic. “You’re soft. A fucking loser from the gutter. Take your pathetic pound of flesh, Zach. This changesnothingabout where you came from or the fact that I’m sending your sorry arse back there.”

The insults shouldn’t have meant anything. He’d said them all before. But hatred and disgust fuelled a rage inside me I didn’t understand. I launched for him.

Eden. My parents. Even Andie. My people.

Every punch I landed on Chris was for them. Blood soaked my hand, and thick red smears whipped and splattered over Chris’s face and crisp white shirt. Swollen patches of his skin were already purple.

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