by Kristy Marie
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, places, and companies is purely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products, brands, and/or restaurants referenced in the work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/ use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Editing: Hot Tree Editing
Proofing: All Encompassing Books
Cover Design: RBA Designs
Cover Photo: Eric Battershell Photography
Cover Model: Johnny Kane
Formatting by: Champagne Book Design
All song titles and lyrics mentioned in Interpreter are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
This adult contemporary romance novel is not recommended for readers 18 years and younger due to mature content.
Copyright © 2019 Kristy Marie All rights reserved.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Other Books
Acknowledgements
About the Author
For those who fight for their dreams.
And for Laura Blanco Iglesias, the real Costa Rican princess.
“Music is like a dream. One that I cannot hear.”—Ludwig van Beethoven
Radio host: Good morning, Nevada! We’re here with Penelope Lambros, Grammy Award-winning singer and songwriter. Welcome, Penelope. It’s great to have you on our show.
Penelope: It’s great to be here, Brian. Thank you for having me.
Radio host: Well, your news has shocked the country. We’re happy to give you another platform to reach the fans that may have missed your big announcement last week.
Anniston: Don’t make me do it. Do not make me ruin my molding by popping this door off the hinges.
Anniston: Please, Tim. Please open the door.
Cade: We can’t hold the girls off much longer. They’re worried about you. You’ve been in there for five hours.
Theo: I’m not getting on Anniston’s bad side. You have five minutes to pull your shit together and let them see that you’re okay. After that, I’m giving Anniston the key and you can deal with their shit.
Hayes: Bianca has a crowbar. She almost has Anniston convinced to ruin the molding.
Theo: Unless you’re midpump into the best hand job in the world, you need to open the door. Ans and Breck are crying now. You know I don’t do crying.
Mason: Come on, man.
Vic: We’re here for you.
Chaos. That’s the state my family is in. And it’s all because of me.
I should feel bad for making them worry. I should open the door and hug Anniston, my commander, and tell her I’m fine. It’s not like we didn’t know this day was coming.
But I can’t.
All I can do is look at the surrounding devastation.
A smashed alarm clock…
A portable speaker in pieces…
The guitar my mother gave me, now broken in two.
I destroyed it all. Every memory. Every sound. And I don’t feel an ounce of emotion over it.
Numbness has settled around me like a shot of whiskey, the weighted stench of denial heavy on my chest. I’d do anything to keep my family from seeing me bent over my knees, the heel of my palms digging into my eyes, broken and defeated.
Breck: Please, Tim. Let us make sure you’re okay, and then we promise to leave you alone.
Theo: They lie. Do not believe for one minute they will leave you alone. They will smother the shit out of you the second you open the door.
Kane: You could always go through the window.
My phone keeps vibrating with all of their incoming texts, but I leave them unanswered. The silence has pulled me under, and frankly, I’d rather sit here and drown in its wrath.
I was prepared for this day.
I waited for it, journaled the countdown for when it finally sealed me off from the world.
I knew it was coming.
Slowly, deafness creeped into my life, muffling the surrounding noise. Shouts became whispers and music became white noise.
Until now.
Now, there’s only silence. Just me and the voice in my head pleading for company.
But no one is coming. Just like her, I’m trapped inside my head with nothing to distract me but a life imprisoned in silence.
Anniston: Don’t make me use her.
I swipe away my commander’s text notification and turn on the shower. Maybe they’ll let me have this peace. At least until I turn off the water.
Anniston: Fine. We’re leaving. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I groan, knowing good and damn well what that text means. Anniston, the owner of the veterans foundation where I live, is pulling out the big guns. The only thing in the world she knows I won’t ignore. Turning off the shower, I walk back into my bedroom and toss my destroyed belongings in the closet where they won’t be a hazard to little toes. When I’m confident I’ve picked up everything, I hop in the shower and attempt to wash off this asshole mood.
Thirty minutes later, the lock to my bedroom door turns—guess Theo caved—and is pushed open slowly, revealing tiny feet in footie pajamas.
I smile, waiting for the rest of her to shuffle in, spilling the fish shaped crackers with each step she takes. Without looking back at her mama, she closes the door softly all the while looking at the mess of crackers she spilled on the floor.
“Oops,” I tell her quietly, hiding a smile behind my finger.
The girl, who melts my heart with a single coo, grins, flashing those pearly white baby teeth. I kneel, needing her hug, and open my arms. “Come here, munchkin.”
Blue eyes, the same as her father’s, go wide right before she takes off in the cutest run-waddle ever—slipping a few times on the hardwood floors—until she plows right into me, just like her mother does.
“Mmm…” I coo, swinging her side to side in my arms and rising. “What did you bring Uncle Tim for dinner?”
She looks confused for a moment, eyeing her half-full container of crackers and then my face before she puts her thumb against her forefinger, like a crocodile hand, signing, “Eat.”
I shake my head. “I’m teasing. You eat it. Uncle Tim isn’t hungry right now.”
I walk us over to the bed and place her tiny body in the middle before I lay out next to her. I grab the remote control and turn the TV on to the show we like—well, she likes it. I could do with something a little more gripping than Peppa Pig, but I watch it because I love—used to love—hearing her sweet little giggle.
While the bright colors flash along the screen, entertaining Aspen, the closed captioning mocks me as i
t scrolls along the bottom, taunting me with emotion inserts such as
You don’t want to break the TV, Tim. You can still enjoy it without the sound. It’s not like you heard much of it the last few years anyway.
But I heard some. Not everything, but certain pitches I could still pick up.
Now though, I get nothing.
So fuck the closed captioning.
Fuck positivity.
It isn’t the same.
I can’t enjoy it.
I won’t.
I hate everything it reminds me of.
Her.
My past.
My doomed present.
I don’t even realize I’ve started breathing out of my mouth in short pants until something is shoved in between my lips, startling me upright. Spitting out the offending object, I pluck it off the comforter, examining the small cracker and the culprit behind its launch.
My eyes narrow playfully at the blonde-haired beauty. Her soft smile douses my anger at something I should be thankful for. Without closed captioning, I would solely rely on lipreading.
“Was this one of the ones you dropped?” Holding up the cracker, I lean in closer. Aspen’s eyes widen in anticipation of a tickle.
She signs the word “eat” again, and I sigh, noting how similar she is to her mother. Persistent as fuck.
“Fine.” I wiggle the cracker. “I’ll eat,” I say loudly, knowing her mother can hear me from her position behind the door. I don’t need to guess. I know Anniston didn’t send in her daughter without listening for what information Aspen could pull out of me. Like my state of mind.
Anniston is relentless when she wants us to do something. So whenever she can’t get her way, she sends in Aspen. She’s been mine and the guys’ kryptonite for the past year. How one little girl can single-handedly bring down a house full of Marines is beyond me.
But it happens.
Just like now.
It’s not like Anniston hasn’t been able to run this foundation by herself for the past four years. But ever since Breck married Cade and Bianca started dating Hayes, she’s found additional allies to support her reign. Together, the women of this house rule with an iron fist and some well-placed pouts. And Aspen… well, she fits right in with their cause. I think women are just born with the instincts that can bring a man down, no matter how hard he thinks he is. Not that I’m complaining. I love living here at the McCallister-Jameson Foundation. The food is great, and Anniston and the others have become my family.
It’s just…
How long will it last? Everyone leaves at some point.
A few years ago, we all wondered if our time here with Anniston and this foundation would end once she married Theo. When it didn’t, we held our breath until the next milestone: the birth of Aspen. We should have known Anniston would never abandon the five of us. Hell, we had been living with her for four years.
She found Cade first, offering him a place to stay when she was living alone and Theo was playing for the Washington Saints baseball team. Cade’s arrival sent Theo through the roof, to say the least, but eventually he accepted her passion—not really—and endured it until she found Hayes, Mason, Vic, and me in a soup kitchen.
All of us were homeless until Anniston came along and changed our lives. She gave us hope. She gave us shelter. And ultimately, even if we didn’t want one, she gave us a family—though we tried like hell not to get attached.
Four years later, I had hope.
I had options.
But not today.
Today, I have no hope.
I’m officially deaf.
Even though I knew it was coming, it still hit me like a Mack truck. No warning. No farewell. Just me sitting on my bed, strumming my guitar until everything just went silent. No epic moment. Just silence.
And I fucking loathe it.
Aspen taps my hand and pulls my arm, silently telling me she’s coming in for a snuggle, whether I want one or not. Sighing, I calm the storm in my head and try to act like everything is okay—for her sake. At least for a few hours until Anniston takes her to bed.
At some point we both fall asleep, and I wake when the bed shifts. I grab for Aspen, praying she didn’t roll off the bed, but a hand covers mine.
“She’s fine,” signs Anniston, her smile strained.
I look next to me just to verify Aspen is okay before nodding and sitting up.
“Breck made you something to eat,” she says, and it kills me I can no longer catch the tone of her voice. I can only read her lips, a trade I’ve perfected over the years as my hearing waned. I swipe a hand through my hair and sigh. She won’t go away unless I eat or talk. Right now, I’d rather eat and buy myself a little more time.
“Tell her thank you,” I grumble, but I can’t hear how it sounds. I wonder if my voice will soon sound like my mother’s.
“Does it sound different?” I ask, wanting to look away but can’t because I won’t be able to see her sign.
For the past three years, I’ve been afraid that my voice was changing. I stopped talking as much and started signing more around my family. Some days they let me get away with it, and other days, they flat-out demand I speak to them.
“No,” her lips mouth. “It sounds just as perfect and sexy as it always has.”
I scoff, knowing damn well she is lying. But when she cocks a brow as if asking, “Are you calling me a liar?” I straighten up and take the plate of food off my bedside table.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
I mean it. I’ve been a grade-A asshole since this morning, and it’s not her fault. If anything, Anniston and the rest of my family have been very patient with me. Way more than I deserve.
I dig into the plate of food she brought, a sandwich and potato salad.
“What was for dinner?” I can’t stop myself from asking. I haven’t missed a meal with my family since I’ve come here. I know they didn’t have sandwiches.
“Don’t tell me you missed the chaos,” she says, her hands moving through the signs before shoving at my shoulder.
I didn’t miss it at the time, but now, as I eat a cold sandwich alongside a sleeping baby, I think I missed it a little. At the McCallister-Jameson Foundation, there is never a shortage of ribbing and smart-ass comments. But around the dinner table, there is a whole lot of laughter. I usually just sit there and shake my head at the craziness, but sometimes I’ll join in—especially if someone rags on Theo. It’s fun to piss him off.
“We had shepherd’s pie,” she tells me. “But since you weren’t there, Hayes polished off what was left over.”
I chuckle. “I bet he did.” Hayes will eat everything if you let him.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She doesn’t speak the words but signs them instead.
I shake my head, opting for a universal signal that I’d rather not.
Anniston’s mouth opens and her chest expands before she closes it. I grin, fighting the urge to laugh. She wants to drill me with questions, but she’s treating me delicately at the moment, and that kills my soul. My family, especially Anniston, has always treated me the same as the others. She’s never once spared me in training or in her epic lectures. So for her to be holding back what she really wants to say destroys a small piece of me.
“Don’t do this,” I beg her quietly. “Don’t coddle me.”
For a moment, she just sits there, searching for something that I’m not sure she finds, but eventually, a smirk takes over her frown.
“Good. I’m glad we got that out of the way. I scheduled a doctor’s appointment for you in the morning.” She rises from the bed, her eyes still focused on me, her hands signing furiously. “Breck bought you a sunrise alarm clock. Don’t ask me what it is. If you want to know, talk to Breck. She’s been googling between stress-baking. There is a shit ton of cookies that you will go down the
re and eat.” She pauses for a moment. “Well, if Theo, Cade, and Hayes left any. They were throwing them back when I was—”
I grin at her slipup. “Eavesdropping?” I offer.
She shrugs. “I was checking on Aspen.”
Uh-huh. Sure she was.
“Whatever. Just know Cade is leading the run in the morning, and he expects you to be there before we head to the doctor’s office.”
This is the commander I know. This is the woman that pushes you hard and never lets you quit even if you beg her.
“Figure out how to work your new alarm clock.” She eyes the door, and I’d bet Aspen a whole bag of crackers that her Aunt Breck is lurking outside.
“I’m sure Breck can help me,” I say, eyeing the door as Anniston takes a step back.
“I’ll be back to get the munchkin later,” she promises, taking one more step toward the door and pausing.
I want to say I don’t expect what she does next, but I’ve lived with Anniston way too long to not expect her to eat up the space between us in a few long strides and throw her arms around my neck, nearly spilling my food. I grunt, letting my commander hug me until her breathing returns to normal. Well, until two more sweet-smelling bodies wrap around us, creating one big group hug.
I was wrong.
It wasn’t just Breck lurking behind the door. It was all three women in the house. And even then, when they loosen their grip enough for me to peer over their shoulders, I see every single one of my brothers standing out in the hall, watching their girls hug the shit out of me.
I’m so overwhelmed by everything that all I can do is laugh while hugging Anniston, Breck, and Bianca. Then in the most loving gesture known to mankind, I flip off my brothers.
Oorah.
“Surgery can correct this, Tim.”
The paper lining the exam table crinkles under me. It’s annoying. The paper and the regurgitated spiel coming out of my otolaryngologist’s mouth.
