Page 56 of Protected

He shakes his head. Signs,Happy.

That makes me giggle again because the truth is just this. I’m happy too.

Not long later, we’ve gotten ready for bed, and Deck has pulled me back onto his lap, this time cradling me with my legs extended to one side.

He’s never held me like this before, and I love it.Loveit. Never have I felt so protected, so cared for, so loved.

I’m glad he hasn’t yet turned off the lantern because we can’t talk in the dark. I have to see his face and hands.

We hold each other in silence until I slide a hand up to stroke his tangled beard. “I’m going to give you a haircut tomorrow. Is that all right?”

He blinks. Stays still for a moment. Then nods and shrugs.

It makes me smile. That he trusts me. That never once has he prioritized his ego over me. I nuzzle the curve between his neck and shoulder, breathing him in. “You know I like you exactly as you are, right?”

He cups my face and pulls it back enough for him to study it. Nods and searches my expression with his brown eyes.

“I don’t want or expect you to change—except in the ways everyone needs to change to be with another person.”

His thick eyebrows pull together as he nods slowly again.

“So I’m going to ask you a question, but it’s notbecause I’m unhappy with anything about you. You get that, right?”

He relaxes. He didn’t understand where my questions were going, but now he does. He closes his hand to sign,Yes.

“Did something happen to make you stop talking?”

He grows still again but for a different reason this time. It’s not defensive as much as surprised.

“I’m not ever expecting you to talk again. I’m really not. And it doesn’t matter to me in any real way—except if it’s because something is wounded inside you that needs to heal.” I gulp, my cheeks getting hot as I suddenly fear I’m saying too much, asking too much, pushing too far past his internal walls. “I like you exactly as you are. But I also don’t want you to… to stay wounded.” I mumble out the final words. “If that’s what it is.”

He takes several deep, slow breaths. Meets my eyes and then looks away again.

I’m twisting and trembling inside, but I don’t want to put additional pressure on him, so I don’t keep babbling the way I’m tempted to. Instead, I wait in silence, focusing on the pretty flower he gave me that’s lying nearby on the dirty, gray cement floor.

It’s a jarring contrast. The dark pink petals—lush and tender and so incredibly delicate—against the worn, gritty background. It would take almost nothing for all that beauty to be crushed into the hard gray floor. It should be treasured. Carefully preserved. Sheltered from an ugly world that might destroy it.

But even if that flower is protected, it still won’t staybeautiful for long. Because if the world doesn’t crush it, time eventually will.

For some reason, the image feels significant. Symbolic. Like a hard truth I still don’t want to admit.

I shake it out of my mind because it makes my stomach drop, but it’s still in there somewhere. Like a toll of doom in the distance.

Deck makes a brief gesture to get my attention, so I focus again on him.

Impact happen.He smacks his two palms together in the sign we’ve agreed on for Impact.Same as everyone.

“So it was from the general trauma of the world falling apart? Not… not something worse?”

Worse than Impact?

“Well, I mean, I know there’s not much worse. I guess I meant something more specific. Something more… more personal. Did… did something…” A sob lodges in my throat, so I have to clear it before I continue. “Deck, it feels like something happened that you’ve never told me. When did you stop talking?”

He sucks in more of those loud, slow breaths, but he’s not pulling away. It’s more like he’s steeling himself.

It takes a while, but he finally signs out in halting, awkward gestures, spelling out the words he doesn’t know.Riots in the city. Chaos. Violence. Logan makes shelter. Defend it. I find my mother. Take her to shelter. But I too late.

My throat is so tight I can barely breathe for a moment. My hands are shaking as I clutch at one of his arms. “Deck,” I mumble.

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