Tone Deaf(44)

As I step out of the bathroom, I can’t help shooting the window a glare. The desert stretches as far as I can see, and even though we’re just a few miles outside of Albuquerque, I feel hopelessly far from civilization. I’m not sure when we’re going to travel the final stretch to the city, but I sure hope it’s soon. Being cooped up in the RV is bad enough without being surrounded by such a miserably empty landscape.

I pad toward the front of the RV, all too aware that I probably don’t look much better than when Killer first found me. I usually don’t recover from my nightmares very fast. It’s strange—when my dad hits me, I can walk away and pretend like nothing ever happened. But when I have nightmares, it’s different. It’s like the pain has infiltrated my subconscious, and at that level, there’s no ignoring it.

As I enter the living area, four heads turn toward me. Killer and Arrow sit on the far couch, snuggled close to each other. Killer beams at me, while Arrow gives me an appraising look, and I can feel him judging me.

I quickly turn to Jace, who sits on the opposite couch. He regards me with a completely neutral expression. Heat creeps into my cheeks, and I grit my teeth to keep my expression from tumbling into one of pain. How could I have thought last night meant anything? I’m someone for him to pity, and nothing more.

I try to ignore my embarrassment as I shift my attention to the fourth guy, who I assume is Jon. He’s lounging on the couch, both arms thrown over the back of it. Jon is shorter than the others, but muscular, and his right arm is covered in tattoos. They’re gorgeous, with bold colors and real artwork.

“Hi,” I say, deciding to break the silence when no one else does. “I’m Ali.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jon says, offering me a hesitant smile. His teeth are just a teensy bit crooked. It’s his only real physical flaw, and I make myself return the smile, forcing away the feeling that I’m woefully inept.

I shuffle my feet, waiting for someone else to say something. They don’t. They’re all staring at me, and I have the distinct feeling that I’ve just interrupted a conversation about myself.

Killer breaks the stillness by waving at me and patting the couch next to him. “Come sit down,” he says.

As I sit next to him, my muscles automatically tense from the closeness, and I silently remind myself that Killer is a nice guy I should have no issues with. But he doesn’t make things any easier when he slides his arms away from Arrow and tosses one over my shoulders, giving me a little hug. He says something to me, but I’m too focused on pulling away to properly read his lips.

Jace waves to get my attention and then signs, “Killer just asked how you slept last night.”

Is he for real? I watch Jace’s expression for any hint of humor, but his face remains deadpan. I bite my lip to keep from cussing at him. What’s his problem, anyway? He’s all hot and cold, and I can’t figure out any pattern his mood is following.

“I slept fine,” I say, hoping my tone is as nonchalant as I mean for it to be. I gesture to the window, which shows tiny slats of desert through the closed shades. “Are we leaving soon?”

“No,” Jace says with a shake of his head. Then he switches to sign language and quickly explains, “We’ve got three vehicles out of commission. Some idiot tried to replace the oil and put it in with the antifreeze, so all the RVs and trailers are stopped while that gets fixed. But since we’re so close to Albuquerque, we’re going to take a car and head into the city. I’ve got an event I’m scheduled to attend, and the others”—he pauses to gesture to his bandmates—“are going to take the day off.”

I nod stiffly, knowing that my frustration will show through if I give an actual response. It makes sense that Jace isn’t offering for me to join them—it’s really not safe for me to leave the RV. But that doesn’t stop me from feeling jealous at the thought of them hanging out in the city while I stay cooped up in here.

Killer nudges my ribs, making me flinch. As long as I’m trying to figure out Jace’s issue, I’d like to know Killer’s, too. What is so damn hard to understand about the no-touching concept?

“You need something to eat before we go,” Killer declares. “You’re skinny as a stick.”

He jumps up and grabs my hand, tugging me toward the small kitchen. “Come along, sweetie,” he says. “I think there are still some pancakes in the fridge, but they’re some weird bran thing, so you might be poisoned. But all of Jace’s cereal is bound to turn you into a raging health-hippie, so—”

I quickly lose track of his words, and I don’t even try to focus on his lips after that. He’s talking too fast and not looking straight at me, which makes it practically impossible to know what he’s saying. But he doesn’t seem to mind the fact that I’m not responding to a word he says, and he continues chattering as he runs around the kitchen retrieving a plate of pancakes for me.

I try to help him, not wanting him to have to serve me again, but he shoos me back to the counter and points at the stools. I take the hint and sit down, letting him continue his little pancake-fetching frenzy.

My stomach grumbles as he opens the microwave and pops in a huge plate of pancakes. They’re dark brown and grainy-looking, and I can practically hear my taste buds sobbing over the lack of carbs and sugar. But at least I got my mac and cheese last night, so I guess I can’t complain too much about eating a healthy breakfast.