13. Nora
NORA
This Subaru smells too new.
That’s the first thing I notice while I pull onto the road behind Blade and Viper’s motorcycles early that morning. Clean leather. Cold air. Something faintly chemical underneath it all that keeps reminding me this car absolutely does not belong in my life.
Neither do the men riding ahead of me probably.
Paxton sits in the backseat in his booster seat kicking his feet lightly while holding the laminated enrollment folder against his chest like it personally determines his fate. He insisted on carrying it himself after I explained where we were going.
Do you think they will like me? he signs once we stop briefly at a red light outside town.
The question hurts a little more than it should.
I glance at him through the mirror before signing carefully, Yes. You are smart and kind and funny. They would be lucky to have you there.
Paxton considers that seriously for a second before nodding once.
Okay.
Simple acceptance. I wish adulthood worked like that.
Ahead of us, Viper glances back over his shoulder briefly before pointing toward the next turn signal. Even through helmets and winter jackets they somehow stand out everywhere they go. People notice them automatically at gas stations and intersections. Mostly women, if I’m being honest.
Which shouldn’t annoy me, and definitely doesn’t. I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and focus on the road instead.
The school sits on the nicer side of Black Rock near the edge of town, where newer developments start replacing older desert properties. It’s smaller than I expected for a private academy. Two low buildings. Clean landscaping. A fenced playground tucked behind the elementary wing.
Still expensive though.
You can tell immediately.
Blade and Viper park near the curb while I pull into a visitor space nearby. Before I can fully unbuckle, Paxton’s already trying to climb halfway out of his seat to watch the motorcycles.
“Wait,” I say automatically, signing it at the same time.
He pauses immediately.
I climb out first before opening his door and helping him down properly. The second his shoes hit pavement, Viper crouches beside him dramatically and signs slowly with exaggerated concentration.
Good morning.
Paxton beams instantly.
Good morning.
Blade signs much smoother beside him. Ready for the school meeting?
I think yes. Maybe nervous a little.
“That makes two of us,” I mutter before signing the same thing for Paxton.
Viper watches me carefully while straightening again. “You’ll be fine.”
I nod once even though my stomach absolutely disagrees.
Inside, the school feels aggressively polished. Clean white walls. Student artwork framed neatly. Quiet enough that my boots sound too loud against the floor tiles while we follow the receptionist toward the administrative offices.
Parents glance up as we pass. Mostly at the men. Then at me. Then at Paxton.
I suddenly become hyperaware of everything at once. My cheap sweater. Viper’s tattoos peeking from beneath rolled sleeves. Blade’s broad shoulders taking up half the hallway. The fact that we look nothing like the polished wealthy families framed in photos along the walls.
Paxton reaches for my hand automatically. I squeeze his fingers once.
The principal’s office smells like coffee and lemon cleaner. A middle-aged woman with perfect gray curls stands when we enter while a younger woman beside her offers a practiced smile.
“Ms. Martin,” the principal says warmly. “I’m Principal Evans, and this is Mrs. Holloway from student support services.”
I shake both their hands while signing introductions for Paxton immediately.
This is Principal Evans and Mrs. Holloway. They work at the school.
Paxton waves politely.
The principal smiles at him before immediately looking back at me instead of responding directly.
“We’re very excited to meet Paxton.”
Already off to a fantastic start.
Blade notices it too from where he leans casually near the doorway. I can tell by the tiny shift in his expression alone.
“We’ll wait outside,” he says smoothly before signing toward Paxton. We are going to visit Lena now. We will see you after.
Paxton nods quickly.
Okay.
Viper flashes him a thumbs-up before both men disappear back into the hallway.
The second the door closes, the room somehow feels more formal. More uncomfortable too. The interview starts fine enough.
Paxton sits beside me answering questions through sign while I translate aloud. He explains his favorite dinosaurs in extensive detail. Talks about liking math because numbers “stay organized.” Explains proudly that he can already read chapter books if the words aren’t “too annoying.”
Mrs. Holloway smiles genuinely at several of his answers. The principal keeps drifting back toward me instead.
“So how independent would you say he is socially?”
I translate first before Paxton answers.
I make friends good.
I smile despite myself while voicing it aloud. “He says he makes friends well.”
“That’s wonderful." Principal Evans says warmly before immediately looking back at me again. “And how does he typically handle frustration in classroom environments?”
Paxton notices that one isn’t translated for him. His small hand taps my arm. I glance down immediately.
What did she say?
Guilt flashes hot and quick through me even though it wasn’t intentional. I sign the full question carefully before he answers.
Sometimes hearing people get frustrated first because they do not understand me.
Silence settles briefly afterward. Mrs. Holloway at least looks vaguely embarrassed by how accurate that is.
Principal Evans clears her throat softly. “Right. Of course.”
The interview continues like that for nearly forty minutes.
Every question filters through me first. Every answer gets redirected back toward me afterward, no matter how many times Paxton participates directly. Mrs. Holloway admits midway through that she doesn’t personally know ASL, though they “have resources available.”
I hate educational buzzwords. Still, this is the best option left. The only option left honestly. So I keep smiling politely while translating everything and ignoring the exhaustion building steadily behind my eyes. By the time we finally stand to leave, my head hurts.
Principal Evans shakes my hand again warmly. “I think Paxton would do very well here.”
Relief hits hard enough that I almost sway slightly.
“Thank you.”
“We’ll finalize placement paperwork this week.”
I sign everything quickly for Paxton while he watches my face carefully the entire time. The second we step back into the hallway, his shoulders visibly relax.
That was too much talking.
I laugh softly.
I agree.
We make our way outside slowly afterward.
Winter sun hangs low and pale overhead while I help Paxton back into his seat.
My entire body feels drained in that specific way translating always leaves me after long formal conversations.
Not because of my sweet boy, but because hearing people make communication feel like labor half the time when they refuse to accommodate him.
Once he’s buckled in safely, I pull my phone out and text Viper quickly.
Me:
Thank you for coming with us. We’re heading home now.
I expect a simple thumbs-up maybe. Instead three dots appear instantly.
Viper:
Wait for us.
I blink at the screen. Before I can respond, another message comes through.
Blade:
Library hour ended early, we were already headed to the lot.
I glance toward the school entrance automatically just as the doors swing open.
Blade and Viper walk out together through a flood of elementary students. Neither wears leather today. No cuts. No visible signs of whatever world they actually belong to beyond motorcycles and old scars and the dangerous confidence both men carry naturally.
Still, they draw attention immediately. Especially from mothers. Viper notices me watching and grins the second our eyes meet. Unfortunately my stomach immediately reacts like a traitor. He reaches my window first while Blade heads toward Paxton’s side automatically.
“How’d it go?” Viper asks.
“Fine,” I answer honestly. “Exhausting, but fine.”
Blade taps lightly against Paxton’s window to get his attention before signing through the glass.
Finished?
Paxton nods dramatically.
Too many questions.
Blade laughs quietly before opening the door for him.
Viper leans one arm against my car roof casually. “You heading straight home?”
“That was the plan.”
“Change of plans.”
I narrow my eyes automatically. “That sounds threatening.”
“It’s ice cream. Relax.”
I blink once. “Ice cream?”
Viper points toward the backseat where Paxton’s now enthusiastically signing something to Blade too quickly for me to catch from this angle.
“He already agreed.”
Traitor. I look toward Blade for backup only to find him equally guilty.
“Please tell me you didn’t bribe my child into mutiny.”
Blade shrugs lightly. “He seemed emotionally open to ice cream.”
I stare at both of them for another second before giving up entirely. Because honestly? Ice cream sounds good.
Maybe I’m going to start my period soon.
Ten minutes later I’m following their bikes again through downtown Black Rock toward a tiny local ice cream shop tucked between a bookstore and a florist. A painted cow decorates one window while string lights hang across the patio despite it being winter.
Paxton practically vibrates in his seat once he sees it. Inside smells like sugar cones and coffee.
The teenage girl behind the counter nearly drops the scoop she’s holding when Blade and Viper walk in behind us. I pretend not to notice while helping Paxton remove his jacket.
Viper absolutely notices though.
He leans toward me slightly. “You think I could get free sprinkles if I smile at her?”
“No,” I say immediately.
“That sounded personal.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Interesting defensive response.”
I ignore him entirely and focus on helping Paxton study flavors instead.
You can pick one flavor and one topping, I sign carefully.
His face grows intensely serious, like this is the most important decision of his life.
This is difficult.
Blade crouches beside him. Vanilla is safe.
“What did he say?” I repeat it out loud and Viper gasps dramatically before half signing half speaking to Paxton, while I fill in the missing bits, “Do not listen to him. Vanilla is coward ice cream.”
Blade looks unimpressed. “You sound ridiculous.”
“And right.”
Paxton laughs silently as I finish translating their banter, his laughter hard enough that his shoulders shake.
Eventually, he chooses cookies and cream with gummy bears, despite Blade gently insisting gummy bears on ice cream should legally qualify as psychological warfare.
We settle into a booth near the windows afterward, somehow naturally arranging ourselves with Paxton squeezed happily between Blade and Viper while I sit across from them.
The sight does something uncomfortable to my chest because they look natural together. Way to natural.
Viper steals one of Paxton’s gummy bears and immediately regrets it when Paxton dramatically signs betrayal at him for thirty seconds straight while Blade translates through obvious laughter.
Sitting here should feel wrong. Should feel reckless. Instead it feels weirdly easy.
That’s the problem.
I watch Blade wipe melted ice cream from Paxton’s hand without hesitation while Viper teaches him how to stack sugar packets into unstable towers. Neither man looks uncomfortable around him. Neither treats his deafness like something fragile or tragic or inconvenient.
They just adapt.
Without making him feel different for needing them to. My throat tightens unexpectedly. Because that matters more than almost anything. Viper catches me watching eventually.
“You’re thinking too hard again.”
“I’m literally eating ice cream.”
“Yeah, but you’ve got your stressed forehead wrinkle happening.”
“I do not have a stress wrinkle.”
Blade glances up calmly. “You absolutely do.”
Rude.
I look down at my cup instead, mostly to avoid the warmth suddenly spreading through my face.
This is dangerous emotionally, because every instinct I’ve spent six years building says I should create distance now, before any of this gets deeper. Before Paxton gets attached. Before I start expecting things from people again.
Especially men, and especially these men.
And yet, sitting here watching them with my son makes that resolve feel thinner than it should. Even now part of me keeps trying to rationalize it.
Maybe one of them really is Paxton’s father. Maybe that’s why this feels so natural. Maybe biology explains the strange gravitational pull between all of us.
But another quieter part of me knows that isn’t the whole truth. Because even though one of them is biologically his father, the other two still chose him instantly anyway.
That’s the terrifying part.
I should distrust them more. Should question everything harder. Should keep clearer boundaries. Instead, every day around them seems to lower my guard another inch without my permission.
And the worst part is I don’t entirely want to stop it anymore.