Tone Deaf

by Olivia Rivers

  “What is she doing here?” he demands, and the way his mouth mouths exaggeratedly, I know his words are sharp and loud.

  I turn toward Jace, waiting to see his reply. Jace glances down at my nervous expression and then back to Tony. “Don’t yell,” he snaps.

  “I’ll yell however much I want to!” Tony gestures angrily toward me. “Don’t you know the police are after this girl? What are you thinking having her in here?” He rakes his hands through his hair. “How long has she been with you?”

  “She’s been with us since we left Los Angeles,” Jace replies, his words clipped. He clutches me tighter against him, like he’s afraid I’m going to run away. Which I might. I need to get away from here. Fast.

  I lose track of their conversation after that—the movement of their lips is too harsh and frantic for me to follow. There’s lots of yelling, and Tony gradually stomps forward, until he’s right in Jace’s face. And mine.

  I breathe faster and faster, my muscles tense and screaming at me to run, my heart pounding a rhythm so fast, I feel like my chest is about to explode. Finally, Tony throws his hands up in the air in exasperation and stalks back a few steps. He leans against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest, like he’s warding off any other argument Jace could make.

  Tony speaks slower, and I’m able to follow his words as he says, “I’ll tell you this for the last time. She needs to go. Now.”

  “She’s not going anywhere,” Jace growls.

  “Yes, she is. Jace, you’re legally an adult, she’s legally a minor, and the authorities are looking for her. What part about this don’t you understand? If you get caught with her, you are beyond in trouble.”

  There’s a tense pause after that, and I hesitantly clear my throat and say, “Everything that Amber Alert report said isn’t true. I’m not mentally ill, and I didn’t make up the need to run away. I have a good reason for wanting to escape.”

  Tony shakes his head. “That is exactly what I would expect a delusional person to believe.”

  I wince and steel my expression into one of anger, refusing to show how much his words hurt. But how many times have I heard people deny what my dad did to me? Too many. Way, way too many.

  I desperately try to think up some retort, but nothing comes out of my mouth. Jace strides to the other side of the room in three steps, stopping just inches from Tony. I can’t see what he’s saying from this viewpoint, but I watch as Tony’s posture grows rigid and aggressive, and Jace clenches his fist. No, no, no, I’m not letting this happen.

  “Stop,” I say. They don’t, so I raise my voice and shout, “Stop! Just . . . don’t do this. Don’t hurt each other.”

  Both of them turn to me, their expressions taut with frustration and anger. I swallow hard and add in a quieter voice, “Please don’t fight.”

  Jace glares down at his fist, which is clenched so hard, his knuckles are turning a bright red color. He takes a shuddering breath, looks back to Tony, and then to me. There’s rage in his eyes, so intense it makes his ice-blue irises seem darker. I automatically look away, shifting toward the exit. I hate seeing his eyes like that. Hate it.

  A minute passes, but I keep my eyes stuck to the floor. I feel the vibrations of Jace’s footsteps as he angrily paces in front of Tony. Then there’s more pounding steps as they both move out of the room.

  All the vibrations stop. I hold my breath, still not wanting to look up.

  A warm hand touches my shoulder, and I finally tear my gaze from the floor, finding Jace standing right in front of me. He stares down, his eyes just as angry as before. I know I should be scared—anger that strong leads to violence. But I can’t be scared, because this is Jace, and because there’s something more in his expression: protectiveness.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  I look over all of him, searching for injuries Tony could have dealt. But there’s nothing. No blood, no welting bruises, no sign of any violence at all. The anger fades from Jace’s expression, and when I don’t answer him right away, a worried look appears in his eyes.

  I reach out and trail my fingertips over his cheek. I don’t know what I’m trying to do—maybe brush away the worry, or maybe comfort him. Whatever I’m doing, it seems to work, because he closes his eyes for a moment and lets out a long breath. A smile flits at the corner of his mouth, and when he opens his eyes, the worry has gone into hiding.

  I know it’s still there—once fear enters you, it can’t just leave. But his eyes are clear again, not angry or scared, but instead . . . soft.

  I realize I still have a question to answer, and I murmur, “Yeah. I think I’m okay.” Or at least I am for the moment. As soon as Tony reports me, things will change.

  Jace pulls me close to him and kisses the top of my head, his hand smoothing a stray strand of my hair back into place. I glance anxiously around, my stomach roiling as I wonder how Tony would react to Jace’s affection for me. But we’re the only ones in the kitchen, and a moment later, I feel the vibration of the front door closing.

  I turn back to Jace and hesitantly ask, “Where’s Tony going?”

  “Away.”

  I swallow hard and grit my jaw, trying to keep tears at bay. My escape hardly lasted two weeks, and I’m already busted. I was half expecting this much, but the failure still makes me want to scream in frustration.

  Jace quickly signs, “Please don’t look so sad.”

  “But what about Tony?” I sign. “He’s going to report me.”

  Jace shakes his head. “No, he isn’t.”

  “What? But he said he was going to.”

  “And I convinced him not to.”

  I blink hard, not understanding. Tony had been so mad. There’s no way he’d just walk away and not report me.

  “What’d you say to him?” My stomach churns as I ask the question. I don’t really want to know the answer, do I? The only way Jace could have scared away Tony is with some sort of threat, and probably a pretty severe one. And I don’t like that angry side of Jace.

  Jace chuckles at my nervous expression and kisses my forehead. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I didn’t threaten his life or anything.”

  Sweetheart. I remember the first time he called me that, and how scathing and demeaning it had seemed. Now it seems the exact opposite, and the smile that forms as he signs it makes a little of my cold dread melt away.

  “What did you tell Tony?” I repeat.

  “I told him the truth.”

  I jerk back from him. Is he serious? He can’t just go around blabbing about my abusive situation. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand.

  Jace shakes his head and gently wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me back to him. “I didn’t tell him anything you wouldn’t have wanted me to.”

  “Then what the hell did you tell him?”

  Jace chews at his lip, his eyebrows furrowed with uncertainty. He releases me from his grasp, slowly raising his hands to sign, “I told him that I’m going to do everything I can to keep you safe. I said that I’m going to stand by you, and that if he reported you, he’d take both of us down.”

  I stare blankly at his hands, certain I’ve misread what he signed. But he’s smiling at me now, and the tender look in his eyes tells me that I saw everything right.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. Then I hesitantly sign, “You really think that will work? He won’t report me?”

  Jace bites his lip. “He promised not to report you today, since he wants tonight’s concert to happen without any drama. And he wants to meet with me and the rest of the band tomorrow and discuss what to do. But we’ll convince him not to tell anyone you’re with me. I’m sure of it.”

  He wraps me back in his arms, pulling me against his chest and pressing his lips against the top of my head. I squeeze him back tightly, silently hoping Tony keeps his promise and stays quiet for now. We stay there for a minute, until Jace hesitantly pulls away from me, freeing his hands.

  “I need to go now,” he signs. �
�Tony is furious enough without me being late to our rehearsal.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “Not until really late,” he signs. “We’re doing a publicity event at a club right after the concert. So I won’t be back here until early morning.”

  I nod and try not to show my disappointment. With the threat of Tony reporting me looming over my head, waiting around alone in the RV is going to be even harder than usual. Jace frowns at my anxious expression and presses a firm kiss against my lips.

  “I meant what I told Tony,” he signs, and then reaches out and brushes the back of his hand against my cheek. “I’m usually no good at commitment, but this is different. You’re different. I’m not just going to let you go. Not unless you want me to.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want you to go.”

  He nods seriously and kisses my forehead. “Then I’m not going anywhere.”

  31

  ALI

  JACE STUMBLES INTO the RV around 12:30, and I immediately know something is wrong. His steps are heavy and uneven, like he’s drunk. Wasn’t he supposed to get back way later?

  He heads straight to the room with the couches, where I’ve been waiting all evening. He texted me earlier not to bother staying up for him, but I’ve never been very good at listening. I’ve been an anxious ball of nerves ever since Tony found me, and since there’s no chance of me getting sleep, I want to spend every moment I can with Jace.

  Those plans go flying out the window as soon as Jace steps closer. In the dim light of the lamp, his skin gleams with sweat, and the whites of his eyes are red. I jump up from the couch and run to his side, wrapping my arms around his waist to steady him a little. He’s so unstable, I’m afraid he’s going to topple right over.

  “How many did you have?” I demand. It seems really weird that he’s drunk; he never drinks. Never, ever. He’s made that more than clear.

  Jace blinks at me a few times and squints, like he can’t figure out what I’m doing in his RV. “What? How . . . how many of what?” His words are slurred, and it’s nearly impossible to read his lips.

  I let out a frustrated sigh and guide him toward the couch. He’s totally, utterly smashed. Tomorrow morning is so not going to be pleasant . . .

  “Drinks,” I answer. “How many drinks did you have?”

  He frowns deeply. “Drinks? None. Never.”

  “Come on, Jace. You’re beyond drunk. How did you even get back like this?”

  “Taxi,” he murmurs. He groans and squeezes his eyes shut as he leans back into the couch. “Light.”

  “What about it?” I ask.

  “Off.”

  I roll my eyes, getting really sick of these one-word answers, but I flick the light off. “I’m going to get you some water. Just stay there, okay? You’ll fall if you get up again.”

  He just squeezes his eyes closed tighter, and I have a feeling that I don’t have to worry about him moving for a long time. Shaking my head, I head into the kitchen and grab a cup for him. I force in a couple of deep breaths, trying to ward off my urge to try to lecture Jace. Sure, I hate being around drunk people, and, sure, Jace knows that. But if he wants to pollute his own body with that crap, I have no right to tell him he shouldn’t.

  Although I do have the right to be upset with him. After our run-in with Tony, I could really use Jace’s comfort, not his drunken mumbling. Why did he have to pick tonight of all nights to get smashed?

  As I’m filling the cup with ice, a strong vibration runs through the floorboards. I curse in frustration and hurry back toward the couches. Jace must have fallen. Idiot. Couldn’t he have just stayed put, like I asked him to?

  I open my mouth to scold him, but choke on my words as I enter the living area. Jace is sprawled on the floor, convulsing. Every part of his body shakes violently. His eyes are open, but they’re rolled back and staring at nothing.

  For a long moment, I just stand there, unable to move. Horror takes over my body and freezes my veins, rendering me useless. But then I realize I can’t be useless. I need to help Jace, and that means fighting my terror and doing something.

  I step toward Jace and collapse on my knees next to him. Blood seeps from his mouth, and I realize his shaking has made him bite his tongue. I desperately rack my brain for any first-aid skills I know about seizures. Loosen clothing around the neck, don’t try to hold the person down, and . . .

  Call 9-1-1.

  I swallow hard. If an ambulance comes, they’ll see me, and they’ll turn me over to the police, who will drag me all the way back to Los Angeles.

  But it doesn’t matter. I’m not just going to leave Jace like this. He needs an ambulance, and he needs one immediately.

  I carefully remove his phone from his front pocket. His convulsing arm slams into my knee, and I shriek, shocked by how strong it is. Dammit. He’s shaking a hell of a lot harder than I thought.

  I pick up the phone, and for one uncertain moment, I almost try calling 9-1-1 myself. But I won’t be able to hear the operator’s questions or any medical directions she gives me. And I’m using a cell phone, so tracking the location on it would take time. Time I don’t have. Shit, shit, shit. This isn’t going to work.

  I take a shuddering breath, forcing myself to calm down. I can do this. I know I can. I just need to get someone over here to make the 9-1-1 call.

  Opening up Jace’s messages, I quickly spot a group text thread that includes all the members of the band and Tony. My heart pounds desperately as I open up the thread and shakily type Jace having seizure. We’re in his RV. Call 9-1-1.

  After I make sure the text goes through, I turn my attention back to Jace. His shaking isn’t stopping. My vision blurs, and it takes me a moment to realize I’m crying. I don’t bother to wipe away the tears.

  “It’s going to be okay, Jace,” I whisper. I don’t know if he can hear me, or if he can even understand me through my tears, but I can’t hold in the words. “It’s going to be fine. Okay? Everything is going to be perfectly fine.”

  I repeat those words over and over again, just like he did for me that night I woke up from a nightmare. His shaking slows and then stops, but his breathing is weak, and his eyes remain glazed and unseeing. I reach out with a trembling hand and trace his scar from the tip to the base.

  “I love you,” I whisper. “I know it makes me crazy, but I love you. Okay? So hang in there. Please.”

  I’m vaguely aware of strong arms wrapping around me, and for a single moment, I feel relief. But then I realize the arms don’t belong to Jace; they’re too rough and too skinny. I struggle against them, but they just keep pulling me back.

  I blink to clear my vision, and look up to find Tony staring down at me, his eyes wide with panic and horror. Tony yells something, his mouth moving exaggeratedly as his fingers dig into my shoulder. I keep struggling, wanting to be back at Jace’s side. Then three men in paramedic uniforms burst into the RV with a stretcher. Flashing red and white lights seep in from the window, illuminating Jace’s pale skin in sickly colors. The paramedics quickly load Jace onto the stretcher and hurry him out of the RV.

  Tony stops trying to restrain me and strides after the paramedics, his face a mask of fear and confusion. I try to follow him, but then a police officer barges in through the door. Tony points to me and snaps something, and the officer’s eyes grow wide as he recognizes my face.

  I run after Jace. I can’t think of anything else to do, and I make it outside just as they load him into the back of an ambulance. The vehicle seems huge, and the men around me are too big, and I want to run away to somewhere where I don’t feel so small. I want to run to Jace. I never feel small when I’m with him.

  A pair of hands grabs my shoulders and turns me around, and I find myself staring at the cop. He gives my shoulder a rough pat of reassurance and starts guiding me toward his police car, which is parked right next to the ambulance.

  I struggle against his grip, and when he doesn’t let go, I punch him in the stomach.
That surprises him for just a moment, and I manage to wiggle out of his grasp. I sprint toward the ambulance, but just then the back doors slam shut, and the vehicle takes off toward the hospital. I’m left standing in the dust it kicks up, coughing and crying.

  The cop grabs me again and hauls me to his car. He’s talking to me and growing increasingly agitated when I don’t answer, but my head is spinning too hard to read his lips, and my throat feels too tight to form any sort of explanation. I don’t see Tony anywhere. He must have climbed in the ambulance with Jace.

  I numbly allow the cop to guide me into the back of his car, and the moment I sit in the cold, metal backseat, I realize it:

  Everything is over.

  32

  JACE

  I WAKE TO the sound of beeping machines. Snapping my eyes open, I find myself staring at a white ceiling. What the hell? I blink a couple times, clearing my vision, and look around. I’m in a bed—a hospital bed— and there are a bunch of monitors and an IV hooked up to me. I reach over to rip out the IV, but a strong hand stops me.

  “I know it hurts, but it’ll hurt more if you tear at it,” Arrow says. He stares down at me, and I wonder where he came from, and where he’s been. And where the hell have I been?

  The club, that’s right. I was supposed to stay there for a few hours and do fan meet-and-greets, but then I started to feel dizzy, so I got out of there and went . . . to the RV. Yeah, that’s right. I remember walking in and seeing concern on Ali’s face, and hearing her pretty voice, and thinking it sounded a lot more beautiful than the music we played earlier. And after that . . .

  Nothing.

  “Where’s Ali?” I ask. My voice is scratchy and hoarse, and it feels like someone scrubbed my throat with sandpaper. I try swallowing, but that just makes it worse.

  Arrow doesn’t reply, so I reach for the IV again. If he’s going to be a jerk and not tell me, then I’m going to be a jerk and not listen to his instructions. Arrow tries to stop me from yanking on the IV, and I fight back, only to feel another pair of hands join in pinning me down. I look up to find Jon hovering over me. Behind him is Killer, ready to help keep me still.