Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
And broken.
So incredibly broken.
My father takes my chin in his hands and forces me to look up at him. I do, staring into his eyes, eyes I trust so much. He mouths, very, very slowly, “You can still talk. Your hearing is gone. Your words are not. Speak, and I will listen.”
I shake my head.
He keeps hold of my chin. I hold his eyes. “Open your mouth and speak.”
He is mouthing the words so slowly I can make every one of them out.
I shake my head again.
“Amalie, this situation is here whether you like it or not. Use your words, they’re the only thing you have.”
I cry harder, and he squeezes my chin just a little until I stop. My father is kind and gentle, but he is, and always has been, my voice of reason. So, I stop my crying and take a deep breath, closing my eyes. I open my mouth and mutter, “Daddy?”
I open my eyes, and he’s grinning. “Sounds just the same, albeit a little quieter. Keep going.”
“I’m s-s-s-scared.”
I can’t hear my voice, not clearly, and it’s terrifying. I don’t know what pitch my words are coming out, if they’re clear, if they’re not.
My father’s eyes grow soft, and he looks at me. “This is not your fault. This accident is not on you. That’s why it is called an accident. Do not let this ruin your life. Caiden will recover. You will recover.”
I look into his eyes.
And I want to believe him, I do.
But he’s wrong.
It is my fault.
And Caiden might never recover.
~*~*~*~
AMALIE – NOW
“Amalie!”
I hear my mother’s screeching it’s that loud. It’s blurred, but I don’t miss the tone of my name. I turn and see her at my door. No wonder I heard it. I’m just finished getting dressed to go to the cookout and have just put the last curl in my hair when she came roaring into my room, waving her arms around. It’s not often I can hear without looking directly at someone, but she is certainly making a scene.
“What’s the matter?”
My voice is tired, I know it is, and I honestly don’t feel like putting up with her constant nagging tonight. I wish she would go home. I love her, she’s my mother, but I need my alone time again. My own space has become vital to me. It has become everything. The only way I can remember how to breathe again without my demons suffocating me.
“There is a biker at the door!”
Malakai.
Well, I knew that him arriving to pick me up would go down well, but she was going to find out eventually. Quite frankly, I’m surprised she hasn’t noticed them yet.
“Yes.”
Her eyes bulge and she comes closer, getting in my space, whispering even though she knows damn well I can’t hear her no matter what she does. I want to roll my eyes, and I hate myself for that because I’ve never been the type to act like a brat.
So, instead, I listen.
“What in the name of heaven are you doing hanging around bikers?”
I know she’s whisper-yelling; I can tell by the way her mouth moves, by her body language. When you take sound away, you can read a lot about a person by the way their mouth moves, their expressions, and their body movements. It’s quite incredible, really. You learn a lot more about people when their voices are no longer your focus.
“Scarlett’s boyfriend is part of the club and so they’ve been protecting us. You should be thankful; without them I would be in a lot more danger than I am.”
Her eyes get wider. Oh, yes, this is going down beautifully.
“You’re joking, right?”
I exhale. “No, Mom, I’m not. They’re good people.”
“And you’re ... going out with one! What about Caiden?”
God.
I’m so tired of dramatics.
“I’m not going out with one, I’m going to a cookout tonight with Scarlett. And Caiden and I aren’t together, you know this.”
She crosses her arms angrily over her chest. “Yes, we know why.”
Here we go.
“Mom, please, for once I wish I could go a whole day without feeling guilt. Let me, I beg of you. I’m going out, purely because I’m a grown woman and I don’t actually have to ask.”
“You can’t be serious!” she says, throwing her hands into the air.
“I’m serious. Now, I can’t keep him waiting.”
“That man looks dangerous!”
I stare at her. “That’s the best part about him. At least I know I’m safe when he’s around.”
Her mouth drops open. I take my purse and step past her, walking down the stairs and to the front door when Malakai is waiting, looking so incredibly gorgeous I stop in my tracks, and for a second, I just stare at him. His beauty is terrifying. He’s wearing faded black jeans with chunky black boots. He’s got his jacket on over a dark fitting grey tee that clings to his chest muscles. His hair is damp, falling over his forehead and curling at the base of his neck.