Chapter 12
DENVER
My body seems to know it’s morning, even with the tiny windows covered. I wake slowly, my consciousness tugging at me in little fits and bursts until I’m blinking against a dim light coming from the bathroom.
Archie’s still out, one arm tight around my waist, but he doesn’t do more than huff and sigh, then roll over when I wriggle out of his grasp.
As much as I want to bask in his arms and maybe lounge around Archie’s basement while exploring his morbid collections, I can’t.
Finals are coming up, and while all the students will take full advantage of Dead Week to study for their tests, I have a shitload of videos to grade and prep to do for the end of the year.
I want to get everything done as quickly as I can because for the first time in years, I won’t be teaching summer sessions. I’m taking time for myself finally, and while it was supposed to be about focusing on my show and working on a few new numbers, now I also have Archie.
And, well, whatever this is. I want it to be something, but there’s every chance I’m just some plaything he wants to keep around until he gets bored. The thought makes my stomach ache as I stand up and stare at the tattered remnants of the clothes he cut off me.
Archie and I haven’t exactly had time to have a heart-to-heart. It’s been a lot of stalking, and now, a lot of sex…not that I’m complaining about that, but I do prefer a little substance in my relationships.
But I’m not sure that’s Archie’s thing. I don’t know him well, but I’ve been teaching long enough to recognize signs of autism.
The lack of eye contact, the stimming, the way he’s Deaf blunt in spite of not being raised in the community, and his selective mutism make it somewhat obvious, though I know better than to assume.
But if I’m right, then there’s a chance that Archie is going to need a relationship different from ones I’ve been in before.
I trust my ability to meet my partner’s needs, but I don’t trust my ability to be a good boyfriend.
I’ve failed at it for so long that, sadly, my fucking stalker has been the most stable presence in my life.
And fuck, I don’t know what that says about me.
But it doesn’t actually matter right now.
The truth is, I’m not ready to give up on what Archie and I could be.
It feels different. It’s not just hero worship either.
It’s impossible to explain with words or signs, but something about him feels like I’ve known him for a thousand lifetimes, and I know that has to mean something.
Creeping to the edge of the bed, I stare down at him.
He sleeps like the dead—irony, I think, considering how many times I’ve seen him in a graveyard and the fact that he has a fucking coffin in his room.
But there’s so much life in him, even when he’s unconscious.
His cheeks are rosy, lips parted on his breath and turned up in a faint ghost of a smile. I wonder what he’s dreaming about.
Pushing away, I wander into the bathroom and take care of my bladder, then squeeze a bit of Archie’s toothpaste onto my tongue and swish it with water before spitting and hoping that all the noise I’m making doesn’t wake him.
My CIs are where Archie left them, and the battery probably isn’t going to last long, but I have a charger in my office, so I slip them on and wait for them to connect.
Sound filters in—nothing profound, just the low hum of his AC, and then a noise that takes me a second to realize is Archie’s breathing. I move back into the room, then carefully go through his drawers and find a pair of sweats and a T-shirt that I can use for the drive home.
They’re big on me, but I like the idea of wearing his clothes and taking part of him with me when I go. The fabric is soft and without any tags, and they’re clean, but they don’t smell like laundry soap or softener.
Dropping to the edge of the bed, I pull on my socks, then spy my shoes by the stairs and hesitate. I really do need to go, and I don’t want to wake Archie, but I’m also not sure he’ll appreciate it if I sneak out without saying a word.
Pacing the room as I hunt for a notepad, I spot dried flowers on his dresser, and suddenly, I get an idea.
Gathering them into a delicate, fragile bouquet, I lay them on the nightstand.
There’s an old coffee receipt on his desk and a pen that looks and feels like it might be made of real bone, so I scribble a note, then set it on top of the bouquet and stare down at my work.
It’s macabre and strange—just like the gift he left me. A preemptive I’m sorry for leaving without saying a word, but I have a feeling he’ll understand what it all means. And that I don’t want this to be the last time.
I arrange everything on the nightstand, then drink in his peaceful face one more time before creeping up the stairs and heading into the main house.
It feels different in the light of day. The curtains are open, and the place looks homey.
Lived-in. The floral couch I first saw looks almost furry with how thick and worn the fabric is, and they have a boneless chaise under the side window that I missed before.
There are several tables littered with trinkets, ferns hanging by each of the windows, and bookshelves in the dining room stacked with books to the point that it looks like some of them are about to topple over.
It’s strange to imagine Archie doing things the way most men his age would, like lounging on the couch, scrolling reels on his phone. But the truth is, I don’t think he does that. I think he spends a lot of time alone.
The thought might have been sad if I couldn’t tell that’s what he’d prefer.
Heaving a breath, I realize I’m a little lost. I went left instead of right when I came out of the basement, and now I’m not near the front door. I’m in the kitchen again, and I come to a skidding halt when I realize there are people in it.
I’m pinned by two sets of eyes that belong to Archie’s brothers from the cat café. Milo is hunched over the counter, both of his hands wrapped around a massive cup of what smells like coffee, and Percy’s halfway into buttering a bagel, though he’s frozen as he stares.
I clear my throat after a second. “Sorry. I was just, uh…looking for the front door.”
Percy points behind me. “To the right,” he says, then stops. ‘To the right,’ he signs with an apologetic look.
I wave him off, then tap the side of my processor. “I can hear you today.”
His brows lift, and he jerks his chin in acknowledgment. “Coffee?”
“Uh…”
“Have coffee,” Milo grunts.
I have a feeling that saying no is some kind of faux pas, and I also have a feeling that they don’t treat social faux pas in this house the way they’re treated in polite society.
“I can’t stay long, but thank you,” I say, hoping for a compromise.
Percy sighs. “Milo, be nice.”
“He fucked Archie last night. I don’t want to be nice.”
My face blooms hotly, and I wonder if that was a big no-no, but Percy groans and walks over, smacking his brother upside the head.
“Don’t make our guest uncomfortable. If you can’t be nice, leave.”
Milo stands up and cradles his coffee to his chest like it’s a newborn baby, and he gives me a slow up-and-down look. “If you hurt him, I will cut your toes off and feed them to you.”
He sweeps out of the room as I try not to react to his threat because I have a feeling it’s very real.
“He doesn’t like knives, don’t worry,” Percy says, as though that’s supposed to be some kind of comfort. He waves me over. “Do you prefer speaking when you’re wearing those? Because we can sign if you like.”
In reality, I’m not used to being asked that. When I’m not in class and not with my Deaf friends, everyone just assumes I want to default to using my voice. Even at home, my parents viewed my implants as something like a cure. I was expected to keep up and follow along and assimilate.
I did not expect this courtesy here, but maybe I should have.
Just like all of Archie’s questions have been, Percy’s question is genuine. He’s watching me with careful eyes as he slides a coffee mug over toward me. It’s in the shape of a tombstone, and my lips twitch as I stare down at it.
“Archie’s?”
Percy snorts. “I’m not going to say good guess. He doesn’t even try to hide his special interests.”
I grin and fill the cup as Percy clears his throat, reminding me that I haven’t answered his question. “Speaking is fine,” I tell him.
“Not the question I asked,” he volleys back at me. I don’t really know what to say though. Sometimes signing is easier. My hearing fatigue comes on fast, but this early in the morning, I enjoy listening to the different cadences of speech.
I don’t remember what it was like to hear much from before I got sick, so I have no idea how things should sound naturally. But this is natural to me, and Percy’s voice is…unique.
And nothing like his brothers’.
I search for a spoon so I can add sugar when I hear Percy let out a small sigh. When I glance over at him, he points his knife at me.
“Did you lose your hearing? Or born that way?”
“Measles,” I tell him, moving to the seat Milo left unoccupied. “My parents are…kind of hippies. Anti-vax before it became an internet trend. They took me to a chickenpox party, but the kid didn’t have chickenpox.”
He grimaces. “Shit.”
“I don’t remember it. I was three.” I sip my coffee and groan. It’s way better than the swill they keep in stock in the staff building at the college.
“Your parents made you get those?” he asks, pointing at the side of my head.
“Well, they didn’t ask if I wanted them, if that’s what you mean. I don’t remember much of that either, to be honest.” It’s still a sore topic. Both of my parents have narcissistic tendencies, but my mom’s louder about hers than my dad is.
Anytime I complain, she takes it personally and twists it around until I’m apologizing to her for making her feel bad. When I was twelve, the magnet in my head shifted on the right side, and it disabled the implant. I got an infection after the surgery and ended up in the ICU for nine days.
Somehow, I ended up apologizing for that too.
“Childhood trauma,” Percy says, clearly reading my face journey.
“Sorry. Being Deaf means I have no poker face.”
He snorts and shrugs as he lifts his hands. ‘I don’t mind. I like being able to read people.’
Tilting my head to the side, I study his signs. ‘You’re better than your brother.’
‘Archie?’ he asks.
I shake my head no and make the sign for cat.
Percy laughs and rolls his eyes. ‘Yeah. He tries for Archie, but he doesn’t have the patience for it. He doesn’t have the patience for much except his café and his rescues.’
That is very obvious. Percy seems to be the one blessed with the most patience between the three of them, but I don’t point that out.
Instead, I sip my coffee until it’s mostly gone. ‘I should go.’
“Late for something?” he asks aloud, his hands now occupied with collecting my cup and his plate. “Or are you trying to sneak out on my brother?”
I flush. “No. I wouldn’t. I…please don’t kill me for saying this, but I like him.” I have no idea how protective Percy is over Archie, but I do know Milo meant his threat in some way.
Even if the toe thing wasn’t literal.
Percy regards me for a long moment, then cocks his hip against the counter and lifts his hands to sign again. ‘He’s autistic. You know that?’
I feel better now that my assumptions are confirmed. ‘Yes.’
‘He doesn’t like most people, but he seems to like you. He’s never brought anyone home before.’
That makes me feel…some type of way. Important, maybe? Elated? Definitely a little horny again, which just tells me how desperate and starved for affection and attention I’ve been.
‘He saved my life,’ I confess. I don’t know why I’m telling him all of this. ‘I have a…a stalker. Some asshole who likes to scare me. Archie fought him off the other night.’
And that created something in me—an almost addiction. An obsession with Archie that I can’t shake. But I have no plans to tell Percy all that.
He seems to read something off my face, and his smile softens.
‘I know what it’s like to live…outside.’ He signs the word literally outside, but I know what he’s trying to say.
Outside of what most people consider normal.
‘I came out as transgender when I was thirteen. My dad struggled with it. It was the year after our mom died.’
I’m used to info dumping and trauma dumping. That’s kind of the Deaf community’s whole thing. But the fact that he trusted me with his identity like that seems important. I have a strong feeling the men in this house don’t go telling those things to just anyone.
‘Thank you,’ I sign.
He scoffs and rolls his eyes. ‘It’s not that deep.
’ I can see the lies on his hands, but I don’t call him out.
‘I’m just saying I get it. I didn’t have a community for a long time.
We grew up…’ His hands hesitate, and he drops them and finishes with his voice.
“We were isolated from most people. We have a big family, but we’re not like them either.
I want someone for Archie who loves him for who he is. And someone who gets him.”
“I think I do,” I confess. My body feels a little twitchy. “He hasn’t been very open with me, but what I have gotten to know, I like.”
He smirks. “Considering you didn’t run out of the house screaming when you saw one of his coffins…”
“One of his coffins?” I blurt.
Percy bursts into laughter. “You’ll see.” He pauses, then adds, “You’re welcome back here whenever. But I need you to know that we’re private. Very private.”
“I understand.” I add it in sign, too, so he gets it. I don’t know that he believes me, but he appreciates it enough to offer me a fist bump.
“You heading to your club?”
I almost choke. It’s still weird when I get recognized for Glimmer Dear instead of for my job as a professor. “No. I teach at the college. ASL,” I add. “Classes all day, and I have a meeting with a student in my office tonight.”
His brows fly up. “Oh.”
“I have two jobs. One for the bills and one for fun.” He laughs as I stand. “I do have a class soon though. So, I have to go.”
Percy nods, and I hesitate for just a moment.
“You’re good to go. I won’t follow you or anything.”
The way his lips quirk up at the corners makes me not believe him. But I’m going to be late if I don’t hustle, so as impolite as it is—and as much as it goes against my nature to leave without a longer goodbye—I shoot him one last wave before making my way to the front door.
The moment I’m outside in the cool morning air, I breathe in deeply. My car is where I left it, and the place looks a lot less foreboding in the light of day. But something tells me I shouldn’t drop my guard here.
Not yet.
And maybe not ever.