Tone Deaf(18)

After what feels like a long time, Jace gently pulls away. But he keeps his hands on my arms as I shift away.

“How can I help you?” he asks.

“You’re already helping,” I mumble. Then I take a step back, breaking his grasp as I realize I still have no idea what’s triggering this sudden kindness. I swallow hard and revert back to sign language. I’m still half expecting him to not know ASL, like maybe what just happened was a dream or hallucination. “I’m going to use that check to get out of here. I’m going to buy a car and escape.”

He frowns and signs, “Who’s coming with you?”

So he really does know ASL. Weird. No, bizarre is more like it. “No one’s coming with me,” I reply slowly. “I don’t need anybody.”

“Well, where are you going? Do you have family to take you in?”

“No. But I’m going to New York City.”

His frown grows into a grimace. “What? Why the hell would you go there?”

I flinch at his words, and he seems to realize he’s being too harsh. He smiles thinly as he signs, “It’s not safe to be wandering around New York alone.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He scoffs. “Just like your face is fine?”

His mocking words are like another punch, and I stumble back, hitting the side of the trailer. Why did I ever think his concern was sincere? I almost laugh at my stupidity.

I turn on my heel and walk away. I’m getting out of here, with or without the money. I need to get away from Jace, from this bizarre conversation, from this city, from my dad.

Then a strong hand grips my elbow. Strong, but still not rough. In fact, Jace is surprisingly gentle as he stops me and turns me to face him. His hand is warm against my skin, maybe even a little comforting.

He lets go of me and signs, “Wait. I want to help.”

I swallow hard, trying to steel myself for the truth. “No, you don’t.”

He rubs his face and lets out a long breath. “Look, Alison—”

“A-l-i,” I correct, finger-spelling it for him.

He signs back, “Fine, A-l-i. You need to know that I’m really terrible with words. Actually, unless it’s lyrics, I’m just plain shitty at using language.”

I keep my expression stony and uncaring. I’m done listening to him. Done with him, period.

He holds up his hands, as if in surrender. He keeps them there for a long moment before dropping them to sign, “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry for what I said. For everything.”

The way he locks eyes with me as he signs this makes me suspect he’s being sincere. Is that even possible? I don’t think jerks like him are capable of saying anything outside of the bullshit spectrum.

But my bullshit-o-meter isn’t going off. And, for someone who gets by with constant lies, I’m great at detecting when people aren’t telling the truth.

“I’m sorry. For everything.” As if he’s not just apologizing for his actions, but for everyone’s.

I sniff back more tears and hesitantly sign, “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay. It’s never okay for someone to beat you up. You don’t deserve that. Do you hear me? It’s not okay.”

His signing grows more and more frantic. When he finally stops, his hands are shaking, and he’s breathing hard.

I stare at my feet.

Jace holds out his hand for me to take. “Let me help. Please. I want to do more than just give you money.”

I cross my arms and look away from the temptation of his outstretched hand. “What, are you afraid to part with eight grand?”

“I’ll give you any amount you need, if that’s really what you want from me.”

I scoff. “And what if I ask for your entire bank account?”

“You won’t.”

I hesitantly meet his eyes. They’re still sincere, surprising me almost as much as the look on his face: concern. And not the fleeting type of concern most people have shown when they ask about my bruises. This is real, genuine concern that feels like it could last forever.

Or at least until the problem is solved.

Jace’s smile slowly wilts into a frown, and it takes me a moment to realize that I’ve just been staring at him for like a minute. I shake my head, trying to get a handle on my confusing thoughts, and sign, “I don’t have a single reason to trust you.”

He reaches his hand toward mine, until our fingertips almost touch. “Then let me give you one.” He swallows hard, and then starts speaking so fast, I can barely read his lips. “Our tour ends in New York City. Come with me. The band, I mean. It’ll make traveling a lot safer, if you’re with us. And I can help find you someplace safe to stay, once we get there.”

I shake my head. “You don’t get it. My dad’s a retired police chief, and I’m a minor. As soon as I start running, he’s going to hunt me down, and he’ll have an entire police force to help.”

Jace frowns. “You’re what, seventeen?”

“Yeah.”

“They won’t chase too hard after a seventeen-year-old. You’re too close to being an adult.”

I look up at the sky, wondering how much to tell him. “My dad . . . he’s relentless.”