Page 54 of Even if You Fall

“Tell youwhat?” he demanded. “That my dad’s deaf?”

“Yes,” I nearly cried.

His shoulders bunched up like he wasn’t sure why this was even a discussion. “Did you want warning that I have one older brother and two younger sisters? Did you want their ages?” An irritated huff left me, but before I could respond, he asked, “Did you want warning that my mom’s from Spain and likes to feed people too much?”

“Adam,” I bit out, his name pure exasperation. “Come on, of course not.”

“Then why would I tell you my dad can’t hear?”

“Because I stood there rambling at him like an idiot,” I snapped. “I looked like an insensitive jerk.”

Understanding tore across Adam’s face as he drew in a deep breath and released it just as slowly. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve sworn he was taunting me with his ability to breathe.

“You didn’t,” he finally said, then amended, “look like an insensitive jerk. You did ramble.”

My eyes rolled when the corner of his mouth quirked up.

Just as embarrassment began consuming me, he continued. “It would’ve been worse if you hadn’t spoken to him at all, Bubbles.” My gaze shifted to his at the gentle assurance in his tone. “For the most part, my dad can read lips, but we sign all the time just in case. I was signing for you; I had you covered. But it bothers my dad if he’s having a conversation with someone, and they’re looking at the person translating for them instead of at my dad. So, what you did was perfect.”

I watched as he slowly closed the distance between us, my heart kicking up the closer he came and my thoughts getting a little jumbled the way they often did around Adam Thatcher.

“As for notwarning you,” he continued, his head slanting, “I never would’ve thought to give anyone a heads up on my dad—that’s just my dad.”

“I understand,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. And I...I’m really sorry for what this trip’s gonna do to your family—your parents especially.”

“Me too,” he murmured as his eyes shifted, taking in my face in a way that had heat climbing into my cheeks. Just as I started wondering if there was a possibility Adam might feel a fraction of the things my ridiculous heart felt for him, his brow furrowed. “This the real you, Bubbles?”

A weakened huff fled from my lungs at the question I was already getting tired of, no matter how genuine it seemed, and I turned away from him, subtly rubbing at my too-tight chest as I did.

Grabbing my bag off the floor, I started walking toward the bed to set it there, but stopped mid-stride when Adam’s soft, “I like the real you,” reached me.

I stood there for so long, sure he’d slipped silently out of the room after his confession, that when he spoke next, I jolted slightly, my heart pounding out an unforgiving beat.

“How many people do you give this side to?”

I wanted to ignore him. To continue toward the bed and pointedly act like I was about to unpack my bag until he finally left so I’d have some privacy.

But then he was rounding me, making that unruly pounding turn outright lethal as I was met with vulnerable, pleading eyes.

Still, I asked, “Why are you so sure this is the real me? What if this is just an awful side that you happen to bring out of me?”

Some terribly handsome mixture of doubt and victory teased the corners of his mouth. “So, only me,” he assumed as he fought to keep his grin from widening.

“That isn’t—” I blinked quickly as I tried remembering exactly what we’d both said. “You can’t know this is the real me.”

“Told you, this is my job,” he said as he took a step closer to me. “Now that you’re seeing my life—my family—can you maybe see how I got into this?” When I just stared back at him, he tilted his head toward the closed bedroom door. “My dad can sign to us all day, and we can sign right back, but the gestures and facial expressions are what really drive home the meaning of the words or how someone feels. And it’s painfully obvious when they’re a lie.”

Another step closer until there was barely a foot of space between us, and my chest pitched with unfounded excitement and want as my bag slipped from my grasp, landing with a dull thud beside me.

As if I hadn’t already been struggling to breathe before, he had to go and stand so teasingly close. Making my heart race and stealing the little oxygen I did have until I was dizzy from all things Adam Thatcher.

“I’ve been inadvertently studying people since I was little, Bubbles. I know when expressions are a lie, which means I knowthis...”—a gasp stole down my throat when he lifted a hand, his fingers trailing down my cheek and across my jaw before falling away—“this isn’t your lie.”

My skin tingled where he’d touched, and I had to clench my hands into fists to keep from touching my cheek to see if it felt as warm as I was imagining it. But just because I didn’t know how to control my heart around Adam didn’t mean I was going to let him win at this so easily.

“I told you to let it go,” I reminded him. “And if you’re trying a new tactic, you might as well stop. Making me fall for you to get all the information you want out of me isn’t going to work.”

No point in letting on that I’d started falling for him the first day I’d met him. That wouldn’t help me now.

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