“Killer, calm down,” I say. “I can’t read your lips when they’re moving at the speed of light.”
He rolls his eyes, like this is somehow my fault, and says more slowly, “We’re having a sleepover tonight.”
“What?”
I turn to Arrow, figuring that he’ll know what’s going on. He’s Killer’s second half, so surely he can explain everything to me at a reasonable pace. But he looks just as confused and repeats, “We’re having a sleepover?”
Killer scoffs. “No, Ali and I are having a sleepover. You’re bunking with Jace.”
“What? Why?”
“Because we’re going to have a Doctor Who marathon, and you laugh at all the wrong times whenever we watch it.”
Arrow scowls and mutters, “You just don’t want me to see you bawling like a three-year-old when David Tennant dies.”
Killer nods agreeably. “That, too.”
Jace signs to me, “What’re they talking about?”
I shake my head and sign back, “It’s a geek thing. You wouldn’t understand.”
Killer taps my shoulder so I’ll look back at him. “Get your jammies and meet me over in our RV.”
“Um . . . okay?”
Jace pulls me close to him. “Killer, I don’t think she wants to watch your ridiculous show.”
“I love Doctor Who,” I say, partly because I really do, and partly because it’s kind of fun watching Jace’s confused expression. He looks cute with his face scrunched like that.
Killer jumps up from the couch. “Then it’s settled!” he says to me. “You’re coming over to watch the Doctor and his awesomeness.” He turns to Arrow. “And you, sweetie, are going to have to sleep here on the couch. See where your lack of respect for geeks gets you?”
“Bastard,” Arrow mutters, although I can see the small smile at the corner of his mouth. I wonder if any of Killer’s antics ever truly annoy him. As grumpy as the dude is, Arrow seems awfully patient with his boyfriend.
Killer ignores the insult and points to me. “I’ll see you in my RV in fifteen minutes. Okay?”
“How am I going to get to your RV without being caught?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It’s dark and my RV is right next door. No one will see you. And, if they do, I’ll just tell them you’re with me, and I’m actually bi.”
Jace struggles to hold back a laugh, and I feel my own mouth twitching into a smile. Killer cheating on Arrow? Yeah, right, no one would ever believe that.
But I get the feeling protesting would be useless, and Killer confirms this as he leaves the RV without waiting for my response, his lips moving in a flurry as he plans our sleepover. We all roll our eyes when he exits the RV, the door slamming closed behind him.
“Why do I date that idiot?” Arrow asks.
“Because you love him.”
A jolt of surprise runs through me as Jace says that. I was expecting some sarcastic remark to be his reply. But I suppose I shouldn’t be completely shocked—after all, Jace has a thing for brutal honesty.
Arrow turns and stares out the window in an attempt to hide his smile. I smirk up at Jace, but his expression quickly kills my amusement. His good mood from before is gone, and now a worried scowl tugs at his lips. As soon as he sees that I’m watching him, Jace jumps up and heads into the kitchen. “If you’re going to stay over with Killer, you should go pack,” he says to me over his shoulder.
What’s with the sudden mood swing? I glance over to Arrow, ready to ask him this question, but he’s still staring out the window and ignoring me. With a sigh, I head toward the back of the RV, where my duffle bag is. Knowing Jace, he’ll explain his uneasiness eventually. For now, I’ll just give him some space to sort through his brooding thoughts.
27
JACE
I SOFTLY HIT my forehead against the refrigerator door, not so hard it hurts, but enough to jar the unsettling thoughts trying to latch onto my mind. Hitting my head isn’t the most practical way to fetch a water bottle, which was my original intent when I walked into the kitchen, but my stomach is too upset to drink anything, and my brain feels like it’s about to explode. Which might be because I just smacked it against a very dense refrigerator. But no, that’s not it, not really. It’s because I just said what has got to be the dumbest sentence ever uttered.
“Because you love him.”
Why the hell did I say that in front of Ali? I thought I wanted to keep her, for her to be with me for longer than just awhile. But, apparently, my stupid mouth has different ideas. Sure, all I said was the truth: Arrow has Killer because he loves him, and because they love each other. And, yeah, that’s all I meant to say. But instead, I said so much more. I practically screamed it, and even if Ali doesn’t understand now, she’ll get it later.
Love is what keeps relationships going. And I can’t love. That part of me died off a long time ago, and I doubt anything could resuscitate it.
So where does that leave Ali and me?
As if reading my mind, I feel a soft hand rest on my shoulder. I flinch, partially because she scared me, and partially because her touch scares me. It makes my heart race, and my skin grow warm, and my breathing come faster. And nobody should be able to control me that easily . . . right?
“You look like you’re going to be sick,” Ali says softly.
I whirl around and sign, “I’m never going to love you.”
Her eyes grow wide and she slowly backs away. Tears spring into her eyes faster than I thought possible. But they’re quickly masked by a look of anger, and she grits her teeth and glares right at me.
Shit. All I meant was to give her a fair warning, but instead I just did exactly what I said I promised not to. I hurt her.
“Don’t take it like that,” I sign. “Please don’t take it like that.”
She lets out a harsh laugh. “How else am I supposed to take it? There are subtler ways to tell a girl to back off, you know.”
I rush toward her, wanting her in my arms, but she sidesteps my embrace and just keeps glaring at me. I stare up at the ceiling, down at the floor, out the window. Anywhere to escape that glare, the evidence that I’ve hurt her.
“Ali . . .” A single tear drips down her cheek, and I switch back to sign language, knowing her watering eyes will make it hard to read my lips. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
She scoffs and starts walking out of the kitchen. I leap forward and grab her elbow, stopping her. For once, she doesn’t look scared of me, even though my grasp is desperate. Instead, she looks furious.
I swallow hard and let go, launching back into sign language. I estimate I have about three, maybe four seconds before she walks right out that door and doesn’t come back.
“Look, Ali, my life is pain. It hurts and it sucks and nothing can change what it is. Not even you.”
I see her eyes narrow even more. Every bit of instinct in me screams that I should get ready to defend myself, but I don’t. This is Ali, and she’d never lash out at me, no matter how angry she gets.
“Every time I look at you, I realize that I really don’t deserve you,” I sign. “And that’s more painful than anything.”
Another tear trickles down her cheek, and I gently kiss it away. Her sorrow tastes salty and slightly metallic. “But here’s the thing,” I sign. “You’re the best kind of pain I’ve ever felt. I’ve always worked so hard to avoid pain, but as much as you hurt, I don’t want to leave you.”
She looks a little shocked, and I get the feeling she never expected me to say anything so openly. I didn’t, either. And if I didn’t care about her so much, I never would have.
Her serious gaze settles on my eyes and stays there. Maybe she sees the desperation I’m feeling, or the sadness. Or maybe there’s nothing in my eyes; they’re supposed to be the window to the soul, and I’m pretty sure my soul died off a long time ago.
Whatever she sees, it makes her tears stop. Then she raises her hands and signs, “Then you don’t have to leave. Not as long as you ke
ep caring about me. Because you do care, even if you hate to admit it.”
Her gaze flicks back to my lips, and for a moment, I think she’s waiting for me to respond. But then she throws herself into my arms and kisses me.
Finally. That’s the only word running through my head as I kiss her back. Maybe not the most romantic sentiment, but I can’t help it. All those times we’ve kissed, she’s felt so hesitant. Now she’s just as desperate as I am, and her lips are sweet and incredible.
When she pulls away, we’re both breathing hard. Ali reaches up and wipes away the last of her tears. I kiss her forehead and brush my fingertip over the hesitant smile on her lips, relieved to see it back.
“I have to get over to Killer’s,” she signs, taking a step toward the door.
I let out a small breath of relief. Ali seems to sense that I can only handle so many emotions at once. As good as it feels to get all this off my chest, I’m glad she’s not going to draw out this conversation any longer. I need time to process my muddled thoughts.
“Yeah,” I sign back uncertainly. “He’ll worry if you’re late.”
She pulls away from me, and just as she’s about to walk out of the kitchen, she says, “I’ll wait for you. You can be a jerk, but I also really believe you care about people. And if you can do that, then I think you have more good in you than bad. So I’ll wait for you to figure out how to love.”
With that said, she grabs her duffle bag off the couch and walks out of the RV, not even giving me a chance to respond.
I don’t think I could have come up with one, anyway.
28
ALI
KILLER AND I stay up until three in the morning, watching a grand total of eight Doctor Who episodes. Killer has most of the episodes memorized line for line, and he waves his hands around as he acts along with David Tennant and the rest of the cast. Unfortunately, I’m right next to him on the couch, so I keep having to dodge his flails when he gets too excited. Fortunately, I’m deaf, so I don’t have to hear his attempts at mimicking the voices.
When the eighth episode ends, and Killer’s caffeine high has officially worn off, I tell him he should have been an actor. He grimaces and says, “But then I would have had to kiss girls.” He smiles sheepishly. “No offense, darling.”
I laugh and let my head fall back against the cushion, my gaze roaming around the room. Killer and Arrow’s RV is different from Jace’s. Some of it’s technically the same—there are the band posters, the bright colors, the comfy couches. But there’s no denying it’s totally different. It feels . . . alive. Like it’s been lived in so much, it’s actually absorbed some of that life. It practically radiates the message Happy Couple Lives Here. There are pictures all over of Killer and Arrow together, some of them with the rest of the band.
Next to the couch is a picture I keep studying. It must have been taken when the band had just started; they all look impossibly young, and they’re standing in front of less-than-professional music equipment. In the photo, Killer wears a shirt that says, KEEP CALM AND DON’T BLINK, a pair of jeans that look designer brand, and that dorky grin of his. So he’s been a Doctor Who fan and fashion aficionado since the very beginning of the band—it’s not at all surprising, and neither is the trademark smile.
Arrow stands behind him, his arms wrapped around Killer’s waist and a sheepish smile on his face. Jon is missing from the picture, except for his thumb. At least I’m assuming that’s what the pinkish-tan splotch is in the corner.
As interesting and cute as the picture is, it makes me sad. Because standing next to Arrow and Killer is Jace. His arm is in a sling, and he has a black eye that just makes his glare at the camera look all the more severe. Jace’s good arm clutches an electric guitar—it’s beaten up and scratched all over, but polished to an impossible shine. He holds onto it like he’ll simply dissolve into a pile of dead dust if he ever lets go.
Something taps my arm, startling me back to the present. I turn to Killer, but his eyes are on the picture and his lips turned down in a frown. I’ve never seen him look so serious and sorrowful, and it’s such a drastic contrast to his usual expression that I want to look away from him.
Killer nods to my new smartphone in my lap, which he’s been texting me on all evening so I don’t have to focus on reading his lips. There’s a new message on my screen: He’s never been happy, you know. My fingers hover over the keyboard, not sure how to respond, but then Killer taps out another message before I get the chance. You’ve seen his scar?
Yeah.
Killer shakes his head, like he’s trying to dislodge a memory from his skull. I thought he might show you that. He usually doesn’t even mention it to anyone, but you’re special to him.
I smile uncertainly, but Killer just sighs and shakes his head.
You shouldn’t be smiling about that.
His words do the trick—my smile disappears. Why not?
Because this is Jace we’re talking about. He’s messed up. I love the dude like a brother, but I still don’t think he’s healthy for a girl like you.
A girl like me? I text back, shooting him a challenging look to go along with the message. You think a musician shouldn’t date a deaf girl?
No. I think a whole shouldn’t have to date a half.
What’s that supposed to mean?
It means you came out all right, even though some bad shit has obviously happened to you.
I snap my attention up from my screen and glare right at him, my eyes narrowing. Killer just holds up his hands innocently, then types out another message.
Don’t give me that look. Jace hasn’t told me hardly anything about your past. I’m just speculating here.
I nod slowly as he keeps typing.
Jace didn’t turn out like you. He came out broken.
So I’ll fix him.
Killer smiles, but it’s sad and longing, a far cry from his usual expression. I wish it was that easy.
I’m quiet for a long minute, absorbing his words, examining his expression, trying to find some way I can refute everything he’s telling me. But no argument can stand up against the look of pain in Killer’s eyes.
What happened to him? I ask. You say he’s broken, so what broke him?
The obvious answer would be what Jace told me—the time his dad attacked him. But there has to be something more than that, because Jace is strong. Sure, he’s evasive, but even more than that, he’s stubborn and determined and passionate.
Killer nibbles at his lip uncertainly. I don’t think I can tell you that. You’ll have to ask Jace.
I narrow my eyes in my best tell-or-die expression, but that just makes him chuckle. Although I do understand why Jace likes you so much. You’ve got spunk.
That makes me blush, and Killer smirks at my red cheeks. He’s been teasing me about them all night, saying that if I keep blushing so much, I’m going to wake up one day in the body of a lobster. I playfully slap at his forearm, and he cringes like I’ve actually hurt him. For a quick moment, there’s that gut-instinct panic that always invades me when I see pain, but then I realize he’s just kidding around, and I roll my eyes at him.
From then on, the topic of Jace is dropped. Killer rattles off a list of questions he wants to know about me: what’s my favorite food, movie, animal, memory, friend, family member. He doesn’t ask what my favorite TV show is; our six-hour marathon makes that answer pretty clear.
And Killer lets me ask a bunch of questions about him. I find out he grew up in London, although he moved to Colorado by the time he hit middle school, leaving him with the accent of a highly sophisticated country bumpkin. He hates the cold, especially snow. He and Arrow have been friends since sixth grade, when they bonded over the fact that they both had bizarre names. He thinks cats are way better than dogs, although Cuddles is an exception. He’s been out of the closet since twelve, and his parents are totally cool with it. He’s anxiously expecting Arrow to propose, and sometimes Killer likes to introduce Arrow as his fianc�
�, just to bother him.
It’s almost four in the morning by the time we decide to actually get some sleep. This whole night has been kind of strange—chatting with a rock star about mundane things, laughing with him, playfully smacking his shoulder when he gets too rude. But I like it, and I like Killer. I think he might actually be a friend now.
I drift off with a smile on my lips and that thought in my head: I have a new friend. And, as soon as I get to NYC, I’ll also have a new life.
29
JACE
A SIGH OF relief whooshes out of me as I hear the RV door open. Ali’s back. I knew she’d be safe spending the night over with Killer, but that didn’t stop me from worrying all night about her getting caught. I thought that fear would lessen the further we got from Los Angeles, but instead, it’s just gotten stronger as she and I have grown closer.
Ali strides into the living area, smiling despite the tired bags under her eyes. It’s amazing to see her like that, so happy and confident. It’s only been a week since she left that hellhole of a home, but being away from it has already changed her.
“No one saw you?” I ask, gesturing out the window.
She shakes her head. “Nope. The lot is pretty much empty, and I was really careful sneaking back over here.”
She sits next to me on the couch and wraps her arms around me, letting her head rest against my shoulder. I set down my guitar, which I’ve been absently strumming while I waited for her to return. I made a few mistakes at the last show, which is totally unlike me. Usually, I’m spot-on with every note, but having Ali around has infringed on my practice time.
Not that I’m complaining, of course. Although Tony did. He’s convinced that something serious is distracting me, and if I’m going to keep him from investigating, I need to stop giving him reasons to worry. That means extra practice and putting on a flawless show next time.
I smooth Ali’s hair, which is still slightly ruffled from her sleepover. Even like this, it looks gorgeous; it’s a perfect shade of auburn, half red and half brown. I guess it kind of fits her sometimes fiery and sometimes sweet personality.
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