“Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.”
~ Anatole France
Flashbacks can knock you off your feet.
The second Caden had yelled at me on the side of the road back on the freeway, the second he’d shouted that I hadn’t heard the red car’s horn, I’d been flung back to the moment when my father had yanked me off my new bike – the bike I’d been so excited about receiving – and yelled at me on our driveway about almost being struck by a car.
I was six.
He’d shouted at me for so long that morning. I can still feel the heat in my cheeks, not just from the baking summer sun, but from my shame. My daddy was yelling at me. Outside. About being deaf and almost dying and making him need to run after me.
I remember crying. I remember Mom coming out and yelling at Dad. I remember Amanda scooping me up and taking me inside as Dad continued to yell. I was too far away to hear the words clearly, to know what he was shouting at Mom, but by the way Amanda was shaking, they weren’t happy words. Or relieved words that his little girl hadn’t be struck by a car.
They were angry words.
Amanda had taken me to her room and hugged me on her bed. She’d done her best to make me smile. She’d wiped the tears streaming down my cheeks. She’d even wiped away my snot with the cuff of her shirt. I remember that so clearly.
The tears had started to slow down by the time Dad entered her room.
He’d stood in the doorway, hands on his hips, the light from outside reflecting in his glasses. I couldn’t see his eyes. But I could see his lips. His lips formed words like “dangerous” and “irresponsible”. His lips formed sentences like “Don’t you know you can’t be normal, Chastity?”
I cried all over again. Sobs that tore at my heart and my tummy. Amanda held me and finally shouted at Dad to stop. Mom came in and dragged Dad out of the room.
I remember being glad I couldn’t hear the fight continue out in the living room. I knew it had though. I could see it in Amanda’s eyes, in the way she flinched and hugged me tighter.
The next day, when I went out into the garage, determined to show my father I could be a “responsible” girl, a “careful normal girl” my bike was gone. I never got it back. I’ve never ridden a bike since.
That moment hit me hard when Caden yelled at me about not hearing the car. I was that little girl again, being yelled at about needing to be protected, about being “irresponsible”. Caden didn’t mean all those things, but it still hit me. Hurt me.
It was a good thing Officer Gibson was so lovely. If he hadn’t been, who knows what would have happened between Caden and me on the side of the road. Who knows what I would have said.
I’m not a believer in fate, but some higher power had a hand in placing a highway patrol cop who could sign on the road that day. Whatever higher power that was, they/it saved me from doing something embarrassing in front of Caden: cry.
To the best of my knowledge, only two people have seen me cry since I was that little girl. Brendon, when it looked like Tanner’s body was going to reject Caden’s bone marrow, and Mom, but I was only fourteen at the time, and it was over a boy who was so not worth it.
On a side note, if you ever in your travels meet a guy called Crick Wallace, punch him for me, okay? He was the first boy to break my stupid heart. Promised to take me to the homecoming dance and then was a complete no-show on the night. I sat on the bottom step, dressed up fancier than I ever had in my young life, watching our road for any sign of his folks’ car. As it turns out, he went with Taisy Benington, the most popular girl in our year. The same girl who used to walk up to me at school and pretend to talk to me, all the while just mouthing the words without making a sound while her friends giggled behind her.
Taisy was the reason for my first real trip to the Principal’s office. There are only so many times a girl who’s Hard of Hearing can watch someone poke fun at her before she decides to grab said someone by the exquisitely braided ponytail, yank her head down so her ear is level with her mouth, and shout “What? I can’t hear you!”
I was angry that day in the school hallway. I was angrier now.
That hot fury had simmered for the entire drive back to Laguna Niguel.
I want to say I was angry at Caden, but it was more than that. I was angry at being that six-year-old little girl again.
I was angry I’d allowed myself to be her again.
I’d refused to be that little girl for sixteen years. I didn’t need to be protected. I could look after myself, damn it. I knew I had limitations and I worked with them. Hell, a person walking the street wearing earbuds stood a higher chance of getting themselves run over than I did. I wasn’t an idiot, I was hearing impaired. I knew how to be careful and how to keep myself safe. But I also knew how to live.
In fact, when I got back to San Diego, I was going to buy a bike and ride it. Ride it. And after I finished riding it, I was going to find the busiest street around and run across it. Over and over. Screw it.
Who was going to stop me? Caden? Huh. No. I wasn’t going to let him.
It was a good thing he was in the car with Officer Gibson and the dog or I’d tell him that. And then tell him he was going to stand on the side of that busy road and watch me do it. And he wasn’t allowed to say a word.
Yes, I was being childish, but what six-year-old isn’t?
Pulling into the animal hospital parking lot, I sat behind the wheel, staring hard at the place. I felt churned up. Unsettled. I didn’t like being unsettled. I was detached and disinterested Chase Sinclair.
I was also Chase Caden-Doesn’t-Mean-Anything-To-Me Sinclair. I needed to remember that.
I’d just got myself settled and calm when my cell pinged and vibrated in my pocket.
I flinched, my heart jumping into my throat.
Pulling it free, I read the incoming message: I’m looking forward to tonight. D.
My heart tried to hammer its way farther out my body. Donald. Damn it, why was he suddenly texting again? Nothing for three months and then BAM, he’s bumping into me at the airport and calling me babe and inviting me to his house …
The thought he was jealous of Caden scraped at my unsettled mind, followed by an equally unsettled notion that I had no idea how I felt about it if he was.
Whatever I was feeling, I ignored his text, shoved my cell back into my pocket and climbed out of the Speeding Dragon. At this point, the only thing I wanted clarity on was Doofus.
Yeah, I’d named the dog on the way here.
It took me two steps into the animal hospital for my churned up feeling to be overwhelmed by an entirely different one. The one that made me remember how much I’ve had my fill of hospitals.
At twenty-two I’ve spent more time in them than anyone should. I’ve lost count of the visits Mom and I made to the hospital and hearing specialists as I was growing up. Monumental treks involving test after test, result after result, disappointment after disappointment. Exploratory operations on your ear canal aren’t anywhere near as fun as they sound, and given they don’t sound fun at all, you can imagine how much I enjoyed all those trips to the hospital.
When Tanner was diagnosed with leukemia I spent a lot of my days and nights in his room with him. Whenever Amanda couldn’t be there, I was. By that stage Professor Douchebag and I were spending less time together and my college class attendance was beginning to wane, so as much as I hated hospitals, there really was nowhere else I wanted to be than with my nephew.
However, watching your nephew die from leukemia is even less fun than exploratory ear canal surgery, no matter how wonderful the staff at the hospital. Watching your sister cry day and night tears you apart.
There was also the time Caden himself was rushed to hospital, just after the bone marrow transfer. I spent the night beside his bed, convincing myself I was there because I was worried something was going to happen to the only person on the planet who had bone marrow compatible with my nephew’s, knowing the whole time it was for a completely different reason I didn’t want to acknowledge. Of course, that put me in a very bad mood, which increased my dislike for hospitals even more.
No, me and hospitals have had our time and I was more than happy never to step foot in another one again, thank you very much.
I didn’t realize until I walked through the doors of Laguna Niguel Animal Hospital, that my self-established embargo included animal hospitals. Who knew? But the second I crossed the threshold into the cool interior of the building and was confronted with the distinct smell of disinfectant, I was flung back to all those painful tests, all those post-op let-downs, all those days and nights spent with Tanner watching the bitch that was leukemia devour him from the inside out.
I wanted to turn around and run out into the warm afternoon. I wanted to take great big gulping breaths of non-disinfectant-tainted air. I wanted to stand in the sun and have my face warmed by it, not stand under white fluorescent lights with the artificial temperature set to chilly.
If it weren’t for the fact Caden was in there somewhere, with a broken dog and a cop who could sign, I would have done just that. My heart was thumping faster than it should. I didn’t want to see the dog die. I’d had enough of that kind of bleakness in my life lately. I also didn’t want to see Caden get in trouble for his insane actions on the highway. He would though. No amount of Australian charm could save him from a citation at the very least. In fact, we were both likely to get a citation, but unlike Caden, I wasn’t a visiting tourist from another country. Who knew what the consequences were? I didn’t. I didn’t think he’d be deported, but what did I know?
Despite the fact I was angry at him, that he’d made me feel like that wounded little girl I’d swore I’d never be again, I understood exactly why he’d done what he’d done. The trouble was, that made me like him more. Goddamn it. Which actually made me angry with him for an entirely different reason than my original reason for being angry with him.
Wait. My original reason for being angry with him today, not my original original reason, which was because he was trying to make me fall in love with him.
How did he have this unique ability to piss me off, confound me, irritate me, and yet make me smile and feel contented all at once? Bastard. He was so going to get it when I saw him next – injured dog and citation-delivering cop or not, I was going to give it to him.
Yes, I’m aware I was not exactly in a stable state of mind at that point. Trust me, it didn’t get much better when what happened next … well, happened.
Doing my best to ignore the rush of hospital-induced unease, I crossed to the front counter and leaned on it. The receptionist was a girl about my age with some serious brunette roots belying the platinum-blonde status of her hair. She didn’t look up from the paperwork on the desk in front of her, and mumbled something. Something a person with normal hearing would be able to hear.
My stomach tightened. Oh boy, here we go.
“I’m sorry,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice casual. A part of me was kicking myself for not wearing my hearing aid today. Stupidly, I’d been thinking of what I looked like that morning before leaving San Diego for LAX, of the first thing Caden would see when we came face to face in Arrivals. “Can you say that again?”
Little Miss Regrowth let out an exasperated sigh. I didn’t hear it, but I know she did it. I read body language very well. Another one of those perks I spoke of earlier. Her chest and upper back lifted with a drawn-out inhalation, followed by a slump that screamed OMG, why do I have to be subjected to this kind of annoyance?
I wanted to reach across the counter and shake her. Not a good start to this social interaction for sure.
What felt like an eternity later, she finally raised her head and bestowed on me a smile of infinite patience. Oh, this was so going to be fun.
“Can I help you?” she asked, with a quick glance over my head. Trust me, I didn’t miss the slight curl of her top lip when she got to my spiky aqua-blue do.
“I’m with the cop and the Australian that are here with the injured Doofus.” I shook my head. “I mean, the injured dog.”
Little Miss Regrowth frowned with confusion, and then realization flooded her face as it dawned on her why I sounded the way I did.
Yeah, she’d figured out I was Hard of Hearing. Oh joy.
Just in case you don’t know, or I haven’t mentioned it yet, I have that very distinct speech pattern that most people with major hearing problems have. There’s no real way to explain it – slurred sounds, missing sounds, a kind of smudginess to the words being formed – but it elicits a response so typical it makes me want to roll me eyes.
I could tell the instant the word deaf shuffled through the receptionist’s head. Pity filled her face. And then gratitude. It’s the last one that pushes my buttons the most – the relief when it dawns on the person I’m speaking to how lucky they are not to have my problem.
Tapping the tips of my fingers on the counter, I raised one eyebrow. “The Australian?” I repeated, slower this time. Louder. “And the cop. And the dog?”
I deliberately signed that last one, as if the action was subconscious. I’ve noticed some people get really excited about sign language. I’ve also noticed some people get really excited about Justin Bieber. As I’ve said before, people are weird.
Fuck her, my brain grumbled as my fingers made the form for dog. Let’s give her something exciting to talk about later when she’s with her friends sipping frappuccinos at Starbucks.
“You’re deaf?”
I gave her my patented Are you kidding me? face.
Consternation and sympathy rippled over hers. “I’m sorry. I mean, I’m sorry.”
Yep, she shouted the last part.
Sometimes, when people say “I’m sorry” to me when they find out I’m Hard of Hearing, I wave off the apology. Today was not one of those times. I was worried about a dog that wasn’t mine and an Australian who equally did not belong to me. That added up to Snarky-Chase. Besides, Little Miss Regrowth had curled her lip at my hair. I love my hair.
“That’s okay,” I shouted back, so loud she flinched. “I forgive you. You didn’t know what you were doing. My lawyer will be in touch, however. Can you tell me your name?”
She blinked and stiffened in her seat. Her mouth fell open. I didn’t need to be good at reading facial expressions to know the thought What? What what what? was screaming through her head. Her eyebrows danced in abject terror and confusion. She blinked again.
I waited, tapping my fingers on the counter.
Before either of us could contribute further to her psychological massacre, a door behind the counter swung open and the cop who’d come to Caden’s aid on the freeway – Gibson, his name was – stepped through.
Little Miss Regrowth swiveled around, her sigh of relief so fierce it made her lips wobble.
Gibson smiled at me.
“She’s deaf,” the receptionist told him in a high shout, pointing at me with impressively acrylic nails. “You’ll have to speak loudly.”
Gibson’s eyebrows shot up before he frowned at me.
I rolled my eyes and shrugged. “It happens,” I said.
Giving our not-so-helpful friend a small smile, he pushed his hand against the door behind him, opening it. “Caden’s in here.”
My heart did a weird little skip at Caden’s name. Stupid heart.
“Thank you,” I said, moving around the counter.
“You’re welcome,” Little Miss Regrowth shouted.
Both Gibson and I paused long enough to give her twin looks of disbelief.
As the door to the inner workings of the animal hospital closed behind us, the pungent odor of animal poo and disinfectant was heavy in the air. Gibson touched my arm. I looked at him. When this was over I was going to thank him for knowing how to treat a person like me, and maybe ask if I could meet his sister, but for now I was anxious to get to Caden and Doofus.
“The dog is being operated on,” he said as we walked along the corridor. “Your boyfriend is in the operating room with the veterinary surgeon.”
Remember how I’d said my heart did a little skip at Caden’s name? That was nothing compared to what it did at the word boyfriend.
Throat thick, I shook my head. “He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just …”
Acquaintances? Relatives by marriage? Was there actually a term to describe us? He was my brother-in-law’s first cousin. What did that make him to me?
“… friends,” I finished. For some reason, my head was roaring.
Gibson didn’t look convinced. “Then your friend is totally enamored with you. Just thought I should let you know.”
I scowled. And then did something I’m not really proud of. “What? I didn’t hear what you said.”
Gibson laughed. An honest-to-goodness laugh. If he was going to say anything else, the arrival of Caden stopped him.
Stopped me, as well. In my tracks.
He stepped through a door on the right. He hadn’t seen us. At least, I don’t think he had. He stood in the middle of the corridor, staring at the floor, shoulders slumped. His chest rose and fell in that way chests do when someone is sighing, and then he buried his face in his hands.
My stomach dropped. Everything about him screamed distress. Disappointment.
Oh no. Doofus.
Before I knew what I was doing, I was hurrying toward him. My hand found his upper arm first, my fingers sliding around it. A distant part of my mind noted his biceps and triceps were far more sculpted than I’d thought, and then he was jerking his face in my direction, confusion in his eyes.
“Caden,” I said, a heartbeat before smoothing my arms around his waist and hugging him.
There was no thought or contemplation in what I was doing, just an undeniable need to take away some of the pain I knew he was feeling. To let him know I was there for him.
For a moment, he didn’t move in my arms. I could feel his heart thumping against my cheek, a fast rhythm that journeyed through my body and into my soul. What would it sound like, that beat? What would it be like to truly hear it? What would it be like to lay my head on his naked chest and close my eyes and just hear it with my ears?
Strong arms wrapped around me, warm hands buried into the hair at my nape, and suddenly Caden was hugging me back.
Holding me. Close.
I closed my eyes and breathed him in, felt his heat seeping into my body.
I don’t know how long we stood that way. Maybe a few seconds? Maybe a year.
It wasn’t until I felt him shift his feet and clear his throat – a hesitant sound I heard as well as felt – that it sank in what we were doing. What I was doing, hugging a guy I knew wanted me when I had no intentions of wanting him back? Especially when said guy seemed to forget I was totally capable of taking care of myself and didn’t need to be treated like I was a fragile flower, despite the fact he kept saying he got me? If he got me like he claimed he did, he wouldn’t have yelled at me about not hearing the cars.
Right?
Shit.
I pulled away. “Sorry,” I muttered.
“Don’t be,” he said.
I watched his lips form the words, too nervous to make eye contact.
Rubbing my palms on the top of my butt, I took another step backward. “Is Doofus … the dog, I mean … is he …”
“Dead?” Caden finished what I couldn’t. Even I heard the harrowed dismay in his voice. “No. But the vet doesn’t know if he can save him. His injuries are severe.”
I swallowed. And hugged my elbows to stop myself stepping back closer to Caden. I’ve never been much of a touchy-feely kind of girl, but for some reason I desperately wanted to smooth my hands up Caden’s arms. The thought of not touching him at that moment in time was horrible. And goddamn confusing.
“When will you know?”
At the deep male voice at my shoulder I let out a little squeak of surprise. I’d totally forgotten our friendly Californian Highway Patrol cop was still with us.
I turned to him, my shoulder coming to rest against Caden’s chest. His hand found my hip, with a gentle pressure that drew me closer to him.
I should have removed his hand, should have put some distance between us. I didn’t. I don’t know why.
“It’s going to be a while,” Caden said. There was a husky quality to his voice that made the words hard to catch. If I wasn’t so close to him I would have missed half of them, I suspect.
So close … I was so close to him …
“A few hours at least.”
“Have the owners been contacted?” I asked, turning back to Caden.
He shook his head. “The phone number attached to his microchip goes to a disconnected number, the address is now a gas station, and he wasn’t wearing a collar. There’s no way of knowing who he belongs to, but it seems he’s been abandoned.”
Once again, I had an overwhelming compulsion to press my cheek to Caden’s chest and just stand there with him, our arms wrapped around each other. My heart ached for Doofus. How cruelly the dog had been treated. Had his owners abandoned him because of his malformed back leg? Because he was defective? How could anyone just abandon something intended for love?
The thought lashed at me, as did the memory of Donald Perry ending our relationship. I didn’t need to be an English Literature student to acknowledge my mind had turned the dog into a metaphor for my own state (although Dad would have loved it if I were an English Lit. student. He had yet to forgive me for studying art. And let’s not talk about his absolute disappointment at the fact I hadn’t even finished such a woeful course).
“So what happens now?” I asked, shutting down the thought of Professor Douchebag’s douchiness and my father’s perpetual patriarchal dismay.
Caden’s answering smile tore at my heart. He was genuinely upset about a dog he’d never known existed until today. I knew Caden was all about animals, but seeing this …
Damn it, it was doing things to me I wasn’t prepared for. Things that made me question everything. Like how much I was letting Donald fuck me up, and how much I was letting me fuck me up.
“Now, I wait,” he answered, smoothing his palm up and down my back. I’m not even sure he was aware he was doing it, but I didn’t stop him. I couldn’t. It was too nice. Too natural. Too normal. “I’m sorry I’ve messed up your day. I’m pretty certain there’s a train I can catch to San Diego from around here, right?”
“I’ll wait with you.”
There you go. It was out there. I was waiting with him. Staying with him. Being with him. Not leaving his side.
He regarded me with a steady look, something in his eyes I couldn’t read. Hope? I held his gaze, my palm on his chest, his heart beating against it.
The sound of a throat clearing loudly made us both jump.
“I hate to do this to you, Mr. O’Dae,” Gibson said, “but I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you a citation for obstructing traffic.”
Caden laughed. I didn’t just feel it, I heard it. A low, good-humored chuckle that tickled my palm and sent warm fingers of emotion into my core.
“Yeah,” he said, his palm still stroking my back, “figured you might. Still, better than being deported, ’eh?”
Gibson let out his own laugh, although his was far more apologetic. “True.”
“Give me a sec to see how things are going in there, and then we can move out to the reception area,” Caden said.
Before Gibson or I could respond, Caden turned and slipped back through the door on the right.
I studied that closed door for a second, not entirely sure what I was feeling. Empty? Adrift? Finally, I gave the waiting police officer a smile. “Thank you.”
“For giving your boyfriend a citation?”
I frowned, even though I knew he was teasing me by his deliberate use of the term boyfriend. “You know, as a comedian, you make an awesome cop.”
He winked as he reached into his back pocket for his citation notepad. “You better believe it, Chase Sinclair.”
I could only assume he’d run my plates on the trip back here. It was that or the fact he and Caden had talked about me during the journey. For some reason that made my cheeks fill with a heat I didn’t want to analyze.
By the time Caden returned, Gibson was writing up his ticket.
“Sorry about this,” he said, handing it to Caden.
Caden took it with a shrug. “I made a mistake,” he said, with a glance at me. I didn’t need to be a genius to know he wasn’t just talking about his mad run across the freeway.
I went searching inside me for the anger I’d felt for him earlier, after he’d shouted at me, but could only find a muted feeling of disappointment that he really didn’t understand me like I’d thought he did.
I also found the lingering pain from my memory of the bike incident, along with the almost constant churning unease that came whenever I thought about Dad’s opinion of me. That latter one had messed with my head and heart for so long now I almost forgot it was there … until Dad and I were in the same room, that was. Hard to forget it when it’s in his eyes, his expression, his demeanor, every time he looks at you.
Laughably, I tried to muster up my anger with Caden again. It was easier to remember I didn’t want to like him when I was angry at him. Maybe if I focused on how he was trying to protect me from … from … life? From Donald? Maybe then I’d be angry at him again?
A long whistle jerked me back to the hospital corridor. Even though it was muffled, I knew who it belonged to. During the months since Caden entered my Hard-of-Hearing life I had become attuned to the sounds he made. I wanted to be grumpy about that. Tried to be grumpy about that. I wasn’t always successful, but I wasn’t ready to admit why that was the case.
Sometimes being a snarky, stubborn girl can really be a pain in the ass.
Frowning, I looked at Caden and realized he’d just gotten a taste of what California Highway Patrol fines were like.
“Ouch,” he said. I didn’t hear him, but I didn’t need to. The word was plain on his lips and face.
Gibson gave him an apologetic frown. “Sorry.”
Caden looked up from the citation and shrugged. “It is what it is.”
Gibson turned his attention to me, his smile knowing. “I’m going to leave this insane Australian in your capable hands now, Chase.”
In my hands.
An unnerving image flashed through my head at the words, one better left undescribed at this point in time. One that made my belly flutter and the bits between my legs … do things. I scowled at my body’s reaction, and crossed my arms over my chest.
Gibson had the nerve to laugh. Turning back to Caden he offered his hand. “You’ve got my number, Caden. Let me know how the dog is doing when you can.”
“I will,” he replied, taking Gibson’s hand and giving it a shake.
“Doofus.”
They both swung puzzled looks at me.
“I’ve decided his name is Doofus,” I said, tilting my chin at them.
Gibson lifted his eyebrows. Caden smiled. “We’ll let you know how Doofus is going.”
I didn’t miss the we in that statement. And like the wholly pornographic image that had filled my head at the notion of Caden being in my hands, my body reacted again. Maybe even more powerfully than the first time.
Great. Awesome.
Fuck.
*
We stayed at the animal hospital for the next hour, sitting in the waiting room out the front. I slumped in the hard plastic seats, exhaustion and jet lag doing their best to render me catatonic.
I’m afraid to say I was mentally, physically and emotionally drained. I’d been awake now for over twenty-four hours. I hadn’t slept on the flight over, instead binging on the latest season of Game of Thrones in an attempt to stop my mind stewing on Chase. For what it’s worth, it didn’t work. If you asked me what happened in the show, I couldn’t tell you. I think there was a dragon … maybe? And a guy with a sword? And some snow? I think …
While I slumped in my seat, Chase paced the small area, arms still crossed over her chest, her frown growing darker by the second.
She kept flinging glances at the door behind the reception counter. It didn’t matter how many times I told her the doctor working on Doofus was going to be a while, that the dog’s injuries were extensive and the procedures needed were time-consuming, she seemed to be affronted he hadn’t strode out yet to tell us Doofus was going to be okay.
The receptionist behind the counter watched Chase like she was some kind of curious caged animal. I noticed she often stared at Chase’s ears. I wanted to tell her to stop it. Had, in fact, stood up at one point and walked over to the counter to do just that, but had stopped myself before opening my mouth.
Chase had accused me of treating her like she was a little girl back on the freeway. She’d informed me I wasn’t her father or boyfriend and therefore had no right to protect her.
I wasn’t protecting her, not at this point in time at least, but I was thinking if she caught the receptionist constantly looking at her ears she might snap. I hated the idea of her feeling shitty about her hearing, but knew Chase would hate that kind of attention being brought to her hearing impairment more. So instead, I’d returned to my chair, slumped in its hard plastic seat and told her it was going to be okay – even as I prayed to God that Doofus would pull through.
Doofus. The fact she’d named the dog stirred something inside me, made me love her even more. It occurred to me right then I was a closet romantic. My mates at uni – the guys I played rugby with on the main lawn during lunch, who constantly told me I should hit on Dr. Briny Phillips – would be laughing their heads off at the notion I was all mushy over a girl naming a stray dog that may or may not die. But there you go, I was.
As I was fond of saying, it is what it is. And what it was with Chase was too profound for me to deny.
I had three weeks to make her see that. Three weeks starting in a veterinary hospital, surrounded by the smell of sick animals, disinfectant, with the memory of Donald the Dude niggling away at me.
I closed my eyes, unable to keep them open.
“Doofus is going to be okay, gorgeous.” My fried brain told me I’d mumbled it, but I didn’t seem to have the strength or ability to repeat it louder. My fried brain also told me I’d called her gorgeous, but that was lost in a fog of heavy nothingness.
Suffice to say, I fell asleep.
I woke sometime later to a soft nudge on my arm. I did that slow, uneven, bleary-eyed blink/squint thing you do when being woken unexpectedly from a deep slumber in the middle of the day. Harsh white light stabbed at my dry eyes as I peered up at the receptionist bending over in front of me.
I mumbled “Yes?” at her.
Before she could respond I felt a warm weight on my lap. Dropping my still-fuzzy gaze, I found Chase curled on her side on the seat beside me, her head resting on my thighs. Her eyes were closed. My hand was lying on her shoulder, my fingers loosely cupping its finely curved shape. It moved gently with her breaths – breaths steady and slow enough to tell me she was asleep.
A hot, tight ball filled my throat. I’m ashamed to say, my cock twitched in my jeans, an eager rush of excited blood pumping into its flaccid length.
It wouldn’t be flaccid for long. Not with the enthusiastic way my body was reacting to Chase’s proximity to my groin. Seriously, anyone would think I was fifteen with the way my dick was behaving.
“Are you deaf too?”
At the question – asked with part curiosity, part frustration – I lifted my eyes from Chase and fixed them on the receptionist. “And if I was?”
She blinked.
I don’t do anger that often – I’m the guy who smiled and laughed all the way through his parents’ divorce, remember – because getting angry doesn’t help anything. But this girl was rubbing me the wrong way, and I don’t think it had anything to do with being tired or jet lagged.
Shifting a little in my seat, I dragged a hand through my hair – though not the one on Chase’s shoulder – let out a choppy sigh and offered her an apologetic smile. “How’s Doofus?”
Another one of those blinks answered me.
“The dog?” I said. “The reason we’re sitting here?”
“Oh, it survived.”
Relief rushed through me like a wave.
“Dr. Adams wants to talk to you about it, though.”
Unsettled tension polluted that wave. A cold lump replaced the hot one in my throat.
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”
She regarded me for a moment, as if unsure what to do, and then made her way back behind the counter.
It was my turn to blink. Was she seriously wearing stilettoes in a vet clinic?
Returning my gaze to Chase, I allowed myself a moment to take in the beauty of her face. There was no frown pulling at her eyebrows, no guarded tension. Just a relaxed peaceful expression I longed to see all the time. If only she’d let me …
Heart racing, I brushed a fingertip over her cheek in a gentle stroke, before tracing the line of her ear. She moaned, the sound low and thick with sleep, and then shifted about on the seat a little, her head doing the same on my lap. Her eyes didn’t open. Nor did she wake.
I did it again: cheek, then ear. Stupidly, I whispered her name. I’m chalking that one up to jet lag and exhaustion.
Her eyelids fluttered a few times and then, with a soft little hitching noise that sent purely male blood into that purely male organ between my thighs – that purely male organ currently right next to her face – she opened her eyes and smiled up at me.
For a split second I don’t think she was aware of what she was doing. A split second of raw, ungoverned emotion. And then realization of what she was doing, where she was laying, hit her and she scrambled up so fast she clocked my chin with the back of her head and rammed the heel of her palm into my groin.
Pain. Instant pain. Whoa. Trust me when I say getting a semi hard-on whacked with a floundering palm is not fun. I winced. Couldn’t help it. Tried. Failed. I winced, concertinaed into a groaning U shape and winced again, when the back of her head smashed into my chin once more.
My beard didn’t buffer the contact. I saw stars.
Chase let out a pain-laced “Fuck”.
I’ve never heard her swear. Not aloud, at least. Sure, she’d signed profanity at me a few times, but I’ve never heard her curse. For some reason, it made me laugh.
I reached for her, my groin aching, my dick rapidly shrinking in agony-induced retreat, my balls throbbing in both pain and desire, and my chin just throbbing in pain. Before she could fully right herself on the seat beside me, I took her in my arms, grinning, and kissed her.
I wasn’t really thinking. I just did it. The second my lips touched hers I realized what I was doing. We both snapped frozen. And then Chase moved. She let out another sound, infinitely more sexy than that slumberous one she’d made earlier, and she was cupping my face in her hands and kissing me back. A crazy hot kiss that involved tongues touching and teeth clinking. It lasted a lifetime and sent me insane. It was incredible. My cock decided it was over its pain and flooded with eager, happy blood. My heart thumped hard and fast and wild in my chest, my throat, my ears.
And then the kiss was finished. As surprisingly abrupt as it had begun, it was over.
Chase jerked away from me, her eyes wide. Her mouth was open, her lips shiny. My chest tightened. That was my saliva on her lips. Mine. Not anyone else’s. Not Donald the Dude’s. Mine.
Time ceased for a moment, and then I rose to my feet.
We were in the waiting room of an animal hospital. We were sharing the space with pets and their owners, and a receptionist who seemed to look upon Chase as an oddity. As much as I wanted to kiss her again, as much as I wanted to talk to her about the truthfulness of our unexpected kiss, we weren’t alone. This was not the place to continue what was the best moment of my life.
This was the moment to find out about the dog we’d saved.
She watched me stand. Confusion swam in her eyes.
“I’ll be right back,” I said.
With a shake of her head, she jolted to her feet beside me. “I want to know what’s going on too.”
I couldn’t miss the scratchy quality to her voice. Nor the wavery quality to it either. As wrong as it sounds, a part of me was happy she was as affected by the kiss as I was.
Deciding to ignore the contemptuous look on the receptionist’s face, I took Chase’s hand and we walked together around the counter to the door. She didn’t try to squirm her fingers free of mine. Another thing I was happy about.
Actually, ecstatic is probably a better word.
I’d just pushed the door open, the biting smell of animal feces and disinfectant attacking my sinuses instantly, when I heard the receptionist mutter “Deaf freaks”.
Without letting Chase’s hand go, or slowing my pace, I flicked her a smile. “And proud of it.”
The door swung shut behind us before the shock finished forming on her face.
“Proud of what?” Chase asked as we made our way along the corridor toward the surgery.
“How freakishly good-looking I am,” I answered.
She rolled her eyes … and adjusted her fingers so they threaded through mine.
I’m not sure I can adequately describe how amazing the feel of her palm against mine was. It sure as hell affected me as much as her palm against my crotch had earlier. In a whole different way, true, but with the same impact.
I couldn’t have been happier, holding her hand there in one of the least romantic places to hold a girl’s hand.
I grinned.
She smiled back at me. And then wrinkled her nose and sniffed. “Nice smell,” she said with a grimace.
I squeezed her hand a little more. “You get used to it.”
The smell of vet clinics is very distinct. It’s not the same as a hospital smell. At least, not to me. A vet clinic is undercut with the musky odor of animals and all the smells they produce. It’s not essentially a pleasant smell, but one I found great comfort in. I guess it takes a particular kind of person to be a veterinarian, and I was one of them.
What kind of person is that?
My animal ethics lecturer at Melbourne Uni will tell you one of great compassion, patience, empathy and intelligence. She’s adamant a vet is more talented and intelligent than a human doctor because, as she puts it, “a vet can’t just ask their patient were it hurts. They need to figure it out themselves”.
My opinion? A vet is someone who can see the humor in having your arm buried up to the shoulder in a cow’s butt.
Dr. Dean Adams, the vet surgeon, was checking Doofus’s temperature when we entered the recovery ward. Doofus was stretched on his side, the length of his body shaved, wounds stitched in bright yellow medical string, his tongue lolling like a fat pink ribbon from his muzzle.
“102.5,” Dr. Adams noted, tossing the rectal thermometer into a kidney dish. He gave the veterinary nurse a smile. “I’m happy with that.”
He turned to us, his smile widening. “He’s not out of the woods yet, Caden, but he’s heading in the right direction.”
I crossed to the open cage in which Doofus lay, still and sedated. I couldn’t help but give him the once-over. Hey, I’m one year away from being a vet myself, with more intern hours clocked in a clinic than anyone else in my class. Of course I was going to put my soon-to-be doctor’s hat on.
“When can we take him home?”
Chase’s question stroked my tightly wound nerves. Until that point I would have said it was impossible to be a nervous wreck and happy beyond belief all at once.
“Not for a few days, I’m afraid,” Dr. Adams said.
I turned, aware Chase would have difficultly deciphering what seemed to be his natural mumbly intonation. I stopped myself repeating Adams when I found her chewing her lips, watching him. She was agitated, but doing her best to exude an air of calm. I needed to do the same. Giving Doofus’s limp leg one last gentle pat, I moved to Chase’s side and tapped Dr. Adams on his shoulder.
He lifted his head, eyebrows raised.
“Can we take him home soon?” Chase asked. I wondered if the slight change in wording was a subconscious defense mechanism: not repeating herself per se?
Those raised eyebrows dipped a bit and then realization dawned on his face. “Not for at least a week,” he answered a little louder this time.
I wanted to let him know that as long as Chase could see his face, and his voice wasn’t muffled by a hand or pen, or any number of things people seemed to stick near their mouth when talking, he didn’t need to raise his volume. Not in this small area.
Instead, I stood by her side. One thing I’d learned about Chase Sinclair very early in our relationship, she didn’t like people going all “knight in shining armor” on her when someone discovered she had a hearing impairment. I did it once very early on and wouldn’t do it again. Not when there was chance of her catching me, at least.
I suspected I’d very much gone all “knight in shining armor” back on the freeway, with an added bonus of “incredulous anger” and a side-order of “misplaced panic” thrown in for good measure. I really owed her an apology.
“But you can come and visit him daily during his recovery, if you want?” Dr. Adams offered.
“We’re from San Diego,” I answered, gut clenching at the thought of Doofus not getting any affection during his recovery. “But I can check into a—”
“We’ll be here,” Chase said at the exact same time.
I stopped and gave her a frown. “How are we going to do that?”
Her answering smile was inscrutable. “We will work it out.”
I continued to frown at her. She continued to smile at me. How’s that for a role reversal?
When I turned back to Dr. Adams, he was studying us both over the rim of his glasses. “That’s good. It tears me apart when we’ve got an animal in our care with no one to show it some love during its recovery.”
The feeling was entirely mutual. I’d spent many an hour in Briny Phillips’ clinic back home making sure all the animals received comforting pats and words, but the ones that didn’t have owners, who never saw a familiar face, I paid extra attention to.
“Thank you for saving the big guy today, Caden.” Dr. Adams held out his hand.
I took it and gave it a firm shake. I liked this man. He was down to earth, and clearly as dedicated to animals as I was.
He chuckled. “I’m still not convinced putting your lives at risk was wise, but I am in awe of your compassion and commitment. You’re going to make an amazing veterinarian when you finish your studies. In fact, you already are one now.”
“Thanks,” I said. I’ll admit it, a goofy grin was all over my face.
“And if you ever feel like moving to the States for work,” he continued, “come see me.”
That goofy grin I mentioned? Even goofier now.
“Thanks,” I repeated, a tad lost for words. Sure, I’d already been offered a full-time place at Briny’s clinic, but whoa, talk about an ego rush. If I wasn’t careful, my head would be too big to get through the door.
“You’re welcome.” Dr. Adams turned to Chase. “Get the temp – I’ve forgotten her name – to give you my card on the way out. And make sure she writes your contact numbers down, so I can call you and let you know how … what did you call him?”
“Doofus,” said Chase.
“How Doofus is doing.” With that, he excused himself and left us alone with Doofus.
I looked at Chase.
She looked at me.
We both licked our lips. I shuffled my feet. She chewed her bottom lip.
The memory of our kiss in the waiting room hung on the air between us, rivaling the pungent odor of the recovery room in potency.
Fuck it.
“So we kissed,” I said. Or maybe blurted. “A full-on kiss.”
Her cheeks filled with a delightful pink tinge I’d never seen there before. Chase Sinclair was blushing?
“We did,” she finally agreed.
“Any chance we can do it again?” I grinned hopefully.
Chase rolled her eyes. “Let’s just find a motel first.”
I blinked. And because I’m a guy, a big fat tight spasm claimed my cock. “Err …”
Instead of responding to my obvious perplexity, she stepped past me to stand beside Doofus’s cage. She ran her hand over his back leg, avoiding the bandaged wound. “Is he going to be okay?” she asked, without looking at me.
I let my gaze run over her profile for a moment, my chest tight, my groin tighter.
Motel? Really? Motel?
Finally, I pulled my hormones back under control, stuffed them in a dark box and let out a sigh. Reaching forward, I touched her arm.
“Stupid question, yeah?”
“The only stupid question is the one not asked,” I said.
She let out a dry snort, turned back to Doofus and stroked his back leg again. “Unless you already know the answer to the unasked stupid question and it confuses the hell out of you.”
“Can I help?” I asked, pulse pounding. “Clear up the confusion, I mean. If you’re confused about how awesome I am at kissing …”
She let out a sharp sigh. “You know, O’Dae, sometimes your good-natured humor makes me want to punch you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. So I said nothing.
Two ways of dealing with confrontation I’d learned from my parents’ divorce: quiet ease or laid-back jokes. It was obviously time to go with the first option now, even if my gut told me to make another joke. My gut wasn’t to be trusted sometimes, but I had to make amends for yelling at her earlier somehow.
A few minutes later, she dropped her hand from Doofus and gave me an ambiguous nod. “Let’s go give Little Miss Regrowth our numbers.”
“Who?”
She chuckled. “The temp behind the desk.”
“Ahh. Sure, let’s do that.”
We were at the door when something suddenly struck me. “That explains the stilettoes,” I said aloud to myself.
Chase arched an eyebrow at me, lips twitching. “But not the attitude.”
Man, had I said it that loudly?
“C’mon.” She wrapped her fingers around the door handle. “Let’s get out of here.”
After the most frustrating five minutes of my life – during which the temporary receptionist, aka Little Miss Regrowth, kept shouting at Chase and exaggerating her lip movements to the point it looked like she was having some kind of conniption, and to which Chase flung back snarky comment after snarky comment with enough bite a pit-bull would have been impressed – things reached boiling point.
I’m not lying when I say my muscles were taut with tension. I was half expecting Chase to lean across the counter and shake the girl every time she raised her voice higher and regarded Chase with open concern and pity.
I think it was the pity that did me in the most. Not able to take it any longer, I rapped my knuckles on the counter and fixed the temp with a level stare. “Given we’re meant to be an advanced species,” I said, “we really do know how to make those not considered normal by society’s standards feel like crap, don’t we?”
The temp blinked. “Huh?”
Chase took my hand and dragged me across the reception area. A second after that, we walked out of the animal hospital.
We were halfway across the car park, the warm sun beating down on us, the concrete under our feet doing its best to rival the rays in temperature, when Chase let out a ragged sigh. “You don’t have to keep protecting me, Caden. Or defending me.”
My chest tightened. “I’m not. I haven’t—”
“Yeah, I shouldn’t have let her get to me,” she cut me off. “But I’m completely capable of dealing with shit like that by myself. I’ve been doing so for twenty-two years now.”
“You were dealing with clueless receptionists when you were still in nappies?”
A blank look came over Chase’s face, followed by a frown. She rubbed at her face. I didn’t miss the exasperated groan muffled by her palms.
“I’m sorry,” I said, catching her wrists and lowering her hands to her side. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to … to … be me, I guess.”
She studied me, silent for a moment. “You frustrate the hell out of me, O’Dae.”
“I don’t mean to,” I answered honestly.
A frown pulled at her eyebrows and she shook her head. “C’mon,” she said.
I cast her a look as we continued to walk toward the Speeding Dragon. “I think she’d get to anyone. I was waiting for her to start treating me like I was backward when she commented on my Australian accent. Maybe I should have thrown in a few more crikeys and fair dinkums?”
Chase snorted a laugh. The decided lack of frustration in it made me feel a little better. “Yeah. Of course, I didn’t help things when I signed at you, did I?”
I grinned. “Not really. What did you sign, by the way? I missed it.”
“That you should tell her you’re Chris Hemsworth’s cousin.”
I burst out laughing.
Chase flashed me a grin that was pure mischief.
When we reached the Volvo and got in, I buckled my seatbelt, doing my best to appear relaxed. My brain kept whispering a single word over and over: motel.
Finally, as Chase started the engine and pulled out onto the road, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Reaching over the center console, I touched her shoulder. “I don’t expect you to stay at a motel with me,” I said when she glanced my way.
“I know.”
I had no idea what to make of that answer. My heart was thumping away in my chest, fast and crazy, and altogether too hung up on the fact that Chase had suggested we check into a motel together. I wanted to look at my crotch and mutter “Down boy”, but suspected Chase would see me and know exactly where my thoughts were going.
“You should give Brendon a call,” she said, lips curling in a smile as enigmatic as her previous answer, before she returned her focus to the busy street. “Let him know what’s going on. Use my cell.”
She waved her hand at my feet. A brilliant purple handbag sat on the passenger side floor. She was giving me permission to go searching in her handbag for her mobile phone.
Wow. This was a next-level moment.
I scooped up the bag and rested it on my lap, then opened the zipper to reveal its contents. I don’t have a sister – I’m an only child, remember – but I do have female cousins and female friends. Permission to go looking through a handbag is a big deal.
“Nice bag,” I said, trying to be cool.
She grunted. Keeping my big dude hands steady, I moved things around, searching for her mobile. There was a purse (also purple), about fifty packets of chewing gum (all in various stages of consumption), a hairbrush, two glasses cases and three pairs of sunglasses, what may or may not have been a crumpled parking fine, two granola bars, two tubes of lip balm, a small leatherbound sketch book, the edges of the paper frayed and well-worn, and so many loose pencils I didn’t bother counting.
There was also a hard plastic container I recognized as her hearing-aid case.
Chase. In a bag. Her personality, her passion, her stubbornness, all right there in a purple bag.
“It’s in the side pocket.”
Her voice – and the slight humor in it – made me lift my head. I scowled at her with mock reproach. “Don’t laugh at me.”
She did exactly that.
I couldn’t maintain the ruse any more and grinned, returning my attention to her bag. I found her mobile and withdrew it from a pocket inside that I hadn’t noticed before. I tapped on the screen, and touched her arm.
“Four two four two,” she said without looking at me.
My chest got tighter. I was not only being granted access to her bag, I was being granted access to her phone’s security PIN.
I was halfway through keying in the number when the phone pinged in my hand – a very loud tone accompanied by a very powerful vibration.
“Shit,” Chase blurted, with a harried look at her phone.
Before I could stop myself, I read the incoming message that appeared on the screen.
Don’t forget your toothbrush, babe. D.
“Donald the Dude has sent you a message,” I told her. I couldn’t drag my eyes from that message. And my throat was so thick, my mouth so dry, the words came out a scratchy mess.
Pulling in a deep breath, I finally looked over at her.
“Ignore it,” she instructed, her eyes fixed back on the road. Her hands gripped the steering wheel with knuckle-whitening force.
I nodded. I’m aware the action was ridiculous, given she wasn’t looking at me, but if I tried to answer with words, what would have come out would have been something along the lines of “This guy, Chase? Really, this guy? This is my competition? This guy is a dick.”
Re-keying her security code, I drew in another deep breath, dialed Brendon’s number and waited for him to answer.
The whole time, however, Donald the Dude’s message kept flashing in my head. It didn’t stop during the entire time I spoke to Brendon. Not at all.
Don’t forget your toothbrush, babe. D.
Don’t forget your toothbrush, babe. D.
Don’t forget your toothbrush, babe. D.
I really really didn’t like that guy.