“It hurts for him to talk,” I said, understanding. “He has a scar here. Maybe from Viktor.”
Kane mumbled something under his breath before he snatched Rafe’s free hand and brought it to his mouth. “Tomorrow,” he said, mirroring the way I’d spoken, “you’ll write it out on the ASL instructor’s whiteboard. We’ll get you up there, pin the bitch down if we have to, but you’re going to tell us what’s going on.”
Rafe pulled back, and I could faintly make out him shaking his head. He reached for my face again and tapped the hollow of my cheek once.No.
I grimaced. “So you’re choosing death, then?” I asked against his callouses.
Tap.No.
My brows drew together. “If you don’t learn ASL,” I said slowly, making sure he could understand, “they’llkill you off or we will, on accident, trying to get through those drills.”
Rafe dropped his hands to his knees. A strangled, nervous sound left his throat, and my shoulders tensed. He was trying. Hewas. And that—it was enough for all of us.
After that night, Thorne, Kane and I paid close attention to Rafe when we were all brought to the classroom. An embarrassed flush stained his neck, his dark eyes flicking toward us. He rubbed his forehead, fist clenched around a pencil as he attempted to fill out the small quiz the instructor made us take.
“Motherfucker,” Kane said, causing Thorne and I to jump. We never talked outside the cell or drills. “He can’t fucking write,” Kane announced. He snapped up from his chair.
“S-sit down,” the instructor hurled toward Kane as he strode to the whiteboard.
“Calm down, lady,” he grumbled, shouldering her out of the way and writing CAT in huge letters on the board. He tapped it, Rafe staring at him helplessly. “Can you read that?” Kane asked, almost shouting. He enunciated the words, Rafe’s eyes flicking to Kane’s mouth. “Motherfucker,can you read?”
Rafe’s flush deepened. He gripped the edges of his desk, ducking his head slightly before he finally shook it.
No. He couldn’t read. He couldn’t write. That meant all our classes, he’d been winging it, latching to what he could lip read. Even the instructor was speechless, her eyes wide as she looked between all of us, but to her credit, she was also the first one who spoke.
“Okay then,” she said and pressed down on her pencil skirt as if she were wiping her palms. “Then we do this differently.”
“No offense,” Kane said, and I closed my eyes knowing the most offensive thing was about to come out of his mouth, “but you’re fucking useless if you can’t teach that man sign language without having to point at your stupid fucking index cards or whiteboard.”
She sputtered. “Listen,” she said, straightening as she brought her eyes up to Kane’s. It was impressive. I’ll give her that. Kane was scary. I mean we all were, but he was a good foot and a half taller than the woman and looked like he could split her in half with his bare hands. “My life is on the line, too,” she gritted out. “My instructions were to make you better communicators or face consequences I’d rather not say aloud. So youwillsit back down, and youwilllet me adjust the curriculum so I can properly teach Rafe.”
Kane folded his arms. He looked her up and down, seeing her in a new light. We all were. “Sorry,” he said after a moment that felt endless. He strode back to his desk and sat down, spreading his legs wide and slouching down before he gestured toward her with a sweep of his hand. “The floor is yours, Miss…?”
“Mayhew. Florence Mayhew,” she said, lifting her chin a bit, her heels clicking as she moved into her typical position in front of us. Then she thought better of it and pointed at us. “Tell me, how have you talked to Rafe in the past? Is it only lip reading?”
“Basically. He responded through force in the way that was needed,” Thorne said. He shrugged. “But Arden did more. She puts his hand on her mouth.”
Florence’s eyes widened a little. “He can feel your words? Does he touch other parts of your face or neck?”
I swallowed. “Sometimes. Like he’s feeling the vibration.”
“That’s because he is,” she said, smiling a little. It was…weird. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw someone get excited over something. She grabbed her chair from the front and dragged it in front of Rafe’s desk.
He watched her with a scowl, clearly not liking how much attention was on him. Kane, in the desk beside him, clapped Rafe on the shoulder, making him flinch. Rafe tilted his gaze toward Kane, his glare enough to sear a hole through a wall.
“This is great, buddy,” Kane said with wide smile. “We can finally get you talking just so Halden can beat you silent.”
Thorne and I released breathy, half-formed laughs. The very act of laughing caught both of us off-guard. We shared a look, the same look we always shared whenKane was Kane. It was grateful, longing, and sad—the kind of look friends gave each other when they caught a glimpse of something bright again.
Rafe, however, wasn’t amused. He lifted a middle finger, and Kane’s smile brightened as he looked to Florence.
“One sign down,” he said. “The best one, in my opinion.”
Florence’s nose crinkled with a small laugh, and Kane straightened. That was it for him. That one little laugh and Kane was done for. Something in his always-hardened face softened that day, and my heart dropped for him. Thorne saw it, too. He looked at his brother and the grin he managed faltered. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion—Thorne seeing his brother feel something other than pain and anger. Kane always joked around, but the way he looked at Florence was how someone looked at a flower in a field of weeds. He wanted to pluck her, to hold her, and it was there, written on his face like a fucking brand, for half a second.
Half a second was going to get him killed if he wasn’t careful.
Florence didn’t notice, and I wondered what that was like, to live a life where you didn’t notice every time a person expressed hope because life was bright enough that hope was everywhere. I’d felt cruel, insane jealousy. I wanted so badly to know what that was like, to be noticed and cherished.
