Fighting Silence (On the Ropes #1)(62)

“Well, you need to get rid of those ideas,” she whispered looking over her shoulder to where the boys were waiting by the car. “I’m on my period.”

“Ah, yes. Natures very own cock block.” I nodded before releasing a frustrated groan.

She giggled. “Yes, but it also means that I can start my birth control so we can get rid of the condoms.” She lifted her eyebrows suggestively.

I sucked in a deep breath. “Oh, woman. Now you are speaking a language I understand.” I grabbed both sides of her face and planted a hard closed mouth kiss to her lips.

“Let’s go!” Flint yelled, grabbing our attention.

“Next weekend is the lock in at the gym. They will be gone for an entire night. You should rest up while you can.” I winked as I walked away.

As we loaded into the car, she pulled a sketchpad out and went to work. I didn’t recognize the movements as her pencils glided across the paper. I tried to peek over her shoulder at every red light we hit, but I was never able to catch a single glance. She was acting weird, and my heart raced while waiting for the sky to fall.

“You sure you’re okay?” I squeezed her leg.

She glanced up with a warm smile. “I swear. I just wanted to draw something.” She lifted my hand from her leg and kissed the palm, reading my nerves like a freaking book.

As soon as we walked through the front door, Eliza sat us all down.

“So,” she started, but nothing followed for several seconds. “I’m not sure how you guys are going to feel about this, but I had an idea at the restaurant. I know this is kind of a touchy subject, but I don’t really think ignoring it does anyone any good.” She flipped the sketchpad over.

I blinked.

Flint gasped.

Quarry cursed.

She had drawn a pistol that appeared to be shooting an intricate sound wave, which eventually fell flat. Inside the spikes of the wave were the words “The Silencer” in block letters.

“Till, I don’t mean to sound like a Debbie Downer, but every single day that passes, you fight to keep the silence at bay. I think it’s only fair that your opponents should have to face The Silencer.”

“Hell yeah!” Quarry flew to his feet.

Flint watched me closely for a reaction, but with one look at the paper, I was rendered speechless.

If I could have taken a step back, I would have realized that the logo she’d whipped up on a twenty-minute car ride home was just good and the nickname she’d picked was just catchy. But I couldn’t do that at all. What she’d put on that paper was extraordinary to me.

It gave power to my flaws, purpose to my life sentence, and pride to my future in silence.

It was a symbol depicting who I was, drawn by the very hands that had made me who I was.

I mentally vowed that, from that moment on, I would always be “The Silencer” Till Page.

She nervously chewed on her lip as everyone in the room waited for me to speak. I stood up from the couch and walked over to where she was standing. After grabbing the sketchpad from her hand, I roughly tore off the top page.

“It was just an idea. Don’t get mad,” she said, starting to apologize.

“Oh, I’m furious,” I responded, gripping the back of her neck. “You’ve been holding out on me. I had no idea you could draw anything but eyes.”

She started to laugh, but I kissed her indecently.

I’d forgotten that the boys were in the room until I heard Quarry groan in disgust. I couldn’t have given two shits who was watching though.

“I love it,” I told her as she pulled away. “I’m giving this to Slate in the morning, and if he doesn’t like it, I’m quitting.”

“Okay, now, let’s not get crazy here,” she replied.

“So, that’s the one?” Flint asked, snatching the paper from my hand.

I stared into Eliza’s dark-blue eyes as I answered, “It is for me.”





Four months later . . .

“QUARRY, GET OUT OF THE car!”

“No.” He pouted.

“You look fine!”

“I look like I pissed myself! There might be chicks in there.”

“No. It looks like I hit the brakes, causing you to spill pop all over your lap. If the chicks ask, just blame it on me. Now, let’s go.”

Flint chuckled beside me.

“See! He’s laughing!” Quarry exclaimed. “I’m not going in like this. Take me back home.”

I sucked in a calming breath, but my nerves were shot. That night, “The Silencer” Till Page was set to make his debut in the professional boxing ring, and I was standing in the parking lot of a small, run-down arena on the outskirts of Chicago, arguing with an eleven-year-old drama king.

“It is a three-hour drive back to our apartment!” I looked over to Flint and threw my hands up in frustration.

He shook his head then dragged his royal-blue hoodie off and tossed it at Quarry with a smirk. “Put that on. It’s big enough to cover your piss panties.”

Quarry fumed as he pulled it on, but he finally got out of the freaking car.

As we entered the venue, it was obvious that the chattering crowd wasn’t there because of Till. Every word I heard spoken was about Slate’s big return to professional boxing. The venue had printed programs, and Slate’s photo was at least three times the size of anyone else’s. Till’s was on the back.