I know I did the right thing, sneaking out of the hospital and going to an unknown hotel, but it took every thread of fiber I had left to call Astor instead of text Easton. And every ounce of energy to sneak past a sleeping, caring, loyal Harper in a waiting room chair.
Easton and Harper, who are better off without me.
Easton, who’s deaf and confused and probably devastated at the way I’ve left him.
Easton, who deserves the time to adjust to his new body, without the drama of a battered girlfriend with too much trauma of her own to carry.
I remind myself, while wiping under my eyes, that I’m sheltering this child, and whatever heartbreak that ensues because of it is my burden alone.
Memories will help. These past weeks with Easton and the way he battened down and decided to learn a deaf boy’s life. How he treated my son like he was whole, instead of regarding him as missing a crucial piece of normalcy.
I smile at the flashback where Easton was told that the yellow caution sign on my street, DEAF CHILDREN NEARBY, was installed because of my petition to the Commissioner, and how it also acted as a sign of huge embarrassment to my son, since he was the only deaf child nearby. With full seriousness, Easton replied to Jamie, “How about we ask your mom to petition for DEAF ROCKER NEARBY on my street, and we can be twinsies?”
Jamie, unable to contain himself, burst out with laughter and shoved at Easton, but it was obvious how delighted Jamie was.
God, and I’m giving that man up.
I focus on Jamie’s snoozing form, my visual reminder that losing my heart is worth keeping this boy safe. It’s the reason I cashed those checks from Bryan, even though every time I was forced to, it sickened me. What choice was left?
I’ll have to explain why Harper isn’t around, too. Jamie’s best friend and confidante, who I’m leaving behind because I’m terrified to keep her. What would Bryan do to her if she proved her loyalty to us? What lies would he unleash, threats would he hurl, against a woman who has done nothing but nurture his son and comfort me? Would he hurt her, too?
I can’t take the chance. I’ll break Jamie’s heart, but I’ll save Harper’s life.
The light knock on my door is initially startling, before the deep fear sets in.
On trembling legs, I stand, straightening my sweater gingerly, my ribs screaming with every quickened breath. Careful not to cast too much shadow, I step to the side of the door and bend to peer through the peephole, a trick I learned soon after I left Bryan. Luring a person to look through the peephole is one of the easiest ways to shoot that same person through the wood and point blank in the chest.
Bryan can’t have found out where I am. There’s no way.
I let out an audible exhale when I see who it is—Easton—but my inhale hitches.
Opening the door, I’m floored by Easton’s breadth, the span of his shoulders, the flop of his dark hair, the flawless gleam of his bronze eyes. My vision goes wet, and my expression crumbles as his mirrors mine.
I say simply, since words have left me, “Why?”
He’s breathing heavily, and there are new, unknown scrapes and scratches on his face. He’s wearing a stranger’s ill-fitting clothing. But, instead of answering, Easton folds me into his arms, kissing my hair gently, then my forehead fervently, then my lips, and I’m confident words have no business here.
He shushes me with a finger, then cups my face, tilting it this way and that, inspecting, then growling.
The sound is loud in the hallway, crawling through the large space like a warning purr before the lethal swipe, and I pull him inside, shutting the door as soft as I can manage.
Jamie, so sensitive to vibrations now that he’s seen his mother broken and bloody on the floor, jolts awake at any kind of thud. It took me hours to soothe him into the state he’s now in, and I try to make that clear to Easton.
Easton nods, guiding me to the armchair in the corner, where he sits and settles me onto his lap. He holds my face again, pulling it close to him, and kisses the tip of my nose with such delicacy and preciousness that I’m moved to more tears.
I love you, he signs. That’s why.
Lips shaking, I kiss his mouth. You’re not safe with me.
Easton cocks a brow and retorts, You’re not safe without me.
Bryan caught me by surprise, I defend. I was too confident with his absence and thought I could handle him. I know better now. There are more tactics than strength and brawn. I’ll make sure he never touches a hair on Jamie’s head, you can count on that.
But Easton’s lost track of what I’m saying. Furious emotion took over, and I signed too quickly. Slowing down, I say, It’s better if we leave and start over. Far away from Bryan.
Easton signs simply, I can’t let you go.
When he moves his head, the window light catches the sheen of sweat on his forehead.
Are you okay? I sign, horrified that I’ve spoken only about Bryan, when Easton lost his hearing last night. Have you been—
No say doctor, Easton signs with a wry expression. I’m fine. I guess.
I brush at the light dew of his forehead. His brows pull together as he stares at his hands, as if willing them to become proficient.
I walk here, he eventually signs. It why I sweat.
Walked? From where?
“M—” Easton stops himself before saying anything further, glancing abashedly at Jamie. Jamie may not hear, but he’s on such high alert, I’m not confident he’d miss any sound wave. Mid. Middle.
Midtown, I supply for him, but my brows shoot up. You walked over forty blocks?
Nodding, he signs, Had to. I love you. Was going to lose you.
“Easton,” I whisper, so softly my ears barely catch it. I rest my lips on his, a pillowy, soothing movement, and I draw his breath in. I can’t believe this man made a trip so far, on foot, to get to me. I pull away.
That was so dangerous, I say to him.
Easton smiles dryly. Few near-misses. Can’t hear cars now. Step into traffic once or two.
“Christ, Easton,” I whisper, all kinds of scenarios washing over my panicked brain.
Easton not hearing a car honk.
Easton smacking into a truck’s grill. Being thrown ten feet in the air from a taxi’s impact. Puddled on the ground, broken and alone, because he’s too stubborn to love and let go.
Why didn’t you get a car? I ask.
Easton’s expression turns tense and annoyed. Wallet in car with Rex. Rex against me come here. Rex go away.
You’re an idiot, I sign.
He nods. I aware.
With careful consideration, I trace the shell of his ear, the dips and valleys, so sensitive to sound and ready to receive the right signals, despite the inner canals shutting down.
Easton lets me, studying my face as I gently travel from one ear to the other.
Don’t be sorry, he signs. No pity from you.
I stop my study. None.
He leans forward and takes my mouth for his own, his tongue stroking, his lips sucking, the same way they did before. His passion hasn’t changed. His will.
“Mistake,” he whispers into my mouth, though his voice is clogged and unsure. “Mistake for you to leave.”
When I draw back, he adds, Don’t run. I can help. Stay.
I comb back his hair from his forehead, regarding him sadly. You have so much more to live for than me. You need to get better.
And I. Easton pauses. Thinks for a moment. Have you. To help better me. We better each other. We awful people alone.
I laugh, despite my determination to do the opposite. Jamie.
Easton’s attention lingers over Jamie’s small, vulnerable form in the queen-sized bed. He then asks me, Will Jamie be better somewhere else? Or danger everywhere? Better here. Better with friends. Family. Protect you.
“Ah,” I say, and nod sagely. “So that’s how you found me. Astor.”
Easton smiles.
I’ve done this alone for so long, I say.
/>
And I’ve traveled five thousand fucking steps of foot, Easton signs, to keep tell you, you don’t have to be alone anymore.
I can’t help grinning. It seems Easton became fluent at cursing in sign language as soon as he could.
But I sober. I didn’t ask—
Easton catches my wrists but softens the harshness by turning them over to expose my palms and kisses the heel of each hand. He folds them into my lap, squeezes them, then signs, Let me be with you. Let us be together.
I nearly waver then. At the earnestness in his stare and the glowing afternoon sun behind us, softening my edges and making me believe that I could start fresh here. With Easton, with Jamie, with all the people who’d be willing to raise their defenses. Astor. My boss. Easton’s bandmates and friends.
Sensing the vulnerability, Easton latches on. Bryan will not have you. WILL NOT. I will protect. Jamie will protect.
At my arched brow, Easton adds, He growing into man. Can’t keep him baby. You know that.
I do. I hate it, but I do. Yet, the last memory I have of Jamie is him clutching his tattered teddy bear as his father beat me to the ground.
He’s so young still, I say. I will keep him sheltered as long as I can.
Then so will I, Easton says. I am here.
On a sigh, I cuddle close to him, resting my forehead in the nook of his neck, unwilling to keep arguing, but also unwilling to commit.
Besides, Easton signs. Who will help me with plant?
I furrow my forehead. Plant?
Easton looses a frustrated sound, then tries again. Mid. Mid-plant.
I straighten from the nook of his body. Do you mean implant?
He gives a curt nod.
“Easton,” I whisper. “Are you sure? But you said … “
Your boy changed my mind. Then, with a small smile, Easton uses a name sign for Jamie and curves his dominant hand slightly over his head. Sunshine.
That does it. I’m blubbering. With shaking fingers I say, You asshole. You know exactly what you’re doing.
Easton nods and grips my waist, bringing me as close as possible to his body, as if to tell me his drummer’s body, the solid muscle, is not and will not go anywhere anytime soon.
I sign, knowing the enormity of what I’m doing, but deciding he deserves it anyway, I love you, too.
Easton’s mouth parts, his stare goes dark, and the air thickens with such promise that I have to physically hold my hands back from stripping off my shirt. Exposing my bruises and flaws, yes. Angering him at the reminder of the beating, for certain. But it tells him I’m his. Flaw and beauty, stretch marks and vulnerability. Woman and mother.
I hope my kiss shows this to Easton. The way I hold his shoulders, my fingers drawing in, the moment I clutch him and explain, without words, through only body, that I will.
I have to stay.
I can’t leave him. Running from danger can never be as sweet as finding home.
We pull back from the kiss with our foreheads touching. Easton strokes my cheek, tenderly healing the cuts and bruises, and that’s all the answer I need.
He knows.
A brushing of sheets, of skin on skin, catches my attention and I turn to see Jamie sitting up, his wiry, skinny chest exposed and his hair more haystack than human.
He asks, with bleary eyes, Did he just call me Sunshine?
I can’t hold back the laughter this time, even though this probably means Jamie witnessed the whole conversation. And the kissing.
I knew he was going to hate it, I sign to Easton, who subtly gives my ass a squeeze.
This time when Easton grins, he shows his teeth.
38
Easton
Three Months Later
You suck, Limpdick Pete.
The dude can’t understand sign language, so I add a few more expletives as he blasts away on drumskin and I sit in the corner of the studio, watching the horror play out.
“Subtle, homie. Real subtle,” Rex says dryly beside me.
Unlike Limpdick Pete, both my bandmates and my college crew have decided to take up American Sign Language at their local community centers, so I can no longer insult them to their faces without their knowing.
It was a fun few months, though.
“For the millionth time,” Rex continues. “This is just for now. As soon as you have your confidence back, you’ll be in the recording room, not Pete.” Rex mutters the last part. “Still gotta pay him, though.”
I fidget with my cochlear implant, a giant plastic thing behind my ear and attached to my scalp, and I’m still not used to the thing. Every single person sounds the same, very robotic.
It fucked so hard with my musical capabilities, but at least I was prepared for that. With Jamie’s help and my past experience, I got the sound of drumbeats back. I was able to play our tracks, not expertly, but adequately, and I’m confident it will come back with practice, and I’ll join Nocturne Court on stage again.
I was also willing to give up the guitar, and the keyboard, and all the other instruments I could no longer register. Since the alternative was not getting the CI and hearing nothing for the rest of my life, it seemed a viable option. Especially since I spent two brutal months completely deaf and nearly killing myself in various situations, almost all involving a traffic violation of some sort.
What I was not prepared for, was how I’d never hear Taryn the same away again.
I roared with frustration when the procedure was done, nearly bursting my deaf eardrums, because as soon as Taryn spoke to me in the recovery room, she became nothing but an electric current within the tunnels of my ears.
Her cries, listening to her sounds during sex, all gone. But, as Taryn pointed out, I could at least note that she was talking.
She also made sure (once I calmed down enough and didn’t have to be restrained) to remind me that I could still understand her pleasure. The night I came home and Jamie was strategically upstairs at Harper’s, she held my hand to her throat like before, and pulled my other deep into her pussy, forcing me to experience my other senses as a reminder that, no matter how electric she sounded, we could still knock out a breaker switch with our voltage.
About a month after her hotel stay, Taryn and Jamie moved into my apartment. It took some convincing and ensuring that Jamie could stay at his school, but Taryn wasn’t too keen on remaining where she was with Jamie, anyway. There was a tearful good-bye with the neighbor, Harper, but those tears didn’t last long. She’s been at my place at least six hundred and twenty times since Taryn moved out, but I gotta admit, I like her. She’s funny, kind, and throws punches when it comes to teaching my friends proper sign language.
When they’re all gathered together, it’s especially hard to pick out voices from a crowd, and sign language is still needed. I’m also determined to communicate fluently and perfectly with Jamie, who puts us all to shame with his seamless, graceful hand movements, not to mention how quickly he’s catching onto drums.
“Hey there,” Taryn says as she pads into the studio. “Coffee, as requested.”
She hands me the paper cup and I mutter, “Is there booze in it?”
“Of course not.” She perkily sits down beside me. “You’re just gonna have to suck it up and watch Limpdick Pete ruin your songs while completely and utterly sober.”
“Tyrant,” I grumble.
Taryn chuckles, and I can’t resist her sexy mischief and hook her in for a kiss. “How’d it go this morning?”
“Oh. You know.” Taryn shrugs and sips her coffee.
My eyes go skyward. “You gotta give me more than that, babe.”
Taryn shifts to get more comfortable, and I note that she draws closer to me, like she’s aiming for comfort. “Astor was there, thankfully, and Bryan was not. Just his team of lawyers. They started off tough, saying they were going for full custody, I wasn’t getting anything from Bryan’s finances, I was a basically the legal definition of a slut and a whore and blah blah blah.”
&n
bsp; My thoughts go lethal. “Whose ass is gonna house my drumstick later?”
“It’s standard form, really, when there’s a divorce. The first attempt is to turn the woman into a hussy, but come on, do you really think Astor—or I—was going to tolerate that?”
“Hell, no.”
“So.” Taryn settles her shoulders primly. “We told them where they could suck it.”
“In those exact terms, I hope.”
“Sadly, no, we were more official about it. That man scared me to death, beat me senseless, and made me feel like I had no home to go to, that Jamie would never be safe unless I went on the run.”
I wrap my arm around her shoulder, bringing her near. I kiss her temple and murmur, “I know, sweetheart. I almost lost you to it.”
“Therefore, we made it clear that if Bryan wanted any of those things, we’d send all the pictures we had of my cuts and bruises, including hospital records, to every media outlet we could find. With Astor’s sports connections through her brother, and my connections through you, we had a few key members of the press in mind. And it wouldn’t matter if Bryan said they were fake, if his people called me a liar. Once that information is out there, his run for Senate is done. And it wouldn’t be my scheming that lost him the seat, it would be his uncontrollable temper, his narcissistic ego and his limp fucking dick that cost him.”
I proudly kiss her temple and draw her back so I can look her in the eye and say, “‘Atta girl. We hate limpdicks.”
“It took every ounce of restraint I had not to leap over the table, tangle all their ties together, and watch them bang their heads trying to get out of the stranglehold.”
I grow serious, pulling her onto my lap and cupping her chin. “You, my strong-ass woman, handled it wonderfully. I’m proud of you.” I venture to ask, “Is it finally over?”
Taryn searches my eyes. “I don’t know. I hope so. I’ve certainly kept him at bay, and he won’t be asking for custody, nor will he be contesting the divorce. Astor and I will make sure of that. So, it’s as over as it can be, until … well, if and when Jamie starts asking about his dad. I can’t deny him that.”
Playing You: Players to Lovers, Book 4 Page 24