Page 85 of Nonverbal

“Playing deaf and dumb today,” he responds.

Mom touches his forearm. “She got confused at the hospital.”

“I know you believe that, sweetheart,” he says to her. “I don’t.” He stares at me, eyes black like a wolf waiting to pounce. “We’ll be taking you to thrift stores tomorrow, and I don’t care if you throw a fit. Scream and kick shit all you want, but you’re getting back to work. Day after, you can clean this place. Start with these dishes.” He shoves his plate toward me.

Mom hands me hers. “Thank you, cookie. I missed your dinners, and I’m looking forward to having those again. I love when you cook. You’re always so good at it. And without you here, my fibromyalgia has been flaring up something awful. Might need another trip to the doctor.” She pulls a pill bottle from thin air and pops two into her mouth. Soon she’ll be looking dazed and dreamy on the couch.

I nod and clear the table, relieved that dinner is over and that I can retreat to my room after cleaning the dishes. As I soap a sponge in the sink, I hear Mom and that man talking in the living room, TV blasting. I exhale, allowing myself a few seconds to relax. I made it through my first dinner back home. Soon, this day will be over and I can focus on the next. One day at a time. One moment at a time.

I grab a plate, running the soapy sponge over the ceramic surface. As tension slips from my body, my thoughts wander to Brody—his blue, accepting eyes and the heat from his bear hugs. The way his face lit up every time he came home from work and saw me. The feel of his lips on mine as he kissed me goodnight, or good morning, or for any reason at all.

For a brief second in this house that’s dark and cluttered with empty vodka bottles and used food cartons, my world is only Brody. I’m back in his house that’s full of light. Frank sits across the street in his living room, rocking in his chair, always watching for trouble. Amber is out running an errand she’ll complain about later—the heat or the traffic or the people. When she gets back, I’ll let her paint my nails because it always gives her the biggest smile.

My body fills with peace and sunshine and happiness. Brody wraps his arms around my waist. My knees weaken, but he holds me up. He always holds me up.

Well, here’s where my beautiful goddess went.

I’m here. I’m right here, Brody.

He kisses my neck as I press my palm between his thighs. I’ve been thinking about you all day. Holding you. What does my goddess want?

It doesn’t matter what we do, only that you’re with me. We can slow dance in the kitchen. Or talk about stupid things. I’ll even watch that documentary you tried to convince me was good. Anything. As long as you’re near me, I don’t care what we do.

Anything you want, beautiful. You just tell me and—

A beer top cracks behind me and I jump. The next second, that man grabs my arm with such force I know my skin will bruise. He spins me around and shoves me against a cabinet. His hand presses against my collarbone as he leans close enough for me to smell the beer on his breath. My stomach clenches as nausea climbs my throat.

“Let me be clear,” he says, voice a low snarl. “I don’t think you’re an idiot like your mother does. Never have. You’re the worst kind of woman, always thinking and plotting like a fucking cunt who doesn’t know her place. I don’t know where the fuck you’ve been, and I don’t care. I’ve had to work extra hours because of you and this place is a shit hole. My stash is empty and I’m this close to murdering someone. You better bring in money soon so I can get a hit. Do you understand? Tomorrow, you’re getting back to work and your responsibilities.”

I try to swallow, but his fingers pinch my neck just below my jaw and push up. Trying to swallow sends stabbing pains deeper into my throat. I nod.

He moves his mouth close to my ear. “I put up with you out of respect for your mother. But I have limits, and you’re so very fucking close to crossing them. So listen.” His stubbled cheek scratches mine as his breath sears my skin. “If you ever pull something like that again, I’ll fucking kill you. Want to know the best part? Everyone will believe the disabled girl did it to herself.”

I nod again, and he releases my neck. Then I’m alone in the kitchen. I swallow and swallow, but the stabbing ache radiates through my throat and won’t go away. I slide to the floor, my entire body shaking. I force Brody back into my head and curl into a marble on the sticky tile. It’s gross against my skin and feels all kinds of wrong, but I focus on Brody as I cry.

His arms wrapping around me.

His smile that melts my insides.

The soft words he whispers to me in the dark when he thinks I’m asleep.

I’ll always have my memories of Brody, of Amber, to get me through anything.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Brody

A KNOCK ON THE DRIVER’S side window jolts me awake. Thought I was just closing my eyes while waiting for Amber in the rehab center’s parking lot, but I guess I dozed off. Was I dreaming about Paige? Probably a continuation of every thought I’ve had while awake, which has been a lot more hours than normal. I’ve developed bags under my eyes. Never had those before.

I roll down the window.

“Get out of the car, stupid,” Amber says. I do a double take because she has zero makeup on. I can’t remember the last time I saw her this way. Bare skin. Bare eyes. Not looking like she’s about to go party.

I climb out of the car and stand there, the ache in my forehead throbbing. “Okay. Now what?”

She hugs me. “Happy to see me?”

I force my body to relax. I’m not tense because of her, and she doesn’t know how relieved I am that she’s out of rehab. I’ve been going crazy these past few days, and I really need Amber’s help. “Yeah. You look like you’re doing good.”

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