FascinatingRhythm (9 page)

He’d taken her, used her, but oh, she wished he would use
her like that all the time. He had a talented mouth. When she lifted her chin
and told him so, he threw back his head and shouted with laughter. His throat
opened to let the volume through before he looked back at her so she could read
his words easily. “I love the way you taste. It’s a shame I can’t live on you
alone.”

The thought made her shudder and she remained in delicious
contemplation of the sucking and fucking. She’d never liked doggy style because
she couldn’t tell if she was speaking properly, and she couldn’t sign because
she needed her hands to support her body. This time, she just let him do it,
only adjusting her position to get his cock where it worked best inside her.
She let it out, giving herself permission to sound odd because she knew he’d
understand. She’d had more hearing boyfriends than deaf ones, and both could be
condemning in different ways, but Hunter wasn’t. Had never been. Their first
hookup had been furtive, fast and immensely exciting but not lasting. No time
to explore, to experiment. Now they could explore each other’s bodies properly.

This time she knew the score and she was up for anything.
Almost anything. She stared up at him as he smiled down at her, their
connection, as always, seamless and instant. “That was good,” she said.

“Fucking-A. Better than good, sweetheart.” Oh, she liked
that endearment. As usual when they were together, they spoke English and, as
usual, she wanted to hear his accent. From the way his lips shaped the words,
she thought he didn’t have one, or very slight. He’d already told her she had an
accent. “I don’t want to say goodbye this time.”

“You promised to write.”

He shook his head, then quietly put the soap down on its
dish, concentrating entirely on her, so she knew this was important. “Not that.
I want this, us, together. The band is in Europe for a while now. We don’t go
back to the States until the fall. I want at least until then.”

“Why?” Her life would change, and who knew what would happen
then?

“Because I think we have more than sex, fantastic though
that is. I care about you, Sabina.”

“We’ve always been friends.” She couldn’t think of anything
else to say because she didn’t know what he meant. Didn’t dare think about it.

“Don’t put a block on it.”

“I have to.” She bit her lip, then grabbed the shampoo and
poured a puddle into her palm. This intensity made her nervous and she wanted
time to distance herself.

He took her hand and washed the shampoo off under the
stream. “Don’t, please. Just listen. I always wanted you, and when I left, I
couldn’t promise anything so I thought a break was best.” She concentrated on
his face, his blue eyes vivid even here, where visibility was limited by the
frosted glass panels. They hadn’t bothered to put the light on inside the
shower cubicle as it was eye-stinging bright and the bathroom light gave her enough
visibility to lip-read. “Will you let me come to see you at least while we’re
in Europe? Maybe longer, if we both want to?”

“What do you mean? The operation and the aftercare means I
can’t travel much. I won’t be able to fly for a long time if the operation’s
successful. They’ve already warned me about that.”

“I don’t mind doing the traveling. We’re playing Copenhagen
next, so that’s a small hop. I can come right back after. Then we have a gap
until Berlin. In Europe, it’s rarely more than two hours, and we have a
chartered plane. I can use that sometimes.” He huffed a laugh when he saw the
expression on her face. “I know, but Chick says the convenience and the promo
make it worthwhile.”

Her eyes rounded. “You can’t be that rich.”

He gave an embarrassed laugh. “Actually, I am. We’re
democratic, and we share songwriting credits as well as everything else. We
wanted to cut Chick in, but he just takes his manager’s fee. This tour is
making us richer. It’s amazing.” He scratched his head. “I need a financial
manager.”

She laughed. “Don’t look at me.”

“I like looking at you.” His voice softened. “I love it.”

She wasn’t ready to hear any more. Her feelings for him were
too close to love. Crossing the barrier, if there was a barrier, instead of
slow growth, terrified her. “We can’t last.”

“Why not?”

“We live apart. We want different things. I want to do
something, have a career, I don’t know—”

“What do you have in mind?”

She smiled. “I might go back to university and do an
advanced degree. A doctorate if I can get sponsorship.” She could study at
Uppsala and try to revive her interpreter career with less hard-line political
deaf people. She could apply for a scholarship or a grant, and that meant she’d
be local, easy for her post-op checkups and tests.

He traced his finger along her cheek. “You’re a clever one.
What do you want to study?”

“History,” she said immediately. “Specializing in the
history of Scandinavia. Working on ancient languages.”

“Of course Scandinavia. Where else?” Water rained between
them, and it was like looking at him from a distance through a curtain. “I’d
sponsor you.”

She couldn’t make out if he’d said “I’d” or “I’ll”, but she
didn’t like to think of it. She decided to make it flippant, because she didn’t
want that thought impeding what she meant to ask him. “Is ‘sponsor’ a new word
for it?” She made a grab for his cock, but he laughed and turned sideways,
picked up the shampoo. “We’d better get out of here or we’ll turn into prunes.”

“I like prunes.”

“So do I, when they look like you.” He leaned forward and
kissed her, the rain sprinkling their faces. Then he poured shampoo over them
both and she spluttered. Laughing, he worked up the lather on her hair, while
she did the same for him. So domestic, but infinitely precious.

She’d never wanted a photographic memory more, so she could
mentally turn the pages and remember everything about this glorious time.

They didn’t speak much above quiet murmurs and gentle
endearments. Nothing too close. He seemed to pick up that she didn’t want
anything too emotional tonight.

Not until they were in bed. He held her close, stroked her
skin, which he’d pampered by smoothing lotion over it, as tender now as he’d
been ferocious before. She purred and lifted herself up on one elbow so she
could look down into his face. He appeared perfectly relaxed, quietly happy,
his lips tilted in a sated smile. He lost the smile at her next words.

“You don’t wear those things in your ears onstage.”

His answer came too pat, too obvious for her liking.
“They’re monitors, to let you know what you’re playing. I don’t need them.” He
grinned, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “I make more noise than
anyone else.” He slid his hand down her body to cup her buttocks. He could get
both in his big hand. He slipped one long finger between her legs to lazily
tease her. Sabina recognized distraction techniques when she saw—or felt—them,
although she had to fight not to give in.

“They’re also ear protectors, aren’t they? People who go to
a lot of concerts can lose some of their hearing. So band members must need it
even more. Why don’t you wear them?”

He smoothed back her damp hair from her face and she thought
he wouldn’t answer. His finger stilled between her legs. “I don’t know.”

“I think I do.”

He removed his finger, slid his hand back up to her waist.
“Tell me.”

“You’re tempting fate.” It made sense. Horrible sense.
Slowly, a realization was slotting into a place in her brain, making the jumble
of things she knew about Hunter into a bigger picture. Not yet, she wasn’t
there yet, but she was getting there. His attitude toward deafness was far more
complex than she’d imagined. But first, she needed to stop him risking his own
hearing.

“Explain.” This was the Hunter Ostrander the public
knew—laconic, cool, his face completely devoid of expression.

She swallowed. She couldn’t stop now. “Your mother has been
deaf from birth and the doctors never discovered what was wrong with her. Your
aunt is deaf, isn’t she?”

He jerked a nod.

She touched his ear lightly and he moved away as if she’d
hurt him. “Please don’t. Keep your hearing, Hunter.”

“Or what?” He glared at her fiercely as if she’d made a
threat.

“Or nothing. I’m only asking you. I remember what it was
like to hear. I got an ear infection when I was nearly ten. A month short of my
tenth birthday. By the time I reached double figures, I was legally deaf. But I
remember things. Music, some Mozart and some pop. And Led Zeppelin, because my
father was crazy about them.”

She grinned but received no answering smile. “I had a cat.
He only died five years ago, and I remembered what he sounded like right to the
end. My friend had a dog. And traffic, I remember traffic. I wake up with the
sound sometimes.” He still watched her. “I think I dream sound.” She cupped his
cheek, let her finger rest close to his earlobe. “I’m just asking, Hunter.
Don’t risk it. Wear the monitors.” He said nothing.

“I want to hear you.” She wondered if she’d gone too far,
confessing this part. “That’s why I made up my mind tonight. I missed so much.
I watched the audience. They adore you. Some were just sitting, listening. Some
were rocking out. You gave them a lot tonight.”

He grimaced. “Nearly three hours. We get carried away, and
if the crowd’s good, we feed off them. Musical vampires.” One corner of his
mouth went up in a brief half-grin. “It’s like a dare, leaving out the
monitors. I didn’t like them at first because they’re very much like
old-fashioned hearing aids. Each member of the band gets his or her own feed,
so they can hear themselves properly, but I took mine out from the start. It
does help me blend in.”

“But you could have a general mix? Just turn the sound
down?”

“I could. They block out everything from outside.”

“Would you choose to go blind or deaf?” she asked. An old,
old game.

He answered without thinking. “Blind,” he said. Then nothing
more, just watched her.

Her turn to smile. “Nearly everybody says ‘deaf’. But I
believe you. Music is your life, isn’t it? It must have been terrible
sometimes, growing up in that house.”

His shrug told her what she wanted to know. He’d found it
hard and, being male, he denied it for a long time. “It wasn’t so bad. I had
good headphones and earbuds, the kind that don’t leak sound. We were never
poor. My mother inherited money and made more.”

“Your father left early, didn’t he?”

The deep pain left his eyes then. Clearly that wasn’t much
of an issue with him. “I never knew him, more than a name on my birth
certificate. With a woman like my mother, I can understand why he didn’t stick
around. He was hearing. He must have felt left out. She has always known what
she wanted, and it wasn’t him.”

“Or you.”

Only when she’d said it did she realize how true that was.
Hunter had been an extra, an unwanted presence. When Sabina had spent time at
the house, she’d known that, seen it. He’d come in from university and his
mother would say welcome home and then get on with her work. By then he must
have known how little interest she took in his life, because he’d leave the
room. They never spent much time together, always had separate lives, but at
the time she’d thought it a factor of his growing up and moving away. Not that
it had been like that his whole life.

How she felt for the lonely little boy he must have been,
and how proud she was of the man he’d become.

“She may come back with me,” Emmelie said.

“Good of you,” Hunter answered. Otherwise he’d have paid for
Sabina to stay somewhere. She’d received an email that morning saying the
operation was on and giving her the date. A week away. A little week. They were
still in shock.

“She may stay as long as she needs to, of course, but I
can’t offer her much in the way of work if the operation works and she becomes
hearing.”

Stockholm was an hour away by road from Uppsala, and staying
there post-op would be best for Sabina. Already guilt had kicked in, that
Hunter would have to leave on the tour. He’d arranged to fly in for the
operation and for ten days afterward, then he’d have to leave again. He’d had
to fight Chick for that concession. It had led to his first argument with the
man, but once Hunter had made it clear he’d leave the band rather than miss
Sabina’s procedure, Chick had given in.

Now, facing his mother in her hotel room before she left for
Stockholm, he wondered if he was really so sure about staying with the band.
Leaving Sabina to her care felt—wrong. His mother would do her best to dissuade
Sabina from having the procedure, but what could he do? And his Sabina was
strong enough to know her own mind.

“Mother, you have done a lot of good for a lot of people, but
by denying their right to have these operations, you do them wrong.”

Her face, always cold, turned to ice. “It implies that there
is something wrong with us. There is not. Children are considered for this
operation and the cochlear implant too young, before they have a chance to
learn what the world can offer them. Who can say that the implant will work for
a lifetime? If it fails, it leaves adults stranded, without the ability to
converse or live. We are not impaired. We are different.”

He paused, staring at her. Yes, put like that, she had a
point. He’d always appreciated the deaf community, always considered himself a
part of it in a strange way. “When I was a child, I always felt awkward, the
one out of place. Who is the impaired, the disabled then?” He knew he was
becoming more agitated, but didn’t care. She should know this.

She moved away, pretending to check her vanity case, which
meant he couldn’t talk to her. When she glanced up again, he was ready. “I left
because I wasn’t wanted. You took no notice of me.”

“You still sound like a sulky child.” She turned her back on
him to go to the bathroom.

He wasn’t leaving, not until she’d talked to him. She’d
never been this open with him before, never. He might not have a chance like
this again. When she returned with a toothbrush, her eyes widened slightly, as
if surprised to see him here still.

“I’m still here, Mother.”

She dropped the toothbrush into her toilet bag, which was in
the case, and then answered him, “I’ve told you.”

“No you haven’t. Tell me why you turned your back on me.
Just as you did now, all my life you’ve done that. Turned away when I tried to
ask you anything too personal. We’re strangers, Mother, and we shouldn’t be.”
No longer angry, just sorry they had never had the relationship he yearned for
as a child, one he learned not to ask for after repeated rejections. The man
could rationalize but the boy couldn’t. Boys shouldn’t cry. Not as much as he
had. “Tell me again.”

With the sigh of someone long-suffering, she faced him and
signed, slowly, as if he were a beginner. He guessed she hoped to make him mad,
and then he’d walk out. It had worked before. Not now. Not fucking now it
wouldn’t.

“The deaf have a culture that we should be proud of and
preserve. Children are being taken from their deaf parents by the hearing
world, families are separated, broken apart. They don’t learn how to
communicate.”

“I did.”

“Yes, you did.”

He vaguely remembered times when she’d helped him, tenderly
forming his fingers into the right shapes so he could talk to her. Yes, he
could see her point. “But you don’t communicate with me. It’s always the other
way around. It always was. Mother, I love what I do. I learned the drums so
that you could at least share something. Last night, you didn’t even look at
me.”

“I’m proud of what you do.”

She’d never said that to him before. His fingers stilled and
he stared at her, shocked. “You are?”

“I’ve always been so. My son, you haven’t needed my help.
You’ve always made your own way. When you were small it became obvious to me
that you wanted a career in music.” She paused and her mouth showed the shadow
of a smile. “I couldn’t help you with that. I’m profoundly deaf. I hear
nothing.”

“You could have showed an interest. That hurt.” He’d never
told her that, feeling that he had to stand in his own corner, return
indifference with indifference. She’d sometimes pushed him away, told him to go
because she was too busy for him. He’d never forget that.

“I’m sorry. Better you learn sooner that our paths wouldn’t
lie in the same direction.” This time her smile was more definite. “You’ve
turned out a successful man, and one I don’t have to worry about. Other people
need my help more.”

Abruptly, he signed, “I am proud of you too.”

Her eyes glistened brightly and then she blinked. Tears?
Unshed but still there. They would go when he said what he had to say. He
lifted his hands again. “I wanted to talk about Sabina.”

“I said I would take her in.”

“She’ll need more than that. I plan to come home when I can,
but I need to know she won’t receive the same treatment I did as a child. She
needs someone to talk to. If you can’t help her, then I’ll find her somewhere
nearer to the hospital.” Being in the same house as a number of other people,
all of whom chose not to concern themselves with her wouldn’t be the kind of
therapy Sabina needed.

“She’s an adult and she can sign in several languages. I
fail to understand why she should wish for anything else, especially when if
this procedure fails it will mean the loss of her peripheral hearing.” Emmelie’s
mouth firmed. “An experimental operation may not work. It may not last. I
advised her to at least wait until the operation becomes routine, if it ever
does. I can’t believe it’s good for her. However, I will offer her a place to
stay, and she can talk to us about it.” She paused. “I understand there’ll be
no evidence outside, other than a small shaved patch by each ear and some
stitches she can easily cover up.”

“She won’t hide it.” His Sabina faced problems head-on. She
wouldn’t lie to make things easier for herself.

Shaken to the core, he realized what he’d thought.
His
Sabina?

Yes. He wouldn’t deny it. No lying. He wouldn’t push her,
however, not when she had so much to concern her. His Sabina. Whatever else
they meant to each other, this would remain.

“Promise me you will not isolate her.”

His mother nodded. “Not deliberately. If she comes out of
her room, she’ll be welcomed.” A dig at him, he presumed, because after he’d
realized he wasn’t the most important thing in Emmelie’s life, he’d spent a lot
of time in his room listening to music and reading.

That was all she’d give him, he knew. So he rang for someone
to help her with her luggage and kissed her on both cheeks. Her perfume coiled
around his senses. Sweet but not cloying, it reminded him of times long gone
when she’d held him on her lap, and times when she’d been too busy for him.
Sweet and sour, good and bad.

* * * * *

Back in their room, he found Sabina in a similar state of
readiness. She’d travel to Iceland to see her people, then with her mother to
Stockholm a few days before the operation.

Without hesitation, he walked across the room and took her
in his arms. He loved the way she nestled back and circled her arms around him
as if she belonged.

He drew back so she could see him talk. “My mother’s just
left.”

She went on tiptoe and kissed him gently. “How do you do
it?”

“What?”

“Stay friends with her.” Today her voice had a rough edge,
as if something had strained it. All that screaming she’d done last night, no
doubt. Their last night together for some time, so they’d made it count.

“You’re smiling?”

“I was thinking of something else.” He kissed her, savoring
her sweet lips against his own. “You.”

He was close enough to feel the change in her body heat and
to see the flush mantling her cheeks. So tempting. But when he ran his hands
around her waist, looking for a way in, she slapped them away. “The car will be
here soon. They’re ringing up when it arrives.”

“I could take you. Chick can find me a car.”

She shook her head. “It’s no trouble to get a taxi.”

“It means we can spend a few minutes longer with each
other.”

This time he saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. Fuck,
he’d made two women cry in an hour. He was losing his touch. Used to sharing a
good time and moving on, he rarely saw tears. “Don’t. I’ll be back for the
operation. Nothing will keep me away.”

* * * * *

“Nothing” turned out to be a bombshell from Chick.

Still raw from the separation, Hunter was staring out the
plane window on the way to Copenhagen, watching clouds when Chick cleared his
throat. “A moment, please, gang.”

The body of the plane held the core members of the band and
staff. They took a small group of skilled craftsmen with them and employed
others at each gig, but with every leg of the tour the entourage seemed to get
bigger.

He looked up from the magazine he hadn’t been reading. Next
to him, Riku closed his laptop with a sharp click and leaned back, folding his
arms. The seats on this plane were all first class, plenty of room with small
tables between. They could be rearranged for meetings, sleeping or even
conferences, but right now they were ranked side by side, all facing forward.

Chick glanced to the back of the plane. “This is
confidential band business. Sorry.”

Presumably that was for the flight attendants, who, employed
solely for this trip, weren’t regular staff. He waited and Hunter heard the
doors close.

Riku sniggered and Hunter shot him a sharp glance. Riku
raised a thin, black brow but didn’t say anything else.

“Yeah,” growled someone else. Jace. “Important business like
sleeping.”

“Something keep you awake, Jace?” V yelled from her seat at
the back.

“Shut the fuck up,” she got in reply, but she only chuckled
at the less than aggressive tone.

Chick stood at the front of the plane, waiting, his frown
deepening. Eventually, when the chat had subsided to a murmur, he began to
speak. “We’re on our way to Copenhagen.”

“Talking of the bleeding obvious,” Zazz, sitting behind Riku
and Hunter, muttered.

“Yeah, just in case you’d forgotten or you’re too high to
remember.”

Zazz grunted. Hunter knew Zazz never got high, whether drink
or drugs, but he often behaved as if he were flying. Part of his thing.

Chick showed no annoyance, now he had the field. “Beverley
knows, so I suppose that means Jace knows. Did he tell anyone?”

“No time,” Jace said. “We overslept.” By his side, Beverley
gave a muffled laugh. Jealousy grew inside Hunter. He wouldn’t have that
pleasure for a while.

“Okay, here’s the thing. I fixed a couple more gigs after
Copenhagen. We had nearly two weeks before Berlin, which seems a shame, so I
got us something. With Beverley’s help. That woman could confuse Einstein.
Fucking amazing the way she can cut a deal. Of course, she learned from the
best.” A smattering of applause followed, but not a long one. “Anyway, gang,
we’re doing two squares. Tiananmen and Red. I’m hoping for a freebie in
Trafalgar when we do the UK to finish the deal. Always like things to go in
threes.”

Stunned silence followed for the space of half a minute.
Hunter stared at Riku, who stared back, and eventually a grin spread over his
face. “Fuck, yeah.”

All Hunter could think of was Sabina. “You know I’m going to
Uppsala for Sabina’s operation, yeah?”

The corner of Chick’s mouth turned up in a sneer. “That’s
the first thing you think about?”

“Yeah.” Why should he justify himself? “We’re friends and
she’ll need me.”

Chick shrugged. “Keep your eyes on the prize. Both squares
are being televised, and since MTT are doing it, they’ll syndicate it. Big
deal, people. Don’t blow it.” MTT was one of the biggest music networks around.
They specialized in live music events, which meant the concerts would be shown
just about worldwide. Fuck. Reality sank in. Hunter pulled out his phone.
“Dates?”

“The twenty-third for Tiananmen and the twenty-seventh for
Red.”

“Sabina’s op is on the nineteenth.”

“So you can still make it. Just. This is a must, Hunter.
Compulsory. Sound checks, interviews, everything.”

A low murmur went up, growing louder as people discussed the
concerts. Except for Jace and Beverley, who went back to sleeping. Presumably
Beverley had told him when she knew, which would have been yesterday. She
rarely kept anything from Jace, and if he’d been unoccupied, he’d have told the
rest of them. That meant it had only been confirmed last night.

He forgave Chick for not telling him before, but still had
reservations. He needed to look up flights, see if he could shuttle between
concerts. Chick shut down that idea. “Leave between the two concerts is
canceled.”

“Are we in the army now?” Riku asked. He glanced at Hunter.
“Sorry, man.”

Hunter grimaced. “Thanks.”

“Nope,” Chick said. “It’s a pain in the ass getting into and
out of those countries, so once we’ve crossed into their space, I want us to
stay there until the concerts are done. Then you have a week until the next
one. If you leave after the first one, Tiananmen, you might not get back in
time. I don’t want us going off in all directions, not for these gigs. We’re
rock musicians, people, and they won’t want us wandering around.”