Interpreter

by Kristy Marie

  His tongue wets his lips. “If you’re going back home, then I’m going with you. At least until you’re willing to marry me.”

  “You’re loco.” A sweet kind of loco but still loco. “You have a family here,” I argue.

  He raises that ridiculous eyebrow. “So do you.”

  “It’s not the same thing. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Really. This is crazy talk.

  “You don’t be ridiculous.” His movement is jerky as he adjusts me on his lap, his cock long and hard, straining against my slit.

  “Don’t try to cheat with that magnificent cock of yours. You can’t leave Aspen and Oliver here without you.”

  At the mention of the kids, his jaw clenches. “Then marry me,” he offers.

  I can see this conversation is going nowhere. We’ve been over this once. I push up and pull said magnificent cock out and hold his eyes. “The least you could do is fuck me if we’re going to argue.”

  And… that was the wrong thing to say. Tim’s eyes turn darker and he slams me down, literally spearing me with his cock.

  Breathe. I can’t freaking breathe as my body stretches around his girth. “See? That’s better,” I tease. “Now, carry on.”

  He shakes his head and then kisses me, gripping my hips with his palms as he controls my body to his liking.

  “I’m coming with you,” he grits out between thrusts.

  “No.”

  His next thrust is harder, and I imagine he’s fucking out all his aggravation on my body.

  “You drive me crazy.”

  “You’re still not coming with me.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do.”

  I put my hands on the sides of his face, stilling him for just a moment. “I’ll come back,” I promise.

  He grins. “Sweet. Anniston and the guys would probably kill us if we didn’t visit.”

  Have mercy on my soul. “Tim, you aren’t going with me.” Did I not mention he is stubborn?

  “You didn’t leave me,” he says all hot and gravelly. “I’m not leaving you.”

  What am I supposed to say to that? No, please don’t come with me when you say sweet things like that. I hold his face and press my lips to his, slipping my tongue in. He tastes of love and freedom, and I use every second to memorize the way he feels in my hands… on my tongue… and in my core.

  “I won’t leave you, Papi,” I whisper, coming up for air and placing my forehead to his. “We’ll figure this out.”

  Tim doesn’t answer me. Instead, he tells me everything as he moves me over him, deep and slow, making love to me onstage until we’re both sweaty and spent, shivering in each other’s arms.

  “Come back to bed,” I say finally, pulling back so he can read my lips. I ease off his lap and immediately feel the wetness between us, and this time, it’s not just my wetness.

  Tim’s eyes go wide. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I try soothing. “I’m on birth control.”

  He nods, but he still doesn’t look sure.

  “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up.” I blow out the candle, leaving the guitar for in the morning and tug Tim up the stairs where we shower and lie down. It’s only a few minutes before his breathing evens out and he’s asleep.

  I slide out of bed and pad into the kitchen where Pe is seated at the island. “Your phone is buzzing,” he mumbles, looking like a haggard mess wrapped in a throw.

  “Why are you still awake?” I ask him.

  His eyes narrow on the plane ticket on the counter. “I couldn’t sleep.” Oh.

  I sigh and open the refrigerator for a bottle of water. “You need to ask Marcus to move in,” I tell him. “It’s time, Pe. The man loves you and puts up with your sharp-ass toenails. Marry him.”

  Felipe scoffs. “My toenails look way better than yours.”

  I grin, glad to be able to pull him out of his funk, if only for a moment. I grin at the idiot and then hear my phone buzz again. “Don’t replace me,” I say suddenly. “I’m not that selfless. I’m still your bestie, even if it’s a country away.”

  Pe’s big brown eyes redden before they well with unshed tears. “Shut up, bitch. You could never be replaced.”

  Yeah, I raced around the counter and buried my head in that silky-smooth chest that smelled like Marcus’s cologne. “I love you, Pe,” I grate out in between sniffles.

  “I love you to, Mami.” Pe pulls away first, wiping his face on my shirt before masking the pain in his eyes. “He’ll never let you go,” he says, seeming a little stronger.

  “Tim?”

  He nods with a grin. “Never underestimate a man with that kind of ass.”

  I knew it! I knew he knew Tim’s ass beat his.

  “Good night, Mami,” he throws over his shoulder with a smirk. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I shake my head with a smile as I watch his bedroom door close behind him. I’m going to miss that diva.

  My phone buzzes, reminding me that I haven’t checked the messages. I swipe up, unlocking the screen, and see it’s a text message.

  Unknown Number: I heard you needed a job. I have a proposition for you.

  Radio host: Would you say your fans have been like one big family support system?

  Penelope: Yes! That’s exactly what they’ve been. One giant family that wraps me up in their arms and encourages me to fight for my dreams. Fight for my soul.

  Radio host: That’s beautiful. I’m so happy you were able to stop by today and share your story with us, Penelope. We wish you all the best of luck with your upcoming surgery.

  Penelope: Thank you so much, Brian, and to all the fans listening. The next time I see you all, I hope it’s in front of the lights.

  Radio host: You’re listening to the last interview ever given by Penelope Lambros, almost five years ago to the day. As most of you know, soon after her failed surgery, she was found unresponsive in her home by her bodyguard. She never achieved her dream of hearing again.

  Radio host 2: I wonder whatever happened to her son?

  Radio host: The last I heard, he was doing well in the Marine Corp. He’d become an interpreter.

  Radio host 2: I wonder if he still plays music?

  Radio host: Well, per his mom, he would never give it up for anything. That’s all for tonight, Nevada, hug your kids, and we’ll see you tomorrow.

  Two months later…

  “We’re stuffing this gown in my purse before we leave.”

  Standing in the tiled bathroom, I glance at the woman in the mirror. “You’re serious? You really want to steal this hospital gown?”

  Milah shrugs a delicate shoulder, tying one of the four ties at my side. “It’s super easy access, don’t you think?”

  My chest rumbles. “Only if we can put it on you. I’m not feeling very manly in it.”

  Her eyes twinkle from behind my shoulder. “That’s a shame,” she says, tugging my arm so I turn around. Finding my jeans on the counter, she tosses them to the floor and lowers to her knees. “Hold this,” she tells me, handing me the bottom of the gown, pushing it up over my hips.

  My dick jumps as if he’s already trying to slip between her lips.

  “See, your dick likes the easy access too,” she gloats.

  “It’s just your lips,” I tease. “Anytime you start talking—”

  Her lips cover the tip, and she takes a long pull that sends my back pushing up against the cold mirror. “Fuck,” I groan.

  “We’re getting there. Don’t rush me,” she says pulling my cock out of her mouth so I can read her lips. The cold air hits the heated flesh and she grins and slides it back in.

  I manage not to roll my eyes because, when her hand fists the base of my cock and matches the rhythm of her mouth, I can only close my eyes. “Let’s cancel this appointment. Dr. Callahan will have other openings.”

  I crack my eyes and see her grinning with my cock in her mouth. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. But then she pops back off so
she can respond. “No. My new boss was adamant that I take the time off now before the grand opening.”

  Her mouth goes back to my cock, the warmth hitting me straight in the balls. “Your boss needs to settle his eager ass down.”

  She grins, her hand working up and down my length as I watch the tip almost pop out before she sucks it back in. If she isn’t careful, I’m going to come down her pretty little throat.

  She pops off again, and I groan. “Don’t stop,” I whine. Really. This is fucking torture.

  “He told me to tell you that he’s coming today. He didn’t care what you wanted.”

  I nod and ease her head forward. She laughs but puts her mouth back on me. “I’m not surprised,” I tell her. “And no more talk of Dr. Parker while my dick is in your mouth.”

  Milah’s laugh vibrates against my dick, and I swear I almost come then. After a generous donation from the estate of Penelope Lambros, Dr. Parker opened a new center with a community outreach program, which Milah runs. Phillip, as I have now started calling him, reached out to Milah and offered her a position in his office. He saw how passionate she was and, for years, had wanted to have a community program. I wasn’t sure how receptive she would be since she had all of her things packed and ready to send to charity. But I think it helped when I ripped up her plane ticket and handed it to Felipe who set it on fire in one of the glass tumblers. We told her she wasn’t leaving, and I think until a few weeks ago, she didn’t believe us.

  Milah’s mouth moves faster, and my hand tangles in her hair. We’re seriously doing this in the hospital bathroom. Her mouth takes me in as far as she can until I hit the back of her throat. Again, she doesn’t gag, and it sends a jolt of pleasure up my spine. But it’s her free hand, cupping my balls and squeezing with just the right amount of pressure, that has me coming down her throat without time to warn her.

  I’m shaking with a fine sheen of sweat coating my forehead when she pulls off me and gives the head of my cock one slow lick that makes me flinch before she wipes her mouth on the back of her hand.

  “Now you won’t need a sedative. You’ll be good and relaxed,” she teases.

  That’s the fucking truth. I pull her from her knees and tug her to my chest. “I love you,” I tell her, kissing the top of her head.

  She pulls back, swiping at her face. “I love you more.”

  “Ms. Iglesias said not to ask you if you’re scared, but you are, aren’t you?”

  The blow job sedative only lasted long enough for me to exit the bathroom and endure a few teasing remarks from the guys. They apparently heard the moans and had to run Oliver to the cafeteria for snacks. I only felt a little bad.

  Children really have no verbal filters. Especially this one. But Oliver’s question isn’t meant to rub the fear in my face. He’s simply curious. This may be him one day, and he’ll need someone who will tell him the truth.

  I tug on the baggy fabric of the hospital gown to readjust it for no other reason than to buy myself time to answer. Oliver fidgets, his little hands fighting the impulse to press one of the buttons on the side of the bed. It makes me smile.

  I pat the stiff mattress. “Come here, kiddo.”

  He doesn’t need to be told twice. His small body hops up next to me and settles in, resting his head on my shoulder. We stare out into the small surgical holding room where my family has squeezed in. The staff tried telling Anniston that only two people could be back here at one time. As you can tell, that rule was bent, but not because of Anniston. This time is was Felipe who apparently knew the administrator on call. He was a known frequenter of the bar and had met his husband there. Needless to say, he was happy to return a favor.

  The TV plays in the background as my family’s mouths move rapidly. I guarantee you they’re being loud and cracking jokes at each other’s expense. Felipe and Marcus fit right in, and when I look closer, I notice Theo and Hayes pulling their shirts up, both of their backs facing Felipe.

  “What are you two doing?” I ask them.

  Theo turns his head and rolls his eyes. “Felipe is finally putting an end to Hayes’s bragging.”

  I look at them both confused. Felipe winks. “I’m judging whose rear end looks the best.”

  I’m not surprised at all when they turn back around, holding still, so Felipe can look at their asses. The shenanigans are comforting, and I find myself chuckling when Oliver’s body shakes against me. “Don’t turn out like them, okay?”

  Oliver nods, agreeing, and then his hands begin to sign. He’s been using sign language more and more lately. It’s becoming second nature. Before today, that would have hurt my heart to see him sign so much, but not now. Now, I’m happy to see that he’s using the options available to him. No one should have to feel like they can’t experience all that life has to offer.

  “You never answered me,” he signs, a frown tugging at his mouth.

  I muss his hair and offer him a timid smile and the truth. I don’t speak. I only sign to him.

  “I’m scared,” I admit. “But do you know what terrifies me more than this surgery?”

  He shakes his head.

  I reach for his shoulder and squeeze. “I’m scared that if I don’t try… then I will miss out on all the wonderful things life can offer me.”

  Like the baby Milah and I are expecting next fall. It was unexpected and, frankly, I lost my mind for a little bit. But then Dr. Parker intervened and offered me and Milah genetic testing. I thought about it but declined. At the end of the day it doesn’t matter if this child is born with four or five senses, he or she will be loved all the same. Nothing will stop me from giving him or her the life they deserve. We haven’t told anyone yet, since Anniston just announced that, she too, is pregnant again. My sweet little Aspen is going to be a big sister, and soon, the McCallister-Jameson Foundation will be full of little feet and a lot of sleepless adults.

  I smile and push at Oliver.

  “Also, don’t think I won’t still kick your butt on the PlayStation when we get home,” I challenge the little boy, hoping to change the subject.

  That’s another thing. Hayes and Bianca weren’t the only ones to move out. After speaking with Principal Moorehouse about Milah’s job—which he couldn’t do anything about—he offered me a position helping Ms. Peak until she retires, at which point, I would take over and run the music class. I’m in the process of getting my teaching certificate, which I will need, along with my new sense of hearing. In the meantime, I bought a house, moved Milah in, and signed up for foster parent courses, which I finished a couple of days ago. Now, it’s only a matter of days before Oliver can move into his new room and I can file the paperwork to adopt him.

  Some days, I can’t believe the course my life took. Six months ago, I hated the world and was happy to waste the days away. I wanted no kids of my own, and here I am, expecting and in the process of adopting. I went from thinking no kids to two kids, with the possibility of more. But I knew I had to adopt Oliver. I think I knew the first time I laid eyes on him that he was destined to be mine. No one would be better equipped to raise him than me. Sure, I had to work through some of my own shit. And, sure, Milah had to remind me that no parent is perfect, but as long as we try and love that child with everything we have, then we are the perfect parents for him. I’m not sure I believe that fully, but I do know that no one will love this boy more than me and Milah. And no one will make sure he experiences every moment life has to offer more than me.

  Oliver’s fingers move swiftly as he signs, letting me know that, if I think he’s going to take it easy on me just because I’m recovering, then I can think again. I laugh and notice the heads turn our way. I ignore them and keep signing, “I expect nothing less.”

  We’re quiet for a moment, and then his face drops and the topic turns to something more serious. “What if it doesn’t work?”

  I told him about my mother a couple of weeks ago. I wanted to be honest and up front about my path in this life. I want him to see me as
brave and taking chances. No one has an easy life. My decisions were not about me losing my hearing. I see that now. They were about me losing my fight. Oliver needs to see that I may have been kicked down, but with the army of family and friends behind me, I got up. If we are doomed to lose, we will go down swinging. Even if this surgery fails, I will have tried all options. And no matter what, I will be happy with what hand I am dealt.

  I squeeze his hand firmly and let go, signing, “Then at least I will know I tried. We are not handicapped because we have one less sense than others. Nothing is ever put on us that we can’t handle. If anything, we are the stronger ones. We are the fighters.”

  His eyes well with unshed tears before I reach out and pull him to my chest. I won’t fail him. I won’t leave him if this surgery doesn’t help. He won’t go back to another foster family. This boy is mine. Nothing is changing. I’m not who I was before. I have all the reasons to fight now.

  I’m pulling back, about to tell him that he has nothing to worry about, when I smell her. Alluring and exotic, I know Milah is standing behind us. Oliver smiles, his eyes still watery, but the little shit grins and signs, “He was getting emotional and needed a hug. You’re welcome.” This kid.

  I turn and lock eyes with the woman who inspired all of this.

  “Kids are such liars.”

  Her bottom lip trembles, and her hands shake as she cradles my face in her hands. “I love you just the way you are. No matter what.”

  I know she does, but that’s not why I finally decided to do this. I’m not doing this for her. I’m doing this for me. I’m doing this because I want the opportunity to hear my children call me dad. I want the opportunity to hear Milah cuss in her native accent. I want to hear Aspen call me Uncle Tim, and I’d like to be the judge of who sings Céline better. Milah or Felipe? This surgery is about me and my future. I’m the son of Penelope Lambros, a beautiful and talented woman and a great mother. I will learn from her mistakes, and I will cherish the beat-up recording of the last interview I have of her. I will hear again. And I will achieve all the dreams she had for us.