Tone Deaf

by Olivia Rivers

  I press closer to him, not even caring that he’s only wearing boxer shorts. I close my eyes and rest my cheek against his warm chest. His scar is rough against my skin, but his rhythmic heartbeat is soothing. It pounds fast, and his muscles are so tense that I know he’s uncomfortable being this close. But he doesn’t move away, and just holds me, his arms warm and strong.

  Soft, steady bursts of air brush against my ear, and I guess that he’s murmuring words, probably something to comfort me. I relax into him, and after a few minutes pass, my shivering stops, leaving me drained and exhausted. My breathing slows. The adrenaline is gone, and the memories are all that’s left.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to think of the fists and pain and tears. Jace just keeps whispering to me, his breath warm against my neck, his hand still rubbing slow circles on the small of my back. Part of me hates him being this close, but the other part needs him. I think I’ve actually needed him for years, and now that I finally have someone to comfort me, it feels strange and scary and right.

  I soak in his presence, trying to memorize the feel of his touch so I can remember it the next time I have a nightmare. Finally, when my breaths slow to a more reasonable rate, I gently push away from him. He lets go of me, but slowly, and I can feel his reluctance as I slip away.

  I look up at him and give a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” I sign, unsure what else to say. My hands falter, and then I hesitantly add, “I have nightmares sometimes. I guess I should have warned you.”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  My embarrassment makes me want to disagree, but before I can, he stands and glances toward his bedroom.

  “I’ll leave you alone now,” he signs. But he doesn’t move, and just stands there, skimming a hand through his tousled hair.

  Alone. That’s the absolute last thing I want. My expression must drop at the thought of it, because Jace takes a hesitant step toward me.

  “Unless . . .” His hands freeze mid-air, and he swallows hard. “Unless you want me to stay?”

  I nod before I can stop myself. A small smile flickers across his lips, and he sits next to me and pulls me close, until my head is resting on his chest again. For the first time, I’m acutely aware that he’s only wearing boxers, and I try not to blush. I must fail pretty miserably, because he chuckles a little, sending vibrations through his chest.

  Jace just pulls a couple of blankets over us, which I apparently kicked to the floor during my nightmare. Then he snuggles close to me, until I’m completely wrapped in his arms, and rests his cheek on top of my head. We both relax into each other.

  His heartbeat thuds against my chest, his breathing is warm against my cheek, and I can’t help but to feel safer than ever before. I close my eyes, giving into sleep.

  19

  JACE

  I FEEL CONTENT. I blearily open my eyes, wondering what the hell is wrong. Am I high? Drunk? Dead? I always wake up to pain ricocheting through my body as my old injuries scream their complaints. But now . . . well, the pain is still there, that’s for sure. But there’s also this bizarre feeling of contentment.

  I blink a couple times, clearing my eyes of sleep, and find that I’m looking at Ali. She’s snuggled into me, her head resting on my chest, her arms tangled around my neck. This is weird. Really, really freaking weird. When I sleep with girls, I don’t sleep with them. We don’t cuddle or snuggle.

  But now I’m wondering why I’ve never done this before. Ali’s arms feel good wrapped around me, and her weight on my chest makes me feel secure and even a little protective. The steady rhythm of her breathing threatens to lull me back to sleep.

  I’m about to drift off when I hear the hum of a vibrating cell phone. Shit. I must have left mine in my room. I groan, knowing I’m going to have to get up and answer it, or else someone is likely to come barging in here and find us together.

  I carefully extract myself from the couch, moving slowly so I don’t wake Ali up, and head to my bedroom. Cuddles scratches at the bathroom door as I pass, and I open it, letting her out. She shoots me an offended glance and stalks off toward the kitchen, probably so she can curl up on her doggy bed and mope. I shake my head and make a mental reminder to take her on a long run later. If I don’t, she’ll get upset and chew on stuff. Stupid dog. Or maybe it’s me who’s stupid for liking her so damn much.

  I shove open my bedroom door just as my cell phone goes off again. I snatch it from my nightstand, and a new message blinks on the screen:

  Jace??? Answer!!

  It’s from Killer, and there’s another notification at the bottom of the screen: Fifteen Unread Messages. Wonderful. Only the band and Tony have this number, which means someone I actually give a crap about is having some sort of panic attack. And there’s nothing to panic about, unless . . . unless someone saw Ali on the news last night.

  Shit.

  I open the message inbox and read over the newest texts near the top, mumbling curses under my breath as I scan over them. There are more messages from Killer, and Jon and Arrow, too.

  You see the news?

  ur chick is nutso

  We have a maaaajor problem.

  cops r after her

  Nevermind. YOU have a maaaajor problem.

  U brought a crazy chick on tour? What the hell is ur issue????

  When I reach the last one, I hesitantly start typing a reply to all. What am I even supposed to say? Everything’s fine, Ali didn’t actually lie about anything, she’s not crazy, and I slept with her last night. But not that kind of sleeping, so don’t worry. Yeah, that wouldn’t go over very well . . .

  I rub my face, trying to think of a reasonable response, when someone knocks on the front door. Actually, it’s more of a frantic bang, and I know it’s Arrow. The dude sounds like a cannon when he knocks, especially if he’s pissed.

  “Just a sec!”

  I grab a T-shirt off my floor and shrug it on, yanking at the hem harder than I need to. Scrubbing my hands over my face, I take a deep breath, trying—and failing—to relax. Another bang echoes down the hall, and Arrow’s muffled voice calls out something that’s royally pissed. I roll my eyes and grab a pair of jeans out of a drawer, pulling them on and immediately hating them. Back home in Denver, jeans are always a welcome barrier against the cold. Here in the Southwest, they’re just annoyingly hot and really not improving my mood.

  I jog to the front door, throwing it open and making sure my scowl is obvious, even though it lost its effect on Arrow years ago. He stands on the doorstep, his hands interlaced behind his neck, his foot tapping out a nervous rhythm. Behind him, the sun rises over the desert horizon, making me squint. What’s Arrow doing here so early, anyway? It’s like six o’clock, and definitely not the right time for a confrontation.

  Arrow nods to the open door. “Can I come in?”

  I close it just a little, so only my face shows. “No. Ali’s sleeping.”

  Arrow shoves past me, clearly not giving a shit about my excuse. I cuss at him, but don’t put up a struggle as he barges into the RV and heads for my bedroom. Arrow flops down on my messy bed and throws one arm over his face, leaving me to stand in the doorway.

  “Dude,” he grumbles, “why the hell weren’t you answering your phone?”

  “I didn’t hear it go off until a minute ago.”

  He grunts. “Did you see my message?”

  “I just read it.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  He abruptly sits up and pins me with a glare. “And I told you so. I told you there’d be issues if you brought that girl along. And now look at the mess you’re in. We’re in the middle of a tour, and you’ve got a psycho in your RV that half the country is now looking for!”

  “She’s not psycho,” I hiss.

  Arrow scoffs. “What sob story did she tell you to make you believe that?”

  “It wasn’t a sob story. And I don’t have the right to just spill everything she told
me.”

  Arrow shakes his head and throws his hands up in disbelief. “Seriously, Jace? We don’t keep secrets from each other. That’s rule number one, and you know it.”

  “No, that’s not rule number one,” I snap. “Rule number one is that we trust each other. And, right now, I need you to trust me, okay? She’s not a liar. She has a severely abusive father and some really shitty luck. She deserves my help. Our help. And you can’t just walk away from her.” Arrow has always been my right-hand man, and he can’t just ditch me like this.

  Arrow’s eyes narrow. “Yes, I can.”

  “You can what?”

  “I can walk away. I don’t have to do anything you say, Jace. You might be our lead singer, but you’re sure as hell not our leader. None of us have to listen to you.”

  I let out a string of cuss words. Arrow just stares at me, his green eyes evaluating me with eerie calmness. When I finally run out of insults, I pause for breath and glare at him, waiting for whatever retort he’s cooked up.

  “But I’ll still help her,” he says.

  I’m too shocked to say anything for a long moment. Then I swallow back my surprise. “What?”

  “You heard me. I said I’ll help.”

  “But you said . . .”

  He scoffs. “I said you can’t force me to do anything. And you can’t. But I want to help you, and you want to help Ali, so . . .” He shrugs. “I’ll help her. It seems like the best way to keep you out of trouble, if you’re going to be too stubborn to kick her out.”

  I just stand there and struggle to figure out a response, not quite believing I heard him correctly.

  “I don’t trust that girl, Jace,” he says. “But I do trust you. You’re right, that is rule number one. And you trust Ali, so . . . yeah. Actually, I guess I do trust her.”

  I stumble over my reply a couple times, but finally manage, “Thank you. Seriously, just . . . thanks.”

  He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “You’ve always had my back. I’d be a total jerk to not have yours. And you’ve already filled the position of Chief Jerk, so there’s no room in the band for another one.”

  I scoff and throw a mock punch at his arm. “Don’t make me regret thanking you.”

  His expression turns serious again. “As long as you don’t make me regret not turning Ali in. I hope to god you know what you’re doing, Jace. Keeping around a chick who has an Amber Alert out on her is just asking for trouble.” He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before moving toward the door, gesturing for me to follow as he says, “Now, come on. Tony wants to meet with us at seven, and if you don’t want him barging in here to find you, we’d better go find him.”

  20

  ALI

  I FLIP THE page of one of Jace’s fitness magazines, even though I have zero clue what I just read. Something about an abdominal workout, I think, although the pictures looked more like a runway model being tortured. Either way, I couldn’t focus on the article, just like I haven’t been able to focus on a single thing in the past hour since I woke up.

  It only took me a quick search around the RV to realize Jace wasn’t here, and even though I know he’ll probably be back soon, I wouldn’t blame him if he decided to stay away longer. What was I thinking, falling asleep in his arms? He’s here to help me get to New York, not to act as my teddy bear.

  I drop the magazine beside me on the couch and rub my tired eyes. Maybe I should have left when I got the chance yesterday, although the Amber Alert has completely ruined my plans to take a flight to New York. Traveling by plane would have been risky to begin with, but now that I’ve been broadcasted nationally as a missing person, it’d be downright idiotic to walk into an airport. Which leaves me still dependent on Jace for my escape, and which really doesn’t make me feel any better about him avoiding me this morning. It probably means he’s regretting what happened between us last night. Whatever that was. His comfort felt like more than simple pity—a lot more. But with Jace missing this morning, I’m starting to think I completely misinterpreted it.

  Something taps my shoulder, and I yelp, looking up to find Killer hovering above me. I glance toward the door, but it’s already closed, and it looks like Killer is the only one who came in.

  “Rise and shine, sweetie,” he says. Or at least that’s what I think he says. He’s using what I guess is a sing-song voice, and his lips are moving all weird, making them hard to read. He quits the singing and adds, “The other guys are going to be in here in just a second, and I don’t think you want to meet Jon while you’re in . . . that.” He gestures to my crumpled T-shirt and wrinkles his nose.

  “Um, thanks.” I stand up, my arms crossed over my chest, and mutter, “I’m going to go change.” As annoying as Killer’s warning is, I should probably be grateful for it. Facing Jace is going to be awkward enough without me looking like hell.

  Killer chuckles and nods. “Good idea.”

  I jog to the bathroom and rush inside. My duffle bag is still in the corner, but it looks scrunched, like someone’s been sitting on it. I pick it up and find dog hair covering the top of the bag and some of the clothes inside. Great. Not only has Jace’s pet grim reaper decided to use my belongings as a bed, but now I’m going to smell like a dog all day.

  I shake away the thought and fish out a pair of jean shorts and a T-shirt. I’m about to pull them on, when I realize I smell like sweat, probably from last night’s nightmare. Ick. Double ick, since I was cuddling with Jace while I stunk like this. I cringe, trying not to dwell on that fact, and start the shower in the corner of the bathroom.

  Once I’m out of the shower, I throw my hair up into a loose bun. I didn’t have enough room to bring my own shower products, so now I’m going to smell like dude shampoo and dog hair. I bite back a groan and shrug on my clothes, silently hoping that Jace owns a lint roller.

  As I step out of the bathroom, I can’t help shooting the window a glare. The desert stretches as far as I can see, and even though we’re just a few miles outside of Albuquerque, I feel hopelessly far from civilization. I’m not sure when we’re going to travel the final stretch to the city, but I sure hope it’s soon. Being cooped up in the RV is bad enough without being surrounded by such a miserably empty landscape.

  I pad toward the front of the RV, all too aware that I probably don’t look much better than when Killer first found me. I usually don’t recover from my nightmares very fast. It’s strange—when my dad hits me, I can walk away and pretend like nothing ever happened. But when I have nightmares, it’s different. It’s like the pain has infiltrated my subconscious, and at that level, there’s no ignoring it.

  As I enter the living area, four heads turn toward me. Killer and Arrow sit on the far couch, snuggled close to each other. Killer beams at me, while Arrow gives me an appraising look, and I can feel him judging me.

  I quickly turn to Jace, who sits on the opposite couch. He regards me with a completely neutral expression. Heat creeps into my cheeks, and I grit my teeth to keep my expression from tumbling into one of pain. How could I have thought last night meant anything? I’m someone for him to pity, and nothing more.

  I try to ignore my embarrassment as I shift my attention to the fourth guy, who I assume is Jon. He’s lounging on the couch, both arms thrown over the back of it. Jon is shorter than the others, but muscular, and his right arm is covered in tattoos. They’re gorgeous, with bold colors and real artwork.

  “Hi,” I say, deciding to break the silence when no one else does. “I’m Ali.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Jon says, offering me a hesitant smile. His teeth are just a teensy bit crooked. It’s his only real physical flaw, and I make myself return the smile, forcing away the feeling that I’m woefully inept.

  I shuffle my feet, waiting for someone else to say something. They don’t. They’re all staring at me, and I have the distinct feeling that I’ve just interrupted a conversation about myself.

  Killer breaks the stillness by waving at me and patting the couch n
ext to him. “Come sit down,” he says.

  As I sit next to him, my muscles automatically tense from the closeness, and I silently remind myself that Killer is a nice guy I should have no issues with. But he doesn’t make things any easier when he slides his arms away from Arrow and tosses one over my shoulders, giving me a little hug. He says something to me, but I’m too focused on pulling away to properly read his lips.

  Jace waves to get my attention and then signs, “Killer just asked how you slept last night.”

  Is he for real? I watch Jace’s expression for any hint of humor, but his face remains deadpan. I bite my lip to keep from cussing at him. What’s his problem, anyway? He’s all hot and cold, and I can’t figure out any pattern his mood is following.

  “I slept fine,” I say, hoping my tone is as nonchalant as I mean for it to be. I gesture to the window, which shows tiny slats of desert through the closed shades. “Are we leaving soon?”

  “No,” Jace says with a shake of his head. Then he switches to sign language and quickly explains, “We’ve got three vehicles out of commission. Some idiot tried to replace the oil and put it in with the antifreeze, so all the RVs and trailers are stopped while that gets fixed. But since we’re so close to Albuquerque, we’re going to take a car and head into the city. I’ve got an event I’m scheduled to attend, and the others”—he pauses to gesture to his bandmates—“are going to take the day off.”

  I nod stiffly, knowing that my frustration will show through if I give an actual response. It makes sense that Jace isn’t offering for me to join them—it’s really not safe for me to leave the RV. But that doesn’t stop me from feeling jealous at the thought of them hanging out in the city while I stay cooped up in here.

  Killer nudges my ribs, making me flinch. As long as I’m trying to figure out Jace’s issue, I’d like to know Killer’s, too. What is so damn hard to understand about the no-touching concept?