Page 91 of Interpreter

“I don’t know what you mean, Milah! Because you’ve been lying this whole time.”

“I haven’t been lying,” I plead, a few tears slipping down my cheeks. “I swear. I wanted to tell you.”

But it’s no use begging. I can see him already shutting down. The new Tim is gone.

Radio host: So, tell me about this surgery you’re taking a break for.

Penelope: Well, my doctor said that my condition is genetic. The bones in my inner ear no longer vibrate.

Radio host: And this surgery corrects your hearing loss?

Penelope: Essentially. I don’t know much about it, but I’m done living in silence.

Radio host: How does your son feel about it?

Penelope: He’s nervous, as am I. But like I told him, music is my life. I can’t live without it. Being deaf these past two years has been the worst heartbreak I’ve ever endured.

Radio host: So, you’re willing to do anything to get it back?

Penelope: I am. I believe the surgery will work and I will be back singing my own music in record time.

Radio host: I hope so. You have a ton of fans waiting for your next album.

Penelope: I know. And I want them to know that if it wasn’t for them and all their love, I wouldn’t have gotten through this. Their outpouring of support has been instrumental in my fight.

Marry her!

He asked to goddamned marry her so she wouldn’t have to leave the country. Are you fucking shitting me? How did I not know this? I’ve been with her every day for the entire school year, and I miss this critical piece of information?

Fuck this. “I see. And you thought, what? That you couldn’t confide in me after everything I shared with you?”

I feel betrayed. Goddamned betrayed. Everything, all the milestones, all the walls I brought down and this is what I get. “What was I? A lab rat? Another pet project? A broken toy for you to fix and resell?”

A tear streaks down her cheek, taking the makeup with it. “No. You were never a project.”

I scoff. “Sure, I wasn’t. I was just—” I face my brother, a haunted look on his face. “What is it you used to tell me, Hayes? When you were trying to convince me to crawl the clubs with you? Women love a broken man?” My gaze goes back to Milah who stands, wobbling in her heels. “Congratulations, you’ve met your goal. You got me to play. To Speak.” A tortured rumble leaves my chest. “You got me to love. You were everything to me. I was the patient in that hospital you told me about. And you were my interpreter. I trusted you. I leaned on you.” I feel the breath bubble up before I roar. “I loved you!”

Cade puts a hand on my shoulder. “That’s enough for tonight. I think it’s best we all go home and cool off. You two can discuss it tomorrow.”

I watch the last tear I’ll ever see on Milah’s face plunging onto her dress. “There is no tomorrow, right, Ms. Iglesias?”

And then I turn around and walk the fuck out. “Don’t follow me,” I bark out to my family. I can already feel them behind me.

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting in the parking lot, but when I see headlights, I know it’s been long enough for them to find me. Granted, they probably found me hours ago but let me have some peace before someone came for me. Except the person climbing into my passenger seat and turning on the cabin lights is not my family.

“Go home, Dr. Parker.”

He’s like a fucking gnat, always buzzing around my head.

“You go home,” he says, opening my glove box just to be fucking nosy.

“I don’t want to go home yet.” My words are clipped as I stare at the black lettering on his door, spelling out: Dr. Parker, Ph.D.

“So, you sought out my office?” His grin almost earns him a shove out of the car. “I haven’t been able to get you to come to an appointment in years without calling Anniston.”

He wants me to admit that his annoying visits and calls are comforting to me.

“I ran out of gas,” I lie.

---