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He’d been ready five minutes ago when he’d grabbed his tablet off the nightstand. But ready and able weren’t the same thing.
I sat up so he could type easier and while I waited for him to finish, I glanced around his room. He’d left the light in the bathroom on, but I couldn’t tell much about his room other than it was spacious and minimally furnished. His bed took up most of the space and there was a small flat-screen TV on the dresser. There was a dog bed near the door for Loki, but when we’d gotten in bed, Loki had jumped up onto the foot of it, so I suspected the wolf hybrid didn’t spend much time in the cushy-looking bed.
Dallas handed me the tablet.
After I woke up from the coma, I couldn’t talk. But after a few months, I was able to whisper a little. My doctors had me meet with a speech therapist and I was able to make good progress. At that point, only my father knew because I’d stopped going into town. I’d drive to the next town over to get our groceries and stuff, but I didn’t talk to anyone because I was too embarrassed at how bad my voice sounded. I was hard to understand.
I glanced up at Dallas and saw him watching me with trepidation. I grabbed his hand and pulled his fingers to my lips and kissed them. I kept his hand in mine as I continued reading.
After my dad died, my voice started to go again. I also started having trouble breathing and swallowing. The doctors said scar tissue was forming on my vocal cords. They performed surgery to remove it. I was able to talk again, but I was still hard to understand. Three years later, the same thing happened. The scar tissue came back and I lost my voice entirely again. I waited as long as I could because it didn’t matter that I couldn’t talk. But when breathing and eating started to get too hard, I had to have another surgery. That was almost four years ago.
I felt tears stinging the backs of my eyes, but managed to keep them at bay.
“So it’s happening again?” I asked. “You’re having trouble breathing and swallowing?”
He nodded.
“Did you go to the doctor?”
He took the tablet back. I made an appointment, but it was for a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t go.
“Why not?” I asked in disbelief.
He glanced around the room, and I could tell he was reluctant to tell me. But he did anyway.
I liked that it didn’t seem to bother you, Nolan. And I’ve gotten used to not talking – not being expected to. It’s easier not to sometimes. But if I have my voice, it might change things. And even if I get it back, I’ll lose it again. The doctors said there might come a point where removing the scar tissue won’t give me my voice back at all. I didn’t want you to get your hopes up, so I thought I could put it off until you left town.
I was too stunned to even speak at first.
“Get my hopes up,” I whispered. “Change things?” I shook my head as the tears I’d been trying to hold back fell. “You think so little of me, Dallas?” I asked. “After everything we’ve said to each other…after everything we’ve done…”
I shook my head and clambered off the bed, my need to escape overtaking everything else. I didn’t even care that I was naked. The lights came on as I headed for the bedroom door. Dallas grabbed me before I could leave the room.
He waved his hand, the confusion as clear as day on his face.
Which just made everything worse.
“I don’t care about your damn voice, Dallas!” I shouted. “I fell in love with you, not whether you could fucking talk or not! How could you even think for a second that my feelings would change if you got your voice back and then lost it again? I couldn’t love you any more than I already do, you asshole! If you started talking this second or never spoke a word for as long as you lived, I’d still love you.”
I managed to tear free of him and dart for the stairs. I heard him hit the wall behind me, which was his way of trying to get my attention, but I ignored him.
“Narn!”
I stopped in my tracks at his garbled yell. Nothing about the word had been distinguishable, but I knew what he’d been trying to say.
My name.
I slowly turned around. He was standing a good ten feet behind me, still in the doorway leading to his room. His hand was at his throat and I wondered if the effort to call out to me had caused him pain.
