by Aly Martinez
We sat uncomfortably squished together for several hours. As far as I knew, no one said anything. We were all lost in our own imagination of what the future would hold. The sun was starting to peek through the window when Eliza nudged me and pointed down to Q, who was asleep on her shoulder. I glanced over to Flint, who was also racked out, his head flopped back and his mouth hanging open. It was time to put the entire day to rest. I scooped Q off her lap then carried him to bed. Flint sleepily stumbled into the room after me, and Eliza leaned against the doorjamb, watching me toss the blankets over them both.
It wasn’t picture perfect. Half of Flint’s body hung off the twin-sized bed, and Quarry’s head was twisted in a way that would cause him to be sore for a week. I was deaf, yet Eliza was still smiling.
It was all wrong.
But right then, it felt exactly right.
After quietly closing the door, I led her down the hall to our bedroom. We collapsed against the cool sheets, exhausted by the evening but miles away from being able to find any rest. I held her close as she doodled my eyes. Then I gave up watching the fluid movement of her hand across the paper and started watching her face.
Her eyes squinted with every curve, and her mouth twitched the moment she started the elongated strokes I knew to be my lashes. She never once glanced up to study my eyes; she knew them from memory.
My attention was drawn away when she lifted the pad into my line of sight.
Talk to me, she had drawn in big bubble letters across the paper.
I shook my head and then slid down to rest on the pillow, facing her.
He’s afraid.
I grabbed the pencil from her hand. Who?
I started to hand it back, but she grabbed another off the nightstand.
Quarry, she wrote.
He’ll be okay.
Not if you shut down, he won’t. She gave me an impatient look.
I couldn’t say that she was wrong. Hell, I knew she was right, even though I wanted to pretend she wasn’t.
I’ll try.
Then talk to me.
“Please,” she mouthed. Her chin quivered, and her nostrils flared.
Jesus, she was fighting hard, which was everything I absolutely wasn’t doing.
I opened my mouth, but not a single sound came out—at least not to my ears.
“Do I sound weird? Like a deaf person?”
She gave me a huge smile that made sounding ridiculous completely worth it. Tears pooled in her eyes as she quickly shook her head and said, “No.” In big letters, she wrote, You still sound like MY Till. But you were always weird, so maybe the answer should be yes.
I watched as her mouth opened and her chest shook with laughter. It damn near killed me to know that I was missing the sound that should have accompanied it.
You need to talk to them tomorrow. Show them that it’s still you.
“Okay.”
But maybe quieter. You’re yelling.
“Shit. Sorry,” I replied, trying to speak softly even though I had no idea how to gauge my volume.
Better. She smiled. Now talk to me about why you won’t get the implant.
I guess there was no beating around the bush.
“Doodle, I don’t know. I have to fight. I don’t have anything outside of that ring.”
That’s not true at all and you know it. You have me and the boys.
“That’s exactly it! I have you and the boys. And I finally found something I can make enough money at to provide for all of you. I’m not giving that up. I can’t! I just can’t!” I was sure I was yelling, but I couldn’t stop.
Two days ago, I’d made fifty grand in fifteen minutes That was more than I’d made in two years working my ass off. I couldn’t go back to the struggle just to keep food on the table—not even to hear again.
I’m not asking you to give it up, Till. I just want to understand your reasons. I didn’t even know the implant was a possibility until today. You never talk to me about this stuff.
“I only found out a few years ago—back when I’d never have been able to come up with the money for it. But honestly, I don’t want to think about it, Eliza. Not with you.”
Fantasy?
“It’s kinda my thing.” I smiled sheepishly.
Her mouth began to move, and I just blinked at her. I watched her bite out the word, “Shit,” before going back to the paper.
How about you just make us your thing?
“I can do that. But I can’t get that implant,” I announced again.
She bit her lip and rolled away.
“Look at me.” I flipped her back over, and the expected tears were already present.
“Did you know that Slate thinks he can get me a fight in a few months for double what I made the other night? That’s a hundred thousand dollars, Doodle. Think about it. If I win that one, who knows! We could be millionaires by the end of the year.”
She wasn’t impressed and rolled her eyes
“I’m serious. It could happen.”
She forcefully scribbled on the paper, It’s just money!
“No, it’s not!” I roared, jumping off the bed. “It’s a life. It’s security. It’s being able to provide for you. It’s being able to send Flint to college and pay to get Quarry to the best doctors so he never has to experience this shit. It’s buying you a home and a car, maybe a whole fucking studio where you can sit and draw for the rest of your life. Fuck accounting! You hate it.” The more I spoke, the angrier I became. I wasn’t mad at her. I just fucking hated reality. “It’s more than money! It’s being able to make babies with you and not having to bust my ass at a job I hate when all I truly want to be doing is sitting on that fucking couch”—I pointed to the living room—“with our family.
“Do you have any idea how it feels for a man to not be able to provide for his family? It’s crippling! Don’t make me feel guilty for making this choice. Damn it, I’m doing it for all of us. If it means you guys are taken care of, I will sit in silence for the rest of my fucking life.”
By the time I finished, tears were streaming from her eyes. She didn’t want me to suffer—I understood that. This was my life though. Suffering was a guarantee. Security was not.
“Okay.”
I read her lips as she rose to her knees and wrapped her arms around my waist. Then I held her, smoothing her hair until I was able to calm down.
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 quirk
ed 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 to 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 with 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.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Eliza
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 judges’ 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 spoke 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. B
ut 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.
Till
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.