Tone Deaf

by Olivia Rivers

  “You’re so freaking adorable when you blush.” Before I can come up with any kind of response, he gently kisses the tip of my nose and presses his forehead against mine. “But I really should leave soon. Tired or not, my concert is going to start in just a couple hours.”

  I bite my lip to keep from frowning. Jace tips my chin up and brushes his lips against mine, not quite a kiss, but teasingly close. And suddenly I feel sad.

  “What’s the matter?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” I mutter, even though it’s not true. Knowing I’m going to be alone all evening makes me feel just a tiny bit lonely, which reminds me that as soon as I get to New York, I’ll be completely on my own. And, hell, I’ve survived for years with hardly anyone to lean on. I know I can do it. But now that I have a glimpse into a life that isn’t so lonely, I don’t want to do it.

  He gently traces my frown with his fingertip. “That doesn’t look like nothing.”

  I sigh and shake my head. “It’s just . . . I’m going to miss you when we get to New York. That’s all.”

  “Who says I’m going to leave you?” he asks.

  My eyes widen. Could he actually plan on having me around for longer than just the tour? I mean, it will never work out, but still . . . that’s sweet. Probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.

  “Thank you,” I murmur, unsure what else to say.

  “You don’t have to thank me. I want to be with you.”

  My cheeks flush a little, but I can’t stop myself from smiling. I reach up and run a hand through his hair, messing up his fauxhawk. He leans in a little closer, and I take the opportunity to kiss him.

  His lips are firm and warm against mine, and he holds my face gently in his hands. This close to him, I can smell his sharp cologne and the woodsy scent that clings to his skin. He runs a hand through my hair, pressing me closer to him and intensifying the kiss.

  After a long minute, Jace pulls away and gently strokes my cheek. “If I don’t leave now, someone is going to come looking for me, and they might find you.”

  All the warmth rushes from my body, leaving cold nervousness. In Jace’s arms, it’s easy to believe I’m safe. But his words bring reality crashing back down—I’m still thousands of miles from New York and a long way off from being truly safe at all.

  Jace frowns at my nervous expression and wraps his arms back around me. His hand rubs soft circles against the small of my back, and I close my eyes, leaning into him.

  I stay there for a moment, but then pull away to sign, “What do I do if someone does find me?”

  He lets out a long, slow breath as he considers this. Then he presses a gentle kiss against my forehead and signs, “We’ve worked well together getting you away from your dad. So if someone tries to force you to go back, we’ll deal with it the same way. Together.”

  24

  JACE

  WHEN I FINALLY make it backstage, I’m swarmed by the stage crew. The rest of the band is already onstage waiting for me, and the crew buzzes around frantically, speed-talking through last-minute prep. I was planning on actually being on time for once, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave Ali. Usually, concerts turn me into a ball of energy and nerves, and I’m always anxious to jump onstage. But I would have preferred to spend this evening with Ali, who was peacefully dozing by the time I left.

  The stage crew is officially freaking out as they recite instructions I already know by heart. Once I have all my mics set up and my guitar in hand, they all stop panicking and direct me toward the stage. Tony is waiting for me by the steps. He rushes forward and grabs both my shoulders in a vise-like grip, and I quickly shrug his hands off, shooting him an impatient glare. He pins me with a similar expression, but lowers his hands to his sides.

  “You’re forty-eight minutes late,” he snaps. Tony gestures toward the front of the stage, where the rest of the band waits with all our equipment. Killer catches sight of me and waves. I don’t wave back.

  “I got sidetracked,” I say, and start making my way toward the stage.

  Tony walks beside me, his footsteps heavier than usual. “Jace, you can’t be late to your own concert.”

  “I always am.”

  “Yeah, five or ten minutes. This is different. You kept fans waiting for almost an hour. People are getting restless, and it’s your fault. Some people have already left.”

  “Then they’re not true fans, and I don’t need them.”

  I jog toward the steps leading to the stage. Before I reach them, Tony grabs my arm and yanks on it, stopping me. I curse and whirl toward him, my fists automatically clenching. He backs away a step, but his tone is sharp as he says, “Those people out there are your livelihood. And not just yours, but all of ours. Don’t screw things up.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You already are. You haven’t been acting like yourself lately, Jace. Something’s off, and I want to know what.”

  “Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

  “The manager at that studio called to complain that you left early yesterday. He said you were rude to fans, which doesn’t surprise me, but he also said you ignored them. Since when do you ignore people? And then there’s that poor deaf girl you flipped off the other day.”

  That poor deaf girl. I flinch at the memory. Flipping off Ali definitely qualifies me for the Jackass of the Year Award. If I’d just known what she was really like . . .

  No, that’s not an excuse. I never should have treated her that way. Period.

  Tony doesn’t seem to notice that I haven’t given a response and continues his rant. “That, plus you’ve been holed up in your RV all the time, and you’re acting all secretive.” He steps toward me, until his face is right in mine, and says in a softer voice, “If you’re hooked on something, let me help. Please.”

  What the hell? He thinks I’m on drugs? Me? I shake my head, unable to form any words, and kind of glad I can’t. I’d just say something I’ll regret. But does Tony really think I’d follow in the footsteps of my dad? Tony knows I’m far from angelic, but I thought he also believed I’m not a monster.

  Tony takes my silence as an answer—the wrong type, of course. He looks down and shakes his head, and for some reason, that hurts. Even as he glances back up and forces a small smile, the pain stays. I’ve obviously disappointed him, and . . . and, dammit, I don’t want to disappoint him. For once in my life, I want someone to be proud of me. I want for them to tell me that I’m a good guy, that I do the right things, that . . .

  . . . that I deserve Ali.

  Tony pushes his glasses back into place and puts on his usual businesslike expression. “We’ll talk later. Okay? For now, you’ve got a show to put on.”

  I nod tightly and walk up the steps to the darkened stage, stomping a little harder than I need to. At the sound of my footsteps, Arrow turns and shoots me a glare. But I pick up on the concerned edge to his expression, which is the only reason I don’t explode right then and there.

  Jon raises his eyebrows at me, and from behind his drum set, he mouths, “It’s about time.”

  I flip him off and stride over to the microphone at the center of the stage. Usually, this is the part when my adrenaline takes over, and everything hazes out into a blur of raw energy and music and applause. Today is different. My thoughts are still back in the RV and concentrated on Ali. That’s where I want to be—relaxing alone with her, not putting on a show for strangers.

  But I’m here, and there’s not much I can do to change that. I’m about to cue the beginning of the show, when Killer jumps up from behind his keyboard and rushes over to me, an anxious look on his face. I open my mouth to tell him to mind his own business, but he cuts me off by whispering, “Is Ali okay? You look worried.”

  I try not to show my shock. He seems genuinely concerned about her, and in any other situation, I probably would have thanked him. But I give him a warning glare, nodding to the small mic clipped to his shirt. He taps it and shakes his head. “It’s off.”

>   Letting out a long breath, I quickly double-check that my own mic is off and murmur, “She’s fine. Um . . . thanks for asking.”

  His usual grin springs back onto his lips. “Great. And, yeah, no problem.” With that, he runs back to his keyboard, but not before stopping to give Arrow a kiss on the cheek. Arrow playfully swats at him and “accidentally” smacks his butt, which results in Killer laughing and tackle-hugging his boyfriend.

  I hold my hand up briefly, giving the cue for the show to begin. The main lights come on, fully illuminating the stage and revealing us to hundreds of waiting Tone Deaf fans. They scream in excitement, and only grow louder as Killer throws his arms around Arrow’s neck and kisses him fully on the lips. Applause and whistling breaks out, and Killer finally pulls away, laughing from the excitement and adrenaline. Arrow grins like a maniac, and I roll my eyes at them, shooting Killer an exasperated look.

  “All right, all right,” he mouths to me. As Killer retreats back to his keyboard, the crowd slowly quiets. I switch on my mic and plaster a smile on my face, but it doesn’t feel right. I’ve always felt happiest onstage, having hundreds of people watching me and knowing they’re here for my music.

  But now I’d rather be with Ali. She might not be able to fully appreciate my music the way others do, but she appreciates me. I’d always thought those were the same thing, but as I fight off the longing to ditch the concert and spend the evening with Ali, I realize how much more precious her offering is.

  I force in a deep breath, exhaling it slowly so it doesn’t cause static in the mic. Then I force my smile to grow and look up at the crowd in front of me. “Good evening, ladies and gents!” I call out. There’s a resounding response as the crowd breaks out in cheering and screaming. I strum my guitar, effectively quieting them. “My name is Jace Beckett, my band is Tone Deaf, and tonight we’ll be performing just for you.”

  The crowd erupts in excited applause, and my smile feels a little less fake as the sound washes over me. My heart starts pounding, just like it always does during a performance, and adrenaline spreads through my body. I strum my guitar again and then pick delicately at the strings, sending music surging out the stereo system. It surrounds me, fills me, envelops me.

  Just like that, the music and I are one, and the show begins.

  25

  ALI

  I PAD DOWN the short hallway, using one hand to rub sleep out of my eyes and the other to rub my cramped neck. After I woke up from my nap last night, I tried staying awake until Jace came back from his concert, but I gave up around three in the morning and crashed on the couch. It didn’t quite seem right to sleep in Jace’s bed without him there, but now I’m regretting the couch. My neck muscles feel like someone’s wrung them out.

  I’m not really sure where Jace went to—he’s probably with one of the other band members, or maybe still out partying. That’s what rock stars do after a performance, right? They party wildly? It’s strange thinking of Jace doing that—he’s so tightly wound, I can’t picture him at a party at all.

  I jump in surprise as I step into the kitchen and find I’m not alone. Jace leans against the counter, munching on a toaster waffle as he peers down at his smartphone. I have no idea when he got back, although it was probably pretty recently, because his eyes are bleary and dark with exhaustion. But he must be in a good mood if he’s willing to eat something as unhealthy as a waffle, even though I’m sure it’s whole-grain and low-fat.

  Jace waves at me with the hand holding the waffle, takes a bite out of his breakfast, and then goes back to typing on his phone. His hair flops into his face, and as he brushes it away, I realize with a touch of surprise that this is the first time I’ve seen his hair unstyled. Usually, it’s in that fauxhawk, but now it hangs loosely around his face. It’s kind of cute like this, with the dyed tips almost reaching his chin.

  The smartphone is the same one I’ve seen him with before, only now it has a bright-pink case. Huh. I didn’t take Jace to be a pink guy.

  Jace types for a couple more seconds and then winks. “Catch,” he mouths, and tosses the phone to me. A yelp strains my throat, and I hastily snatch the phone out of the air right before it hits the ground. I glare at Jace, showing him the full brunt of my annoyance. What if I’d dropped the thing? There’s no way in hell I could ever pay him back.

  Then I notice the phone has little purple present bows stuck all over the back of it. I blink a few times, sure that they’re going to disappear any second. They don’t. Flipping it over, I glance at the screen and find that it’s open to the contacts page. There are only five programmed in: Arrow Beckett, Jace Beckett, Kilimanjaro Johnson, and Jon McKinley. My breath catches as I read the fifth entry: Avery Summers.

  Clutching the phone to my chest, I turn to Jace. “This is . . . for me?”

  He smiles, and it’s an unrestrained expression that wipes the tiredness straight off his face. “Killer grabbed it for you on his day off. We don’t want you to have to strain to lip-read all the time, so we figured this would make things easier. I was just programming in the numbers you’ll need. You’ll have to add in Avery’s yourself, but I’m guessing you probably have it memorized, anyway.”

  I nod dumbly. “Thank you.” There are probably a dozen other things I could say, but none of them could even begin to express my relief and gratitude, so I don’t even try. I miss Avery more than I ever imagined, and my fingers are already itching to send her a text message.

  Jace chuckles at my expression and signs, “I’m glad you like it.”

  I rush over to him and throw my arms around his neck. As always, he stiffens at first, and it takes a moment for him to relax. When he finally does, he hugs me back, pressing me close to his chest. He kisses my forehead and smiles at me.

  I blush and look down. Again. That seems to be my unconscious reaction to anything sweet Jace does—blush and look away. I wonder if I’ll ever break that habit.

  Jace tips my chin up—his own habit—and gently strokes my cheek with the back of his hand. “I’m leaving again today,” he murmurs, but he’s staring right into my eyes and doesn’t seem all that focused on his words or our conversation.

  I take it as a chance to more closely examine his eyes. I think they’re really the only gorgeous part of him—the rest of him is handsome and masculine. But his eyes are so expressive, and with his thick lashes framing them, they’re beautiful in the best of ways.

  I lean into Jace and press my cheek against his soft cotton shirt, realizing I have a conversation to finish. “Where are you going?”

  “Some local music festival that’s happening downtown. Arrow and Killer wanted to check it out, and I said I’d come.”

  Vibrations run through the floor, and I glance down the hallway to see who it is. Killer waves as he approaches us, his typical dorky grin on his face. “You like it?” he asks, pointing to the phone still in my hand.

  I return the grin. “I love it.”

  Killer pulls me away from Jace and into a tight hug. I feel slight vibrations in his chest as he chatters away, but as usual, he doesn’t seem to notice or care that I can’t read his lips while smushed against him. He finally releases me and holds me at arm’s length.

  “Sorry you can’t come with us today,” he says. “You must be going crazy being cooped up in here.”

  I hold up the phone. “I’ve got this to keep me entertained. I’ll be fine.”

  Jace raises his hands and signs, “I put my personal cell number in your contacts, so if anything happens while we’re gone, just call.”

  “Thanks,” I sign. “But I’ll make sure nothing happens. I’m just going to keep lying low.”

  Jace nods and offers an encouraging smile. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. No one should come in here while I’m gone.”

  Killer glances between us, a perplexed look on his face. He looks kind of like a lost puppy dog, with his head tilted to the side and his brows furrowed in confusion.

  “You guys are making me feel left out
with all this code talk,” he says.

  “It’s not code,” I protest. “It’s ASL.”

  “You’ve got a freaking code name for it. How is that not code?” Despite his words, there’s an amused glint in his eyes, and I know he’s just teasing.

  Reaching up, I feel the smile on my lips and try not to show my surprise. I haven’t smiled this much in years. For just a moment, part of me tries to believe that everyone was right when they said I was crazy, and that Jace and Tone Deaf and my escape are all part of some hallucination. But the other part of me knows that can’t be right—this kind of happy doesn’t come from any sort of delusion.

  I hold up my new smartphone. “So . . . do you think it’d be safe to text Avery?”

  It’s been a full week since I left, which should mean it’s safe to contact her directly. I’m sure my dad has already questioned her, and at this point, he’s probably given up on getting answers out of her. I know there’s still a chance contacting Avery could get her in trouble, but just staring at her number makes my chest hurt. I can’t leave her to panic over me for any longer—it just wouldn’t be right.

  Jace shakes his head and signs, “It’s probably not a good idea. If anyone figured out you were texting her, it’d be too easy to track you from that phone.”

  “Oh.” I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice, but I’m pretty sure I fail.

  Jace fishes in his pocket and pulls out a small, cheap-looking cell phone. “But I thought you might want to talk to her. So Killer had the idea of getting this one, too.”

  He hands the other phone to me, and I brush my fingers over the flimsy keypad, trying not to let any confusion show on my face. It’s not like I’m expecting Jace to spend a lot of money on me, but this is a strange contrast to the smartphone.

  Killer taps my shoulder, gaining my attention. “It’s a disposable cell phone,” he explains. “Totally untraceable. You can text your friend using it, and as long as you don’t say where you are, no one can use it to find you.”