Chapter 2 Delaney
Delaney
A familiar pain thundered through my head, but I was getting used to it at this point.
It wasn’t nearly as intense as it had been following the first surgery—and then another to fully repair the damage from the accident that had stolen my ability to hear.
The last surgery had been four weeks ago, and now I was about to hear for the first time since I was eight years old.
Maybe.
I was trying to be hopeful, but part of me thought I’d used up all the miracles I was allowed in life. I shouldn’t be greedy for more.
First, I’d found Max, and that had been the best gift I’d ever received. Falling for him, knowing he loved me too. Marrying him. Giving him a son. Heck, I thought life was pretty dang perfect when our son was placed in my arms.
But then I got lost in postpartum. Not being able to hear my child cry, unable to know when he was hungry or needed a diaper change. Not getting to experience his first laugh…
Yeah, that had been hard.
On top of all that, we’d lost Nova. My first friend and Max’s beloved little cousin had been taken from us.
I’d fallen a little deeper into the chasm of depression.
But even as my husband struggled with his own loss, he was fighting for me.
First was therapy. And then came the suggestion of seeking a specialist to attempt to restore my hearing.
I fought it initially, didn’t want to hope, afraid that it would only lead to more problems. When I refused, Max made an appointment for me without my consent. I refused to let him sleep in our bed for an entire week as punishment.
***
Seven nights. That was how long it had been since I’d snuggled up to my husband. Seven awful nights since I’d felt his arms around me, tasted his kiss. I hadn’t slept much, and from the dark circles under Max’s metallic-blue eyes, I figured he hadn’t gotten much rest either.
He hadn’t complained, though—at least not in ASL. If he grumbled to himself, I wouldn’t know. And I hated it. So, so much. His voice was the one thing I craved hearing the most in the world. Even more than our son’s laughter.
Exhaustion was draining the anger out of me, but I wanted to stay mad, dang it. Max Reid was a high-handed asshole. How dare he go behind my back when I’d already told him, emphatically, that I didn’t want to see the stupid ENT specialist. I didn’t want someone filling his head with false hope.
I didn’t want to give the universe another chance to put something I ached for with all my heart right in front of me…
and then snatch it away with an evil cackle.
There was no way someone could give me my hearing back.
It wasn’t worth the risk of complications for such a weak chance at ending the constant silence that had become my world.
What if the doctor did something that made things worse?
Not that I could actually imagine a scenario worse than the total silence I currently lived in.
It couldn’t get much crappier than what I was already dealing with.
Silence. Grief. Feeling like I was missing out on all the most important moments.
Max was an amazing dad, and between my mother-in-law, Aunt Kelli, and my cousin River, they had helped me learn how to be alert to my son’s needs and still stay sane.
It had been a challenge in the beginning, definitely, but we were adjusting.
Still, I felt like I was losing something precious.
When Ronan got that grumpy look on his adorable face, only to give me that breathtaking smile that reminded me so much of his daddy, I knew he was laughing.
And I wanted to hear it so desperately.
Ronan deserved the best version of me that I could provide.
That beautiful boy was worth taking risks.
Staring up at the ceiling above my bed, I fought back the sting of tears. If Nova knew what I was dealing with, she would have already kicked me in the rear. While she was one of my best friends, she didn’t let me mope around. There was no hiding from my fears and letting doubts cloud my head.
Swallowing a sob, I clenched my eyes closed.
I missed her so much. Losing Nova had been a blow no one had seen coming.
It seemed like the entire town of Creswell Springs grieved her death.
That she’d already been living in New York when she died didn’t matter.
Every resident had loved and adored Nova Hannigan.
She’d been a real-life angel living among us.
Not for the first time, I fell asleep crying.
A warm, hard body tucked me in close, and I inhaled the familiar scent of my husband. Brain foggy, I buried my face in his chest and hugged one arm around him as hard as I could. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, and I was about to drift back to sleep when reality flooded back in.
Jerking my head back, I glared at Max. It was too dark to read his lips, even as close as we were, but talking was the last thing I wanted to do.
He was supposed to be in the guest room or sleeping on the daybed we had in Ronan’s nursery.
Or the freaking couch. It didn’t matter which, but he was not supposed to be in our bed.
Not that he’d been doing any of that. A stack of pillows and blankets occupied space on the floor on my side of the bed.
That was where he’d been resting his head for the last seven nights.
Which had not given me warm butterflies in my tummy.
It had not eased even a little of the anger or hurt that was festering inside me from how he’d ignored my request that we not seek out the ENT specialist.
Not one little bit.
Ugh, I was such a liar.
I loved that he’d been unable to be even a room away from me every night. Max’s obsession with me, his inability to see anyone but me, was something that fueled my soul. This man could have anyone, but he only wanted me, the defective girl who couldn’t hear and who used to be homeless.
Even cocooned within the loving care of the Reid-Hannigan world that was now mine, I found it hard to shake off the shame of what my life had been like when Max discovered me.
Hungry, dirty, all alone on a foggy road one night.
He’d nearly killed himself when he wiped out on his bike to avoid running over me.
Sometimes I wondered if he’d gotten some kind of brain trauma from that wreck and that was why he was so over-the-top obsessed with me.
I tried to pull away from Max. My goal was to turn on the lamp beside the bed so we could have a conversation.
I couldn’t “talk” to him when there was no light for either of us to see what I was saying with ASL.
I had no way to tell how loud my voice was if I said aloud all the things I wanted to say, and I didn’t want to risk waking Ronan.
He’d only just started sleeping through the night, and I wasn’t about to disrupt that.
Max had other plans, though. Tangling one hand in my hair, he captured my mouth in a kiss that instantly stole all the thoughts from my head.
Seven nights, eight days. That was how long it had been since his lips had been on any part of my body.
In the years since I’d come face-to-face with Max, not a single day had passed when he didn’t have his mouth on me somewhere, which had made the last week that much more unbearable.
With his body pressed so close, I didn’t miss the vibrations that rattled his chest as he deepened the kiss.
Rolling me onto my back, he used his knees to spread my legs, making room for himself.
His body was so much bigger than mine, covered in tight muscles and beautiful black ink.
He had a treasure chest over his heart, something Lyric had tattooed on him before we’d gotten married.
My name was hidden within the detailed art piece, because I was Max Reid’s treasure.
Just remembering that he’d permanently marked his body in dedication to his love for me never failed to make me wet.
Each breath shuddered out of my husband, his chest rumbling with a noise I wished I could hear.
Sweat coated his skin as he guided one of my hands to his back, urging me to hold on to him without breaking our kiss.
All I had on was one of his old T-shirts and a pair of panties that were already drenched.
Our differences didn’t make sense to me.
They never had, and I doubted they ever would.
He was so much bigger. Kind. Generous. Gentle.
Perfect in every way. At least in my eyes.
To others, he was scary, dangerous. The devil in human form, wearing an Angel’s Halo MC patch on his leather cut.
Some—most—people kept their distance when they saw him.
They turned a sickly gray color when my husband scowled.
It didn’t even have to be turned on them.
If Max was unhappy, the air got charged and people ducked and hid.
I’d seen grown men tremble in his presence, bow their heads, cower.
And it was so dang hot.
I shouldn’t like that people feared my husband. It shouldn’t turn me on. But it did, because I knew that as long as there was air in his lungs, I was safe. It was the most freeing feeling, when I’d spent so long before meeting him afraid.
Callused hands pushed my clothes out of his way before they caressed my body, expertly setting every nerve aflame.
He pinched my already hard nipples. I’d stopped breastfeeding the month before, but they were still hypersensitive.
It had been one more thing I’d felt like I was failing at as a mother when my supply dried up.
At first, I’d thought I might be pregnant again, but that wasn’t the case.
My doctor said it sometimes happened when stress levels were high, and since I was still working my way out of the postpartum depression, with the added loss of my dearest friend, it was understandable.
None of it was understandable to me, though. I had no control—not of my life or my own body, and I fucking hated it.