The Things We Need to Say: An emotional, uplifting story of hope from bestselling author Rachel Burton
sleeps with her boss and then afterwards, when everything gets awkward, has to leave.
I saw the fleeting look of disappointment cross his face as I pulled away, before he composed his features again. He had no idea how much willpower it had taken for me to do that. Neither of us had known where to look since it happened, our eyes sliding quickly over each other at work, not sure whether to say anything, not sure what to do.
But that Sunday morning in my kitchen when Will’s lips found mine, my willpower deserted me. I knew I couldn’t pull away again. I let him kiss me; I let him slide his hands down my back, finding the gap between my jeans and my top. I ran my fingers through his hair, wrapped my legs around his waist, pulled him closer.
‘I want you so much,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘Can I take you to bed?’
Afterwards we lay together, our foreheads against each other, limbs entwined, breathing each other in. I didn’t know what this was; I didn’t know where this was going. He was my boss. He was eight years older than me. This had disaster written all over it.
I moved away from him a little so I could see him properly. He lay with his eyes closed, those impossibly long eyelashes brushing his cheeks. Those eyelashes were wasted on a man.
‘Will,’ I said quietly. He blinked his eyes open and I watched his lips curve into a smile. His hand traced the bones of my spine.
‘I can’t do this,’ I said.
‘I think you already have,’ he replied. He was still smiling.
‘I can’t be the secretary who sleeps with her boss. I can’t afford to lose my job. I’m so sorry, Will – I should have stopped this before now. We need to stop this.’
He propped himself up on his elbow. ‘I can’t stop,’ he said. ‘I’m falling in love with you.’
I hadn’t been expecting that. I stared at him. I’d been trying to stop myself falling in love with him since the Christmas party.
‘I thought this was just—’ I began.
‘This isn’t just anything,’ he interrupted. ‘Well, not for me it isn’t. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to feel like this again. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to trust anyone else after my wife left me.’
‘But—’ I hadn’t known his wife had left him. I’d always assumed he left her. I was surprised to realise that during all those lunches, all those dinners, he’d never talked about his wife.
‘I know you’re my secretary,’ he interrupted. ‘I know that makes this a bit … complicated, but I wondered if you’d be my girlfriend?’ He smiled, pulled me a little closer. ‘Sorry that sounded really corny. But will you?’
‘I thought you just wanted …’
‘Just wanted what? To shag my secretary?’ He shook his head. ‘No, not my style.’
‘So why was it always Wednesdays? Why did you never ask to see me at the weekends before now?’
He laughed then, gently. ‘Because I thought you’d have better things to do at the weekends than be with me. Until last week I didn’t think I had a chance with you in a million years.’
‘Even after what I said at Christmas?’
‘I thought that was just the wine talking,’ he said quietly. ‘I didn’t want to take advantage.’
I stared at him, running my fingers over his jaw, over the stubble where he hadn’t shaved that morning. I couldn’t find my voice; I just leaned my head against his chest.
‘Trust me,’ he said, stroking my hair. ‘I promise I won’t let you down.’
It had turned into a longer run than he’d intended. He’d only meant to be gone about thirty minutes or so, but as he looks at his watch he realises he’s been out for more than an hour. He needed some space to think, away from the house, away from Fran. Time to think about the things he’d said to his brother that morning, the things his brother had said to him.
He’d looked up when Jamie had followed him into his study. He’d made the calls he’d needed to make and was sitting watching the rain against the windows, wondering what the future would look like, thinking about everything he and Fran had lost.
There are only eighteen months between the two brothers. They had always known what the other was thinking. And Will had realised – as soon as he saw the look on his brother’s face – that he knew the secret Will had been carrying for the last nine months, the secret he hoped nobody would ever find out. Just before Jamie confronted him, Will had realised that there was a sense of relief in being found out.
‘What the fuck were you thinking, Will?’ Jamie had spat at him, his hands on the desk as he leaned towards his brother. Will hadn’t moved; he had just carried on sitting there, staring out of the window.
‘Keep your voice down,’ he’d replied softly.
In the quiet moment that followed he heard the scrape of a chair being pulled up, the gentle sound of Jamie sitting down, a long exhalation.
‘Talk to me, Will,’ Jamie had said after a while and Will told him everything, their heads together like they used to be when they shared secrets as boys. The words fell out of him, jumbled together in their eagerness to be released. Will had been glad to finally share the burden of the secret, even though he had known that this was only the beginning and that sharing it would change everything for ever.
When he’d finished speaking he’d looked at his brother. ‘I’ve been a complete fucking idiot,’ he said. ‘But I thought I’d lost everything. Fran wouldn’t talk to me, as though it was all my fault.’ He paused, blinking back tears. ‘As though it wasn’t tearing me apart too.’
‘So you thought you’d fuck a single mum from the village instead?’ Jamie asked, his face white. He’d always had a soft spot for Fran.
Will had leaned his elbows on the desk, covering his eyes with his hands. If I don’t open my eyes, he thinks, maybe all of this will go away.
‘Is it over?’ Jamie asked.
Will nods, dropping his hands onto the desk in front of him. ‘It’s been over since Christmas Eve.’
Jamie had sighed. ‘Fran must never find out,’ he’d said. ‘After everything she’s been through, this would destroy her.’
Will had run his fingers through his hair.
‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ he’d said.
‘Not enough to make sure it didn’t happen,’ Jamie had replied.
He hadn’t banked on Jamie working out that he had cheated on Fran, but Jamie knew him too well. On Saturday night, while Fran had been getting the dinner ready, he and Jamie had gone to the pub. He’d bumped into Karen there – it had been months since he had last seen her, since he’d broken off their brief affair. As far as he was concerned it was over, in the past. But Karen had flirted with him and there must have been something about his reaction that had made Jamie suspicious. When he’d come out of the toilet half an hour later to see Jamie and Karen chatting, it hadn’t occurred to him what it might have been about.
But now Jamie knows, Will doesn’t feel as though it is something he can keep to himself any more. He isn’t sure if he can keep lying to her. He isn’t sure if he can keep lying to himself. And, now he’s had time to think about it, he’s sure that Jamie is wrong; finding out isn’t going to destroy Fran. Fran is stronger than most people realise and he owes her the truth.
He starts to slow his pace down as