Chapter Fifty-Four #2
Shit. “Do you want me to leave? I’ll make an excuse. Somethin’ with the case.”
Parker pulls me closer, her palms pressed to my cheeks. “No, Eliot. It’s not you. I promise.”
Her fingers tighten against my jaw for a second. I believe her. Not because she’s suddenly fine. She’s not. But over the past two weeks, I’ve learned the difference between Parker telling me what she thinks I want to hear and Parker telling me what she needs me to understand.
“I want you here. More than anything.”
Nate raises a glass of something green to us from across the deck. “Hey, hot stuff! Welcome to the family.”
Everyone falls silent. Even Belle stops running.
“Did we miss somethin’?” Connor asks.
Parker heaves a sigh, but before she can explain, I clear my throat. “Thanks, Pookie.”
“I am not Pookie.” Nate shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh, no?” I pull out my phone. “A dozen text messages say otherwise.”
Nate stares at me for a beat. Then his mouth twitches. I expect him to fire back with another dry, sarcastic remark. But instead, he bows so deeply, he almost spills his drink. “Well played, hot stuff. Well played indeed.”
I grin and tuck my phone back into my pocket. “I’m a quick study.”
“For the record,” Nate says, “I knew you’d fit in just fine. You’re stuck with us now.”
Four hours later, after some of the best ribs I’ve had in ages, potato salad, collards, cheesy grits, and kale, the mosquitos are startin’ to bite, so we carry the leftovers inside, and move the party to the living room.
AJ and Jasper bring a poker table in from the garage, and everyone—even Veronica—grabs a stack of chips.
Parker and Grace are in the kitchen, cutting the pecan pies into slices and topping them with vanilla ice cream.
It’s clear the two of them have a special bond.
Whenever Grace wasn’t glued to AJ’s side, she gravitated to Parker.
Maybe it’s because Parker was the one to teach Grace—and the rest of the group—ASL when Grace woke up from surgery unable to speak.
But I get the feeling that’s only part of it.
There’s a quiet, instinctive connection between them that goes so much deeper.
Parker’s relaxed around Grace in a way I’ve only seen a couple of times. She’s not constantly scanning for threats or waiting for the next thing she has to handle. She isn’t trying to be anything. She just…is.
I take a seat on Nate’s left, listening to Connor and Veronica debate what Chicago neighborhood she should live in, while Isabel looks a little green at the prospect of her daughter moving to another state for three months.
I lean a bit to my right. “So, I assume you’ve already made a spreadsheet of Chicago’s safest neighborhoods? Crime rates? Public transportation routes?”
Nate’s brows shoot up under his shaggy hair. “I only found out about V’s internship this afternoon.” After a beat, he sighs. “Fine. I started three on my phone while AJ was setting up the poker table.”
Parker slides back into her seat next to me, but her fork tumbles off the plate, bounces once on the floor, and comes to rest on Belle’s paw. The dog immediately starts licking the tines.
“I’ll get you a fresh one.” Pressing a kiss to the top of Parker’s head, I pluck the fork from Belle’s paws, and head for the kitchen.
Grace is wiping the crumbs from the counter, dumping them into the sink. She’s been talking more as the day’s gone on, though her words seem to be harder to hold onto.
“Belle thought Parker’s fork was delicious.”
With a light laugh, Grace pulls a fresh fork from a drawer. “She’s a good girl. But…eats everything. Last week…ate my…” Her fingers curl around the edge of the counter, knuckles going white as she fights for the word.
“I’m learnin’ ASL. Slowly. Ain’t got much more than the alphabet yet, but…if you spell it, I’ll probably understand.”
She angles her head, studying me for a long moment. I’m not sure she believes me. So, I lift my hand and hope I get all the letters right.
B-E-L-L-E A-T-E W-H-A-T?
Grace’s eyes soften, and she spells out E-R-A-S-E-R.
“She ate an eraser? Like off a pencil?”
“N-no.” Shaking her head, she makes a small box with her hand, about the size of an old cigarette lighter. “I…uh…” Another frustrated sound, and she spells out D-R-A-W.
“You draw. I knew that. I think.”
Grace’s shoulders drop. Her jaw unclenches, and she leans against the counter behind her. “Sorry. Happens when…I’m tired.”
“You don’t have to apologize. That’s why I started learnin’. No one should have to speak to be heard.”
Maybe that’s why this matters so much to me. Why I’ve been practicin’ in the middle of the night for almost two weeks. With Parker, I know what it’s like to finally have someone listen.
Her eyes shine, and a small smile curves her lips as she passes me the fork. “Parker…is special. Glad she…found you.”
“So am I.”
“When did you learn ASL?” Parker’s voice from behind me is so quiet, I almost miss it over a peal of laughter from the living room.
Grace darts out of the kitchen with the speed of an Olympic athlete, and I turn. Parker’s cheeks have flushed a deep red, and she steps close enough to press her palm to the center of my chest.
“Been studyin’ since she came to the station a week or so back. Don’t have much more than the alphabet yet. A few words. House. Car. Banana.”
“But…why? You met her once. We hadn’t even gone on a proper date yet.” There’s a hitch in Parker’s breath that turns the space between words into something fragile.
“She matters to you. You matter to me. That’s reason enough. And Grace shouldn’t have to go without a voice because I don’t know the one she needs sometimes.”
Parker wraps her arm around my waist, melting against me. She doesn’t say a word. Neither do I. This silence doesn’t need filling.