Looking over his shoulder at the door, he says something—I think. My hearing isn’t completely gone. The occasional low-pitched rumble breaks through the silence, and Austin’s voice is deep. The guy who wheeled him in returns, and before I can think of anything to say in response, he’s gone.
* * *
Six Months Later
“Again.”
JoAnn, the rehab tech, sits back and crosses her arms over her chest. The coffee cup lies on its side. Thank God she didn’t fill it with anything.
“This is useless,” I mutter, glaring at the silicone and metal fingers of my prosthetic.
With a massive eye roll, JoAnn reaches out and pokes the thumb with her pen. The sensation is fucking weird.
Pritchard, the bastard, disappeared not long after they transferred me to a hospital in McClean, Virginia, saying he had to “find himself.” But he called in a bunch of favors, and after a twelve-hour surgery to rewire the nerves in my upper arm, I have weekly appointments at Johns Hopkins for follow ups and to learn how to use one of the most advanced prosthetics in the world.
The average guy doesn’t have a chance in hell at a limb like this one. But Austin’s connected. Big time. So are his friends, apparently.
The surgery was a game changer. My phantom pain all but disappeared, and like some kind of fucking miracle, after a month, the doc could touch a spot on the inside of my upper arm and I’d feel it in my non-existent index finger.
“Less than fifty people in the country have the opportunity you have, Griffin. Don’t take it for granted!”From her expression, she’s pretty steamed. My lip-reading skills are impressive after six months of practice, but she reinforces her words by writing them down. Along with five exclamation points.
“Don’t you think I’m trying? But what’s the point? Nothing’s going to get me out in the field again.”
“You want…your problem?”
She’s agitated now, and that makes it harder for me to understand her. “Slow down a little, okay?”
Her eyes soften, and she takes a deep breath.“Sorry. Your problem is that your whole identity is tied to your job. You’re more than that. It’s time you accepted it.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.” Pushing back from the table, I stand and reach for the coffee cup. Anger helps me focus, and the mechanical fingers wrap around the handle. It wobbles a little in my grip, but I manage to set it to rights and release it. “Happy now?”
I don’t wait around to see her response. One advantage of being “profoundly hard of hearing”? I don’t have to listen to anyone’s bullshit. And once I get home, I can unstrap this monstrosity and send Austin yet another email he won’t answer.
Chapter Two
Griff
The woman behind the desk flicks her gaze to me briefly, a phone pressed to her ear. Covering the receiver with her hand, she says something, but I can’t see her lips clearly.
Great. This is going swimmingly.
“I read lips, ma’am. If you were talking to me, I couldn’t understand you.”
Cheeks flushed, the woman says something else into the phone, then sets the receiver down and meets my gaze. “I’m so sorry. You must be Griffin Hargrove. Dax is expecting you. Would you like a cup of coffee or tea?”
“No. Thanks.” I have no fucking clue what I’m doing here. Austin’s ignored every single one of my emails over the past seven months, yet he gave my contact info to this guy—Dax Holloway—in Boston and told him to get in touch with me.
“Follow me, then. I’m Marjorie, by the way,” she says and smiles. “If you change your mind, just holler.”
I don’t plan on being here long enough to need something to drink. Dax’s message implied his company—Second Sight—could help me. They can’t. If he hadn’t dropped Austin’s name, I would have ignored the email completely.
Marjorie leads me down a hall and past several closed doors until she reaches the last office on the right. She knocks once, waits a beat, and raps again before she turns the knob.
“Go on in, Mr. Hargrove.”
“Griff,” I say, but she’s already gone. The man behind the desk rises, tugging at the sleeves of his light blue button down as he stares at me.
He doesn’t smile—the eyes behind his pair of tinted glasses remain cold. From his expression, I’m not sure he knows how. “Austin told me about the attack in Islamabad. I’m assuming you can read lips or understand ASL, but I’d feel better if you confirmed that for me.”
