I jerk her to me with a quick tug to her scarf, and she laughs. I can feel the quake of her stomach against my hip. I f**king love you so much, I say. I can’t seem to stop telling her.

She rolls her eyes, kisses me quickly and says, I just love it when you get all romantic. I love you, too.

I spin her toward her building and tap her on the ass. I have something I need to take care of this morning. Something really important. She waves at me as she walks away, her fingers barely moving. Then she holds up the I love you sign, and I know my name is written right below it.

I stop at home so that I can shower and change. I want to look nice when I go to her father. I need to explain to him, man-to-man, why Emily isn’t going to be staying at her apartment, or at least not until Trip’s gone. That mark on her neck is inexcusable. It’s like he was trying to brand her, even though she’s mine. And I simply can’t tolerate that. What would have happened if I hadn’t shown up when I did?

Paul is just getting up when I come out of the bathroom. “Glad to see you’re back to normal,” he says, smiling at me over a cup of coffee.

I tell Paul about what happened at the party with the model, about Emily’s father, and about what Trip did just before I got to Emily’s apartment last night.

He shakes his head. “That’s f**ked up,” he says. “What are you going to do?”

I heave a sigh. “I think I have to go and talk to her father. Today.”

He nods. It’s slow but still a nod. He’s hesitant, and I don’t understand why.

“What?” I ask.

“He’s not going to approve no matter what you do. He wants a certain life for her.”

“Emily can’t read,” I blurt out.

Paul spits into his coffee. “What?” he sputters.

“She can read,” I correct. “She knows what letters are and how to spell words, but she has dyslexia. Reading is really, really hard for her. That’s why her father wants her to marry. That’s why he doesn’t want her to have an education and thinks she should just marry some rich douchebag. He doesn’t think she’s worth any more than that.”

“Ouch,” he says. That’s what Paul says when he wants to mull over a tender topic.

“You won’t tell her I told you about not being able to read, will you? She hides it really well.”

He inhales deeply. “I already knew. I’ve seen her read to Hayley.” He looks into my face. “Is that why you spoke to her?” I went eight years without saying a word. And she made me want to talk again.

I nod. “She couldn’t read what I wrote down.”

“You talked to her all along didn’t you?” He smiles, but it’s only a half-smile.

“Pretty much from the day that I met her,” I admit. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” I feel bad now. I went years without speaking. “You guys all made it really easy for me to retreat and not speak since you all learned to sign.”

“You’re f**king deaf, dumbass. What else were we going to do?”

A lot of deaf families never learn sign language. “I’m sorry,” I repeat. “It was easier being quiet.”

“She doesn’t make anything easy for you, does she?”

“What? She makes everything easy for me. I didn’t even choose to talk. It just happened.” I smile. She turns me inside out. “I love her so f**king much.”

“I know you want to be a man about this, but her father’s going to fight you the whole way.”

“I know.” I wish that wasn’t the case. “But I feel like I need to be open with him.”

“You’re going to get a fat f**king headache from banging your head against that wall.”

“She had to wear a scarf to school today to cover up her neck.”

“Fucker,” Paul swears.

Sam walks into the kitchen in boxer shorts and a T-shirt, scratching his belly. “Morning,” he says as he goes to the coffeepot.

Something is going on with Sam and Pete, Paul signs behind his back. You know about it?

What? I ask

They’ve been hanging out with Bone.

Why? My movements are exaggerated. I’m suddenly pissed.

They deny it. But I hear things. He shrugs. Just wanted to see if you knew anything about it.

I don’t know anything about it. I’ve been a little preoccupied. Sorry. Want me to look into it?

He shakes his head. I’ll do it.

Sam turns to face us. “You guys were talking about my ass, weren’t you?” He grins. “I know it’s awesome, but try to contain yourselves.”

Sam makes me laugh. He has this way about him. “Sam, do you think you could make dinner tomorrow night? I want to invite Emily’s parents over.”

Paul sputters into his coffee again. “Here?” he asks.

I nod. “I want them to see what our family is like. In person.”

“Why do I have to cook?” Sam whines.

“Because you’re the only one who knows how.” I watch him closely. “Make some lasagna or something.” I put my hands together like in prayer. “Please?”

He huffs and says, “Sure. But you’re going to owe me.”

***

Mr. and Mrs. Madison have a suite at one of the larger hotels in the area. Henry is the one who told me that. How he knew, I have no idea, but that man is sharp as a tack. I stop at the front desk, wringing my hands together as I ask for their room number. I have to get this over with. I have to tell them that Emily won’t be going back to that apartment as long as Trip is there.

The front desk calls their room, and then they write down the room number for me. My knees are steady as the elevator ascends to the highest floor. Of course, they would be on the highest floor. And in a suite.

Mrs. Madison opens the door and lets me. She draws me in for a quick hug. “Is everything all right?” she asks, her eyebrows drawing together.

“Everything is fine,” I say. “Is your husband here? I’d like to talk with him, if it’s not too much trouble.”

She looks at me, her head tilting to the side as she appraises my face. Finally, her mask of indifference slips back over her face. But this woman is anything but indifferent. She points toward an open door.

Mr. Madison sits behind a desk in a room that’s more lavish than any office I’ve ever been in. He looks up and dismisses me immediately when he doesn’t even catch my gaze.

“Logan,” he says. “What brings you here?” He doesn’t look up from his paperwork, but I need to say this anyway.

“Mr. Madison,” I begin. “I need to talk to you.” I point toward the chair. “May I sit down?” He looks up at me over his glasses.

“If you must.” He steeples his hands on his desk. I finally have his attention. Good.

“I wanted to come to you, as one man to another, sir,” I say.

“I believe we’re one man short, son,” he says.

I steel my spine. I really can’t help it if he’s not a man. “Be that as it may, Trip went a little too far with Emily last night.”

He tosses his pen onto the desk, and I watch it flip until it settles. “What are you talking about?”

“Last night, when you dropped Trip and Emily off at her apartment, he tried to kiss her.”

“Just what are you insinuating, Logan?” he asks. “They were engaged, for crying out loud. There’s obviously some chemistry there. It’s bubbling back to the surface.” His gaze is cool. “I know you love her, but let last night prove to you that what they have isn’t dead and gone. It’s still very much alive.”

“Alive?” I ask.

“Yes, alive. He still loves her, and she still cares for him.” He actually looks sorry. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you.” He starts to shuffle through his papers again. I’m being dismissed.

“Emily won’t return to the apartment until Trip is moves out.” I scoot forward in my seat until I’m perched on the edge of the chair. “She’s going to live with me. I just wanted to be sure you’re aware.”

He shakes his head. “No, son,” he begins.

“I’m not your son,” I bite out.

“Logan,” he chides, “my daughter will live exactly where I tell her to live.”

“How did that work out for you last year, sir?” I ask. I force myself to relax. “I’m not asking for your permission. I’m telling you how it’s going to be. If you get Trip out of her apartment, she’ll go back there. If you don’t, she’ll live with me. Because I won’t let her go back there again, not while he’s there harassing her.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Do you understand, Mr. Madison?”

His face is turning red now, and his pupils narrow. He’s angry, so angry he can barely take in a breath. “Do you presume to tell me what my daughter will and will not do, Mr. Reed?”

“I don’t presume anything, sir,” I bite out. “I’m just telling you what you need to do if you’d like to have your daughter back in her own apartment.” I get up, adjust my jeans. “Always a pleasure, Mr. Madison.”

I walk toward the door. But that’s when I see my notebook, the one I was carrying at their party yesterday. It’s by Mr. Madison’s elbow.

“I believe this is mine,” I say. I reach for it.

“I beg your pardon,” Mr. Madison says. “This belongs to Trip.” He chuckles and taps his temple. “Smart boy that one. It’s a shame you don’t have any of his talent.” He flips open my notebook and shows me my own drawings. “That boy came up with a way to change my ad campaign. And it’s damn good, if I do say so myself. I’m rather proud of him.” He smiles at me and flips through my drawings, showing them to me one by one.

“When did he give you these?” I ask.

“This morning. He worked on them all night last night.”

Just then, Trip walks in the door. His smile falters when he sees me looking at my own notebook, at the drawings I made, at the plan I came up with. “Mr. Madison was just showing me your drawings,” I say. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Trip.”

“It’s funny what you can do when you have a few hours alone to think, isn’t it?” Trip adjusts his suit coat, looking nervous as hell. “I did it last night when I was waiting up for Emily to come home.” He shoots me a glare. He’s daring me to deny that Emily was with me. I won’t deny anything, and I won’t claim anything. Not today.

Trip smiles at me when I don’t respond. He thinks he’s won. But I can’t help it. I have to do it. I rear back and hit Trip in the f**king face as hard as I can. He falls to the floor like a stone, and Mr. Madison rushes from behind his desk. He calls for security, but they don’t need to come. I’m done here.

“Mrs. Madison,” I say as I walk past her. I refuse to run. I’m feeling too damn good right now. That fucker is stretched out on the floor not moving, and I put him there. I’m feeling lighter than I have since he came to town.

Mrs. Madison smiles at me. “Logan,” she says, inclining her head. A smile tickles her lips, but she refuses to let it break. “Thanks for dropping by.” She covers her mouth when a laugh tries to burst forward.

“Anytime,” I reply. I let myself out. I’m done here. So f**king done.

But I stick my head back in at the last minute. “We’d like to have you for dinner tomorrow night, if you’re available.”

“What time?” she asks.

“Eight? I’ll have Emily send you the address.”

“We’ll see you then.” She nods at me again as I slip out the door. I shake out my hand. It hurts like a mother fucker. But it was so worth it.

Emily

It’s late but I can’t leave yet. I haven’t finished listening to my textbook so I can get my homework done. I paid attention in class, and I even took some notes, but I have to listen to my textbooks, unlike most students. I sit in the library and have my text-to-speech program read to me. I am a good listener, and I can remember most things. It just takes me twice as long to listen to someone else read than it does for most people to read it themselves.

When I have a firm grasp on the material from today’s classes, I finally take the headphones off. I look over my notes and smile. I can do this. I am smart. And I have kept my secret long enough. All of my instructors are aware of my dyslexia, and while they’re not going to make anything easy for me, they are willing to work with me. It turns out that many musical prodigies struggle to learn in the traditional sense—or so says one of my teachers. He even confessed that he has an “undiagnosed processing problem” that makes learning hard for him. That’s why he turned to music in the first place. I like Dr. Ball a lot. He kept me after class to talk about my limitations. Or lack of limitations, as he termed it.

I tried to assure him that I can do anything he puts before me, and I think he got it. I want this. I want it so badly. I want to excel at something even though I read, in a traditional sense, at a first-grade level. I’ve kept my secret long enough. It’s time to let it be known. So that’s what I’m doing.

Dr. Ball is helping each of us plan our individual pieces for the showcase. I explained to him what I want to do, and he seemed intrigued by it. Logan can’t understand music. He can’t understand the rise and the fall of the notes, and he can’t understand the tempo or the beat, unless there’s a heavy bass. I want to translate music into something he can understand. Dr. Ball hooked me up with one of his other students who does audio-visual work, and he’s going to help me make a multi-layered presentation. I already know the song. I have had in my head for years. I wrote it when I used to watch my dad sleep. I would wonder why I didn’t measure up in his eyes. I know the song, and I know the notes. Now I just need to work on the actual presentation.