Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Cody’s gaze fell to my chest, and I realized that the neckline of the flimsy little chemise had shifted lower, but the way he was looking at me wasn’t heated. Wasn’t full of desire. I almost wished it had been. Then I could distract him from his struggle to express himself.
Finally, he sighed. “Do you know what a CODA is?”
“A musical term?” It seemed like a pretty safe bet.
“No, it’s—well, yes, actually it is—but I’m talking about the acronym. It means… shit, I never talk about this.” He raked a frustrated hand through his hair, making it stick up even more, and then he slid down on the bed, coming to rest on his side, a foot away from me.
To me, it seemed harder to talk now that we were face to face, inches away from each other. It was like his blue eyes had captured me, entranced me. But it probably would’ve felt like that even if we were across the room from each other.
“You don’t have to tell me. And if you do want to, it doesn’t have to be today.”
He glanced around, as if suddenly noticing we were both in bed together—and not wearing very much. “I’m ruining our night together.”
“No, you’re not.” Finding his hand, I squeezed gently.
He studied me for a long moment, as if deciding whether I meant that. Then he sighed again. “CODA means Child of Deaf Adults. That’s me. That’s what I am. Both my birth parents were deaf. The sign language I learned from them, it felt like my first language.”
There was a pause, and I did my best to not rush him. It meant a lot that he wanted to share his story with me. I just wished I could make it easier for him.
Finally, he continued. “They sent me to pre-school and hired a hired a nanny to talk with me, but speaking aloud... it kind of felt like a game I would play with others, not like my real method of communicating.”
I waited, barely breathing, my chest tightening painfully as I anticipated the tragedy that was obviously coming
“They’d always have the TV on, knowing I could listen to people talking there, but I’d always change it to music when I could.”
He took a deep breath, his fingers tensing in mine.
“They died in a car crash when I was six.”
He said it in a matter-of-fact way that nearly broke my heart. To me, that had always been the worst reason to enter foster care. Over the years I’d heard tragic tales of abuse and neglect, but it always seemed that the absolute worst thing was to have loving parents who were tragically taken from you. My heart ached for him, but I sensed he wasn’t done with his story, and I knew how hard it was for him to talk about it.
After a long pause, he continued. “My foster parents, they didn’t know any sign language, and that was the way I felt most comfortable communicating, so I just didn’t… talk. At all. For about two years, maybe. The psychiatrist called it selective mutism.”
He studied my face and then thumb brushed along my cheek. “Don’t cry.”
I couldn’t help it. It just hurt so much to think of that little boy, thrust in that situation. He no longer had his parents. He no longer could communicate with people the way he needed to.
Cody closed the distance between us and pulled me into his arms. I nestled against him, getting as close as I could. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “For that little boy. And for the man you are now. Even though he’s an amazing musician. And a good friend. And, let’s face it, pretty damn hot.”
He laughed softly. “You know, if that’s how you see me, I’ll take it.”
That hurt too. Cody had isolated himself so much that very few people knew how incredible he was.
He stroked my hair, holding me against his chest. It was like he was providing me comfort when it should’ve been the other way around. “Do you want to tell me more?” I whispered.
“No.” His voice was also soft. “I haven’t even told anyone that much in…” He trailed off, lost in thought, and I wondered if he’d ever shared that with anyone. “I don’t want to talk anymore right now.”
His fingers grazed along my back, and I kissed the side of his neck. His scent filled my nose, his warm clean skin and a faint note of a woodsy aftershave.
“I’m glad you told me,” I said softly. “And I’m glad I met you.”
“Me too.” He stroked my hair, pulling my head tightly against his chest. “And not in quite the same way, but the others, too. Diego and Aaron—they’re like the first friends I’ve been able to be myself around.” He held me so close that I couldn’t resist the urge to press my lips lightly against his warm skin. “The only friends who’ve ever wanted to be around the real me.” He sounded like he didn’t quite understand how that was possible.