“With closed captioning, yes.” I smile at her. “You’ve never spent much time with deaf people, have you?”
“Just Logan Reed…” She winces.
“Where did you learn to sign?”
“We all learned when we were small,” she says. “Peck had a really bad stutter, so it was the only way she could communicate. Then when Peck married into the Reed family, we realized that the whole family used it to communicate, and we felt like it was rude not to know the language, so we took a few refresher classes on the weekends.”
“Really?” I ask as I brush a lock of damp hair from her forehead. “That was a wonderful thing to do.”
“It was nothing.”
“It’s everything,” I tell her. My belly does a little dance.
“Logan didn’t lose his hearing until he was twelve, so he could speak really well, but even he couldn’t catch everything we said by reading our lips.” She gets quiet for a minute. “You don’t speak much, do you?”
I shake my head.
“Okay.” She picks up a remote and hands it to me. “You pick a movie while I go wipe some of the crap off my face, will you?”
I nod and take the remote from her.
“Help yourself to dinner, if you want it.”
“Okay.”
I turn on the TV as she disappears around the corner. I find the pay channels and look through what’s available. There’s a horror flick that’s new, and it’s supposed to be really scary. I buy that one. I’ll have to pay her for it later, since I’m using her account. I get it queued up and go to the kitchen. She has all the food still in bags, so I unpack it and get out two plates.
She comes out a few minutes later and she’s wearing black yoga pants that hug her ass, and a sheer t-shirt. Her face is wiped clean and it’s shiny, and she has pulled her hair back in a ponytail.
“Do I look acceptable?” she asks. She halts in the entry to the kitchen.
“Beautiful,” I tell her.
Her cheeks flush. “Thank you.”
“I like this look on you.”
She blows out a breath. “I live for days I can be normal. You have no idea.”
“Define normal.”
“We travel a lot,” she says. “When we’re playing, we have to dress the part, and there’s always a press tour. Sometimes my soul just craves quiet times, times when I can wipe off the makeup, take off the gloves, and just be me.” She makes a little pose. “This is me,” she says. “Take it or leave it.”
“Take it,” I rush to say. “I’m taking it.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Are you sure you want it?”
I walk to her and cup her cheek with my palm. “More sure than I have ever been about anything.”
She smiles at me and my heart trips in my chest. “What movie did you get?”
“A scary one,” I tell her.
“Oh, I hate scary movies.”
“Oh,” I say. “I can get a different one.”
“No, I mean I love scary movies, but they really scare me. You might have to spend the night to keep me from freaking out.”
Spend the night? “I’ll buy you a scary movie every night, if that’s the case. Every. Single. Night.” I grin at her, and she rolls her eyes.
“I’ll sleep with the lights on.”
“Did you just take back my invitation?”
“For now,” she says, ducking her head.
I follow her to the couch, where she waits for me to take a seat. Then she sits down with her thigh pressed alongside mine. I lift my arm to rest on the back of the sofa, and she draws her legs up so that she’s leaning on me. “You can start it.”
I turn on the captions on her TV, and then start the movie. She’s tense beside me, and I love having her this close. She picks up a different remote and the lights in the room go dim. “Is this okay?” she asks. I can see her sign in the light the TV casts. She leans into me a little closer.
“Yes, it’s fine,” I say out loud. She looks up at me and smiles, and my heart does that pitter-patter thing it’s been doing since I got here, only it’s getting worse.
I almost worry that she can hear it. But then again, I don’t care if she can. I want her to know how much she affects me. I want her to know how much I like her, how much I respect her, and I also want her to know how much I want her.
Because I do.
Lark
We’re thirty minutes into the movie when I turn my head toward Ryan’s shoulder and scream into his shirt, which is balled in my tight-fisted grip. He chuckles and takes the remote switch from me to turn the lights up. Then he pauses the movie.
With tender fingers, he pries my hands loose. His shirt was squeezed so tightly that it looks like I wrung it out with my fingernails. I brush it down, trying to make it flat again.
“Why did you turn the lights on?” I ask.
“I wanted to ask if you’re all right,” he says, “but I couldn’t see your hands in the dark.” He smiles at me.
“Why aren’t you afraid?”
He shrugs. “It’s not scary.”
“What?” I shriek with my hands, making my gestures big as I exaggerate. “There was scary music, and then he offs her with a screwdriver with almost no warning.”
His brow furrows. “There was scary music?”
I cover my gasp with my hand. He can’t hear the scary music. Why didn’t I think of that? I’m the worst date ever. “You can’t hear the dum-dum-dum-dum-dum music. The music that says something is lurking around the corner and it’s going to eat you.” I make a grab like I’m going for his face.
He laughs, grabs me, and rolls me beneath him on the couch. He’s reclining on his side, shoved in amongst the cushions, halfway hovering over me. He’s laughing so hard his chest is shaking. When he finally calms down, he says, “I can’t hear dum dum dum dum.” He shrugs. “I don’t think I’m missing much. I knew he was in the closet.”
“How’d you know he was in the closet?”
“There was a trail of blood leading to it.”
“There was?”
He laughs again. “Yes, there was.”
I know how I missed it. I was thinking about how nice it was sitting next to Ryan in the dark, right up until the minute the scary music started. “You want to turn it off?”
“Why?” He looks down at me, his eyes touching every part of my face like he’s memorizing my features. My heart starts to pound.
“Because you can’t hear the music and it’s not scary to you.”
He points to his chest. “You think I’m going to give up an opportunity to have you squealing in my arms? My mother didn’t raise a fool.” He shakes his head. “Let’s finish it.”
He leans over me and grabs the remote, but we don’t sit up. He dims the lights and I roll to face the TV. Ryan props his head in his palm and puts one hand on my hip.
He growls a little as he brushes my hair down between us. Then his lips touch the tender skin of my shoulder where my t-shirt has slipped. He makes a breathy little moan as he inhales deeply.
“You smell good,” he says out loud. He’s really hard to understand, and if he wasn’t still sniffing me, I’d have no clue at all what he said. But I think I get it. He presses a button and the movie starts again. His hand draws a little circle on my hip as we watch. It suddenly doesn’t seem quite as scary. What’s much more scary is how his fingers are playing along the hip of my yoga pants.
I draw in a quick breath when his fingers slip beneath the edge of my shirt to tickle my waist. His fingers stop moving. I cover his hand with mine and give it a squeeze. Don’t stop. It feels really good, I plead in my head. But the lights are low and he can’t hear or see me. He kisses my shoulder again and snuggles in closer as his fingers resume their gentle swirls.
My heart pounds like a jackhammer in my chest. I press my face into the pillow and bite the edge of it. I have never, ever felt like this before. This is how I always imagined it would be, but I’d never found it. Of
course, I’ve never been vulnerable with anyone before, either, and I’ve never let anyone see my scars.
His fingers stop their slow stroll when he skims across the bumpy scars on my stomach. Once again, I cover his hand and press him against me. Don’t stop, I will in my mind. It feels good. This feels so good. He feels so good. He kisses the side of my neck and nips the sensitive skin beneath my ear, then laves it with his tongue to soothe the sting.
With a gentle nudge at my shoulder, Ryan rolls me forward onto my belly a little and I turn my face toward the TV. But I’m not watching TV. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and instead concentrate on the way he’s lifting the back of my shirt. His hand explores the ridges and bumps of my scars with gentle sweeps of his fingertips, soft rubs with the flat of his palm, and simple swipes of his thumb. He hooks a finger in my bra strap and tugs it, silently asking for my permission and then waiting to get it. I nod into my pillow. He groans as he unhooks my bra and pushes the straps to the side.
With gentle motions and solid rubs, Ryan soothes me and discombobulates me all at once. He’s gentle but firm, tender but harsh, soft but hard. His fingers find the muscles around my ribs and start to press a little harder. I moan. I can’t help it.
He chuckles. Does he know I did that?
I roll all the way onto my belly and tuck my arms under the pillow, holding on to it for dear life. Ryan throws a leg over my bottom and pushes my shirt higher. Then his lips join his hand. His breath is hot and humid, and his lips are soft and tender.
A slow burn begins to thrum between my thighs and I rock my hips into the sofa trying to ease the ache. Ryan keeps on exploring my back, leaving no inch untouched, no crease unexplored, no dip untried. No heart untouched.
With his gentle fingers and his questing lips, he’s offering me something no one ever has. He’s accepting my body, and me by extension, with no holds barred. He’s treating me like I’m made of glass, while letting me know he wants to see more of me, maybe even have more of me.
Suddenly, the light flips on above us. Ryan freezes, but only for a moment. Then he quickly and efficiently hooks my bra strap behind me and he pulls my shirt down. He sits up, and so do I.
Wren stands in the entryway, and she’s a wreck. Her makeup runs in dark rivulets down her face.
“I should go,” Ryan says to me.
I don’t want him to go, but I need to find out what’s wrong with Wren. She hasn’t been home since she left angry, and I have no idea where she’s been. But the last time she looked like this, it was because the asshole she had been seeing cheated on her.
“Wren,” I say. “What happened?”
She looks at Ryan and then at me, and then she stomps toward her room and slams her door.
“Is she okay?” Ryan asks. “Or do I need to go kick someone’s ass?” He looks down at me, his brow marred with worry.
It makes my heart expand two sizes to know that he would take care of one of my sisters, even though he doesn’t know her.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” I tell him. “I had better go see what’s wrong.”
“We didn’t finish the movie.” He tucks a lock of hair that has fallen down behind my ear.
“I know.”
“We didn’t finish a lot of things.” He grins.
A smile tugs at my lips as heat suffuses my face. “I know.”
He pulls me to him and I press my forehead against his chest, taking a moment to breathe him in. He smells like detergent and pure, unadulterated man.
Ryan squeezes my shoulders and then runs his cupped hands down my arms. Then he surprises the hell out of me when he lifts my arm and presses a kiss against the scars on my inner wrist. I try to pull out of his grasp, but he holds tight, his eyes meeting mine as his lips linger. He breathes me in, his warm mouth pressed against my skin.
“I had a lot of fun tonight,” he says.
“I did too.”
He takes in a deep breath, almost like he’s fortifying himself, and then he says, “My mother’s birthday is this weekend. We’re having a party. I’d like for you to come with me.”
I jerk my head back, completely shocked by his request. “You want me to meet your mother?”
He nods, and I can tell he’s nervous by the way his eyes jerk around my face. “I’d like for you to meet my whole family.”
“Why?” I look into his eyes, hoping I’ll find the truth there.
“Because I like you a lot, and I want you to meet my mom and dad, and the rest of my family. If you want to, that is. Only if you want to.”
“I want to,” I say tentatively.
“Are you sure?” He bends down to look into my eyes.
“I’m sure. Thank you for the invitation.” I smile at him, and heat floods my face again.
“You take my breath away on a normal day, but when your cheeks turn pink, I feel like you’ll never give the breath back.” He laughs.
“I get points for blushing?” I ask.
“You get points for everything.”
Suddenly, something breaks in Wren’s room and I hear glass shatter. “I had better go check on her.”
He nods, and then he bends and presses a kiss to my cheek. He lingers there a moment like he’s breathing me in. And I don’t want to let him go.
He leaves, and then I look toward my kitchen counter and see that he left his baseball cap. I smile and start plotting in my head what I can do with it next that might give me an excuse to see him before my appointment on Saturday to work on the tattoo.
Ideas are running through my head when Wren’s door flies open and she steps into the living room. “Is he gone?” she asks.
“Yes. Why?”
She tosses a white cylinder on the counter. I look down and see a small plus sign in the window. “Oh,” I breathe. I look up and find her blinking back tears. “Wren,” I say softly, and I approach her like she’s a wounded animal, because that’s essentially what she is right now. She’s scared. And she’s fighting it.
“He knocked me up,” she says over a sniffle. “I was going to tell him tonight, and I went to his apartment early, and I found him in bed with one of the girls he works with.”
“Oh, Wren,” I say, covering my mouth.
“He knocked me up. I’m pregnant.” She covers her belly with her hand. “What the hell am I going to do?”
“We’ll figure it out,” I tell her, although I have no idea what the hell we’ll do. “We’ll figure it out,” I say again, trying to convince myself as much as I’m trying to convince her. “I promise, we’ll figure it out.”
She falls into my arms and starts to sob.
My phone goes off in my pocket and she steps back from me, sniffling and wiping her eyes. “You should answer that.”
I pull my phone out.
Ryan: Everything okay?
Me: Not really.
Ryan: Want me to come back over?
Me: I want you to come back over more than anything, but it’s probably not the best time for Wren. I’ll tell you more tomorrow.
Ryan: Can I see you tomorrow?
Me (heart thudding with joy): Maybe. You forgot your cap.
Ryan: I didn’t forget it.
A grin steals across my face.
Me: Good. Check with me tomorrow and you can see what kind of sticky situations I get it into.
Ryan: Are you talking dirty to me?
Me (laughter bubbling): Maybe
Ryan: I am a happy man. Talk to you tomorrow.
Me: Good night.
Wren blows a big, snotty tissue full of boogers and says, “Was that Ryan?”
I nod and shove my phone back in my pocket.
“Are you glowing?” she asks, her eyes narrowing.
“No, no, it’s not like that,” I rush to say.
She puts her hands on her hips. “I got knocked up, cheated on, and you’re fucking glowing. You have to be kidding me.” But she’s grinning, so I know she doesn’t mean any harm. “Wait,” she suddenly says. “Where are your
gloves?”
“I took them off,” I say quietly. Then tears start to sting my eyes and I blink them back as fast as I can.
“Oh, Lark,” she says, and she pulls me in to her. “I knew one day you would meet a man who made you feel safe enough to take them off. I just didn’t think it would a deaf tattoo artist who looks like he could shit nails and then eat them for breakfast. I expected you to fall for a guy in a sport coat and loafers, not a hoodie and flip flops.”
“I took the gloves off,” I whisper as if amazed, and I bury my face in her shoulder.
“I am so proud of you,” she tells me softly. She sets me back and plucks a tissue from the box on the counter, and then presses it into my hand. “Look at us. We’re a mess. You’re upset because you’re starting something new. And I’m a mess because I’m ending something.”
I look toward her belly. “Or starting something.”
She shakes her head. “Or ending something.”
My gut clenches. “Oh.”
“I need to think about it.”
“Whatever you decide, I’ll be there with you. I’ll hold your hand if you decide you’re not ready to be a mother. Or I’ll hold your hand in labor and delivery. Whatever you want, I’m with you one hundred percent.”
“I’m sorry I was mean to you the other day. My period was late and I was afraid, and my temper got the best of me.”
I go to the freezer, take out a quart of ice cream, and get two spoons. I hold one out to her and we sit together silently and eat the whole thing.
“I really like Ryan,” I suddenly blurt out.
She smiles. “You took your gloves off for him. I’d say you more than like him.”
Yeah. I do. I more than like him.
And it scares the hell out of me.
Ryan
It has been days since the last time I saw Lark. She has an appointment today at two o’clock so I can finish her tattoo. We’ve texted all day every day, silently getting to know one another, and it has been great, but it’s not the same as actually getting to see her.
On Monday, she sent me a picture of her wearing my baseball cap in front of a doctor’s office.
Me: You’re not sick, are you?
Lark McCapSnatcher: I’m entertaining your cap at the gynecologist’s office.