Fighting Silence (On the Ropes #1)(20)

I stilled as my heart dipped in my chest from his matter-of-fact announcement.

“He said it just like that, too. It was quick and to the point, no fluff. I guess you get what you pay for, and unfortunately for me, we were at the free clinic.” He laughed again, but my stomach ached.

“Was he right?” I asked with a wince, not wanting to hear the answer.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, causing me to gasp. “When I was thirteen, I was hearing at around eighty percent, and they predicted it would go downhill pretty steadily.”

“But you’re not . . .” I trailed off, unwilling to finish the thought.

“It could take years. It all depends on my rate of degeneration. The clinic sent us to a specialist, but in true Mommy Dearest fashion, she asked what the point of seeing a specialist was if there wasn’t any way to prevent me from going deaf. I can still vividly remember her checking her watch as she spoke to the doctor. She must have had somewhere else to be that was more interesting than listening to the diagnosis that would forever change my life.”

“Fuck,” I whispered.

“As soon as we walked out of that doctor’s office, she told me she needed me to keep my brothers because she had plans that day. Plans. Fucking plans!” His voice rose for the very first time during his recount. “It would have hurt if I hadn’t already known what a self-centered bitch she was.”

My hands found purchase on the muscles on his back, and I pulled him impossibly closer. It was all I had to offer.

“So as soon as we got home, I dashed from the car and took off through the apartments, climbing through the first window I came to. That’s when I found you. At first, I kept coming back because I thought you were funny and you distracted me from the world that kept spinning under my feet.”

“Every girl’s dream—a distraction,” I snarked against his chest, but if he heard me, I couldn’t be sure.

He continued. “But then it became a place where I wasn’t bound by my life outside. Inside the four walls of that shitty apartment, I got to be whoever I wanted. I wasn’t poor or going deaf. Social services weren’t beating down our door, nor were the cops looking for my dad. I was always met with a smile and a sense of belonging. It was you. We had an entirely separate life there. Together, we kept it clean. I made sure we always had power and you made sure I didn’t starve. That was a hell of a lot more than I got at home. You took care of me, and with what little I had, I took care of you.”

I was still mad as hell, but he was speaking the language of longing and acceptance I understood, and that’s the only reason I nuzzled my head against him.

“So, Doodle. I f*cked up that last night together. I took the risk and merged fantasy into reality.”

My body immediately stiffened, but I was unsure which term had hurt more. Who I wanted to be to Till was still a mystery even to me.

With a slide of his hand over my throat, he guided my eyes to find his. “So I decided to walk away from you before you could walk away from me when you realized what a f*ckup I was in the real world.” His lips lingered close to mine, but it wasn’t the good kind. It was the torturous kind.

If I were given the choice with Till, I’d take real life every. Single. Time.

“I am well aware what a f*ckup you are,” I said, and I felt him flinch. “Did you ever think that maybe I felt the same way about you? My parents couldn’t have given two shits about me, but I knew you did. I knew you would always be there. You might be late, you might smell like Rochelle Lane’s cheap-ass perfume, you might be in a shitty mood, but you would be there. Then, one day, you weren’t. I sat in that apartment night after night for two months. Most of the time, I just stared at the window, willing it to suddenly open.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry. I just didn’t know where else to go tonight. I needed the fantasy back.”

“Well, I don’t,” I said, and he began to roll away. “Stop. Just listen to me. I’ve put my life back together the last few months. I’ve moved on in the real world. I don’t want to go back to the fantasy. Not even to be with you.” I felt his shoulders fall. “But if you want to join me here, I’m okay with that.”

“I don’t even know where to start being there with you.” He sucked in a breath, releasing it on a vibrato.

“Start by telling me whose blood you were wearing tonight. I don’t need details, but you have to let me know if I have to testify that you were with me all night. I’m a terrible liar.” I raked my nails down his back.

“Some guy named Frankie,” he answered weakly.

Our bodies were tangled together. As I stiffened, he became pliable, wrapping around me. Yin and yang. I took the strength he feebly offered. And he held me tight enough to transfer it through mere contact.

“Is he dead?” I finally found the words, but I’d never wanted an answer less.

“No. But my father might be.”

“Oh, God.” A sob caught in my throat.

“Don’t waste one f*cking tear on that *. I tried to protect him, but he turned on me. He threw me to the f*cking wolves!” he exclaimed without ever raising his voice.

His eyes were filled with rage, but it was more than that. He was hurt . . . and disappointed . . . and abandoned. I was devastated just watching the myriad of emotions pass over his strong face.