Tone Deaf(19)

Jace simply shrugs. “So am I.”

“You don’t get it. He’ll—”

“He’ll have my best lawyers after his ass if he even tries to come after you,” Jace interrupts. His expression turns fierce, the harsh angles of his face reminding me of a hawk. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

“I thought you said promises didn’t mean anything to you,” I mutter before I can stop myself.

He frowns, as if he isn’t used to being challenged like this. Tough luck; I’m not going along with anything until I know his motives. “Well, this is different,” he says.

“How?”

“Because I’m the one making the promise. And I always tell the truth.”

I scoff. “The truth? You’re a celebrity. People like you live off of lies.”

His expression darkens. “I’m a musician, not a celebrity, and anyone who says differently can go to hell.”

I stumble back a step. I don’t like these mood swings the dude keeps having. It’s like he has two people stuck in him— angry Jace and nice Jace. And I’m not sure which one I’m scared of more—the side trying to shove me away, or the one begging me to do something utterly stupid.

“Come with me,” Jace says again, interrupting my thoughts. “Please. I can help.”

“But . . . my dad is going to try to find me. The police will be after me. And you’re nineteen. You could be accused of kidnapping.”

“Are you hearing me, Ali? I don’t give a shit. We’ll hide you, keep you out of sight. No one will ever know you’re with the band.” He signs, “When’s your birthday?”

“In four months.”

“Perfect. Our tour lasts four months. By the time we make it to New York, you’ll be eighteen, and you won’t have to worry about anything.”

His words strike me one by one. I won’t have to worry about anything. I’ll be free, away from my dad, out of his hold.

Jace offers me a small smile. It’s the sincere sort of expression he showed me when he was up onstage, and it makes me want to believe that he’ll really help, that everything will be okay.

“You’ll really do this for me?” I ask.

“Anything to get you safe, A-l-i,” he signs, and then reaches out his hand again for me to take.

A thousand doubts run through my head as I stare at his outstretched hand. My heart pounds frantically, and I swear I can hear it begging me to accept his offer.

“No,” I say, signing it and saying it out loud. Then I shake my head to make sure he gets the point. “I can’t go.”

I don’t know him and don’t trust him. I’d be an idiot to run away with him. And I may be helpless, but I sure as hell am not an idiot.

Jace’s expression falls faster than I thought possible. He blinks a couple times, and his mouth opens and closes. He’s clearly not used to hearing “no” from anyone.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He shakes his head and takes a step away from me. “Here,” he says, pulling a check out of his pocket. “Your money. At least take this.” He shoves it into my hand, and then he’s gone, striding back toward his RV before I have a chance to say anything more.





10


ALI


I FLOP DOWN on my bed with a groan, and even though my room is too warm, I can’t stop shivering. What the hell did I just do? Running away with Jace might have been my only chance at escape. For years, I’ve been telling myself that as soon as I turn eighteen, I’ll be free. But I know it likely won’t work out that easily. Getting away is going to take more than a few hundred dollars and determination. I need resources—the sort of resources Jace has to offer. The sort I just turned down.

I press my palm against my forehead, trying to push away the confused thoughts rattling around in my skull. I swear I can feel the check for eight grand burning against my skin, even though it’s tucked safely in my jean pocket.

I did the right thing. Period. I have to believe that. Even if Jace made me the exact same offer again, I still wouldn’t accept.

Although I have a feeling it will be awhile before another rock star asks me to run away with him.

Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe I just avoided disaster. But, then again, maybe . . . maybe I was right about what I saw in Jace’s eyes. Real, genuine concern. I’ve never had anyone look at me like that, not even Avery. I know my best friend cares, but whenever she sees my bruises, there’s always a bit of confusion mixed with her horror. It’s like the violence is so terrible, she can’t even comprehend it.

There was no confusion in Jace’s expression. Just a gut-wrenching seriousness that makes me suspect his concern for me was real.

I jump off my bed and head for the small desk in the corner of my room. My ancient computer sits there, patiently waiting to be used, and I switch it on. Pressing my palm against the console, I focus on the small shudders that run through the computer, letting the familiar vibrations soothe my anxiety.

I adore this computer. Sure, it’s old and finicky, but it has all my website coding programs on it. Coding is just like music—math and art twining together to make something new and beautiful. It’s been my hobby ever since I took a computer science course my freshman year, and I’ve actually gotten good at it. Or at least good enough to share my designs with others. A lot of up-and-coming bands need websites to showcase their music, but most can’t afford the expensive fees for a professional site design. That’s where I step in. Whenever I see an especially promising band mentioned on the DeafClan forum, I’ll reach out and offer to design a website for them.