Page 12 of Judge's Justice

"How long have you known ASL?" I ask him. It comes out more abrupt than I meant it to, but I need to know. Need tounderstand how this enormous dangerous man learned to sign so fluently that he can keep up with a five-year-old's excited rambling.

He finishes chewing before he answers. "Learned it about ten years ago. Military."

"You were in the military??"

"Yeah. Twenty years." He says it simply, like it's not two decades of his life. "Got out three years ago."

"Why did you learn ASL?"

His jaw tightens slightly. "Had a reason to. Needed another way to communicate in the field." He doesn't elaborate. Something in his tone says he's not going to.

"Your hearing." I say it, pressing and watching his face. "You have hearing loss."

His eyes snap to mine. For a second I think I've crossed a line, pushed too far, but then he nods slowly. "Left ear. From an explosion. It has gotten better, but learning sign language helped me deal with it and meet people going through the same. And sometimes was useful in the field. People know ASL in the most remote corners."

"But does anyone close to you know?"

"Phoenix. My president. Nobody else."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm the VP. The oldest. The one they're supposed to lean on." His voice is flat. "I can't show weakness."

"It's not weakness. It's just… It's just something that happened to you."

"In my world, it's the same thing."

I want to argue. Want to tell him that's ridiculous, that everyone has things that happened to them, that it doesn't make him less capable or less worthy of respect. But I can see in his eyes that he's not going to believe me. That this is something he decided a long time ago and nothing I say is going to change it.

Grace is watching us both with curiosity, her head tilted to the side. She signs to Judge. “Are you and Mama friends now?”

Judge looks at me. Raises an eyebrow slightly. The question in his eyes is clear: “Are we?”

I don't know how to answer that. Don't know what you call a man who saved you from someone terrible and then stayed outside your house all night. Friend feels too simple. Protector feels too formal. Stranger definitely doesn't fit anymore.

"Yes," I hear myself say. I sign it too, so Grace can see. “Judge is our friend.”

Grace claps her hands together, delighted. “Good. I like him.”

“Me too,” I sign back before I can stop myself.

We finish breakfast in silence. Grace chatters between bites, telling Judge about her favorite shows, her favorite books, asking him questions about his motorcycle and his tattoos and whether he has a dog. He answers every single one patiently, never talking down to her, treating her questions like they matter.

It's—

It's everything my ex never was with her.

My ex barely acknowledged Grace most of the time. Acted like her deafness was an inconvenience, like learning to sign was asking too much. He'd talk around her instead of to her, make decisions about her without including her, treat her like she wasn't in the room.

Judge treats her like a person. Like her opinions and questions and excitement matter.

I'm watching him explain what a clutch is, complete with hand gestures that make Grace giggle, when my phone buzzes on the counter.

I pick it up.

It's him. My ex. Three texts in a row.

**Where are you?**