Fighting Silence

by Aly Martinez

  I cupped both sides of her face and studied her eyes. “Okay? That was too easy.”

  Her response was nothing more than a shrug.

  As we crawled back in bed, I took her mouth in a gentle kiss. It didn’t grow any deeper, but it was there for comfort, nothing else.

  Eliza pulled away first and grabbed her notebook.

  I have two conditions.

  I rolled my eyes, but she ignored me.

  Swear to me, that the minute your boxing career is over, you will get the implant.

  “You know Slate didn’t retire until he was thirty-three,” I teased.

  I don’t care if you are three hundred. Promise. Me.

  “I can’t box at three hundred!” I laughed, and she narrowed her eyes. “Okay. Fine. I promise. Just give me ten years.”

  “Ten. Years?” She gave me a sad-puppy-dog face that made me laugh harder. God, it felt good.

  “Maybe more.” I grazed her jaw with my teeth before looking back at her paper. “And number two?”

  The Page family is officially enrolling in sign language classes. All of us.

  “The Page family, huh?” My smile grew painfully wide. “You’re a Page now?”

  Well, not legally. You know I’m still married to Justin Timberlake.

  I laughed then snatched the pad from her hands. “Then send my apologies to Justin, because I’m about to fuck his wife.”

  The sparkle of humor vanished from her eyes, but longing and desire appeared just as quickly.

  “Are you sure?” She over-enunciated so I could read her lips.

  “Uhh . . .” I quirked my eyebrow in confusion. I was always sure when it came to her. “Please don’t tell me deaf people can’t have sex,” I joked and pulled her shirt over her head. “I just want things to feel normal, Eliza. And the normal I want to feel tonight is you coming against my cock while I empty inside you.”

  A shy smile crept onto her mouth, but her hands boldly slid over my cock, which was thickening in my jeans.

  I couldn’t get my clothes off fast enough.

  It started out slow, with me kneeling beside her, watching my fingers as I glided them in and out. She lazily stroked my shaft and watched me, watching her.

  I licked over her breasts; she raked her nails over my back.

  I was into it. Completely. But as I guided myself inside her, her head fell back in pleasure and it was as if someone had kicked me in the stomach. There wasn’t a single noise to accompany it.

  With every thrust, I watched her quietly fall apart underneath me. I willed my eyes to somehow magically transmit the sound I saw coming out of her mouth to my ears, but no matter how hard I tried, she still came on a silent cry.

  I struggled to find my own release, fucking her harder than ever before. I was on a mad mission for over an hour, drilling into her in every possible position I could think of. I was in no way gentle, and by the end, it had to have become painful for her. But she never once tried to stop me as she took every ounce of the anger that was aimed at my own body.

  I was covered in sweat as I began to tire, still no closer to finding my orgasm than I was when we started. I was ready give up, when she flipped us over and began to ride me. Then Eliza Reynolds proved once again that she was magic. She made me better. I was still deaf, but she showed me that there were other ways to hear her.

  She lifted my hand to cup her throat and moaned as she slid down on my cock. I heard it. Maybe not with my ears, but the vibrations of her throat gave me just enough sensation to make me believe I had. My eyes got wide as she did it over and over again. Then a small smile tilted my lips, and hers filled with absolute love.

  It was by far the worst sex we had ever had, but within seconds, I was coming harder than I ever would again.

  Soon after we finished, Eliza fell asleep. She was never a snorer, with the exception of her final conscious sigh, there was no sound associated her sleeping. So I lay awake for hours watching her. It truly felt normal and made it easy for me to forget the panic that continued to build in my chest.

  I was okay.

  She was okay.

  We were okay.

  Nothing else matters.

  TILL’S FRUSTRATION WITH HIS INABILITY to communicate was overwhelming for all of us. The simplest of tasks had become impossible, and the slightest trigger would send him off the deep end. My easygoing fiancé was gone. Hell, even the nervous, stressed-out boy had disappeared. In his place was a pissed-off man with a grudge against the world.

  We enrolled in sign language classes and started integrating it into our every conversation. Flint and Quarry picked it up rather quickly, but Till was a little slower on the uptake. He took it upon himself to learn every possible curse word, but that was the extent of his thirst for knowledge. He hated spending two hours every night in class, and he skipped any time he could find a plausible excuse. It was a hard balance, because we could learn all of the signs we wanted, but if Till didn’t understand, they were worthless.

  Our relationship took a hit as well. He still held me every chance he got, but it was oddly reminiscent of our younger years. It was affection, but never sexual. I missed him even when he was sitting directly in front of me. We still had sex when I initiated it, but it was rough and it took forever for him to come. It just wasn’t the same. Boxing seemed to be the only thing he cared about, and even that was a challenge for him.

  We didn’t announce to the public that Till had suddenly lost his hearing. He had made his way onto the professional boxing scene after his win over Lacy, but it wasn’t like the press was beating down our door for an official statement or anything. I thought Till liked it that way too. He hated advertising his shortcomings—and that was exactly how he viewed it.

  Slate spent months developing a system that would enable Till to know when the round was over. Most of the time, the ref would dive in and divide the fighters, but if Till was still swinging after that bell, he would risk losing a precious point. Back home in the quiet gym, Till could faintly make out the bell, but in a crowded arena, it was swallowed by cheering fans. Ten seconds before the end of the fight, Slate would pound three times on the mat, and Till would count it down in his head before he quit swinging. It was simple, but it took some getting used to. He eventually perfected it—probably a little too well.

  “You son of a bitch!” Slate screamed as Leo James tried to drag him away from the other boxing trainer.

  Tears fell from my eyes as Till lay on the mat forging his way back to consciousness.

  “I will ruin you!” Slate threatened wildly as the crowd snapped pictures of The Silent Storm losing his shit.

  It was all I could do not to join him.

  The Silencer had just suffered his first defeat. TKO in the sixth round. There was not a single doubt in my head that the judge’s cards had him up by several points. He was dominating the fight in every aspect—except for hearing the bell.

  I saw the other trainer watching Slate each round. He’d see Slate pound the mat and his eyes would fly back to Till to watch for a reaction. He knew something was going on; he just couldn’t figure out what.

  In the sixth round, with thirty seconds left, that opposing trainer pounded three times on his side of the ring. Slate started shouting immediately, but it was too late. I sat in the front row, holding my breath as I nervously counted to ten. When I got to nine, I watched Till throw one last punch knocking his opponent back a step. As the ref got close, Till dropped his hands and started to turn away. Because he was completely unprotected, a glove landed on his chin and sent him to the ground.

  Celebration erupted across the ring, and well . . . that’s when Slate erupted as well.

  “Calm the fuck down!” Leo barked as Slate continued to scream profanities at the other corner.

  Flint hopped the railing and rushed to the ring, where they were trying to get a stool under Till. I was breathless as I watched him slowly come around. Flint was signing a million miles a minute, but Till’s face spo
ke the real words—and they were tragic.

  “Come on.” Leo appeared beside me as I watched a much more subdue Slate helping Till from the ring.

  “Is he okay?” I asked as I pulled on Quarry’s shirt to drag his attention from his brothers.

  “Yeah. His pride’s the only thing that took any kind of real damage.”

  “That was so fucked up,” Quarry said as Leo ushered us back to the dressing rooms.

  “It really was,” he replied.

  When we got to the door, I could hear Slate yelling, and I steeled myself for a similar reaction from Till, but the second I walked through the door, he smiled and I burst into tears.

  “Oh, Jesus. She’s crying,” he teased as he walked over and pulled me into his arms. “I’m fine,” he reassured me, but they were angry tears. There was no soothing them.

  I leaned away and signed as I spoke, “That was so messed up.”

  “Yeah. It was. I’m good though.”

  “Are you sure? You’re entirely too calm right now.”

  “I think he’s pissed enough for both of us.”

  We both looked over at Slate, who was marching around the room with his phone glued to his ear. He was barking at someone about the boxing commission and integrity. It was so unlike anything I had ever seen from Slate that I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “So, what now?” Quarry asked as he signed.

  “Now, we go get some food,” Till replied.

  “No, I mean, how bad is it that you lost?”

  “Well, it sucks. But the check still cashes the same.” He winked. “Yo, Slate. Let’s get some food. We’re gonna need to figure out a new bell plan.”

  Slate waved him off as he continued to rant on the phone.

  I watched as Till walked away seemingly unfazed. It was eerie and worrisome.

  Oh, God, I silently whispered to myself as I sank down the wall to the cool bathroom floor.

  I replayed that ten-count in my head at least a million times. Over and over, I tried to figure out how to make the outcome change.

  Quarry’s words scrolled through my mind. “What now?”

  I had no fucking idea.

  It wasn’t career ending to lose a fight, but maybe going deaf was. And that little revelation shook me to the core. I had no plan B. I loved boxing, but it was always about the paycheck. Watching that savings account grow meant more to me than any belt I could wrap around my waist. The pursuit of greatness and the dreams of being a legend were great, but Eliza and the boys didn’t rely on me for those things. Their futures rested on my shoulders. The same shoulders that had been flat out on the mat because I couldn’t even hear a fucking bell.

  It was a hard pill to swallow, but the effects were what really did the worst damage.

  Being hungry for more was one thing, but I was so sick of groveling for the scraps life tossed at my feet. And just when I’d thought I had found my one chance to escape the dungeons of reality, my own fucking body had sabotaged me.

  I needed to get out of there. I pushed to my feet and tugged on some clothes, not even bothering with the shower.

  I couldn’t let them see how much losing had shredded me. My whole body ached with disappointment; I didn’t need theirs as well. Flint would just try to fix it, Quarry would worry, and Eliza would have to save my ass once again. I was so sick of being a burden on all of them. I was barely a man anymore. I couldn’t even fuck my own woman without having a goddamn nervous breakdown.

  I just needed to leave. But as I caught sight of myself in the mirror, I realized that running would do me absolutely no good. There were no more windows.

  “Fuck!” I yelled as I slammed my fist into my reflection. It shattered against my hand, and I wished like hell that I could do the same to life’s vendetta against me.

  As predicted, Eliza came rushing in, ready to care for the broken patient who masqueraded as her fiancé.

  “Are you okay?” she asked then lifted my hand to inspect my bloodied knuckles.

  I snatched it out of her grasp. “Don’t fucking baby me,” I growled. “I can’t handle it tonight. Just leave me alone.”

  “Let’s just talk about it.”

  “No. I don’t want an intervention tonight.” I snatched a towel off the ground and wrapped it around my knuckles. “I’m all maxed out on feeling like a bitch tonight without you making it worse.”

  “Making it worse?” She tilted her head in confusion.

  “Yes, worse. Just let me hang on to my own balls for the evening. I’ll be sure to return them first thing in the morning.”

  “Wow. I didn’t know that helping you was the same as taking your balls. But you know what? Now that you mention it, maybe you’re right. I’ll be happy to stop trying to talk you down when you go into one of your full-blown tailspins. Would that stop you from being a broody asshole all the time?” She threw her hands out to the sides in frustration.

  “A broody asshole, huh?”

  “Yep. You’re always either pissed off, angry, or moping.” She flicked her fingers at me as she finished the sign.

  “I just got knocked out because I can’t hear. I think I’ve got a right to feel that way.”

  “So is that”—she pointed to the broken mirror—“about the fight? Or were you in here wallowing in bitterness and pity?”

  I fucking hated that she knew me so well.

  “I have the right to be bitter!” I roared.

  “No. You. Don’t!” She punctuated every single silent syllable. “You may not have chosen to lose your hearing, but you chose to be deaf.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She narrowed her eyes, but it wasn’t in the playful way that usually instigated one of our staring matches. It was actually a little frightening. Her hands started moving rapidly, but her lips didn’t accompany it. My sign language was usually only good enough to give me context clues on what their lips were saying. Without them both, though, I was worthless.

  “I have no idea what you’re trying to sign.”

  “That’s because you refuse to learn!” she screamed as she signed. Her face turned red from the exertion, but it hit my ears. It was probably only a single note of her voice, but I heard it.

  It was both painful and invigorating.

  I sucked in a breath, and a real, honest-to-God smile formed on my mouth for the first in months.

  “And now you’re smiling. Fantastic.” She threw her hands up in the air and headed for the door.

  “I miss your voice. I miss listening to you talk while I figure things out. Hell, I even miss Justin Timberlake right now, because that terrible CD was like the Eliza Reynolds soundtrack. I’d give anything to hear it right now.”

  She turned around to face me with tears sparkling in her eyes. “Well, you know what? I just miss you.”

  “Doodle, I . . .”

  “This is temporary, Till. And it sucks really fucking bad, but this was a decision you made. I understand why you chose this life, and I support you completely. But I can’t live with this miserable man you’ve become for the next ten years. Give me back my man. I’ll even take the boy if that’s all you have to give. But damn it, I’m struggling too and I really need Till right now.” Her chin quivered and it broke me.

  “I’ll do better.” I signed awkwardly, walking toward her. “I’ll do better, I swear.” I looped my arms around her waist and pulled her against my chest. I didn’t know if she spoke any more, but her words played in my head.

  She needed me, and I had been too wrapped up in my own shit to realize she was struggling too. It was time to man the fuck up. I couldn’t do it for myself, but I damn sure could do it for Eliza.

  “HOLY SHIT!” TILL JUMPED OFF the couch and was quickly followed by Flint and Quarry.

  “Three . . . Four . . .” Flint counted, creeping closer to the TV.

  “It’s over! It’s over!” Quarry screamed at the top of his lungs.

  “Oh my God.” I covered my mouth.

  “You knocked out the
heavyweight champion of the world!” Flint signed excitedly then shoved Till’s chest. He laughed wildly as he fell down onto the cushions.

  “I can’t believe that fucker actually won.”

  “Won? I can’t believe someone gave his ass a title shot,” Flint replied.

  “Are you kidding me? He’s The Brick Wall! He’s never been knocked out! What choice did they have?” I said sarcastically.

  Rick “The Brick Wall” Matthews had just won the title belt. He was the same Brick Wall Till had knocked on his ass during his first and only amateur fight. The same Brick Wall who had quickly been making his way up the ladder. His arrogance about having never been knocked out and his ability to back it up made him a fan favorite and enabled him to skip a few of the rungs Till was still navigating.

  “I cannot believe he has the fucking title now,” Till signed as he spoke.

  My stomach twisted as I waited for the fallout from watching someone so obviously lap him, but it never came.

  Over the course of four months, my Till had come back. He had thrown himself into learning sign language, and even our sex life had returned to somewhat normal. Without words in the dark, Till was forced to read my body language—now that was something he excelled at. Things would never go back to the way they were before Till lost his hearing, but we were all busy forging a new path with the life we had been handed. Sometimes it sucked, but, as a family, we never focused on that for too long.

  “Hey Flint, you still meeting up with Tiffany?” Till asked when I flipped off the television.

  “Nah. Her curfew’s eleven. By the time I got over there, I’d just have to turn around and come home.”

  “Quickie?” Till waggled his eyebrows teasingly.

  “Till!” I smacked his chest.

  “Don’t Till me. When we were his age, I’d already had you!” He laughed.

  “Oh sweet Jesus.” I closed my eyes, shaking my head.

  “He’s a man, Eliza.” Quarry interjected. “Men have quickies.”

  “I’m gonna puke.” I stood up and walked to the kitchen, but Quarry continued.

  “Sex is a natural part of life. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”