Page 17 of Silent Is The Heart

Like what you see?I smirk and stride toward my dresser.

“Sorry. Shit! I’m so sorry,” he mutters, turning away. “I just… wanted to ask you if we could talk sometime.”

Retrieving a pair of jeans, I consider a pair of underwear for a second, but decide forgoing them will portray a better image, one of a wild man who goes commando. Slipping my legs into my pants, I leisurely pull them on, bending over so my ass is on full display. I’ve never felt so exposed in front of a man before, nor felt like my body could be a weapon.

Turning around, I’m pleased to find his eyes meeting mine. He looked. He might not like the ink on my front, but there’s not a drop on my back—it’s all untouched male physique. A wicked part of me hopes I outshine that husband of his he ran off with and maybe even tempt him from his precious vows. It’d serve him right for carelessly instilling visions of grandeur in kids who have nothing.

What do you want to talk about?

“I…well, it’s a little surreal to see you again,” he laughs breathlessly. “I mean, it’s great to see you out on your own. You…you have a nice place here.”

Thanks. What I really mean, though, is fuck you; I don’t need your approval.

“I saw in your file you got placement about a month after I left.”

My ire crawls up my spine, hearing how he has access to details of my life like a spy while I know shit about him and what he’s done over the last eight years. If he expects a response to that, he can hold his breath and die waiting. He doesn’t deserve to hear about Nancy—someone who kept her promises.

“So, you work downstairs?”

My decision to appear sub-standard wavers under his curious, file-snooping gaze. Pride is such a bitch.

Yeah. Me and my friend own it.

More shock.

Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you, Aaron! Why is it so difficult to believe I could own a business?

“Oh,” he chuckles. “Wow. That’s great, Easton. That’s…amazing.”

How is it amazing? I worked my ass off.

“Do you…how is your speech doing?”

And there it is. The crux of the visit. He came to hear his prodigy.

It’s beautiful, I sign, uncaring that my sarcasm is written all over my face as I cart a T-shirt and socks over to my bed.

“Do you…strictly rely on signing now?”

This freaking guy.Relyis not a word in my vocabulary these days and never will be again.

I talk when I need to, and let it rest when I don’t need to.

“Oh.”

The disappointment in that single syllable shouldn’t make me feel like I’ve let him down. Keep it together, Easton. This is so fucking stupid. What do you care? He’s just a stranger, a stranger who never meant a damn thing.

“There’s been some new strengthening techniques they’ve tried since we last met,” he adds with an annoying optimism. “I…if you need help or want to try working through anything, I’m here.”

My lungs are itching for a blast of fresh air on my bike, my skin for a cold swim in the bay. The water makes my bones ache, always giving me a pleasant reminder of what I’ve endured to get to where I am. Sitting on the bed, I take a pause from stuffing my feet into my socks.

Not necessary.

His expression falls. I know I’m being difficult, but can’t he take a hint? When did he get so pushy?

“It’s just that…we used to talk…a lot.”

No shit. It took him eight years to remember that? Cry me a fucking river.

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