I’m taking you to your session, if that’s all right with you?
He nodded, his smile growing into one more even.
The timing of Taj’s surgery for the cochlear implant meant he’d qualified for the new generation of implant. There was no outer hardware, and the implant—or chip—was charged using wireless technology. If you never knew Taj, you would never know there was a tiny device inside his head turning vibrations into electrical signals, which were then processed to sound.
Julian and I had researched the modernized style of implant for months. Reading and re-reading the same facts, speaking to different doctors. But the information stayed the same, and Taj now had the best chances and resources to lead a life where he could hear and talk. It had only been three months since his surgery, and that meant baby steps. Learning and adapting to a new way of life wasn’t as simple as flipping a switch. Taj was working and embracing the changes daily, even if it didn’t always seem like it.
Leaving his speech and audio-visual therapy sessions, Taj looked drained. These extra hours were an extension on his school workload, and I thought he was amazing.
Back in the car, I turned on the ignition and tapped Taj’s elbow with the backs of my fingers. You got any energy left for the rink? I signed.
His rounded shoulders squared, a smile showing an imperfect chip in his front left tooth.
My skates were already in the backseat, so we made a quick stop at Taj’s house to pick up the Bauer Vapors Julian bought for him earlier this year.
The rink wasn’t too crowded. First-time couples sticking close to the boards, and a swarm of young boys playing tag on hockey skates, dodging each other and spraying as many people as they could with ice. A request for the speed skating to stop, and the clockwise track to be followed came over the PA system. A chorus of boos answered the employer’s request, and the kids ignored him, amping-up their game of tag.
I finished tying my laces first, since I’d been at it for years, and watched as Taj pulled his red waxed laces, holding them in position to tie the knot. Music played, kids screamed from the ice, and sitting in the stands next to Taj, I’d never been more aware of his separation from society. I’d never once pitied him in the past, before the implant. But today, in an old rink full of other kids his age having the time of their life, I felt Taj’s anxiety and apprehension that he was another step closer to becoming an integral part of their world.
So much was changing, and he wasn’t completely ready for it all.
Laces knotted and tight, he slipped off the rubber guards. He looked at me sideways, sloping blue eyes too much like his brothers, and long black eyelashes that could make a person envious. Will you show me crossovers today? I’ve been watching videos at home.
I didn’t need to do much signing with Taj on the ice. I went into full-on instructor mode, showing him how to glide on the outside edge of his inside skate. Hold your weight on the back of your blade, I signed, so Taj would understand his weight couldn’t slide too far forward. That wasn’t something I could solely show him. Your outside edge won’t cut into the ice and you’ll skid and lose your balance.
My curves were tight to maximize speed, and Taj skated behind me, mirroring me stroke for stroke. His power skating wasn’t perfect, but he was faster—less clumsy. For someone whose first time on the ice was with me last year, he was a natural. Easy to teach and interesting to watch. His long, lean body built for sport.
We switched to backward crossovers, and before I could even push into a C-cut, three young boys around Taj’s age skated over to us. The tallest one shaved the ice in a hockey stop, looking right at me. “Can you teach me some stuff?”
“I don’t work here,” I said.
The boy blinked. “So?”
Three more students wouldn’t hurt, but really, Taj would need most of my attention. “Okay, fine.”
As I was showing the oldest of the boys, Jack, where to position his skates to transition from forward to backward crossovers, I heard one of the other boys repeat a question for the second time, his voice snappy with irritation.
I glanced over my shoulder, my gaze falling on the brown-haired boy who was now tugging on the sleeve of Taj’s hoodie. Taj looked over his shoulder as I straightened and heard the boy say, “Are you frigging deaf?”
Ta’s gaze instinctively cut to me, our eyes meeting.
“Shit,” I hissed under my breath. I skated over to them both, Taj’s cheeks and ears flaming pink. I wasn’t sure he’d understood the boy, or even heard him clearly, but I knew embarrassment when I saw it. He held his hand to his mouth as if to take a drink and then took off, skating to the open gate.
The brown-haired boy looked at me and pulled a face, his mouth turning down. “What’s wrong with him? I only wanted to know if he played on a team.”
I forced a tight smile. “Nothing that’s your fault,” I said. “He just doesn’t hear so well.”
I skated off the ice and found Taj in the concourse hallway leading to the exit, a bottle of blue Gatorade in his hands, clenched between his bent knees. I sat on the damp, rubber floor, my leg knocking against his so he would look at me. When he did, a scrap of blonde hair falling over his right eye, skin flushed from sweat, I signed, This is going to get easier. You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. I think you are unbelievable.
His head shook, eyes dropping to the bottle in his hands. I can’t understand anyone. I feel like a dummy.
Oh, God. My heart. I covered his knee with me hand to capture his attention. Don’t ever feel like that. I signed as I spoke. Verbal communication had to be included in his daily life whether Taj liked it or not. Learning to speak, to listen, to understand, that would be hard for anyone, even an adult. You’re no dummy, you’re the smartest person I know.
He squeezed Gatorade into his mouth and then his head dropped forward, hair brushing his knees. A few minutes passed and then his knee knocked into mine. We sat on the cold floor until our butts were numb and the public skate session was almost over. Sometimes, there’s a lot to be said for silence.
T aj climbed out from the passenger side of Angel’s Mini Cooper, his hockey skates looped around his neck by the laces. Take it you haven’t been to football training, I joked, but Taj barely smiled. The twitch on his lips hardly taking any effort. I raised my eyebrows at Angel and she discreetly shook her head, so discreet, I wasn’t convinced it even happened.
“What’s his problem?” I asked her, when Taj had dragged his ass in the house and closed the door.
Her sigh was loud, filling me with questions. None of them good. “Some kid at the rink asked if he was deaf because Taj didn’t hear him asking a question. He was embarrassed he didn’t understand or hear the other kid. I talked to him, I think he’s okay. For now.”
My nostrils flared and my stomach bunched into a fist-sized knot. Fucking guilt, I was growing sick of it. There were days I second-guessed whether this new implant was worth all the trouble. At least when Taj couldn’t hear, he was happy. Now… he looked lost. And I was pretty sure he wasn’t even attempting to lip read. The thought of flying back to Miami tomorrow was giving me a migraine.
“Anyway, it’s late.” Angel tugged at the diamond teardrop hanging from her ear. She turned as if to walk away and then stopped, facing me. “Did you have a good workout?”
I narrowed my eyes, wondering what she was doing. Then I said, “A solid hour, but not long enough for a decent session. Nicky stayed longer. I took Kit for a drink before that. I tried calling you like you asked, but you didn’t pick up.”
Angel blinked, her lips forming a line. “You went out with Kit?”
“I ran into her at the store, she wanted to say sorry. I told her I forgave her—eventually.”
And that was all it took to lose Angel. Her expression glazed over, and she swatted away what I’d said with one annoyingly polite smile. “I’m not him,” I said, when she finally walked away from me, toward her car. “If you pull away from me any harder
, you’ll give me a complex.” I heard Angel’s sigh from where I was standing, her shoulders deflating on the exhale. “Shutting down won’t work with me, so cut that shit out.”
In all the time we’d been together, Angel had never fully given herself to me, and my gut told me it was down to that prick, Jordan. He’d fucked her up thoroughly, making me work twice as hard to gain every last ounce of her trust. She told me she trusted me, loved me. But if it ever came down to fight or flight, I knew what she’d choose in a heartbeat. And I just couldn’t have that.
“Do you want me to be jealous? Is that why you told me about Kit? Or took her for a drink, even?” Angel’s arms crossed in front of her, her back and shoulders rigid. But she wasn’t hostile, more interested to see how I’d handle this one.
“I told you so you’d know where I was this afternoon.” In two strides, I was towering over her. I took the car keys from her hand and locked the Mini Cooper, headlights flashing as the locks slid into place. “And do you know what else? You’ve been on my mind all day, so don’t insult me by thinking I’m going to let you drive away and sit at home the rest of the night.”
I took another step closer. So close, Angel leaned back, shaded amber eyes staring up at me. My arm slid around the curve of her waist, my palm spreading over the dip at the base of her spine. “Come and eat dinner with me before I have to leave. I’m paying.” I smiled, my tongue sweeping up over my front teeth as the heat from Angel’s body warmed me in all the best places. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
And not just for food.
Six months ago, I couldn’t afford to eat in a place as nice as the wine bistro we were sitting in now. Green vines strung with clear lights wound throughout the front patio. Taper candles in bronze and glass cases were spread out in each corner of the patio, and a deep pink and blue twilight settled over the affluent Back Bay area, darkness only minutes away. I could see my mom and Taj living someplace like this. A modernized brownstone, gas lamps lining the street, and the Charles River on their front step. I’d put it to her next chance I got. Although, I knew the chances of my mom taking me up on my suggestion were slim to fucking none.
I couldn’t persuade either of them to come to dinner tonight. Taj was too lost to his bad mood and Mom was too tired from work. Not like that was anything new; she was on the grind harder than me. But going back to Miami without more than a few hours spent with Taj was sure to eat at me.
“When’s your next game?” Angel asked. She twirled the slim black straw in her glass, swishing the ice in her vodka cranberry.
“Sunday,” I said. She knew that. I couldn’t stand small talk and, yet, here we were, having it. “How’d today go with your dad?” I stretched out my long legs under the table, my knee brushing the outside of Angel’s thigh.
She looked down at her glass, still pulling and dunking the straw. “Same as it always goes. He doesn’t listen, takes a huff. He’s like a kid sometimes.”
“Why, what happened?” It was like pulling teeth. Only more difficult.
“We couldn’t agree on the funeral arrangements. He wants to bury her, I think she should be cremated—”
“Why?”
She looked across the round table at me, black straw suspended above her drink. “Why what?”
“Why do you want her to be cremated?”
“Because.” Angel shifted in her seat, her tone challenging. “That’s what Nellie would have wanted. I don’t know why he’s arguing with me on this. I’ve got no idea what his problem is. He didn’t even know her, not the way I did. Not anymore. It was like she went into that nursing home and he forgot he had a mother.” She scoffed, her leg restless against mine. I pressed my knee to her thigh, and she sat back in her seat, fingers rubbing above her trim eyebrow. “Can we talk about something else?”
No. I want you to be able to talk about this shit with me, even if it kills you. I want to know every fucking thing you’re feeling because 2,700 miles between us means your feelings, your thoughts, your voice… it’s all I get.
“Sure,” I said, picking up the menu that was secured to a rustic-looking clipboard. Everything on the black and gold paper read like Heaven, and I was as hungry as an obese horse.
A waiter with stiff posture and a perma-smile approached the table, asking if we were ready to order.
“I’ll have the fillet mignon with the garlic butter,” I said.
He turned his body slightly to face Angel. She hadn’t even looked at the menu. “And for you?”
“House salad, please. No olives.”
The waiter nodded and we ordered more drinks. He left with our empty glasses and I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on the table. “Don’t make me go back to Miami worrying that you’ve developed an eating disorder.”
Angel rolled her eyes, her expression melting into a lax smile. “Salad is still food.”
“Only when it’s decorating a piece of meat, or fish.”
“I just don’t really feel like eating.”
The waiter came back with our drinks and I took the chilled Bud Light, inhaling half the contents in a few pulls.
We ate our food in relative silence, Angel pushing around the green leaves on her plate more than actually putting them in her mouth.
“Were you this unhappy at the rink with Taj?” I asked, finishing the last bite of my steak. It was a big piece of meat, but I was nowhere near satisfied, or full.
Angel pushed her knife and fork together and picked up her drink. “That’s different.”
“How is it?”
“He’s an eleven-year-old boy, Julian. And… he makes me happy. He makes me want to smile, for me and for him.”
“You don’t want to smile for me?”
“I don’t want to pretend for you.”
I didn’t argue with her, since she’d made a good point.
I paid the check while Angel used the bathroom. We got into the SUV at the same time when the valet brought it around to the front of the restaurant. We’d almost made it out of there when one of three girls walking along the sidewalk said loudly to her friends—or the Boeing 747 flying above— “Oh my God, that’s Julian Lawson!” The tall redhead blinked, her lips parting and her eyes widening. She stared in through the windshield, and I instantly regretted turning on the overhead light.
Her steps turned hurried and then she was standing on the other side of my door, a wide smile on her face and one hand pressed to her cheek like it might fall off. I pulled on my snapback, turning it to the back, and said to Angel, “Gimme a sec.”
“Sure,” she said as I opened the door and climbed out.
“What’s up?” I asked the gawking girl in front of me.
Her eyes never left me as she smiled, not uttering a single word. I rubbed a hand over my jaw and laughed quietly. “You want me to sign something…”
The redhead nodded, her friends now fully caught up and looking just as stupidly stunned. The girl glanced at the SUV looming behind me, then back at me. “Would your girlfriend mind if you signed my boobs?”
The way she’s been acting? Probably not.
“Sorry, hers are the only boobs I touch. You have anything more traditional on you?”
The girl shook her head, the smile dripping comically from her face.
“I could run into the restaurant—”
I cut off her shorter friend. “Here,” I said, taking off my white snapback. “That’ll last longer than autographed flesh.”
The girl yelped, gripping my hat in two hands that had started to shake. “Could I, uh, hug you?” she asked, and this time, I laughed out loud.
Looking embarrassed, she shuffled forward, and I held out one arm loosely, while both of her arms reached around my back, squeezing organs. I stayed for a couple pictures with them and then got back in the SUV. The three girls lingered on the sidewalk, still standing outside the restaurant as I drove to the end of the street and turned the corner.
I leveled a side glance at Angel whe
n I felt her eyes on me. “What?” I said. Ribbons of yellow light against the black night whizzed by her window as she turned to look at me, shifting sideways in her seat. She pulled at the seatbelt to loosen the hold across her chest.
“You.” She paused to study me. A slow smile steadily narrowing her eyes.
“What about me?” Kayne West played from my connected phone and I turned up the volume.
“I just love it when you do that.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”
“Give people your time. That girl didn’t have a pen, so you gave her your hat. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I have more hats.”
“That’s not the point. I love that other people love you. Love that you always acknowledge your fans. I know being nice doesn’t come natural to you.”
I held in my laughter and looked back at the road, downshifting for the right turn at the intersection. “That’s more like it,” I said, sailing through the green light.
Angel’s nose scrunched. “What are you talking about?”
“You, smiling. I’ll sign all the tits in the world if it’ll keep that look on your face. Even if you did just insult me.”
She reached over the center console, slapping my arm. Or at least, her attempt at a slap. I grabbed her hand and brought her knuckles to my lips, then laid her palm over my thigh, covering the back of her cool hand with my own.
Wednesday evening, after a morning of meetings and a full walk-through, and most of the afternoon stuck in an air-conditioned room going over game preparation for Sunday, I made my way out of our practice facility, mentally exhausted.
“If it isn’t the new boy...”
Heels tapped the clinical floor behind me, and I looked over my shoulder as I walked, the reporter whose name I’d definitely forgotten smiling at me from behind a pair of thick, black-rimmed reading glasses. Her hair was twisted up on her head, blonde bits escaping around her face, along the curve of her bare neck. Her white teeth were brighter than usual against plum-colored lipstick.
Losing Seven (Falling for Seven Book 2) Page 5