She lifted my hand to cup her throat and moaned as she slid down on my cock. I heard it. Maybe not with my ears, but the vibrations of her throat gave me just enough sensation to make me believe I had. My eyes got wide as she did it over and over again. Then a small smile tilted my lips, and hers filled with absolute love.
It was by far the worst sex we had ever had, but within seconds, I was coming harder than I ever would again.
Soon after we finished, Eliza fell asleep. She was never a snorer, with the exception of her final conscious sigh, there was no sound associated her sleeping. So I lay awake for hours watching her. It truly felt normal and made it easy for me to forget the panic that continued to build in my chest.
I was okay.
She was okay.
We were okay.
Nothing else matters.
TILL’S FRUSTRATION WITH HIS INABILITY to communicate was overwhelming for all of us. The simplest of tasks had become impossible, and the slightest trigger would send him off the deep end. My easygoing fiancé was gone. Hell, even the nervous, stressed-out boy had disappeared. In his place was a pissed-off man with a grudge against the world.
We enrolled in sign language classes and started integrating it into our every conversation. Flint and Quarry picked it up rather quickly, but Till was a little slower on the uptake. He took it upon himself to learn every possible curse word, but that was the extent of his thirst for knowledge. He hated spending two hours every night in class, and he skipped any time he could find a plausible excuse. It was a hard balance, because we could learn all of the signs we wanted, but if Till didn’t understand, they were worthless.
Our relationship took a hit as well. He still held me every chance he got, but it was oddly reminiscent of our younger years. It was affection, but never sexual. I missed him even when he was sitting directly in front of me. We still had sex when I initiated it, but it was rough and it took forever for him to come. It just wasn’t the same. Boxing seemed to be the only thing he cared about, and even that was a challenge for him.
We didn’t announce to the public that Till had suddenly lost his hearing. He had made his way onto the professional boxing scene after his win over Lacy, but it wasn’t like the press was beating down our door for an official statement or anything. I thought Till liked it that way too. He hated advertising his shortcomings—and that was exactly how he viewed it.
Slate spent months developing a system that would enable Till to know when the round was over. Most of the time, the ref would dive in and divide the fighters, but if Till was still swinging after that bell, he would risk losing a precious point. Back home in the quiet gym, Till could faintly make out the bell, but in a crowded arena, it was swallowed by cheering fans. Ten seconds before the end of the fight, Slate would pound three times on the mat, and Till would count it down in his head before he quit swinging. It was simple, but it took some getting used to. He eventually perfected it—probably a little too well.
“You son of a bitch!” Slate screamed as Leo James tried to drag him away from the other boxing trainer.
Tears fell from my eyes as Till lay on the mat forging his way back to consciousness.
“I will ruin you!” Slate threatened wildly as the crowd snapped pictures of The Silent Storm losing his shit.
It was all I could do not to join him.
The Silencer had just suffered his first defeat. TKO in the sixth round. There was not a single doubt in my head that the judge’s cards had him up by several points. He was dominating the fight in every aspect—except for hearing the bell.
I saw the other trainer watching Slate each round. He’d see Slate pound the mat and his eyes would fly back to Till to watch for a reaction. He knew something was going on; he just couldn’t figure out what.
In the sixth round, with thirty seconds left, that opposing trainer pounded three times on his side of the ring. Slate started shouting immediately, but it was too late. I sat in the front row, holding my breath as I nervously counted to ten. When I got to nine, I watched Till throw one last punch knocking his opponent back a step. As the ref got close, Till dropped his hands and started to turn away. Because he was completely unprotected, a glove landed on his chin and sent him to the ground.
Celebration erupted across the ring, and well . . . that’s when Slate erupted as well.
“Calm the fuck down!” Leo barked as Slate continued to scream profanities at the other corner.
Flint hopped the railing and rushed to the ring, where they were trying to get a stool under Till. I was breathless as I watched him slowly come around. Flint was signing a million miles a minute, but Till’s face spoke the real words—and they were tragic.
“Come on.” Leo appeared beside me as I watched a much more subdue Slate helping Till from the ring.
“Is he okay?” I asked as I pulled on Quarry’s shirt to drag his attention from his brothers.
“Yeah. His pride’s the only thing that took any kind of real damage.”
“That was so fucked up,” Quarry said as Leo ushered us back to the dressing rooms.