Tone Deaf(17)

I lean against the side of the equipment trailer, letting the sun-soaked metal warm my back. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, just for a moment, just long enough to regain my composure. When I open them, I’ll be calm. I’ll forget about Jace’s insults and the memories he stirred up. I’ll take the check and run far, far away.

Something lightly touches my shoulder, making me yelp in surprise. I snap my eyes open and find Jace in front of me. He has his hands nervously stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, and he’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt now. Why did he change into that, of all things? It’s still like eighty degrees outside, and his forehead is already covered in sweat. Maybe the dude is some sort of masochist; he hurts everything and everyone, including himself.

His throat bobs as he clears it, and he shuffles around for a couple seconds, his eyes glued to his feet. I stay exactly where I am, doing my best to look intimidating as I stare up at him. I think of how my mom used to laugh when I was learning a new song; she said I looked ferocious when I concentrated that hard. I try to channel that expression and glare straight at Jace.

Jace stares down at his hands, holding them far in front of him, like they have some sort of terrible disease he’s afraid to catch. Then he pushes up his sleeves, even though they’re already scrunched up around his muscular biceps. He takes a deep breath, and I step to the side, wondering what in the hell is going on. He’s not even talking. He’s just standing there, occasionally shooting me little glances that almost look . . . scared.

He keeps staring at his hands for a bit longer, and then he takes a shuddering breath. “Hey.”

“I want my check,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm.

“I’ll give it to you in a second,” he mutters.

“No, now.”

Jace shakes his head and takes a step toward me. He keeps coming closer, until he’s only a foot away. He peers closely at me, his eyes squinting as he examines my face. I unconsciously reach up and cover my cheek with my hand, hiding the bruised area from sight.

“It looks like someone hit you,” Jace says, gesturing to my cheek.

“No,” I quickly say, shaking my head.

He points to my arm. “You’re bruised there, too.”

“It was just an accident,” I insist. “And it’s definitely not your business.”

Jace takes another half-step toward me, bringing us impossibly closer. Finally, he looks into my eyes, and I’m able to see his full expression. It’s not right. Jace is supposed to be angry and condemning and pitiless. But his eyes are . . . sad.

He raises his hands, gives them one more disgusted glance, and then signs, “Let me help you.”

I stare in shock at his hands. What? What? I hesitantly raise my hands and sign back, “I’m totally fine. No one’s hurt me, I swear. I just fell.”

I half expect him to burst out laughing and mock me for my signing, for him to tell me that he doesn’t actually know ASL, and he’s just messing with me. But, instead, he gives me a small, sad smile.

“You’re lying,” he signs.

I ignore his accusation and ask, “How do you know ASL?” Sometimes I’ll run into people who know a sign or two, but Jace’s skills are obviously beyond that. His hands move with an ease that makes me think he’s fluent.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jace signs. “We’re talking about you, not me.”

I shake my head. “No, we’re not.”

He laughs a little. Although, by the way his chest moves, I guess it’s more of a hesitant chuckle than that scathing laugh from before.

“You’re too stubborn for your own good.”

“I’ll be the judge of what’s good for me and what’s not.”

He gestures to my bruised face again. “That doesn’t seem to be working out too well for you.”

Tears press at my eyes, threatening to break free, to spill down my cheeks and wash away the makeup, to give everything away. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a shuddering breath, trying to keep them at bay. Think of something happy, I tell myself. Puppies, or kittens, or ponies.

But when I think of those things, all I can picture are those ASPCA commercials that make Avery tear up every time they come on. I rub my hand over my eyes and feel moisture. Great. Just great.

Suddenly, there’s a strange warmth on my swollen cheek, but it’s not rough or angry. I open my eyes to find Jace standing close, his lips pursed in concern. He brushes away another tear with his thumb.

That’s all it takes for me to start crying. Not the uncontrollable sobbing I was expecting, but something even worse. The tears are silent and hot as they stream down my face, and my chest doesn’t heave, even though I can feel my heart pounding away. It’s the type of crying that gives everything away: the kind that whispers I’m used to pain, to keeping it in, to never letting it out.

Jace pulls me into his arms, shocking me so much that I forget to resist. He wraps his arms around me awkwardly. For a moment, I’m ready to jerk away from him, but then I feel something drip onto my forehead. I look up and find him determinedly avoiding my gaze, his eyes strangely red and puffy as they stare at something in the distance.

We just stay there, me trapped in his arms, but not really trapped. It dawns on me that this is the first time in years that I’ve come in contact with a guy without feeling at all threatened. His arms are strong—but it’s the kind of strength that keeps things standing, instead of tearing them down.