FascinatingRhythm (14 page)

He lifted his hands to speak, but she began first. “After I
said no, he left me. He wanted the publicity it brought him, and not me. I’m
still convinced of that. He’s a businessman. I can put you in touch with him if
you wish.” The last appeared more stilted than the rest of her speech. She
wouldn’t want him to start a relationship with a man who’d hurt her so badly.

He knew his answer to that. “No. I don’t wish to begin a
relationship with him, although I’d like to know his medical history to add to
my records.” He hoped his doctor could obtain those, because he really didn’t
want to know his father at this stage in his life. “He never made an effort to
contact me—did he?” Maybe she’d thought it best to deny her ex-husband contact.

A thread of hope stirred inside him. Rejection hurt, even
years after the event.

His mother shook her head, but she didn’t look happy. “I
swear, he never did,” she signed. “I’m sorry for your sake. I discovered I was
pregnant, and that was when he left me. He didn’t want a deaf child, he told
me. He saw me as his responsibility until I pointed out to him that I never needed
anyone. I sent him word when you were born, and the early milestones in your
life. Then I saved myself the grief and didn’t contact him again. He knew how
to get in touch with me but he never did. I believe he has another family. You
might want to know them.”

Instantly he signed back, “Relatives in name only. Not
interesting to me. You and my grandparents and your brother and sisters are my
family.” And Sabina. For sure, they were so close he regarded her as family
already, but he was beginning to wonder if he didn’t want more.

“Besides, I’m newly famous. I’m discovering that not
everybody who wants to be my friend is sincere.” That was putting it mildly.
He’d stopped using groupies when he’d found that one of them had taken a few of
his T-shirts and sold them on an online auction site. Plus the contents of his
laundry basket. Someone owned a pair of his used underwear. He repressed his
grimace but she must have seen his distaste.

“I’ve found that too. People want to take my reputation and
paste their own onto it. That’s why I keep this house as the center of my
operations.
I
say who comes in and goes out.”

* * * * *

Hunter left the house with a much better understanding of
his mother, even if he did have to break the speed limit getting to the airport
and then charm his way onto the plane, as the departure doors were closing when
he arrived. But it was worth it. For the first time ever, she’d given him an
insight into her inner life, what motivated her deep inside. It must have taken
a lot of courage for her to do that, and trust too. He’d walked out saying he
didn’t want her and she’d called him back.

It didn’t mitigate her decision to cancel the operation,
though it went some way toward providing understanding. She’d lost someone when
she refused an operation that would have been unsuitable for her. That led her
to make misguided decisions for the whole of her community.

Hunter stared moodily out of the plane window. If only life
were black and white. It would be so much easier.

The first thing Sabina noticed about Hunter on the TV was
that he was wearing ear protectors. The clear wires arched behind his ears,
making him look like one of the elves that lived in her country. She’d helped
build houses in her garden for them, even built one for herself, but she
doubted Hunter would live in the tiny, flower-bedecked bowers they’d created.
The thought made her smile.

True to his promise, he’d had a huge television delivered.
It stretched the width of her bed, placed against the base on a stand that
brought it above the level of the metal foot.

She had a pair of ear-defenders with extra-soft covers so
they didn’t hurt the small wound sites. This pair blocked all sound, so she
couldn’t tell if she was hearing yet or not. Her doctors insisted she wear them
to give her implants the best conditions to grow and develop. After the first
week, she’d have to wear them in situations of high sound, like airports and
yes, rock concerts. She’d also have pairs that let in more sound. In time. If
the operation had worked.

So far, so good, but nobody was promising anything. The
sharp anxiety had given way to reason. She would be fine. Better equipped than
most people to cope with profound deafness, if that was her fate.

Now her lover, more than that, her friend, was sitting in
front of thousands of people, being viewed by thousands, maybe millions more,
albeit on a timed delay, with his closest colleagues. His best friends.

He looked comfortable, at home. How could she hope to
compete with that?

She’d recovered from the general anesthetic, and today she’d
dressed and gotten online for a few hours until she grew dizzy, and then the
nurse had insisted that she lie down. Not wanting to miss the concert, she did
as they told her. Now her nurse sat on one side and her mother on the other,
all three squashed together on the hospital bed, their legs stretched out
before them.

“Why are you smiling?” her personal nurse, Birgit, asked.

“Because he’s wearing ear protection. He never did before,
but I made him.” She signed rather than speaking, still unsure of how she
sounded and how she could control the pitch of her voice.

“Good for you,” Birgit signed in response, her fingers
flying. “We have musicians in the hospital sometimes. They lose range rather
than all their hearing, but it affects some of them badly.”

“He was defying fate. His mother is profoundly deaf, and so
are other members of his family. Born that way.”

“He is not deaf. With that family history it sounds unlikely
that he’ll be so now.”

Her mother joined in, her signing not so fluent but just as
comprehensible. “Perhaps. Nobody can tell.” Sabina loved them so much for their
efforts to help her. “Sabina lost her hearing through illness. A Bactrian
infarction.”

When the nurse went into peals of laughter, Sabina had to
explain. “She means bacterial infection.”

Murder City Ravens wound up for another number. The
conversation had taken place in the brief pause between songs, and now they
started one with a double beat on the drums, a beat Sabina found strangely
familiar. No, she couldn’t hear it, but she saw it and imagined what it would
sound like. Then he laid down a much more complex rhythm, and she couldn’t even
see what his feet were doing. He could use his hands and feet independently of
each other, a feat that never ceased to amaze her.

Zazz sang something and the way he crooned into the mic made
her long to hear it. But she could read most of the words. Something about—oh,
wow, a song about the joys of sex with no metaphors, no waves-on-the-seashore
evasiveness. “When you’re lying next to me, breathing, I can feel you. Touch
you. Roll my body over yours and love you.”

That last line seemed to signal an escalation in music. The
camera panned back to show Riku, resplendent in animal prints, even down to
leopard-print-dyed hair, playing his guitar in violent opposition to the
drumbeat. His fingers moved faster and as Hunter’s sticks came down, he
attacked them. Like two people in opposition, clashing. She’d forgotten to
watch Zazz, the sight enthralled her so much.

Fascinating to watch the primal appearance of Hunter, his
hair sticking to his cheeks and neck, his plain dark-green T-shirt molding to
the hard contours of his body and the elaborate, fantastic figure of Riku, just
as primal but in a very different way.

Startling. “I want to hear this,” she gestured abruptly.

“You can’t,” Birgit signed. “Not now. But they’re recording
it. Maybe you can hear it another time.”

Sabina lowered her hands. Maybe she could. The thought
dazzled her, made her want things she’d determinedly put to the back of her
mind. But she refused to cheat. They had the volume on the TV, so she was
wearing the headphones that blocked all sound. The thought that she could take
them off and miraculously hear filled her with delight and anticipatory
excitement, although she wouldn’t let her imagination run away with her.

She couldn’t hear the applause at the end of the piece, but
she saw. Hunter laid his sticks across his drums and lifted his hands to sign.
Anyone who could read ASL could tell what he was saying. “That was for you,
Sabina. I miss you.”

His words froze her where she sat. She couldn’t move, could
hardly breathe. He’d sent her a message so personal? The band never did that.
Their significant others didn’t figure in the act, Hunter had mentioned it to
her. Yet he’d said that, in words that would probably scuttle around the
internet before the concert had finished.

Speculation and confusion would be rife. The press had seen
her so they knew who she was. She only hoped that nobody revealed her
whereabouts. Sabina didn’t fool herself. Murder City Ravens was the hottest
band around right now, and people wanted more of them. They’d hunt her down if
they thought they had a story.

If they found her.

But she couldn’t make herself care. Because he’d spoken to
her in front of millions of people, sent a message meant solely for her. He’d
used her name and spoken in a language she readily understood.

In Tiananmen Square.

* * * * *

After Red Square, the band was in the mood to celebrate, and
several intriguing characters appeared backstage offering to help them. Chick
went ballistic. An interesting show to see someone who looked like a Russian
bear confronting an actual Russian—suave, sophisticated and sinister. Chick
faced the first man down, and then Zazz touched his arm. “What the fuck do you
want?”

Zazz shrugged. “Just to remind you these Russians can be a
bit touchy. Might like to hold back a bit, mate.”

Chick glowered at him. “I know just what these fuckers are.
The guy I just sent away? Straight businessman, wants to be better than he is.
This guy? Nightclub owner. Not a nightclub you want to go to, by the way. You
might not come back. And no, not in a good way.”

Zazz laughed. “You got them all clocked?”

“Every one. If I don’t I take a bit more care. But I’m sick
of them just appearing. You guys need some peace.”

Riku took a part in the conversation. “Speak for yourself,
man. It’s four days until Berlin and I want to party. We did good. The ratings
for Beijing were fucking awesome, so maybe we have something to celebrate.”

Hunter had already packed his holdall. “I’m off to the
airport. My plane leaves in two hours. Enjoy yourselves, guys, see you in
Berlin.”

“You,” Zazz said, “are no fun.” He slapped Hunter’s back.
“But give her my best. I like her.” He sounded wistful, but then he often did.
Zazz was just built that way.

Elated, Hunter caught yet another plane and called ahead
before takeoff, making sure a car was ready for him. Chick had offered to do it
all for him, or ask Beverley to do it, but since Beverley had disappeared with
Jace into his dressing room, Hunter guessed they’d be some time, and Chick had
all his work cut out for him dealing with the Russian gate-crashers. Backstage
was a misnomer, because they’d set a secure area up in one corner of the
Square, although “secure” was pushing the description a bit.

Besides, Chick had worked wonders. He and Beverley had
helped him more than he dreamed, and he could offer Sabina something special
now. He was longing to tell her.

He didn’t stop to call on his mother at Stockholm, but
headed straight for the hospital. He’d traveled for three and a half hours and
arrived an hour after he left, or so the clock at the airport told him. Not
enough for jet lag, enough to disorient him somewhat but he’d get over it.
Another hour and he’d see her again.

This time he had to concentrate on the road. He’d traveled
it often enough now to know it reasonably well, but this time his brain was
humming in feverish excitement. He couldn’t wait.

Except he had to. The nurse—Birgit it said on her lapel
badge—stopped him as he was about to enter the room, too impatient to bother
with the niceties of checking in.

“Mr. Ostrander—”

“Yes?”

“She’s sleeping. She’s had a busy day.”

Suppressing his frustrated groan, Hunter stepped back. “Did
they take off the dressings?”

The nurse smiled. “Yes, and the wounds have healed well. In
a few weeks you’ll hardly see them.”

Not that he cared, but he was glad for Sabina’s sake that
they were neat, small wounds. He knew she didn’t like people staring at her,
and badass scars would do that for sure. “Did they test her?”

Birgit paused, studying him. “We can’t tell you the results.
That would be a violation of patient confidentiality.”

“May I see her? I promise I won’t wake her.”

The nurse sighed, her fob watch glittering in the bright
lights of the hallway. “I shouldn’t.”

“You know me, right, and she told you I’m her—friend?”

“Lover, she said.”

Warmth filled him when he heard himself described that way.
“That’s right. I’m her lover. Is her mother around?”

“She went back to her hotel to get some sleep. Sabina sent
her. She’s been by Sabina’s bed every night up until now.”

What could he ask? When he’d called, all they’d tell him was
that Sabina was fine, nothing to worry about, post-op progress normal. But
today they’d planned to do the first of the tests that would assess her
hearing—or lack of it. However much he told himself it didn’t matter to him, he
knew how much this meant to her, and that made him frantic with worry. He
wanted only what she wanted. And he wanted her to be well. “How is she?”

“Tired. I don’t want her woken. If I let you in, you must
promise to sit quietly and wait for her to wake in her own time.”

As if he’d do anything else. “Of course.”

“We’ve taken away all the monitors so you will be completely
alone. Please keep the curtain over the door so the light doesn’t disturb her.”

It was early yet, barely eight thirty, but he’d let her
sleep. He just wanted to see her.

Slipping in, he saw the chair by the bed that her mother
must have vacated because it was set closer, away from the carefully regimented
arrangement of furniture in the room. He sat in it, noting that the TV had
arrived. A big panel TV on a wheeled stand, currently pushed against the wall
next to the door. The red light glowed, as did the digital clock on the table
by the bed.

The white honeycomb blanket that covered Sabina lifted and
fell with her steady breathing. She was facing him, lying on her side, her eyes
closed, her hand curled on the pillow as if waiting for him to take it. She
looked so delicate, belying the toughness of character he knew lay under the
exquisite form. Her hair was, for once, in disarray, a wave disturbing her
usual smooth style. It fell over her ear. She looked perfectly lovely,
ordinary. His Sabina.

So peaceful here after the concerts and the fuss and the
fucking press asking him stupid fucking questions about his private life.
They’d never concerned themselves before. His mother would make hay once they
came sniffing.

The ear defenders helped him. Sometimes Murder City Ravens
made so much noise that he thought his ears were bleeding, but he’d never seen
the point. If he was going deaf, then he’d do it sooner rather than later.

She’d told him via Skype that she approved. He smiled,
remembering the rest of the call, how he’d watched her, instructed her like he
had before. While he’d got off, it wasn’t the same and he doubted he could
survive on Skype alone.

He didn’t ask V if that was how she coped when Matt was away
but he knew it wouldn’t work for him. Some people got on better when they spent
time apart. He knew one person who spent around three months in every year with
his wife in total, and they had an open marriage, fucked who they wanted when
they wanted to. And yet they had one of the stablest marriages he knew of, in
terms of devotion and total loyalty. And still being crazy about each other
after eleven years together.

Not for him though. He wouldn’t survive if he had to spend
too long away from her. The Skyping and sexting was fun but no substitute. He
wanted to touch her all the time, know she was within reach. And he wanted to
take care of her, see to everything she needed himself.

Finally in her presence, his turbulent mood quieted and
fatigue washed over him in a wave of contentment. He leaned back, the chair
giving easily under his not inconsiderable weight. If he put his feet up, he
might grab some z’s.

He watched her breathe, imagined pressing his lips to that
soft, cherry-colored mouth, watching the lovely brown eyes darken as her pupils
expanded with desire. His cock stirred but he willed it down and closed his
eyes, only to open them again and concentrate on her face.

She drew him as she always had. Six years apart and he’d
never forgotten her or the way she could make him feel. When he’d seen her
standing in his mother’s hall with her back to him, he’d known it was her
because being in her presence made him feel as if he’d come home. Something he
couldn’t remember experiencing before in the whole of his adult life, and much
of his childhood too.