Chapter Three
Raven
I ’m dreaming, but I don’t know if it’s the best dream I’ve ever had or if it’s a nightmare. Two men, who I think are twins, took me out on a date at the same time. Okay, it’s not a date. They saved me. But, let me think what I want to think.
“Are you twins?” I ask as I pick at my food.
When they don’t answer, I look up and pay close attention to the expressions on their faces.
“We’re nearly one hundred percent identical,” the one beside me says. Blaze/Jaxon is his name. “Can you not tell?”
“No,” I admit, not really wanting to explain why.
“And why not?” The one across from me says. Steel/Jasper. I wonder which names they would prefer to be called.
“Do you prefer your nicknames or your real names?” I ask instead of answering.
“Everyone calls us by our road names,” Blaze/Jaxon says.
“But you will call us by our given names,” Steel/Jasper finishes. “Now, answer the question, please.”
Sighing, I place my fork down and take a deep drink of water. I hate explaining this to people. They look at me like I’m a freak. It’s not like I’m going to ever see these men again, but I wanted to at least leave a good impression on them when I left. I want to be remembered for me and not because of what I have.
“I have face blindness,” I admit. “Even if you weren’t identical twins, I wouldn’t be able to tell you apart if my life depended on it. Well, unless I knew you better, of course.”
“Face blindness?” Jaxon asks.
“Please, explain,” Jasper says, pushing his food to the side and giving me his undivided attention.
“It’s a medical condition called Prosopagnosia,” I start, feeling my shoulders tighten under the weight of their undivided attention. “Basically, it means I can’t recognize faces. Not even my own. I rely on other things, like voices, body language, or context clues to tell people apart.”
Blaze, or Jaxon, I suppose, leans back in the booth, his expression a mix of curiosity and something I can’t quite place. “You can’t even recognize yourself? Like, in a mirror?”
I shake my head. “Not without focusing on specific details, like my hair or this dark freckle on my cheek. If I changed something about my appearance, like cutting my hair or wearing different makeup, I probably wouldn’t recognize myself right away.”
Jasper studies me, his eyes sharp and focused. His intensity is almost unnerving, as if he’s filing away every word I say. “How long have you had this?”
“Forever,” I say with a shrug. “It’s something you’re born with. I didn’t even realize I had it until I was a teenager. I just thought everyone had a hard time remembering faces.”
Jaxon tilts his head, his easy grin slipping into something softer. “That sounds… isolating.”
I force a small smile, trying to brush off the vulnerability creeping in. “It can be, but I manage. Most people don’t even notice unless I tell them.”
“Why tell us?” Jasper asks, his voice low and even.
“Because you asked,” I say simply, meeting his gaze. “And because I figured you wouldn’t let it go until I did.”
His lips twitch, almost like he’s fighting a smile. “Smart.”
“So, if you can’t recognize our faces, then how will you know if we ever meet again?” Jaxon asks.
I ignore the sadness as it creeps into my heart.
“I won’t,” I admit softly. “Well, unless you talk. I’m pretty good at remembering voices, but only after having heard that voice for a very long time. So, maybe not even then.”
“Even identical twins with identical voices?” Jaxon asks.
Smiling, I look down at my hands.
“You may be identical in every way that normal people consider, but I would have never known had I not asked,” I admit. “You have a soft voice filled with warmth,” I say, glancing up at Jaxon. “It’s... inviting. Like you’re always ready to laugh, or like you want people to feel safe around you.”
Jaxon’s grin grows, his eyes lighting up with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “And my brother?”
I turn my gaze to Jasper, feeling the weight of his stare before I even meet his eyes. “Yours is deeper. Colder. Like steel. Strong and unyielding. You don’t try to make people feel safe. You make them feel like they don’t have a choice but to trust you.”
For the first time, Jasper’s expression shifts, softening for a fraction of a second. It’s subtle, barely there, but I catch it before he smooths his face into that unreadable mask again.
“Interesting,” he says, his voice as steady as ever. “You’ve got a good ear.”
“I have to,” I reply with a small shrug. “It’s how I make sense of the world.”
Jaxon chuckles, his grin turning playful. “So, I’m the fun one, and he’s the scary one?”
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” Jasper says, his lips twitching into what might be the beginnings of a smirk. “Are there other ways you can identify someone you know without hearing their voice?”
“Sometimes,” I admit, tilting my head as I think. “It depends on how well I know them. Certain mannerisms, the way someone walks, their scent even. Those things can give me clues. But if I’m meeting someone new or in a crowd, I get completely lost. Even with those clues, it sometimes takes a while for everything to connect.”
Jaxon hums, his smile still present but softer now. “Sounds like you have to be really observant.”
“I guess,” I say, my shoulders shrugging lightly. “It’s not like I have a choice. If I don’t focus on those things, I won’t even recognize people I’ve known for years. Shoot, my own mother could walk up to me right now, and I wouldn’t know it was her until the clues connected in my brain. Or she did our secret hand signal to let me know it was her.”
Jasper leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “And does that bother you?”
I blink at him, startled by the question. “What do you mean?”
“Does it bother you to rely on details most people overlook? To know you’ll never see someone the way others do?”
His tone isn’t judgmental. It’s calm, almost clinical, but the question lands heavily anyway. I glance down at my hands, fidgeting with the edge of my napkin.
“It used to,” I admit quietly. “When I was a teenager, I hated it. I wanted to be like everyone else, to look at someone and just… know them. But now? I think I see people more clearly in some ways. It’s not about their face. It’s about who they are when they speak, when they move, when they’re just… being themselves.”
Jaxon leans back, his smile returning full force. “That’s kind of beautiful, you know.”
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “It’s just how I survive. It’s the only way I’ve known. I guess you can’t miss something you’ve never had, huh?”
Jasper’s eyes remain locked on mine, his gaze unwavering. “Survival isn’t a small thing, Raven.”
The way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine, not from fear but something close to reverence. Almost as if he’s testing the weight of it in his mouth.
“Bartending, huh?” Jaxon says. “Can you recognize your usual customers? Being a Bonafide therapist is part of the job, right?”
“By the end of the night, my customers don’t even remember their own faces,” I laugh.
“Speaking of bartenders, let’s eat,” Jasper says. “We actually have someone coming in for an interview for that precise job in less than an hour.”
“Oh, where do you guys work?”
“I’m not sure you’re ready for that conversation, sweetheart,” Jaxon laughs.
“Well, since I found you both outside of Oasis, I’m going to assume you work there,” I say, ignoring the ever-present heat on my face. Everyone knows what goes on at Oasis. Even if it is a private club. “I bet you’re bodyguards. You’re both built like tanks.”
Jaxon laughs, his grin widening. “Bodyguards, huh? That’s one way to put it.”
Jasper smirks faintly but doesn’t correct me. Instead, he picks up his fork and gestures toward the plate of food in front of me. “Eat, Raven. You’re going to need your strength.”
The way he says it makes my stomach flip, though I can’t tell if it’s because of the intensity in his tone or the fact that he sounds like he knows something I don’t. Either way, I grab my fork and take another bite of the fettuccine, even though my appetite is practically non-existent.