Only When It's Us (Bergman Brothers #1)(63)

I watch my phone, waiting for the read receipt and the three little dots, but nothing comes. While I got a medical excuse to take my finals early, it’s the tail end of testing week at school for everyone else. Maybe she’s still in finals.

No response comes as the surgeon checks on me one more time, satisfied with the procedure’s initial outcome. Because I’m young and they’re optimistic I’ll heal rapidly, I’m told to come back in just under three weeks, right before Christmas, to sync up the processor to the implants and learn how it all works.

Mom and Dad drive me home, making sure I’m tucked in bed and have lots of homemade meals stashed in my fridge. Becks is here to keep an eye on me since his family’s around and he likes to spend all but Christmas Eve in our place rather than with them. Tucker’s already headed home for the holiday break.

I fall asleep, knocked out by a level of exhaustion not unlike when I came down with meningitis. It’s not until undefined hours later that I wake up to banging on our door. I hear Becks’s faint rumble, the higher-pitched melody of a voice I know.

Willa.

She strolls in, frowning at me. “Well, hi there, Frankenstein. You’re looking swell.”

I drag a pillow over my face to hide, but soon it lifts at the corner, one big brown eye blinking slowly as it watches me. Willa moves the pillow and sits on the edge of my bed so I can see her and read her lips.

“Brawny, why didn’t you tell me?”

I groan and shove my forehead into her thigh. Her hand sits heavy on my back, then starts to swirl in a lulling figure eight.

She opens her phone’s notepad and types, I know I can be a bit of a witch, but I could have picked you up, spit in your chicken soup, stuck a laxative in your ice cream to deal with the post-anesthesia blockage.

I glare up at her.

“I’m not making a very good case for myself, am I?” she says.

No, I mouth.

Her eyes hold mine, as slowly, carefully Willa slips her fingers through my hair. It feels so good, a wave of warmth rolls down my spine and I shudder.

“Is this to help you hear better, hopefully?”

I give her a thumbs-up.

She smiles wide and infectiously bright. At that moment she completely lives up to my nickname for her. Sunshine.

“That’s exciting! Though it will pretty much shoot your sex appeal. You work the strong, silent angle way too well.”

This is what has killed me about Willa since day one. She jokes and teases me like it’s not strange at all that I don’t talk and I can’t hear for shit. Never has she acted like my limited communication skills required changing. It’s like she never saw them as limitations at all.

I grasp her phone, open the notepad, and type. Our final? How did it go?

“Final?” Her eyes widen. “What final?”

I wrap a hand around her thigh and squeeze. I’m ninety-five percent sure she’s joking, but you never know with Willa, and unlike her, I need a good GPA to help me secure my future. If she missed her portion of our test, I’m fucked.

“Oh, cool your tits, tree-feller. I took it and kicked its butt, mostly because your notecards are neurotically thorough.” She pats my back gently. “So, thank you for that.”

I shift in bed because fluid is pooling behind my incision site and the pressure is aggravating. I’m still a little woozy, and I haven’t been able to eat anything besides popsicles. Watching my attempt at moving, Willa tugs those full lips between her teeth. She looks like she’s trying hard not to laugh at me.

“Aw, you’re like a sleepy little pill bug. Let me help you.”

If I had the energy to grumble, I would. Willa stands from the bed, grips my waist and leverages me up with surprising ease for such a compact woman. And if that wasn’t enough to twist my heart, she cups the back of my head and eases me down, quickly shoving another pillow behind me.

“See? There.” She backs up and curtsies. “Nurse Ratchet, at your service.”

I give her a look that makes her laugh, once again reminding me why all this was worth it. Because if Willa’s laughter is this beautiful when my head is filled with surgical sludge and inflammation, it’s going to be breathtaking when it’s all finally clear. I’m going to hear again, and I’m never going to take this precious sense for granted.

Thank you, I sign.

She signs back, a small smile on her face, You’re welcome.

I’m tired. My eyelids droop, but I don’t want another minute to pass before I talk to Willa. About everything from the other night at her apartment, to this painful reality wherein her mom is about to be a patient in my parents’ home.

Does Willa know the severity of her mom’s prognosis? My gut says no. I’ve seen Willa’s face light up when her mom calls, when the screen brightens with a picture of a woman whose smile and eyes are identical to hers. If she knew her mother was actively dying, Willa would not be functioning like this.

I search the sheets for my phone, which got lost in the rotation. Willa leans over, searching the bed with me, and decks me with that soft, addicting fragrance of hers. I’m about to press my nose to her hair, but she straightens with my phone before I can.

“Aha!”

Taking it from her, I start to type. I’m not even halfway through when Willa’s phone blares from her pocket and she pulls it out to read the screen. Her face falls as her eyes dance left–right.