This chapter is in two parts, but they're both one chapter. It's just such a long chapter that I turned it into two parts!

School is back, so I can't update as frequently but I'll do it as much as I can. This story is just getting good and fun to write so I want to write more.

Again, thank you for the votes!

Unedited.

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Two weeks later, we're in the car, driving towards James' house. It had taken a lot of arguing but I'd won in the end on many things. Despite both their protests about going into the city that where we're going. I eye my oxygen machine sitting in the car next to me—it's obnoxious and obvious but I have no other choice but to bring it. I can only hope I won't have to walk around with it on, though I'm not sure it'll happen. I've only been to the city once when I was younger and the walks to get to places had been long. I'd have two working lungs then so I didn't trust my chances today.

               "What's the address again?" dad asks from the front seat.

               Opening my phone I read it out to him, waiting for the nod before I put it away. I haven't dressed up—at least not by my standards—but I did put some effort into deciding what I was wearing. It's not like he'll care anyway. We met in a hospital waiting room after I'd just woken up from a coma; I doubted I'd looked great then. Running a hand over my silk blue and pink skirt and then my black shirt, I can't help but stare at my white converse. I wasn't going to budge on them, no matter how many times mum had told me to change them—

               "You look great honey, stop worrying. Nothing is wrong . . . except the shoes. Do you want to change them? I brought a spare pair with me."

               "Great timing," I mutter, rolling my eyes. All I get in response is confusion and I shake my head. "Never mind. I'm fine with the shoes I have on. I'm going to be walking, I'm not wearing six inch heels."

               "She has a point," dad adds staring at the shoes in the reflection, "and I like them."

               I smile at him. "Thank you. Someone agrees. What if we were going for a run? What would I do then?"

               "You can't—" mum breaks off, shaking her head. I know what she's thinking. What she doesn't want to say aloud. You can't run because you have cancer.

               Changing the conversation, before it turns sad, I say, "You'll like him, dad."

                He frowns, scanning the street signs. I have no idea where we're going but when I'd read the address out to dad he'd acted like he knew. "So . . . how deaf is deaf?"

               "He can't hear, dad. At all. He can lip read but I don't know how well. He can feel things which I don't get, but he's completely deaf."

               "Where's his hearing aid?"

               I shrug, staring at the houses as we pass them. It's boring but it's something to keep my entertained. "I haven't asked. It's not my business."

               "He knows about you," mum says with a frown.

               I nod, brushing a stray hair behind my ear. It had taken for ever to get my hair to sit like I'd wanted it to, and when that hadn't worked I'd just left it down. "That's because I told him. He didn't interrogate me to find out."

               Mum looks unsure but she just nods. "I get it."

               "How far away are we dad?" I ask, yawning. This morning I woke up at six knowing we'd have to leave early. It's catching up to me, I know.

               "Few minutes? Ten? Not long."

               I lean against the car door, closing my eyes. Moving the sunglasses from the top of my head, I pull them over my eyes. "Okay. I'm going to rest my eyes."

               "I'll wake you," mum says but I don't respond.

               *

               "Honey, wake up. We're here."

               Blearily, I open my eyes, sliding my glasses off. As harsh, bright light greets me, I put them back on. Stepping out of the car, I stand, looking at the house in front of me. It's modest and small; bricks on the exterior. The garden is huge, a rose bush to the right, plants filling the rest of the yard. The driveway is long and to the left of the house.  

               "Is this the right address, dad?" I ask. The last thing I want is to go to some random persons house and creep them out.

               "Yes. Right address. Right house."            

               "If you're sure . . ." I muter, unable to help myself.

               He glares, pulling me into his side roughly. "What do you take me for? I can read. How dare you insult me like that," he says in mock horror.

               I laugh, leaning into him as we walk up the driveway. "What're you going to do abot it?"

               He just ruffles my hair.

               I blink at him. "Seriously? That's it?"

                "What do you want me to do?"

               I roll my eyes, getting out of his arms. I can only hope he'll be this nice to James. Though I can't imagine him being anything other than nice. His brother on the other hand? "Something meaner than that at least. And try not to yell when you get in here. For me."

               He hums noncommittally. "I won't yell. I'll just get my point across."

               "By threats," I deadpan.

               "Your lack of faith in me in heart breaking."

               I laugh and walk faster, brushing long leaves from plants out of my face. "Save your energy for Rick. He's not happy."

               "You don't think I know that?" dad says, ducking under a branch.

                 I roll my eyes, lacing my voice with sarcasm. ""I couldn't bring him. What about when I'm making out? I don't need that awkwardness."

               "There will be no making out."

               I turn, crossing my arms over my chest. "You wish," I say, winking at him. He's right—there will be no making out. For one, I've never kissed a boy, so it'd be all kinds of awkward. And two, not with James.

               Before dad can say anything back we're at the front door. I knock loudly, making sure dad doesn't get the chance. I don't knock twice even though I want to. We all wait for the wooden door to open.

               When it finally opens, a middle ages woman stands in the door way. She can't be any older than 40. With a neat blonde bun, white blouse and black jeans she looks like the polar opposite of mum. Mum doesn't dress like she's going to a business dinner; she's either looking causal, or if she gets dressed up it's in a dress. The woman smiles at her, eyes scanning over me before they settle on mum and dad. "Hi, come in," she says, stepping out of the way.

               Hesitating, I glance back at Dad. He's smiling politely, eyes kind. He still looks intimidating, even out of uniform. He winks at me, before turning to who I assume is James' mum. "Hi. I'm her father. It's nice to finally meet you. This is my wife Anna."

               He gets a smile in response. "Nice to meet you both. Please, come in, I made some food for you to eat. And don't worry about shoes; as long as they don't have mud all over them you can wear them inside."

               I follow mum and dad inside, the pristine white floor nearly the same colour as my shoes. The hall is long and wide, artwork lining the walls. I don't look at the half naked painting for too long but I do let my eyes settle on the portraits of flower. A large canvas print hangs on the walls, a portrait of James and another boy. It can't be more than a few years old; James still with the same hair and same face. He's smiling but it looks forced and I can tell there's a story behind the look. The other boy in the picture looks older, but similar. It has to be his brother. Wearing a football jersey, arms uncovered, their resemblance is there but it isn't all too clear. They both have bright blue eyes, stark in contrast to the beach around them, but their hair is different. His brother's hair is dark black and a lot shorter.

               "You look nice."

               I glance over at James' mum, staring at the equally blue eyes. She's beautiful though I can't see a ring on her finger. I don't ask about it though. "Thank you."

               She grins widely, fingering a lock of my hair. "James has told me about you."

               I blush. "Uh, good things I hope." I'm quite literally hoping. I don't need his mum thinking I'm a drug addict . . . well, okay, maybe not that severe, but still.

               "All good things. You're just as lovely in person." She breaks of, staring at me. It isn't unnerving, more like she's assessing me. "He told me about the . . . you know."

               Oh. The cancer. I say nothing, the sympathy staring back at me.

               "I don't mean to invade your privacy. I swear. We're close and he tells me a lot of things. I know it's none of my business." She looks at mum and dad, staring at us. Mum looks like she's ready to jump in at any moment to defend me. "I'm sorry. She truly is beautiful. You don't deserve anyone of what you're going through."

               Dad nods. "Thanks."

               Mum just stays silent, staring at me. You okay?

               I nod, understanding the silent conversation.

               James' mum turns back to me, squeezing my shoulder. "I truly am sorry. You're very brave. I'm glad James met you."

               You don't know me. It's on the tip of my tongue to say it but I don't. Instead, I smile, knowing her words are sincere. "Thanks."

               She clears her throat, blinking her gaze away. As usual, when cancer is mentioned, it seems to dampen the mood with a cloud of depressing. "I'll go and get James. If you continue to walk until you reach the end of the hall and turn left you'll find the lounge room. Go and make yourself comfortable." She breaks off, staring at dad with her arms crossed. "James told me that you plan on lecturing him and Jordon but if you hurt either of my boys, I'll hurt you," she says, voice low.

               Dad nods, taking the threat for what it is. "Of course. I have to trust them with my daughter though."

               Before the conversation can get any weirder, I walk away, following the hallway. I can hear their conversation behind me but I ignore it, turning when I reach the corner. I stop, looking from side to side. Was it right or left? Considering there's a long hallway to the right, I turn left. My guess turns out to be right. The lounge room is just as white and clean, a flat screen TV against the wall. I fall in love with the turquoise lounge the minute I see it. Before I can even look at anything else, I go and sit on it.

               As I sink into the lounge I scan the rest of the room. DVD's fill one of the two bookshelves from top to bottom, the other filled with books. Abandoning the couch, I walk over scanning the DVD's. A lot of action movies—and I'm not surprised to see that they're superhero ones. Towards the top they're lined with old romance movies but the only ones I recognise are The Sound of Music and Grease. The section of horror movies makes me smile, even if they're all awful. Nightmare on Elm Street. Jaws. Friday the 13th. Paranormal Activity. I move onto the book shelf, scanning the titles. Shakespeare. Edgar Allan Poe. JK Rowling. Stephan King.Jane Austen. I can only assume that they don't belong to the brothers in the house.

               Footsteps make me turn and I see James walk in, typing on his phone. His hair falls over his eyes. The dark jeans and plain white shirt look tight, but then again he isn't slim. When he looks up and notices me his eye go wide, before he smiles. Hey, he mouths.

               Hey, I mouth back, glancing around to find a place to sit.

               He holds up a hand, pointing to the lounge. Understanding the meaning, I sit down and look over the edge. He's frowning, staring at me. Where're you going? I mouth. 

               He points to the right, where I'd seen the long hallway. Room.

               I nod and watch him leave, before I turn look at the coffee table. There's every sort of finger food you could ask for—sausage rolls, handmade wraps, chicken drumsticks, cakes. I grab a muffin, almost moaning at the taste, as raspberries and chocolate explode in my mouth. It tastes amazing—so much better than I could ever make.

               By the time James returns with a white board in hand, I've devoured half the muffin. He walks over, sitting next to me, so close we're almost touching. It isn't awkward, instead it feels nice. I read the words, once he writes them and lets me see. Hey. You look gorgeous. Get dressed up for me?

               I take it from him, moving the muffin to my left hand. Thanks. And of course I did—I'm not going to the city is rags. You look . . . muscular.

               He opens his mouth the laugh, though no sound escapes. If he could laugh I know it'd be a great sound. Thanks. I give you a compliment and all I get is muscular?

Well, I'm sorry. You look awful. Rather that? He shakes his head andI erase the words before re-writing. I love your mum. Seriously.

               He nods to the muffin in my hand, taking the pad back. Raspberry muffin, huh? They're amazing. She made them for you guys though. Couldn't look bad in front of your parents.

               I roll my eyes, taking another bite of the muffin. I'd ask for the recipe but I can't cook to save my life. And my parents are the same. They're OCD like that.

               He takes the pad back, smiling.  You have no idea. You should've seen her running around. But enough about us—what've you been doing? Did the principal lose an arm? A leg?

               I shake my head, watching as we both grab a muffin. He doesn't seem to care that I'm eating way too much which is something I like. Guys that hate girls that eat are guys that I hate. No limbs were lost. There was a lot of yelling though. It's over now, as far I know.

               That's good. Anything else going on?

               I shake my head. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I'm incredibly boring; you should probably just leave right now.

               He takes a bite of the muffin before devouring it within a few minutes. Jealously sinks in. Guys can eat whatever they want and not have to worry. With girls, it's the complete opposite and it sucks. I'm deaf. I think that's worse than boring.

               I raise an eyebrow. I think I win.

               He smiles sadly, hugging me before letting go. Yeah you do.

               Before I can respond, footsteps enter the room. Dad is still talking, mum laughing along. "We're going to have to bribe Rick. He'll shut us out if we don't make it up to him—" Dad breaks off, staring at us. At the limited space between James and I. His eyes narrow and James backs away, pointedly creating space between us. "You're sitting too close—"

               "Dad," I hiss, pointing to my ears.

               He seems to realise his mistake, his mouth closing. He sends me a panicked glance, as if I can help.

               Next to me, James scribbles quickly, before flashing the screen at dad. I can't read the words but dad does because he nods. Then James is running from the room. I glare at dad. "What'd you do?"

               "Nothing," dad says with a shrug. "He's going to grab something for me to write on."

               I'm still unconvinced but I nod. "Fine. Don't threaten him."

               He raises an eyebrow. "You were the one sitting so close to him. I'm doing my job."

               "What were we going to do? Make out?"

               Before dad can respond, James walks back in, another two white boards in hand. I raise an eyebrow. He just points to his ears and it does explain why he has so many white boards. He has to. Handing one to mum and dad, he sits next to me again, seemingly uncaring that there's not much distance between us.

               I see dad flip the board over and his hand moves rapidly. I can tell he feels awkward but he hides it well. What're your plans with my daughter?

               I laugh, rolling my eyes. "Subtle, real subtle," I mutter. Straight to the point. And he manages to make it sound like we're going to do something we shouldn't.

               James looks over raising an eyebrow. I just shake my head and he drops it, writing something down. I'll be the perfect gentleman, I promise, sir.

               Taking the board from his hands, I roll my eyes then show him. Do you want them to think it's a date? He's already out to get you.

               James just smiles, winking at me, before erasing the words. Dad frowns at us, eyes narrowed, knowing he'd missed something. He goes to say something, before closing his mouth. Then he leans down to write. And your brother is legal?

               James writes, frowning. Yes, sir. Just turned 19.

               Dad is unrelenting. Criminal record?

               "Seriously dad?" I grumble. "You'd know that." He doesn't even look at me, too focusing on staring through James. To distract myself, I grab a sausage roll, the air thick with tension. Even a silent stand-off is awkward. It has nothing to do with the silence, just everything hanging in the air.

               James just shakes his head, staring right back at dad, as if he isn't even intimidated. I have to give it to him.

               Dad writes, never taking his eyes off Rick. Crashes?

               Again, Rick just shakes his head.

               You do know that my daughter cannot run? She could get hurt.

               I glare him. "I'm not invalid."

               "I know. But he has to know," dad says, looking at me. Then he looks at James again. You are aware of this?

               James nods, scribbling. Yes. I don't care. I'm deaf—it's not like I'm not used to being looked at. I won't rush her. She has a machine to breathe. Nothing is news to me.

               More footsteps, this time heavy, like they're from boots. I turn to the voice, tapping James on the shoulder. He turns, eyes flashing in recognition. I recognise the person too. His brother looks the same, though his hair is a little longer. He's even bigger than James, the white singlet hiding none of his muscles. They look even more alike now.

               His brothers' hands move rapidly, and I know he's communicating with James. Their conversation is quick and not disjointed like writing it down him. When they're done talking, his brother looks at dad, cracking a smile. A smile that thousands of girls probably swoon when they see. I'm one of them but I'm proud when I hide the reaction. "Hi. I'm Jordon. The chauffer."

               Dad doesn't smile. "That so?"

               Jordon nods, arms flexing. "Yes, sir. I have my full licence. Never crashed. No DUI's to my name. I'm the most responsible driver you'll ever meet. Scouts honour."

               Dad raises an eyebrow, cynically. "That so?"

               The response doesn't put Jordon off in the slightest. "Yes, sir. I'm completely innocent."

               Beside me, James rolls his eyes, then both his and Jordon's hands are moving. When Jordon places a hand on his heart, I assume love has something to do with it. Other than that, I get nothing.

               When they're done, Jordon is smirking. He turns serious when he faces dad. "I can translate if you want. I'm fluent in sign."

               Dad nods, walking over. He grabs one of the muffins, taking a bite after studying it. "This is good. Tell him that if anything happens to my daughter, something will happen to him. That applies to you too."

               I scoff, rolling my eyes. "'No threats' he says."

               Dad ignores me, glaring at Jordon as he signs to his brother.

               James stares at his brother's hands before nodding and writing. I wouldn't expect any less. Your daughter is safe with me.

               "Tell him that . . ."

               The interrogation goes on for the next half hour in which I just eat the delicious muffins, unconsciously leaning against James. Dad's eyes narrow on us but I ignore them. More threats are swapped. More 'yes sir's'.

               Finally dad seems to have heard enough. "Okay. We're going to go now." He walks over, kissing me on the forehead. "You'll be okay?"

               I nod, hugging him. "You'll have to bring my machine in. It's still in the car."

               Mum comes over next, doing the same as dad. "Love you."

               I whisper the words back, hugging her tightly. "Take care of yourselves. You know your limits." 

               "I do. If I need to sit, I will. Promise," I swear.

               With one final hug they both leave the room. Dad looks over his shoulder when he's near the exit. "I'll bring it in." He looks at Jordon, still refusing to even smile. "Thank your mum for the food. And take care of her."

               "Yes sir."

               Then they're gone.

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