Unspoken Love (Pride Oregon #20)

Prologue

“ L ook at her ears,” the little girl sitting next to Faye in a soft pink lace dress said very loudly. Loudly enough that everyone in the class could hear. It was piercing enough for even Faye’s bulky hearing aids to pick up.

Faye wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. Or better yet, to run far away. Instead, she pretended she hadn’t heard the comment and continued to draw.

“Shh,” the girl sitting next to her said quietly. The girls moved slightly away from Faye, stealing glances at her like she was going to do something crazy. Or like they thought they could catch what she had and would also need hearing aids.

Her bad hearing wasn’t contagious. Nothing that was wrong with her was. Nor was any of it her fault. At least that’s what her mother and older brother Max told her all the time.

Max was the smartest and kindest boy she’d ever known. Not that she knew a lot of boys. Up until last month, when she finally got to attend real school, he was the only boy she knew.

Being homeschooled all her life had been okay.

She’s enjoyed learning at her own pace with her mom as her teacher.

But then her mother had to get another job during the day to pay for her most recent surgery, and Faye had to start going to the same school that Max and her older sister Ally had been going to all their lives.

Faye had never attended regular school because of the many surgeries she’d had since before her first birthday.

It wasn’t just her hearing that had been bad.

Her left arm had pins in it for years. So far, she’d had three surgeries on that arm and, according to the last doctor she’d seen, there were more surgeries in her future.

Before she’d learned how to walk, she’d had braces on her feet to help straighten her ankles. That had delayed her ability to walk on her own.

She glanced down at her feet now and shifted until her toes were straight. When she forgot to focus, her feet rolled inward. She never wanted to wear braces again or, worse, the casts that she’d had to wear three summers ago. Those were the worst.

Right now, on her very first day of real school, the only thing that made her obviously different from the other kids was the large hearing aids that hung on her ears and caused them to droop.

Her mother had curled her long dark hair that morning and promised that no one would notice the small devices that helped her hear.

But they did notice.

They always noticed her differences. She’d always have one more surgery or something else wrong with her. And it was all because of her dad.

He was the reason that she’d never like boys, except for her brother Max. Boys grew into men. Men like her dad, who had taken a six-month-old Faye and thrown her against a wall like she was nothing.

Not that she remembered any of it. But she dealt with the pain it caused her on a daily basis.

He was the reason for all of her pain. The reason she would never have a normal life.