29. Oscar
Chapter 29
Oscar
I guide her through the backstage corridor, my arm wrapped around her shoulder as if I can shield her from everyone’s eyes that follow us.
The moment we step into the changing room, our boss is already there waiting. Arms crossed, eyes burning with fury.
“What the fuck was that?” he snaps, his hands signing along wildly.
Lottie flinches, and something primal unfurls in my chest. I step in front of her immediately, blocking her from his view, squaring my shoulders as I meet his glare with my own.
“You don’t talk to her like that,” I sign firmly, each gesture sharp with barely restrained anger. “I’m taking her home. If you want her back on this stage, you better have an apology ready when she returns.”
He opens his mouth, but I narrow my eyes, and he snaps it shut. I don’t wait for his response. I turn and head to her locker, ignoring the way he watches us, then storms out.
Lottie doesn’t say anything, just sinks onto a nearby bench, the tension in her limbs making her look even smaller than she is. I hand her the pile of neatly folded clothes from her locker.
She shrugs off Archer’s hoodie, the oversized fabric sliding from her frame. My jaw tightens as I get a glimpse of the outfit she wore tonight—black bikini top, matching thong—my mouth goes dry.
She changes without hesitation, pulling on her worn jeans and the soft blue long-sleeved top. The hoodie goes back on last. It swallows her whole, hiding all her soft curves that I love.
She doesn’t look up as she sinks back onto the bench.
“You good?” I sign, crouching to her level.
She nods once, but the motion is stiff. Her hands twitch in her lap, her fingers brushing over the frayed edge of her sleeve like she’s grounding herself.
I don’t push her. I never do. I just offer my hand again for her to take. Her soft hand slips into mine, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
* * *
The apartment is dark when I let us in.
A single lamp near the couch casts a soft, golden hue across the worn hardwood floors. I step back, letting her walk in first, and my chest tightens when her eyes scan the space.
It’s small.
Just a single room that barely fits the twin bed shoved into the corner, a couch that’s too low to be comfortable, and a kitchen that’s more of a suggestion than an actual cooking space. The only decoration comes from a battered bookshelf I pulled out of a dumpster and patched up with some wood filler, half filled with old paperbacks and a few photos of my team when everything felt simpler.
I close the door behind me and lean back against it, heart thudding with something I don’t know what to name. I see the moment she takes in how little there is, the silence stretching between us.
“I know it’s not much,” I sign slowly. “It’s kind of pathetic, actually.”
Her brow creases, her hands flying as she signs, “Don’t say that.”
I stare at her, surprised. There’s no pity or judgment in her eyes… just understanding. “I’m not judging you, Oscar,” she signs again. “I used to live off ketchup packets when there was no food in the house.”
I blink, startled.
I know some of what she went through before Archer brought her home.
The bullying. The dark thoughts that consumed her, and I knew that her home life wasn’t great because she fled states away to start over.
Lottie nods, stepping further into the room. “There were weeks when I didn’t eat at all. Mom and Dad were too high, and the fridge was empty. I used to sleep in winter coats I found in a box on the street to stay warm.” Her eyes lift to meet mine, steady and raw. “This?” She gestures around the room. “This feels safe.”
I don’t know what to say to her. For a long time, I stand there staring at her while something shifts in my chest.
She walks slowly around the room, running her fingers over the frayed edge of a throw pillow on the couch.
My throat feels thick. All the words I want to tell her are caught somewhere between my chest and my hands.
I grab two mismatched glasses—a little cloudy from too many cheap dishwasher tabs—from the cabinet and fill them with water from the filter pitcher in the fridge. My hands shake, so I pause halfway back to her, exhaling slowly.
I carry them back to the couch and sit on the edge, legs spread, elbows on my knees, like maybe if I stay small, she won’t see how much she affects me.
Lottie joins me a moment later, tucking her knees under herself on the cushion beside me, her body angled toward mine like instinct. Her hair is a little messy from the hoodie, and the sleeves are too long, swallowing her hands. Still, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
She looks around the room again—bare walls, old secondhand furniture—and her expression doesn’t change. No pity, no discomfort, just understanding.
“You never have to explain to me why you don’t have more.” She smiles softly at me. “Possessions don’t prove what’s inside of you.”
The words punch me right in the center of my chest. I blink down at my water and force myself to place it on the table in front of us.
“I spend most of my time at your house when Archer’s home,” I sign after a minute, watching her face. “It’s warm, and always smells like cinnamon or something cooking. His mom talks with her hands even when she doesn’t have to, and his dad tries to out-sign her even though he’s terrible at it.”
Lottie laughs, and it pulls a thread from somewhere deep in my soul and tugs. It’s moments like this I’d give anything to hear her.
To hear what her laughter sounds like when it’s not choked by pain.
To hear her sing to herself in the shower, just a little off-key, but I’d think it was the most beautiful sound in the world.
To hear her whisper my name… just once.
To hear her cry out my name if I ever had the honor of loving her the way I dreamt about.
I’ve never hated being deaf. Not once in my life.
Until her.
Now, it feels like a curse—like some cruel twist of fate that the girl who makes the world feel like music lives in a world I’ll never hear.
I look at her, and my heart aches.
She’s curled up in Archer’s hoodie, her body folded small like she’s trying to hold herself together, but her eyes… they’re soft. Trusting… and it’s suddenly too much.
“I love you,” I sign before I can stop myself. The words feel like something I’ve been holding in for years. “I have for a long time, but I’ve never said anything because I know I can’t give you the kind of life Archer can. I don’t have a big house, or a family that would do anything for you, or even a future mapped out. I’ve got this apartment, a job at a club so I can keep you safe, and a truck with a bad transmission.”
Her lips part, and I watch the air leave her lungs like I’ve just knocked the wind out of her.
My hands drop to my lap, fingers twisting together. I don’t know what I expect. Her telling me she’s sorry, that she can’t love me like that.
“I was scared you’d look at me and see nothing. That you’d see I couldn’t provide for you like he can and I’d lose you completely…” I continue, slower now, careful as my hands shake. “I can’t give you the life he can, but I still want you. Even if it’s selfish.”
Her eyes shimmer, and I swear she’s seeing parts of me I’ve tried so hard to keep buried. Lottie blinks slowly, tears collecting in the corners of her eyes, shaking her head. “Oscar, you could never be nothing to me.”
The words slam into my chest like a punch. This is it… She’s going to friendzone me forever, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life yearning for my best friend’s wife.
I slam my eyes shut.
If I can’t see her, I can’t read her lips.
If I can’t read her lips, she can’t say she doesn’t love me.
Not the ones that’ll break me. Not the soft, sweet rejection I know she’ll try to make gentle, but will still carve me hollow.
I can live in the silence. I’ve always lived in it, but now it’s the only place I can go to protect myself.
Then I feel her.
Her fingers brush my cheek. A feather-light touch, tender and grounding.
I don’t flinch. I freeze. Her palm settles against my face, warm, soft, and trembling. I keep my eyes shut.
I stay in the dark because I can’t bear to open them and see goodbye written on her mouth.
But her hand is still there, and when I finally open my eyes, she’s looking at me like I just handed her my heart.
Her mouth moves slowly. I see the words as clearly as if she screamed them.
“I love you.”
Three syllables. Deliberate. She’s not saying it to soothe me but because she wants to.
I stop breathing.
She signs it next, removing her hand from my face, and I already miss the warmth.
Her hands are shaky but purposeful. “I love you.” Tears track her cheeks, but she doesn’t try to hide them. But then she adds, slowly. “I love Archer, too.”
“I know,” I sign, exhaling hard. “I’ve always known.” I see it in the way her body softens around him, the tension draining out of her just from him being close. I see how they look at one another, and how she listens when he talks, giving him her full attention.
And I know because she does the same with me.
She’s our girl. Our Lottie.
“I would never make you choose,” I tell her. Her breath stutters, and she presses a hand to her chest like she can finally breathe. “You don’t have to love one of us more. You don’t have to give me anything back. I just need to love you.” I reach for her hand, pull her onto my lap, and rest my forehead to hers. “I could never ask you to choose. That’s not love. That’s control, and I love you too much to put you in a cage.”
Tears spill again, and she presses her forehead harder into mine. “How are you okay with this?”
I give a tiny smile. “Because I only want your happiness. I’d rather have a piece of you than nothing at all.”
Her arms wrap around me, and my hands find her back, her waist, memorizing the shape of her through Archer’s hoodie.
She’s wearing him.
She’s curled into me.
She’s carrying us both, and it seems to settle something inside of me.
We stay like that for a while.
No words. No signs. Just the quiet.
I’ve always lived in silence, but this silence feels full. It feels like the hush right before a storm breaks, or the kind of quiet you find wrapped up in someone’s arms when everything else has gone to hell.
She’s trembling slightly. I can feel it in the way her fingertips keep brushing against the back of my neck like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she stops touching me.
She pulls back enough to look at me. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her cheeks streaked with tears—but she’s beautiful.
God, she’s beautiful.
“I used to think I couldn’t have anything good,” she signs. “Not for long, anyway. Good things got taken. Or they changed.”
“You don’t have to earn goodness, Lottie. You are good.”
She blinks fast, more tears welling. “You don’t care about what I’ve done?”
“No,” I sign immediately. “I care about how you survived.”
She swallows, her hands shaking again. “I danced to feel strong. I stripped to feel seen. And for the first time in my life, I felt like I had power. But it’s not about sex or attention. It never was. It was about being in control of something.”
I nod, not needing her to explain more. I already understand.
I’ve seen men break under the weight of things they couldn’t control.
And I’ve seen her fight to rise every single day.
“I get it,” I sign. “You don’t have to justify it to me.”
A long breath slips from her lips, like she’s finally, finally letting go of a weight that’s been digging into her ribs. She rests her forehead against mine again.
And then she kisses me.
Soft at first. Uncertain. Her lips brushing mine like a whisper I’ll never hear, but feel deep in my bones. My hands come up to cradle her face, and she sinks into me like she’s been waiting for this—like she’s home.
It’s not rushed. It’s not urgent.
It’s careful and reverent, like we’re both terrified this moment will vanish if we move too fast.
When she finally pulls back, her eyes are glossy again. Her hands find mine, lacing our fingers together.
We stay curled on the couch until her eyes begin to drift closed, her head tucked beneath my chin. I don’t move.
I don’t even blink.
I just hold her like she might float away if I let go.