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CHAPTER ONE

TAMERON

I missed silence.

Kind of a funny thing to say, probably, considering I had lost most of my hearing, but the truth, nonetheless. Most people would think going deaf meant more silence—and I couldn’t blame them because I’d thought the same thing before I experienced it firsthand—but alas, the opposite was true.

My ears were never quiet.

Neither was my head, but that was a different problem altogether.

It had been a long, busy day, and the first thing I did when I hauled myself through the front door was take out my hearing aids and put them in their protective case.

Lesson number one: never put them anywhere else.

Ask me how I know. They were fucking expensive and the VA wasn’t paying for another replacement.

I hated them as much as I loved them, and that was a dichotomy I hadn’t quite figured out. They were amazing, but they also sucked donkey balls. Big, hairy donkey balls.

As always, the experience of having them out was almost overwhelming, like the sudden silence after a super loud concert. Except once that first sensation passed, there was no expected silence, but a ringing.

Tinnitus, one of the many fun side effects of hearing loss. Fun being about as sarcastic as Dr. House, whose dark sense of humor I’d come to appreciate. I’d always thought him an asshole, but not anymore. I kinda understood where he was coming from now, minus the addiction to painkillers.

I sat on the lowest step of the stairs, waiting until the dizzying sensation passed. Pushing through it wasn’t smart. I’d learned that the hard way. It usually took only a few minutes, so not too bad.

Once I was convinced I wasn’t gonna keel over or, worse, throw up, I rose again and slowly did what I had to do.

Shoes off and in my cubby. Backpack on top of it.

Jacket on the coat rack. Nash wanted everything to be squared away, but I respected him for it.

Besides, order was necessary for all of us now that our lives had become so chaotic.

It was my turn to cook, so instead of going to my room—where I would be too tempted to endlessly scroll on my phone—I headed straight for the kitchen.

I’d thawed some chicken yesterday and let it marinate all day today in a mix of ketjap—this delicious sweet soy sauce I had discovered—fresh ginger, garlic, some spices, and, of course, a healthy amount of hot sauce so it would have a nice flavor.

All I needed to do now was make the chicken skewers and grill them, then serve with rice, green beans, and a satay sauce that was basically thinned peanut butter with soy sauce and sambal, an Indonesian hot sauce.

I had just started the rice cooker when the warning light in the kitchen flashed to signal someone was entering through the front door.

Seconds later, Nash popped around the corner, still dressed in his EMT uniform.

He waved at me, waiting for me to make eye contact before saying, “How was your day?”

He was close enough that I could understand without my hearing aids, using a combination of what little sound I could pick up and some lip reading. “Good. I did two hours of ASL class, followed by an hour of practice with my group, then did a yoga class at the gym.”

“Busy day,” Nash said.

“I don’t have classes tomorrow.”

“Good. You need practice, but you also need rest.”

“Yes, Daddy,” I teased, which resulted in the expected eye roll.

“Do you need help with cooking?”

I’d had to train myself out of the habit of shaking my head when I wanted to say no. That could result in some unintended side effects…like a dizzy spell. “I’m good. Go shower.”

He gave me a thumbs-up and disappeared into the hallway again. Nash always wanted to shower after a shift, and I couldn’t blame him. The things he encountered during his shifts were crazy, and I loved hearing his stories.

He’d only recently finished his training as an EMT—something we hadn’t even known he was doing until he was halfway through the program—but he was doing well. No wonder, with his experience in combat and in leadership. The man was unflappable, even under the most chaotic circumstances.

I was happy he’d found his new calling, even if it came with an annoying new addition named Dayton. He and Nash had become best buddies, which was all fine, except I didn’t like him. I didn’t hate him or anything. The dude was way too easygoing for that. He just rubbed me the wrong way, was all.

Another flashing light announced Bean’s arrival, who had brought his boyfriend, Jarek, with him. They waved at me before heading to Bean’s room, no doubt to make out until dinner.

Those two were still in their honeymoon phase, and Jesus Christ, it was nauseating. Made me glad I couldn’t hear half the cheesy shit they whispered to each other. I was happy for Bean, I really was, but that didn’t mean it was always easy to see him that happy…while being single myself.

Then again, seeing him find love was also an encouragement. No offense, but if Bean, with his absolute disaster of a brain—the man could barely remember his own name—could score a boyfriend, there was hope for me, right?

Not that I wanted a boyfriend. As the only straight man, I’d become a minority in our house, much to my amazement.

Nash had been out as gay, but then Creek had met Heath and had suddenly discovered he was bisexual, followed by Bean coming out.

What the fuck was up with that? I mean, San Francisco was the unofficial Pride capital of the US and all that, but we were way off the average of straight versus queer in our house.

As usual when cooking, my mind wandered and I got lost in my own head, slowly able to let go of all the busyness of the day.

By the time dinner was ready, Creek and Heath had arrived as well, so we had a full house.

Reluctantly, I put my hearing aids back on.

I wouldn’t be able to follow the conversation at all without them.

I put everything on the table, the chicken satay skewers last. “Oh, that looks amazing,” Heath said, as always quick to say something positive.

“On a scale of one to my ass is on fire, how hot will this be going in and coming out?” Creek asked.

“About a four. I kept it decent tonight.”

Bean mumbled something. “What was that?” I asked.

He had the decency to look a little guilty. “I said thank Jesus. No offense, but my ass still hurts from that curry you made last week.”

“You’re supposed to eat it, not stuff it in your ass,” I said.

“Our gym burned down again,” Nash said, changing the topic abruptly but rather effectively.

“What?” Creek asked. “The one on Howell Street?”

“Yeah. My station got the call this morning and spent hours getting it under control. It looks like an electrical fire that started in the break room. Probably a coffee maker or something.”

Oh, that explained all the sirens I’d heard that morning while taking my yoga class. They had been too loud even for me to ignore.

“Did anyone get hurt?” Bean asked.

Nash shook his head. “The building was up to code, so they had smoke detectors and sprinklers. Everyone got out safely. But the building is a total loss, which sucks because…”

I couldn’t make out the last part of his sentence because he turned his head away. “Because why?”

“Sorry. Because we really liked training there. It was close to our station and they offered us a great deal.”

I quickly chewed and swallowed. “Come to my gym. Well, it’s not mine, but the one I go to for my yoga classes. It’s only a couple of blocks away, so close enough, and it’s great. Very welcoming to all kinds of people.”

Nash scratched his chin. “That’s definitely an option. Do you think it’s big enough to accommodate our group?”

“I don’t see why not. They have a rather large cardio room, plus a massive room with all the machines and weight-training equipment. I mean, I never use them, but I always see some available.”

“Because you prefer yoga over weight training,” Creek said, his tone indicating his opinion.

“Listen, flamingo,” I fired back, “if you did a little more yoga, you wouldn’t fall on your ass so many times.”

Heath snorted, then hid his laugh behind his hand when Creek shot him a look. “You’re on his side now?” Creek asked, looking offended.

Heath shrugged. “He’s not wrong. You did fall on your ass last week.”

“Because I didn’t realize my prosthetic foot had gotten stuck.”

“Excuses, excuses,” I sing-songed. “Yoga is excellent for developing better balance, you know. It’s really helped my equilibrium.”

“Because you’re training with seniors. The average age in that class is, like, eighty or something,” Creek shot back.

Nash’s eyes narrowed. “Do I need to smash your heads together?”

“No, Top,” Creek and I answered at the same time, agreeing with a look to consider the matter settled.

“I’ll talk to Dayton, see what he thinks,” Nash said. I couldn’t keep the automatic reaction to hearing that name off my face, and it didn’t escape Nash’s attention. He let out a deep sigh. “You do realize that if we start training at your gym, you’re gonna run into him, right?”

“Who?” Bean asked, oblivious as usual.

“Dayton,” Jarek helpfully supplied, always willing to summarize or explain when Bean’s memory failed him. “He’s Nash’s firefighter friend.”

“Technically, he’s the battalion chief, but yeah. Him,” Nash said. “And for some reason, Tameron hates him.”

“I don’t hate him,” I protested.

Nash quirked an eyebrow.

“I don’t. I just…don’t like him, which is not the same.”

“It’s not?” Creek asked, looking confused.

“I hate broccoli, but I don’t like cauliflower,” Heath said. “The difference is that I refuse to eat the first, but I can tolerate the second if it’s hidden in a casserole and covered with loads of cheese.”

Hmm, that was a perfect analogy, actually.

You could make a great dish with riced cauliflower if you seasoned it well.

Super healthy and plenty filling. But on its own, cauliflower was not my favorite, so I understood the analogy.

“Exactly. Dayton is… He’s like cauliflower.

I wouldn’t choose to see him, but I’m fine as long as he doesn’t try to be my new BFF. ”

“Why, for the love of all that’s holy, would Dayton want to be your new BFF?” Nash had clearly reached the point of exasperation. “The man has friends, including me, and you’re not exactly a shiny, happy personality.”

Nash’s words stung, though why, I didn’t know. “I’m not Creek.”

Creek snorted. “You’re not much better, dude.”

Really? Had I become as grumpy as he’d been before meeting Heath?

Not something I liked to think about too much.

Besides, I didn’t think Dayton liked me much either.

A few times when I’d said something about my hearing issues, he’d made a face, like he disapproved.

What the fuck was that about? It wasn’t like I’d chosen this or could do anything about it. “I have a lot going on, okay?”

Nash’s expression softened. “I know, and I understand that communicating is hard for you, but I really think you oughta give Dayton a chance. If only because he understands things about your situation better than any of us.”

As if I needed to be reminded. Dayton was a CODA—child of Deaf adults—which was why he was fluent in ASL.

That should make things easier for me since he was able to sign and interpret for me when I couldn’t follow a conversation.

But instead, it annoyed the fuck out of me.

He only did it because he felt sorry for me. Who the fuck wanted to be pitied?

I wanted to do it myself. I didn’t need him or anyone else.

Well, I needed my brothers. Nash, Creek, and Bean—them, I needed.

Dayton, not so much.

But I would tolerate him. Like cauliflower.