Lola

It’s Thursday night, usually one of our busiest nights, but for some reason it’s not too crazy today at Duality. I’m working at the upstairs bar and I just finished serving some tourists piña coladas. They look fascinated by the nudity around them, pointing and gawking at the fire breathers on the stage. I’m still in awe myself, if I’m being honest.

Fox pulls out a chair and casually sits in front of me, which is unusual. He takes a sip of my soda and then slides it back to me. He does this a lot, I’ve noticed. He doesn’t buy soda at his house, but I’ve stocked his fridge with Coke and he takes gulps from my cup when I’m drinking it, even though he says he hates soda because it’s so unhealthy. Or he says he doesn’t like PB&J’s but he takes bites of mine all the time. It doesn’t bother me, though. Just like I know it doesn’t bother him that I use his manly soap because it’s awesome and smells like him. Or when I steal his favorite potato chips and eat them on his impeccable couch while reading from my Kindle.

The familiarity between us might be weird but it doesn’t feel weird.

And right now, he’s just hanging out at the bar. He never just hangs out. His tie is a little crooked, so I straighten it for him, not caring that another bartender, Jane, is at the other end of the bar. The staff has seen us walking in together over the past month or so. I’m sure the rumors are rampant but it’s not like I can hear them so I brush them off.

He smiles at me. As I study him, I wonder what he’s up to. His beard is longer than it normally is and his hair isn’t so perfect. I’ve noticed that he hasn’t been taking so long to get ready these days. I wonder why that is. But I don’t question it since it’s a relief to get to work on time without having to be on pins and needles all the way there.

He’s been really working on his sign language and doesn’t have to finger spell everything anymore but he never signs at work since he knows how secretive I am about that. I’m terrified about getting fired, especially since I have to make one more payment to meet my goal.

“While you were at work today and I was practicing my sign language on YouTube, I came across this ad,” he says, sliding a bunch of papers over to me. My brows furrow. “Have you heard of cochlear implants? I did a bunch of research on it. It’ll fix all your problems. Make you good as new.”

His words are like a slap in the face. It’s the first time I’ve felt less than with Fox. It takes me a moment to process it. I look down at the papers I’m holding in my hand—a bunch of brochures and printouts about the surgery. My smile fades, and I’m feeling so hurt that I can’t even begin to comment. I’m also trying not to show my feelings since it was sweet of him to do this research, and I know he’s just trying to help.

From the corner of my eye I see Jane walking toward us and I don’t want her to overhear this conversation. I smile at him, fold the papers, and stuff them in my purse below the bar. He reaches for my arm and squeezes gently. “Lola?”

I look over at Jane who is now definitely in hearing distance. He gets the message and winks. “Later, then.”

I nod and smile, then I wave at Jane and return to my work, needing to stifle the hurt I feel.

Fix all your problems.

Throughout the night, those words keep replaying in my mind. He doesn’t want me to take the bus home as if I’m incapable of taking care of myself. He doesn’t think I can walk the dogs on my own. There are just a lot of little things he tries to do because I’m broken and he needs to help me, to “fix” me. Fix all your problems.

I’m trying to talk myself out of being upset. He means well. That’s the only thing that keeps me from crying, something I never do. I’m strong. I’ve been through a lot and a guy throwing some careless words at me isn’t going to break me. This was just sex. I’m leaving soon. What do I care what he thinks anyway, right?

I close my eyes and inhale deeply as the last conversation with Gus runs through my mind.

“Lola, I can’t handle this. You need too much help.” Gus writes on a piece of paper since I still don’t know how to read lips or sign.

“Please don’t leave me, Gus. I don’t know how to live in a world where everything is silent.”

He puts a finger on his mouth hushing me and looks around embarrassed at how loudly I’m speaking. “Sorry, sorry,” I whisper, and tears are running down my face.

“You need to learn sign language and join that support group and the doctors say you’re depressed,” he writes. “That’s a lot, Lola.”

Of course I’m depressed. I’m deaf and now alone, it seems.

“I just lost my hearing,” I say, sobbing. “I can’t lose you too. How will I even know what the doctors are telling me? Gus, please…”

“I’m sorry, Lola. Maybe after you’ve had that surgery the doctor explained?” And he hands me the brochure and the information. “Call me and we’ll talk once everything settles down and you’re all fixed up. I just can’t deal with all this now. I’m only twenty.”

He leans over and kisses my forehead and I can tell by the way his lips move that he says, “Goodbye, Lola.” He turns and walks out of the hospital leaving me all alone. I grab the piece of paper and the brochures, crumple them up, and throw them across the room.

Fox

I don’t know how to read Lola. Even after the incredible time we’ve had together she’s still an enigma to me. I have no idea what she’s thinking and I don’t think it has anything to do with her hearing. She doesn’t say half of what she wants to say most of the time, and tonight…I know she wants to say something. When I’ve walked by her, I’ve caught her looking off into space a few times. I’ve also caught her with her lips downturned. She’s not like the rest of the bartenders who are loud and flirt incessantly, but she does smile. She smiles a lot and often, and customers like her. Tonight, she’s going through the motions without any emotions and it’s scaring the shit out of me.

I’m thinking she didn’t like my research but I can’t even begin to understand why. Doesn’t she want to hear again? Of course she does! Who would say no to having something wrong with them fixed? I’ve been researching things to help her, and when I found a link to a procedure that could make her hear again, I was excited to share it with her, but she didn’t seem pleased. Then again, she’s so secretive about her hearing, which I still think is ridiculous, and there were people around, so maybe she was quiet in order not to draw attention. Or maybe I pissed her off.

Damn it.

I’m sitting in my office, my feet on the desk, watching the camera feed and waiting for the night to end, when the door swings open and a pissed-off Lola storms in, shutting the door behind her.

“I already had the surgery, Fox,” she bursts out as if we’re already mid-conversation. “I had it done about a year after I lost my hearing. It cost me a small fortune; insurance didn’t pay all of it. But I did it. It worked for a bit, and even though the noise came in a little robotic and it took some time to get used to it, it worked. But then it got infected and I had to have it removed. It was more devastating than the first time I lost my hearing. It was my last hope and it was gone and to make it worse, one of the reasons that people are hesitant to get the implant is because any little residual hearing is destroyed. I had a little hearing before that, but after the implant was removed, it was completely gone. I have what’s called profound hearing loss. I hear almost nothing.”

Wow. Okay. I take a moment to process this. I take a breath, stand up, and walk around my desk to stand by her. “But it’s been years. Can’t you have another one implanted or something?”

She reaches for me and takes my hands in hers. I’m not sure if she’s trying to throttle me or be patient. Maybe both. “I’m not going through that again. This is it, Fox. This is me. I don’t need to be ‘fixed.’ I understand why you’d think I’m broken but I’m not broken, and I appreciate that you try to help, but don’t. Please. This is all of me. We have a few weeks left, let’s have fun or let’s end it now, but either way, I don’t want or need you to try to fix me.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Yes, it was.” She lets go of my hands and releases a puff of breath. “It’s sweet of you, but it’s not happening. I will never hear again. I’m okay with it. The question is: Are you? When I went deaf I was dating a guy and he dumped me when things got too hard. It broke my heart. I’m not going through that again. I like my life now just like you like yours. Why are you trying to complicate things?”

She likes her life? How is that even possible? She is missing one of her five senses, for fuck’s sake! And do I like my life? I have to stop and think about that because of all the things she is saying that’s what actually impacts me most. I’m not sure if I can sit here and say I like my life. I mean, I’m content but I don’t love it. I do realize, however, that this last month, waking up with Lola, who doesn’t care whether I’m in a suit or if I shaved or if my suit is silk or cotton, has been the most at peace I’ve felt in a long time. Except when my mind wanders to her looming departure. Admittedly, the way it doesn’t seem to faze her is hurtful in a way that I didn’t expect. For me, it’s like a living, breathing thing that seems to always be around. A ticking time bomb telling us it’s almost over.

“You’re taking it the wrong way,” I protest, sounding defensive even to my own ears. “Don’t you want to be able to hear?”

“Of course I do,” she blurts out, sounding a little loud and distorted. It’s the first time I’ve heard her sound this way and I feel like a world-class asshole. But at the same time I genuinely don’t understand why she doesn’t make an effort. She could possibly hear again. Doesn’t she want to?

“Then why don’t you try it again?”

“I don’t want to! I don’t want to go through that again. I may not even be a candidate anymore. I’d rather spend the money I’ve been saving to do what I intended to do, not risk it for something I don’t need.”

“You don’t need? How can you not need to hear?”

Lola

Slap number two.

Judging by the way he’s leaning forward on his desk and the way his mouth is moving I can tell he’s speaking loudly and he’s agitated. Not quite yelling but he’s clearly upset. I’m upset too. He doesn’t get it.

“I have gone through the last seven years without any major problems. I have a job and I’m a contributing member of society. I don’t need this. We agreed to sex. This.” I point to him. “This is not what I asked for. This isn’t what we discussed. This is not just sex.”

He looks at me for too long. Then he shakes his head, reaches for his keys, and steps around me.

“You’re leaving?” I ask incredulously.

“I…yeah, I’m leaving. We only have an hour and it’s dead tonight.” He turns around, effectively ending the conversation since I can’t see his lips. He opens the door and closes it behind him. I’m so shocked, hurt, and honestly…so mad that I kick it. Yeah, I know, I’m being petulant, but I’m so livid right now.

The last thing I expected would happen when we began this little arrangement was to be sitting in the boss’s office feeling like I did seven years ago when Gus broke up with me.

Actually, if I’m being honest, feeling worse.

Damn it…why do I have to like Fox so much?

I go back to the bar and finish my shift getting angrier by the minute. First, he insults me and then he leaves me? Yeah, been there, done that, and I’m not going to let any man have that kind of control over my emotions again. This is why I don’t need him walking the fucking dogs for me, or giving me rides to work, or getting me used to comfy sheets and a king-size bed. I was fine doing everything on my own and living a simple life.

Fuck him.

I don’t need to be fixed.

Fox

Maybe I shouldn’t have left but she made it clear, over and over again, that I’m nothing but a temporary fuck. There’s so much a man can take. We’ve had this conversation too many times already and I’m done with it. I need to get my emotions under control before I see her again because telling her that I feel more for her than she does for me is just plain stupid. There’s no point to it. She’s leaving and that’s all there is to it. From whatever the hell I’m feeling for this girl who has me all tied up in knots, to the comment that she made about being happy with her life, to the fact that I just can’t seem to understand how she won’t even consider the surgery, I’ve gone through an entire gamut of emotions. But most of all, I find myself questioning my own happiness.

And actually, hers too. Because, the more I think about it, the more I call bullshit on her being happy. She hides her disability, she is closed off from most people, she lives in a shitty apartment—who the fuck wants to live in a shitty, dangerous neighborhood? She is not happy. She may try to pretend she is, but that fortress around her heart says otherwise. She’s afraid of being judged and of being hurt so she pushes everyone away before they have a chance to hurt her. I may not be the smart one in this relationship but she’s being stupid by not realizing what she’s doing.

At least I’m willing to take risks. She should try having the surgery again. And damn it, she should give us a chance even when she leaves. People have long-distance relationships all the time.

I get more and more worked up because I want to not feel anything for her. It would be so much easier. Except that all of these feelings are making me reevaluate my own life. When I bought my car and my apartment I thought I was happy. I used the money from my brother’s investment to pay for the apartment and it felt like the biggest and greatest fuck-you to my father. But now, thinking back, I wasn’t happy. I never really wanted those things. I just felt as if I was supposed to have them, like it was the next logical step in proving my father wrong. After I had them, I didn’t feel complete. I didn’t feel any better. They were just more “things” that I owned. Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of my accomplishments, but I don’t feel the same contentment that someone would feel about having something they truly desired. So now, I’m sitting here questioning my entire fucking life thanks to Lola and her tirade about her happy little life.

And how can I even be angry with her. She’s been nothing but forthright from day one. We’re just sleeping together. I have plans and those plans are set in motion and I’ve worked too hard to change the course of my life right now. And she has her plans too. I’m not going to go and fuck with them either. At some point in the early morning I fall asleep and don’t wake up until it’s almost time to go to work.

I’m rushing to get ready for work when my phone rings with an unfamiliar number. I pause; I don’t want to be late but I pick up the phone anyway.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mr. Fox? William Fox?”

“Yes. Who’s this?” I ask, adjusting my tie in the mirror.

“This is Deputy Shillings calling from Detroit. Are you related to a Timothy Fox? He has you as his emergency contact on his phone. Actually, you are the only contact in his phone.”

I tense and turn away from the mirror. “That’s my father.” I haven’t heard from my dad in months and a cop calling me can’t be good news. “What did he do this time?”

“I regret to inform you that he had a seizure at a grocery store and was rushed to the hospital. He is currently in critical condition at Sinai-Grace. I would recommend you come to town.”

“Um…” I’m speechless.

“Mr. Fox?”

“Yes. Yes, okay. Thank you.”

I’m having an out-of-body experience of sorts.

My father is in critical condition. Is he dying? Do I even care?

An hour later I’m walking into Duality and I swear to God, I can’t recall how I got here. I’m on automatic pilot, unsure as to how I should take this news.

The staff greets me as I walk in. I nod and head straight to the office and close the door behind me.

Lola

In the time since I’ve known him, Fox has never walked by me without at least smiling. I guess we’re still fighting.

I was going to talk to him when he got in because texting is a shit way to converse and I prefer to do it in person. But he didn’t even look my way. I can’t believe he’s that upset at me because I won’t consider the cochlear implants.

I finish my side work and wipe the bar one last time, then go to find him. If this is over, he needs to man the hell up and tell me to my face.

I knock once and wait a moment before opening the door. I find him sitting behind the big, modern glass-and-chrome desk, his hands fisting his hair, his elbows on the table. “Fox?”

He looks up slowly. It’s as if he didn’t even hear me walk in. Hesitantly, I move closer. Something is wrong and my heart drops. I don’t want something to be wrong with kind, strong Fox. “Hey? You okay?”

His hair is unkempt and he’s not even wearing a tie. He swivels his chair, then stands up. “Yes. Fine.” Absently, he looks at his watch and I see his mouth move but I can’t see what he’s saying. Placing a hand on my lower back, he leads me outside but I turn around to stop him. “What’s wrong? What did you say?”

He looks up. “Oh, sorry. Nothing. Lot’s on my mind is all. Club’s about to open. You better get down there.” He is completely distracted.

I know he doesn’t owe me anything, most of all an explanation, but he’s still my friend and the way he’s acting worries me.

With an inexplicable feeling of dread, I go to the bar and start working. I glance around all night trying to find Fox but I barely see him. And the feeling that something is wrong heightens.

As soon as I have a moment, I’m going to find him and demand he tell me what’s wrong. I don’t think it has to do with our fight last night and whatever it is, I want to help. I hate seeing him this way.

Fox

Why do I feel so guilty? I don’t owe Timothy Fox one damn thing.

“There’s an issue upstairs,” I hear through the earpiece I have on. I hurry up the stairs and find a crowd of people around one of the topless female servers, Samantha. Keylan and Fritz, two of my security guys, are already there pushing the crowd away. Immediately I shoulder my way to the center of the chaos where there’s a tray on the floor, ice, glass, and liquid everywhere. Samantha is just standing there pissed off, looking as if she’s about to punch the man in front of her, who is now being pulled away by Fritz.

“What the hell happened here?” I yell. “Everyone, please be careful. There’s glass. Move away!”

“He grabbed my tits!” Samantha yells, her breasts swinging as she speaks, but she doesn’t cover them and she isn’t self-conscious about being half nude. She takes a step toward the man, who is clearly drunk, and I quickly get in the middle of them. “Take him downstairs and call the cops,” I instruct my guys. “You okay?” I ask Samantha.

“The cops?” the man exclaims in shock.

“We have rules. You can’t touch our staff. That’s battery. Downstairs now.” There’s nudity but this is a classy place and this is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a strip club.

“The cunt loved it,” he yells out, making an obscene gesture with his tongue and fingers.

“Get him out of here!” I bark.

“Fuck you, meathead.”

“Excuse me?” I’ve had a shit day and this asshole is the last thing I need.

“You stupid or something? I said: Fuck. You!” he spits out. Literally. He spits at me. And that’s it. Memories of my father calling me stupid come pouring back at me, and I’ve had just about all I can take. I pull my arm back and release my fist right to his face. Blood spurts out of his nose and I feel pain in my knuckles.

“Fox!” Samantha cries out, and Keylan holds me back before I’m able to throw a second punch.

“You broke my goddamn nose!” I hear him holler.

“Let’s go, bro. He ain’t worth it,” I hear Keylan say from behind me. I pull my arm free and stalk to my office, slamming the door behind me. I’m pacing back and forth when Samantha walks in followed by David and Iggy, both of whom were downstairs working tonight.

“Jesus Christ. What the hell happened, man?”

Samantha explains while I continue to pace, opening and closing my throbbing hand. A knock on the door interrupts us, and it’s Keylan asking what he should do with the asshole downstairs whose nose is broken.

Iggy shakes his head. “Was it worth it?”

I wipe my forehead for the umpteenth time. “He spit at me and called one of our staff a cunt. He also grabbed her tits.” I reach for a club T-shirt from the cabinet and toss it at Samantha, who doesn’t seem at all concerned about her nudity, but puts it on anyway. “Yeah, it was worth it. I wish I would have gotten a second jab.”

Iggy chuckles. “I’ll take care of the asshole,” he assures David and walks out with Keylan.

I run my hand through my hair. “Fuck. How’s he going to take care of it?” I’ll probably spend the night in jail.

“Don’t worry about it,” David says. “If Iggy says he’s got it, you got nothin’ to worry about.”

I have no idea what that means, but for some reason I feel a little better. Samantha goes to the wet bar and fills a bucket with ice and hands it to me. Then she grabs my hand and sticks my fist into the ice. “Thanks for what you did. Guy was a real asshole!”

“You okay?” I ask her.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Used to work at Cookie’s, you know, the strip club? I’ve had worse. Lots worse. Don’t worry about me.”

“Why don’t you take the rest of the night off?” David says to her.

“I’m okay.”

“I insist. Take it off. Relax. I’ll pay you an average of your normal tips so you don’t lose any pay. That was intense. I’ll have one of the guys escort you to your car, okay?”

“ ’Kay. Thanks!” she says, as if she just got the best news, instead of a total shit show. “Thanks again for defending me, Fox. Hope you didn’t break anything.”

She waves at us and leaves.

Once we’re alone David glares at me as he sits down in my chair behind the desk. “You could’ve gotten arrested. He can sue the club, you know?”

I slump down on a chair in front of the desk. “I just…” My job is my priority and now that I’m finally at a place I want to be, I don’t want to fuck it up. This is the second time in about a month that something my father has done has directly impacted my job. First the anniversary of brother’s death, when I was late to work, and now tonight. There’s no excuse but the words just slip out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Right before I walked in tonight, I got a call. My father’s in critical care. I think…I think he’s dying. I’m sorry I fucked up. You have every right to fire me.”

“I’m not going to fire you, relax. Why the hell didn’t you call and take a few days off?”

“The sonofabitch doesn’t deserve my vacation leave.” David looks at me, confused. “We don’t have a great relationship.”

“I see,” he says, but I can tell he doesn’t really. “Your head may not be with your dad, but it’s not here either. You need a few days off.”

“No, I’m—”

“It’s not a request, Fox.”

My head shoots up, and I narrow my eyes.

“I already told you that you’re not fired. But you do need to go cool off. Come back next week. If you feel inclined to visit your old man, great. If you want to bury your sorrows in tequila and pussy, even better. Point is, I don’t want you here. You need a break. So I’m giving it to you. Look, I understand why you hit the guy. I think Nick would’ve done the same thing, but you’re usually not that hotheaded. You’re off your game and I need your head on right. Your employees can’t see you do that shit again, okay? You are supposed to be setting an example.”

Fuck. “Yeah. I’m sorry I let you down.”

“You didn’t. He was way outta line. But I still have to give it to you straight.”

I’m not sure whether this forced vacation is good or bad but I don’t have a choice in the matter. When your boss tells you to leave, you leave. Rubbing my face with the palm of my hand, I stand up.

“What about the guy I hit?”

“He assaulted one of our staff members. I’m sure that Iggy is going to convince him that it’s better to drop the charges in exchange for us dropping our charges. Iggy can be very convincing. So don’t worry about it.”

I let out a big breath, and feeling completely defeated, I leave the club through the back exit and go straight home.

As soon as I’m in my apartment, I rip off my suit and take a shower, hoping that it’ll make me feel better. I let the hot water run down my body until it turns cold. All I can think about is how my father always called me “stupid” and how he used to beat me when I didn’t do well in school. Then the image of my brother comes to my mind and before I know it, I’m throwing a hairbrush across the bathroom. It hits the mirror, which cracks.

“Fuck!”

I know instinctively that if I don’t go I will regret it until the day I die. I also realize that the brush I threw is not mine. It’s white and girly and fuck, I miss the hell out of Lola. But she’s not mine and this is not something she signed up for. This is heavy and we’re not heavy. She’s made it clear that’s not what she wants. We’re sex without strings so I can’t text her and unload all this shit on her. I’ll talk to her when I get back or text her when I get to Detroit.

Without much thought, I throw a bunch of clothes into a duffel bag, grab my keys and wallet, and call up a cab to come get me. On my way to the airport, I purchase a ticket to Detroit from my phone. I am glad the next flight is leaving within the hour because if I have too much time to think about it, I’ll probably change my mind.

I haven’t been back home in twenty years and I’m dreading it, even though I know in the pit of my soul that I need to go one final time and see the motherfucker who fucked up my life and killed my brother.

Lola

After I finish cleaning up my station, I look around but I don’t see Fox anywhere. I wander around for a little longer, waiting for him.

“Have you seen Fox?” I ask one of the security guys.

“Went home early.”

Damn, I’m starting to get concerned. Something really is wrong with Fox. On the bus ride home I send him a text. I know things are weird between us but I’m worried about you. Everything okay?

I shower, then check my phone a dozen times before I finally fall asleep without any response from Fox.

The next day I’m working at the clinic, which keeps me busy all day, but not busy enough because I still check my phone every hour. Nothing.

After work, I take the bus home, microwave some canned soup, and eat quickly before getting dressed to head back to Duality.

Fox’s car is not in his parking space and I wonder if he’s running late. I am getting ready for the doors to open for the night when I notice that Keylan is working tonight instead of Fox, which is odd. What the hell is going on?

I try to put Fox out of mind and focus on work, but at some point during the evening, I turn around to find Iggy standing behind me with Keylan. I think they’ve been trying to get my attention. When I acknowledge them and apologize, they both start speaking at once but I can’t focus on both lips at the same time. Normally, with a few words I can get the gist of the conversation but between the lights, the small crowd that has already started to form, and the vibrations from the music, I can’t understand anything they’re saying.

I shake my head in confusion and decide to just focus on Iggy, who is closest. “I’m sorry. What?” I ask, motioning to my ear. He must think the music is too loud so he leans close and now I have a clear view of his lips.

“Have you talked to Fox? Keylan told me what happened and we’re worried. He hasn’t answered his phone.”

Worried? When he sees my look of surprise, he turns his head to Keylan who then says to me, “I thought you two were dating. That’s the rumor.”

“Uh…” I clear my voice. “Yeah. Yes.” They’re watching me expectantly. “But no, I don’t know. I haven’t seen him or heard from him. I was worried. He sort of disappeared.”

“Do you know if his dad passed?” Iggy asks.

Passed? Dad? “What? No. I don’t…what?”

“He didn’t tell you? Maybe we shouldn’t—” he starts, turning his head toward Keylan. I grab Iggy’s chin, forcing him to look at me. He must think I’m completely crazy but I don’t care. “No, tell me. I need to know.”

He hesitates but then shrugs. “His father—and David forced him to take time off. We weren’t sure if he’d go to Detroit or—but after the fight yesterday, he needed to cool off. Nick and Matt have been calling him all day to see if he’s okay.” I don’t get the entire thing because he keeps moving around and looking at Keylan but I think I got the gist of it.

“Fight? What fight?”

“Woman, where have you been? Yesterday? He almost got arrested?” Damn. How did I not know any of this? Oh yeah…I can’t hear so whispering and gossip go over my head. I pull out my phone. There are no messages, so I quickly text him. Where are you? I heard about your dad. Can I help? Are you in town?

I look up and shrug. “Nothing. He hasn’t called me.”

“Do you know where he lives?” Iggy asks.

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you take the rest of the night off and go check on him?”

I’m already taking off my apron. “Okay. I’ll let you know.”

I haul ass to the bus stop and to his house, which is a shit-ton of buses away. I wonder what happened with his dad. All he’s told me was that his dad was an asshole but he never elaborated. Oh—and I know his dad lives in Detroit but I don’t know where.

The entire ordeal takes me two hours, and it’s well into the middle of the night by the time I get to my own apartment. I must’ve taken four different buses since he lives across town and there’s not as many at this late hour. He didn’t answer the door, and he still hasn’t returned my texts. Now I’m worried. “You’re really worrying me, Fox. Not answering my texts makes you a shitty friend because I am worried about you. So are Keylan and Iggy and Matt and Nick. Just send me something to let me know you’re alive.” It’s the first voicemail I’ve ever left since losing my hearing and I don’t know if I even did it right since I can’t hear the fucking ringing or the beep or anything. Ugh. I text him again.

I take a quick shower and tidy up my small apartment hoping that either he’ll text or the exhaustion will put me to sleep because right now I’m too wired to even lay down.

A vibration startles me, even though I’ve been eagerly awaiting his reply. Sorry. Had to leave without calling and forgot my charger. Had to buy one and charge up. Just seeing all the texts now. Flew to Detroit. Dad in Sinai-Grace. Critical care.

Is he okay? Are you okay?

Not really.

I remember him saying that he didn’t speak with his dad. This must be hard for him.

Fox, what can I do? I know we left things bad but you’re my friend and I’m really worried about you.

It is what it is. I have to let you go. The nurse is here.

Please let me know if you need anything. Damn, I wish we could talk.

The invention of text was one of the best things that could have happened for the hearing impaired. It allows for easy communication and the truth is, I never before felt as if I was missing anything. Now, I feel like there is a huge gaping hole between Fox and me. Right now, I desperately wish I could hear his voice so that I could gauge his mood.

It’s fine. Really. Thank you for being concerned. It’s nice to have a friend who cares.

Now that we’ve “spoken” I feel a bit better. At least I know he’s okay—physically at any rate. I send Iggy a quick text letting him know that Fox is okay and in Detroit, then I go to bed.

I’m lying there for God knows how long—tossing and turning—when I abruptly kick off the bedspread. What the hell am I doing? He’s not okay. How can he be? He’s alone in a place he said he hadn’t returned to in so many years for some dark reason I have yet to find out. I never want to see the inside of my foster home again. I’m sure he feels the same way about his childhood home.

I look at the clock and it’s almost five in the morning. I throw a few changes of clothes into a small carry-on, go into my secret hiding place, pull out a wad of my tip money, and head out. My money is so carefully accounted for, and I know this will be a huge step backward in paying for school, but screw it. Fox needs me. It’s late and the buses will take forever so I call a Lyft from my phone to take me to the airport. On the way there, I buy a ticket to Detroit, then text Keylan to let him know I need the rest of the weekend off. I’m also risking my job for him. Iggy could easily fire me for leaving him in the lurch abruptly but I hope he understands because I’m already at the airport and I don’t plan on turning back.

Fox

I’ve looked at the piece of paper in front of me a hundred times. The nurse wrote the address for the hospice in the smallest fucking writing I’ve ever seen. I want to crumple the paper, toss it into the garbage can, then pick up the garbage can, and toss that into the street. All the letters look like a blob of characters smashed together. I squint and hold the paper closer to my face as if that will make any difference. “Fuck,” I roar out loud and a nurse who happens to be walking by glares at me. “Sorry,” I mumble and look at the gibberish in front of me again. I shouldn’t have to go through all of this for that sonofabitch. Last night I sat with him in his hospital room waiting for him to wake up. I had a bunch of things I wanted to say to him. Except he never woke up, and the doctors think he’s not going to. I’ve been here for almost two days and there’s absolutely no progress.

This morning, I went to the motel across the street and paid for a room so that I could shower and sleep a few hours. Then I came back to the hospital only to find out that he’s been moved to a hospice center, as per his living will. Yes, the man who couldn’t be bothered with helping me with my spelling homework was organized enough to have a living will.

I’m looking down at the paper again, trying to decipher the jumbled words, thinking I’ll just find a cab and let the driver figure it out, when someone touches my shoulder. I turn around and stop in my tracks.

Standing there, looking tired and frazzled but still fucking stunning, is Lola with a rolling suitcase that has seen better days by the looks of the silver tape around one of the corners.

“What…What are you doing here?”

“I…” She shakes her head. “I’m not sure. I thought you could use the company?”

I take her hand and pull her out of the way of the entrance to the hospital. I’m in shock. This woman, who won’t spend money on a cab or a nice dinner for herself, hopped on a plane to travel across the country. For me?

I think right there and then I fall completely in love with her. Or maybe I’m finally understanding that my frustration with her is due to the fact that I’ve been in love with her for a while now.

“I…did I overstep? I can go.”

“No!” I get in front of her to stop her from moving. “No, please stay. I…I’m just surprised to see you is all. I’m…wow.” I put a hand on my chest where my heart feels like it’s going to come out of my body. “God, Lola, truly, thank you. No one has ever done something like this for me.” I can’t resist and I pull her to me and hold her. Her arms come around my waist and she places her cheek on my chest. Having her close to me makes everything better. She looks up at me with those big baby blues and I’m lost. I’m gone. This woman could ask me to walk through lava for her, and I would. I cup her face with my palms and kiss her. It’s unlike all the other kisses we’ve shared. I can’t tell her how I feel because she’d undoubtedly freak out. She wants to keep pretending we’re not in a relationship but the fact that she’s here—that’s more of a gesture than words could ever say. Slowly our mouths meet, lightly at first. A kiss so fragile yet so intense I want to melt into her, touch every single inch of her, smell her, feel her. I want to be consumed by Lola in every way possible. Her delicate small hand fists my shirt, and I feel the slight tremble in her body. Tenderly, reverently, I kiss her lips one last time, then her cheeks. “Why are you shaking?”

“I don’t know,” she says in a whisper. “Nerves, maybe? I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me.”

“But you came anyway.”

“I wanted to see you. Even if you didn’t want to see me.”

“Silly girl.” I kiss her one last time. There will never be a time I don’t want to see her.

She smiles as if she was just rewarded with something when really, she did something for me. Something so special and selfless that I am not sure what to say.

“Your dad?”

I bend down and pick up the forgotten luggage from the floor. “Was just moved to a hospice.” I hold out the paper to her.

“Oh no. I’m so sorry, Fox. Have you already seen him?”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t conscious. I was trying to…” I hold out the paper and squint, trying to read the words on it but I just can’t. “Fuck, it’s just a mess of letters. I have no idea what it says.” I crumple it in my fist, and I’m about to toss it when she grabs my wrist and pries my fingers open.

“Hey relax,” she says softly and takes the paper from my hand. She hesitates for a moment then says, “Fox, I haven’t wanted to pry but…but are you dyslexic?”

My eyes widen. “How did you know?”

“Your notes, the paper airplanes, sometimes your texts. Nothing big. I swear. Just a few inverted letters.” Fuck, I try to keep the texts and notes short. They must be full of spelling errors. “And I noticed you never look at the VIP list when they give it to you.”

I look away.

But she cups my face like she does when she wants to read my lips. “It’s okay. Please. Don’t be embarrassed. You needed a flaw, anyway. Your perfection was kinda getting on my nerves.” She winks cheekily, then uncrumples the paper and smooths it out. “Ugh, whose chicken scratch is this?”

I don’t know if she’s saying that to make me feel better or if it’s really that terribly written. But it does make me feel better, and her reaction in general is a relief. I hadn’t even realized I was worried about what she’d think of me until now that I know she’s known and doesn’t seem to think any less of me. “Is it 1221?” I ask.

“Honestly, I think it’s 2112 but I don’t know. Let’s find a cab and ask.” She looks up and adds sweetly, “It’s all squished together. The penmanship is terrible.”

I chuckle and then I bring her to me and hug her tightly. Her arms wrap around me and her head rests on my chest. When she looks up I can’t help but tell her exactly what I’m feeling.

“I really missed you, Tiger.”

“I missed you too, my clever Fox.”

And somehow life seems a little easier now that she’s here with me.

Lola

Twenty minutes later, we walk into the hospice together. Fox has an expression on his face I haven’t seen before. It’s a mixture of sadness, uncertainty, and anger. Losing a parent is hard but when the parent is an asshole, it must mess with your mind as to how to react. He is walking half a step ahead of me taking in the somber facility—a place you know ends in death for everyone. “I’m Timothy Fox’s son. I understand he was transferred here this morning.”

The woman at the reception desk types a few things into her computer system, then says, “Yes. He’s in room 47, just down the hall.”

He turns toward the hallway. I take his hand, which surprises him for just the smallest moment before he entwines his fingers with mine and squeezes. We have sex. We laugh. We talk. We have dinner. But we’ve never held hands.

It’s nice.

I think I want to hold his hand again. A lot.

“You didn’t know he was sick?” I ask as we walk.

“No. I haven’t spoken to him in about a year. He always calls around the anniversary of my mother’s and brother’s deaths or on their birthdays. Shit like that. I try to ignore his calls but sometimes I answer accidentally.”

“And what does he say when he calls?”

“He’s normally drunk, and we fight. He wishes it were me and not Ronnie. Ronnie was going to be his golden boy. The one who got him out of the hood.”

“Fox…”

“It’s fine. He’s right….”

I stop walking and pull on his arm. “No. He is not right. You listen to me, William Fox. You are here for closure. Nothing that’s happened in the past will hurt you now. You are a wonderful man. In fact, you’ve made my last month…” Somehow a lump has formed in my throat. What the hell is going on? I don’t want him to know that I feel more for him than just friendship. That’s not what we agreed on. And even if my feelings have changed, our circumstances haven’t. So, I get myself together and only reveal a little sliver of my feelings. “You have made the last month of my life brighter and better than the last seven years. So, don’t you dare sell yourself short. You hear me?” I say with all the conviction that I feel. I even poke his chest with my index finger.

“I think the entire place heard you, sweetheart,” he teases me, and I know he’s trying to lighten the moment because that’s what we do. We take our shitty situation and make it light. That’s why we work and that’s what I love most about him.

Love?

Well, yeah, love. As a friend. I love him as a friend, right?

I shake my head and lead us toward the room again. “What did the doctors tell you at the hospital?”

“End-stage pancreatic cancer. He’s mostly in organ failure and it’s just a matter of time now. He knew, though. He knew enough to make a living will. Not enough to tell me, however.”

I squeeze his hand as he turns his head and continues to walk. Once we reach room 47, I ask him if I should wait outside but he pulls me in with him. Maybe he said something but I didn’t see, so I follow him.

The room is big and hospital-like with a window that overlooks a little garden and a fountain. There’s also a television and a small rolling tray but the tray is empty and the television is off.

It smells of disinfectant and I can imagine, just by the lack of equipment and vibrations, that this place is not noisy. A frail-looking man is lying on the bed, and as we approach, I notice the resemblance to Fox. Same thick mass of hair except instead of salt-and-pepper it’s completely white, and the same nose and strong bone structure. His coloring is grayish and his breathing is labored. He is not hooked up to any machines, as far as I can tell. “What’s that for?” I ask, pointing to an IV.

“Probably just for the pain since he declined any lifesaving measures.”

“Is he in a coma?”

“No, I don’t think so. I think that—” He stops speaking and looks over my shoulder. I turn to see a nurse walking in with a computer on wheels.

“You must be his son.”

He nods. “Yes, I’m William. And this is Lola.”

“Nice to meet you both. I’m just going to take his vitals.” She moves around the bed and starts to check his pressure and temperature and other things but she’s moving quickly and looking around as she speaks, so I miss the conversation. Instead I focus on Fox’s dad.

How sad that life has to end this way—with regrets and anger. I wish I could do something to make this easier on Fox, but there’s nothing I can do except be here with him. It makes me realize how short life is and how important it is to live life to the fullest because it could be over in the blink of an eye and then you’re left with things undone and words unsaid. I don’t want that to happen to me, which is why I want to complete my last semester in Ecuador and then hopefully continue working with the World Deaf Education Project all over the world. It’s my passion, my dream, and every single thing I’ve done over the last seven years has been to make this happen.

When the nurse walks out, Fox picks up one of the chairs and moves it closer to the bed, then gestures for me to sit. Then he brings the other one and sits next to me.

“What did she say?”

“That he’s just sedated in order to make him comfortable, which is why he isn’t awake. But that I should talk to him. He probably hears me, and he may even wake up.”

Fox doesn’t talk, though. I know this without having to look at him. Again, I take his hand in mine and hold it. After a little while he turns to me and starts to speak.

“Ronnie was a good kid. Looked up to me. I had a hard go of it in school. The letters always looked twisted around. My mom tried to get me help but my dad wouldn’t have it. He said I wasn’t trying hard enough. Called me dumb and stupid all the time. Every time I failed a test, he kicked my ass. I hated him so much, Lola. So damn much, there were days I just wanted to kill him. Ronnie, though, he tried hard. Always did great in school. Never talked back. Kept to himself. Dad loved him. I loved him.

“I protected him when kids made fun of him. But the pressure to do good was too much. He was so afraid of not meeting my dad’s expectations because he saw the consequences and he wasn’t tough like me. I could take it. When my dad broke my nose, I didn’t shed one goddamn tear. Wouldn’t give the sonofabitch the satisfaction. But that scared the shit out of Ronnie. It got too much for him—all the violence and the pressure. And when Ma died and it was just the three of us, it got worse.” I see my big strong Fox’s eyes well up. He takes a deep breath and looks away. His mouth moves and I gently pull his face so that I can see his lips. “Sorry,” he says. “One night, Ronnie drank too much. I don’t even think he ever drank. Ever. Crashed right into a wall and died on the spot. Everything gone. Cops said it was an accident. I’m not so sure.”

I let that sink in for a moment. He’s been living with all that for a long time, and I would bet he’s never shared that story with anyone.

“Fox, honey. You know that’s not your fault, right?” I push my chair back and worm my way onto his lap, then wrap myself around him. I don’t know if he’s saying anything; I don’t think he is, but all I know is that he needs a hug. Someone on his side. Someone who believes in him. I don’t care where we are and who’s around, I’m on his side and he needs to know that. Now I understand why it’s so important for him to be successful at his job. He’s proving himself to his dad. And it makes me sad for him because that’s not a way to live. He doesn’t have anything for himself. It’s all for show. A big fuck-you to his father.

I hold him for a very long time before eventually moving back to my chair.

“My dad said I was stupid,” he signs slowly. He’s been signing conversations more and more lately and he’s gotten pretty good at it. “Every single day of my life. But learning this new language makes me feel smart for some reason.” He subconsciously sticks out his tongue as he moves his fingers and concentrates, which I find adorable.

“But you have a problem, Fox,” I say out loud.

“I know. I didn’t understand that then. But I know that now.” This time he’s speaking words, not signing. I see him exhale a big breath.

He turns and looks at the bed, and I see his mouth move. I think he said, “I hate him.” But I don’t know for sure.

Then he looks at me. “Why am I here? I shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t deserve me to be here. He put so much pressure on Ronnie, it made Ronnie’s life hell. Fuck him.”

“So let’s go. If you want to go, we’ll go. But before you do, Fox, maybe you should get some sort of closure. Sometimes you need to just let it go. I know it’s hard. For years I hated my foster mom. I hate even using that word because she wasn’t a mom, but hating her just caused me pain. She didn’t know I hated her. She didn’t care. It was only hurting me. Hating your dad, Fox, it’s only hurting you.” He looks at me as if searching for something.

“Let’s go grab some food, you must be starving,” he says, which surprises me. It’s not what I expected him to say. “I’m sure there is a cafeteria in here somewhere.”

I nod and follow him out of the room, unsure if he’ll be back to see his dad or not.

At the cafeteria I grab a turkey wrap. He grabs the same thing but he picks his apart and doesn’t eat it. “Fox.” I reach forward and stop his assault on the wrap.

“I want to yell at him. Can I do that? Can I yell at a dying man?”

I shrug. “Sure. It’s not like I’ll hear you.”

He looks at me and then bursts out laughing. God, I wish I could hear him laugh. I wish that so badly it hurts. Is it thick and hearty? Does he snort embarrassingly?

We finish and leave the cafeteria. If we turn right we leave the building; if we turn left we end up in his father’s room again. It’s a literal crossroads and we stand there until he makes a decision.

Left.

I stay back by the door. I don’t know what he’s saying to his father. He’s standing by the bed, his shoulders shaking, and he takes his dad’s hand for a moment. Then he stands upright, runs his fingers through his hair, and rubs his palm over his face and turns. His red-rimmed eyes break my heart. I extend my hand and he takes it. Then we leave the hospice hand in hand.

Fox

I think what I like most about Lola is her ability to say so much without saying anything and to listen so well, without being able to hear. She knew I needed her here and she came. And she knew when to give me space and when I needed her right next to me. “Do you feel better?” she asks once we’re back in the motel.

“No.” I say truthfully. “But I will. I told him everything I wanted to say. All the things that I’ve accomplished no thanks to him. But I thanked him too. He made me focus and he made me a fighter. I told him I wouldn’t hate him anymore. I told him I was letting go and that he should let go too.” He rubs his face with his palm roughly. “I think I felt his hand squeeze mine back. Do you think he heard me, Lola?”

“I do.”

“I can’t thank you enough for coming here. I’ll pay you back.”

“No. Absolutely not. You’re my friend, I’m glad I could do it. I’ve been a jerk, Fox. We are friends, good friends, and I keep pushing you away every time you get too close. But when I saw you hurt and then you left, and the thought of you being alone and dealing with this…I’m an asshole. I’m sorry about everything.”

Friend. Fuck this. I don’t want to be her friend. “Lola. We need to talk.”

She sits in the middle of the bed, crossing her legs, then pats the space in front of her. “Wait.” She holds out a hand. “I’m not done. I’m also sorry I overreacted about the cochlear implants. I know you meant well,” she says after I settle in next to her. That feels like it happened years ago instead of mere days.

I reach for her hand and take it in mine. “I’m sorry for overstepping. You were right. You don’t need to be fixed. You’re perfect the way you are, and I was way out of line.”

“No, you weren’t. You were just being a good—”

“Don’t say friend,” I interrupt. “It turns out that I’m tired of that fucking word. I don’t want to be friends, Lola. We’ve been sleeping together for over a month. You’re leaving soon and you coming here was…you are more than a friend to me.”

“What does that mean, Fox?”

“I don’t know.” I take the world’s biggest breath because I really don’t know. I want to tell her to stay but I can’t say that. I want to tell her I love her but I can’t because I don’t want to do anything that would make her feel obligated to stay. “I don’t know,” I repeat. “You’re more than my friend. A lot more. I care about you. But you’re leaving and I’m staying and I know there can’t be more but we’re not just friends okay? You are important to me.”

“Okay.”

I reach forward and pull her to me. “I missed you, baby.” We’re not endearment kind of people but fuck it’s been an emotional day and I just have so much I need to say to her but can’t. So I let it all pour out through the most passionate kiss I can give her. My hands cup her face, and I am relentless. I kiss her like my life depends on it. I run my tongue along the seam of her lips, then it wars with hers as I slowly begin to lie back, pulling her down with me. But she pushes away and gets on her knees right next to me on the bed, as if she senses how badly I need her. She runs her fingers softly down my chest, with a tenderness I’ve never experienced from anyone in my life. It’s almost reverent, the way she touches every rib and plane. And my cock just gets harder.

She kisses my biceps, then my shoulder, then starts to move down. She licks my nipple and continues lower still. “Lola,” I whisper but she can’t hear me. I gently tug her hair, and she looks up through those dark lashes and huge expressive eyes. “You don’t have to do this, sweetheart.”

“Let me take care of you,” she whispers as she takes my hand off her hair and pushes it away. She doesn’t want to hear my words. She wants to do this for me. Maybe for her too. Whatever it is, when she takes my cock in her grip, any protest I have flies out the window. She moves her hand up and down a few strokes before she takes me deep into her mouth, and holy shit it’s so good I almost have to stop her so that I don’t come before I’ve had a chance to fuck her. But she just keeps licking and sucking, deep, uninhibited. I hear the way her mouth suctions against my dick, slurping, and it’s driving me crazy. Maybe she doesn’t even know she’s doing it. It’s the sexiest noise I’ve ever heard. It’s messy and sloppy and full of passion, which is the way sex should be. Then she does something with her tongue and tightens her grip and I’m done.

“Baby, stop.” I groan. My eyes are closed and I’m about to come. “Sweetheart. Lola! Stop, I’m going to come if you don’t…Oh God!” I yell, but it’s too late. She didn’t stop and I’m coming hard and fast into her throat.

I’m breathless. I’m spent. I’m completely and utterly satisfied. I let out a huge breath. “You didn’t stop,” I say between pants.

I look down at her, and she’s wiping her mouth with her forearm as she crawls back up the bed. “You wanted me to stop? Why?”

“I didn’t want to come in your mouth.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t hear you.”

I’m such an ass. Of course she didn’t.

“But I wouldn’t have stopped anyway. It was good, right?”

I laugh. “You know it was.”

“Good.”

She yawns and starts to get comfy.

“My turn.”

I turn her around and she yelps as I pull down her underwear. “Wait! What are you doing? You don’t have to…I was going to sleep. Oh my God, Fox, what are you doing?”

I sit her right on my face. If I’m being honest, I’m too tired to move. And also, I enjoy eating her this way. I swat her ass so that she shuts up since she can’t see my lips. The second my tongue makes contact with her clit, she grabs the headboard and stops any protest.

Lola sitting on my face is probably the best fucking thing that I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. I eat like a man starved and when her hips start moving and she starts seeking out her own pleasure, it takes all my willpower not to grab my cock and fuck myself while I lick her. I don’t remember the last time I’ve been able to get hard that quickly after coming.

With my tongue on her clit and my fingers inside of her, she comes way too fast, crying my name over and over again. I’m sure most of the motel knows what we’re doing right this very second. Not that I give a damn. I love when she loses control like this.

Afterward, Lola’s body is curled around me and nothing has ever felt so right. When the phone rings in the middle of the night, I know who it is before I get it. I sit up at the edge of the bed as the nurse tells me that my father has passed away. Lola is clinging to me, peppering sweet kisses on my back. I can feel her tears and her soothing hand as she tries to comfort me and even though she can’t hear the conversation, she knows what is being discussed just like I knew who it was when the phone rang.

We dress and head back to the hospice early in the morning. My father had all the arrangements prepared. He did not want any service and he asked to be cremated, which was already arranged, so the only thing I had to do was provide my address so that the ashes could be sent to me. And just like that, I’m on a plane back to Miami. Nothing has changed yet it feels like everything’s different.