Me: I know. Thinking of changing my ways.
Bayleigh: That so?
I glance at the new email notification again—ASL CLASS CONFIRMED—and something in me settles.
Me: Maybe.
She sends a GIF of someone dramatically rolling their eyes.
Bayleigh: Let me guess. Korbin ranting about Benton again?
Me: Always.
Bayleigh: Sounds exhausting.
Me: You have no idea.
My fingers hover.
I don’t tell her about the class. Not yet. I want to show her. Not announce it like some grand gesture. Just… be better next time I see her.
Bayleigh: Gotta run. Benton’s trying to “fix” my laundry system.
Me: Stay strong.
Bayleigh: Pray for him.
Me: Always.
A laughing emoji. Then nothing.
I’m still smiling like an idiot.
I lock my phone and stare out the windshield for a second. Construction dust swirls in the air. A guy shouts for someone to grab more conduit. A truck backs up with that obnoxious beep.
My life’s always been simple: work hard, watch Korbin’s back, keep things moving. No complications. No roots. No promises.
And now here I am, sitting in a work truck on my lunch break, practicing an alphabet with my clumsy hands because a deaf omega with copper hair smiled at me like I wasn’t a problem to solve.
“Yeah,” I say under my breath. “All in, then.”
I reopen the video. Hold my hand up.
“A.”
“B.”
“C.”
Slower. Smoother.
It’s still not pretty, but it’s better.
I mess up “H.” Swear. Fix it.
Keep going.
When my break’s almost over, I kill the video, tuck my phone into my pocket, and climb out of the truck. The heat hits me full-force, bright and blinding, the gravel crunching under my boots. I grab my tools from the back and start toward the building.
