What an asshole. I’m not sure what Sydney saw in him, but the fact that she dated him makes me question her judgment a little bit.
I glance up at her, expecting to see her in tears, but instead, she’s laughing. She’s sitting on the floor, attempting to catch her breath, laughing hysterically. I can’t help but smile, seeing her reaction. And the fact that she punched that girl right in the face without a moment’s hesitation? I’ve got to hand it to her, she’s tougher than I first thought.
She looks up at me and inhales a calming breath, then mouths the words thank you, while holding up her purse. She stands up and brushes the wet hair out of her face, then walks to the kitchen and opens a few drawers until she finds a dishtowel and pulls it out. She wets it under the faucet, turns around, and motions me over. When I reach her, I lean against the counter while she takes my chin and angles my face to the left. She presses the towel to my lip, and I wince. I didn’t even realize it was hurting until she touched it. She pulls the rag back, and there’s blood on it, so she rinses it under the faucet and puts it back up to my mouth. I notice that her own hand is red. I take it and inspect it. It’s already swelling.
I pull the rag from her hand and wipe the rest of the blood off my face, then grab a ziplock bag out of the cabinet, go to the freezer, and fill it with ice. I take her hand and press the ice onto it, letting her know she needs to keep it there. I lean against the counter next to her and pull my phone out.
Me: You hit her good. Your hand is already swelling.
She texts me with one hand, keeping the ice on top of the other as she rests it on the counter.
Sydney: It could be because that wasn’t the first time I’ve punched her today. Or it could also be swollen because you aren’t the first one to punch Hunter today.
Me: Wow. I’m impressed. Or terrified. Is three punches your daily average?
Sydney: Three punches is now my lifetime average.
I laugh.
She shrugs and sets her phone down, then pulls the ice off her hand and brings it back up to my mouth. “Your lip is swelling,” she says.
My hands are clenching the countertop behind me. I become increasingly uneasy with how comfortable she is with all this. Thoughts of Maggie flash through my head, and I can’t help but wonder if she’d be okay with this scenario if she were to walk through the front door right now.
I need a distraction.
Me: You want birthday cake?
She smiles and nods.
Me: I probably shouldn’t drive, since you’ve turned me into a raging alcoholic tonight, but if you feel like walking, Park’s Diner makes a damn good dessert, and it’s less than a mile from here. Pretty sure the rain is over.
“Let me change,” she says, motioning to her clothes. She pulls clothes from her suitcase, then heads to the bathroom. I put the top on the Pine-Sol and hide it back under the cabinet.
Chapter Five
Sydney
We don’t interact much while we eat. We’re both sitting in the booth with our backs to the wall and our legs stretched out in front of us on the seats. We’re quietly watching the restaurant crowd, and I can’t stop wondering what it’s like for him, not being able to hear anything going on around us. I’m probably too blunt for my own good, but I have to ask him what’s on my mind.
Me: What’s being deaf like? Do you feel like you’re in on a secret that no one else knows about? Like you have a leg up on everyone because the fact that you can’t hear has magnified all your other senses and you’ve got superhuman powers and no one can tell just by looking at you?
He almost spits out his drink while reading my text. He laughs, and it occurs to me that his laugh is the only sound I’ve heard him make. I know that some people who can’t hear can still talk, but I haven’t heard him say a single word all night. Not even to the waitress. He either points to what he wants on the menu or writes it down.