Free Hand (Irons and Works Book 1)

by E M Lindsey

  It was saying something—just how much the other two understood the gravity of what Derek would have to do, but also how important it was for Sam to have this—that they didn’t question him. Saying it aloud would acknowledge what Derek would have to put himself through, and feigned ignorance was always best.

  The hard part, really, would be to convince Sage to let him do it. It was a battle he wasn’t sure he’d have the strength for.

  11.

  ‘You look tired,’ Basil signed slowly as Derek took his seat at their now-customary table. The café was all but empty, apart from the owner—an attractive man who had a ten-year-old girl always hanging around. He was newer in town than Basil was, and from what he knew, kept to himself just as much. ‘You okay?’

  Derek nodded, though Basil wasn’t sure he was telling the truth. He knew Derek had ASL every week night, and had clients and art classes and his own private work, but there was something more to his fatigue he wasn’t saying. ‘Long day,’ he finally replied.

  He wasn’t looking directly at Basil, so he knocked on the table gently, making Derek’s gaze lift. ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Do you want to stop the lesson tonight?’

  ‘No,’ Derek signed in a hurry, shaking his head along with pinching his fingers. He looked almost desperate, which was startling. Derek was making amazing progress with the language, better than a lot of people Basil had known, but he didn’t think it was a passion for the language, or even for him.

  ‘Tell me,’ Basil repeated.

  Derek dragged a hand down his face, then signed, ‘I don’t have all the signs, but I’ll try. My friend Sam,’ he then spelled wheelchair and Basil nodded his understanding, ‘is having trouble. Custody,’ he spelled. ‘I want to help him, get him a lawyer, but…’ His hands stilled and his cheeks went pink.

  Basil waited, then reached over and gently touched his wrist in support. ‘It’s okay.’

  Derek shook his head. ‘My dad. My dad was a politician when I was a kid, but he was not nice. Abusive,’ he added, spelling most of the words, but Basil had no trouble following along with the stuttered pace. ‘Abused me and my brother. We ran away at fifteen, and there was an investigation. They found evidence of abuse from Sage’s diary. Not enough to convict, but he lost his reputation. He’s sick now, dying. I need to ask him for help, but it means…’ He didn’t finish what it meant, but Basil didn’t need him to.

  He had never suffered that kind of treatment, but it didn’t take more than a little imagination to know what that would cost Derek, and his stomach roiled with anger and desire to stop him from putting himself in that position. If he had any other way to help, he would have. He would cut himself and bleed if it meant Derek didn’t have to feel what he was feeling right then.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he finally offered.

  It was such a sad, pathetic, sorry thing to offer, and yet somehow Derek brightened at the sight of Basil’s fist circling his chest. His shoulders lightened, and his smile was genuine. ‘Thank you.’

  Basil glanced around, then decided that they had to get out of there. They could sign together, he could help Derek immerse himself in it, but they didn’t need to be formal. Not tonight. Derek needed something else, and Basil could give that to him.

  He quickly rose, holding out his hand, and he felt a jolt up his arm when Derek took it. He was profoundly grateful when Derek didn’t resist or force him to explain in the frustratingly slow signs, because in all honesty, he wasn’t sure what his plan was. He just knew they had to get away.

  Derek’s hand remained firmly tucked in his, palm to palm, feeling so right it made his head spin, and he found his feet leading him across the street, two blocks over, and coming to a stop at the back door of his shop. At that point, Derek did pull away and he raised an eyebrow at him.

  ‘Work?’

  Basil couldn’t stop the laugh which bubbled up his throat, vibrating in his chest with the force of it. ‘I have ice cream,’ he told Derek.

  Derek looked surprised, but the smile on his face was enough to show he was in, and Basil quickly unlocked the door and led the way in. He immediately flicked on the lights, flooding the back room with pale white halogen brightness, illuminating all the buckets of flowers waiting to be wrapped and tied and organized into their final stages.

  He shed his coat as Derek took a few steps around, his hand darting out as though he couldn’t help it, fingertips brushing along the petals of yellow roses which were waiting to be made into wedding centerpieces. He leaned his face into a bucket of petunias which were still planted in the dirt, and Basil could see the way his shoulders moved up and down with his breath.

  When he turned, he smiled at Basil. ‘You smell like this.’

  ‘Petunias?’ Basil asked, spelling the word slowly, watching Derek’s lips form over each letter as he watched Basil’s fingers like a hawk.

  Derek chuckled, then waved his hand in a wide arc as if to say, ‘All of this.’ Basil understood what he meant. It was the same way he felt about his parents—the way his mother always smelled like her growing things and the back room of her shop, and the way his father always smelled like his lab and his classroom. The smell of the shop clinging to him now was a new stage in his life—and he wasn’t sure if it would last, but it was for now. It was the way Derek smelled of ink and sterile, and something woodsy and soft underneath it all.

  Basil beckoned Derek over to the desk, then reached into the little mini-fridge next to it and pulled out two cartons of ice cream. They were little pints—an off-brand store mixture with an almond milk base and chunks of cookie dough. He dug two little spoons out of the package which rested by the coffee maker, and he pretended like Derek’s soft grin didn’t make his heart threaten to beat out of his chest.

  They moved away, and Derek paused, staring at the array of photos littering the edge of the desk. Most of them were of his parents, and of his aunt and uncle when they were younger. Basil wished he had known them better, wished that his parents hadn’t let bitterness and stubborn determination create a rift so the only thing he knew of them were notes left over in ledgers when he and Amaranth took over.

  Derek reached out and touched one of the silver-framed photos of his mom and aunt, then looked back up at Basil with his eyebrows raised.

  ‘Mom, aunt,’ Basil signed. He pointed to his mom, then made the sign again before pointing to the one of both his parents. ‘Mom and dad,’ he told him. He set his ice cream down so he could sign slow and clear enough. ‘They died. Boating accident with my aunt and uncle. My sister and I got the shop.’

  Derek watched carefully, understanding dawning on his face after a beat, and then sadness taking over. ‘Sorry,’ he replied.

  Basil shrugged. ‘I miss them.’

  Derek swallowed thickly, digging his spoon into the ice cream, but not eating any of it. After a while, he set it down and his hands shook a little when he raised them. ‘My mom died when I was twelve. The doctor said it was an accident, wrong medication, but I think she committed suicide,’ he spelled the last two words twice because his hands were shaking, and he mixed the letters up the first round. Basil wanted to reach out and stop him, but the moment was too much, it was too big, and he wanted to hold it. ‘My dad never loved her.’

  Basil let out a small breath as he glanced back at the photo of his parents. He couldn’t understand that. Not really. He understood not loving a person, but his parents had been madly in love every single day he could remember seeing them together. He didn’t know exactly what happened when their boat sank—didn’t know if it was quick, or slow, if they tried to save each other, but he knew they were together, and he didn’t think they’d have wanted it any other way. In truth, it was a relief in a way, because he couldn’t imagine one of them trying to survive the other.

  When he looked back up at Derek, Derek was watching him with a careful expression. ‘Why did we come here?’

  Basil shrugged. ‘You have to do something bad. It’s nice here—quiet, soothin
g, smells good.’

  Derek gave a startled laugh, and Basil finally—finally—gave in to his urge and reached out to feel the movement of Derek’s throat under his hand. It was a deep-chested rumble, rushing up to his elbow, and he found himself wanting to press his mouth there.

  Derek startled under his touch, but he didn’t react other than to let his laughter quietly die down. ‘Thank you,’ he finally signed.

  Basil’s smile was a little tense, but he nodded an acknowledgement of it, then grabbed the ice cream and motioned for the side door. It opened to a set of stairs, to a little loft above the shop that had once been an apartment, though his aunt and uncle had treated it more like an attic. There was a little sofa up there, though, and a half-kitchen which still worked enough to heat up his lunch and dinner during long shifts, and the lights were soft.

  Derek followed behind, Basil could feel the thudding vibrations of his shoes on the stairs as they trudged to the top, and he led the way in. It didn’t smell as intensely floral up there—more like sun-soaked pine and old dust from boxes and boxes of archived hand-written orders. Basil didn’t look back at Derek as he turned the lights on, but when he turned, Derek was watching him again from the doorway.

  ‘Sit,’ Basil said, then pointed to the sofa.

  Derek’s gaze roamed over the sink which had evidence of the old take-out containers of lasagne he brought the week before, and a couple of empty coffee mugs. He eventually crossed the room in three quick strides and sat, leaving enough room for Basil to join him without touching—but only just.

  Basil found he didn’t want the room. He wanted to compromise every single thing he’d decided for himself about too-good looking hearing men who didn’t know his language well and threatened to sweep him off his feet. He stopped to remind himself that Derek was nothing like Chad. He was trying far more and far better in these short weeks with no promise of sex or even real friendship than Chad had done in the entire time they were together.

  On the first date, Chad had asked Basil to say his name, and when he’d fucked it up, he laughed. At the time it had seemed good natured, but he knew the truth about him now. Never once had Derek asked Basil to voice anything, not even when their communication was a struggle and he was frustrated with his inability to understand what Basil was trying to say.

  It meant something.

  ‘I had a blind date,’ Derek signed to him, pausing to see if the sign for blind and sign for date were the right ones. Basil waved him on, and Derek smiled. ‘My brother met him, thought he and I would be good together. We went to gelato.’

  Basil bit down on his lip, struggling with whether or not to tell Derek the truth—that Amit had told him everything, he knew exactly what happened. He wanted to wait, to see where Derek was going with it, so he just nodded.

  ‘It was bad,’ Derek signed, laughing a little. ‘I left and went home, was angry at Sage for the bad date. Then he came to the shop later. The day you got your tattoo.’

  Basil’s hand went to his arm, a reflexive habit he’d been engaging in lately, feeling the still-raised lines of the image even as the shading began to peel in huge, inky flakes every time he rubbed lotion over it. Derek’s eyes followed his motion, and for a second, he looked like he was lost in the sight of the flower.

  After a second, he shook himself out of it. ‘He wanted to say sorry,’ Derek went on. ‘My brother thinks he and I would make a good couple, he thinks it’s time for me to start dating.’

  Basil couldn’t ignore a sudden pang of possessive anger and jealousy at the thought of Derek moving on to anyone who wasn’t him. He hadn’t yet committed, expressed any real outward interest, and yet, he let himself feel it. ‘Do you want to date?’

  Derek bit his lip as he considered the question. ‘Yes. I’m lonely, but it’s hard. I have PTSD,’ he signed the letters slowly, with only a slight tremble in his fingers. ‘The night at the bank, it happens sometimes. My dad…’ He stopped again, and Basil didn’t dare ask him to go on. He didn’t need to, his trauma was more than obvious. ‘I don’t want to be a burden.’ When he spelled the last word, he didn’t ask Basil for clarification.

  ‘You’re not,’ Basil told him quickly.

  Derek shrugged. ‘I will never be normal. Never be fine. Always afraid, always a little broken.’ He hesitated, his hands fluttering a little in front of him. ‘My brother fell in love. He was engaged. Then his fiancé got sick and died. Rare disease, they didn’t know he had it, and then he was gone.’

  Basil let out an involuntary rush of air, unable to stop himself from making a small noise in the back of his throat with it. It was unreal to think about how much Derek and his brother had suffered, and how long that suffering had continued through his life. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Derek shook his head. ‘I’m afraid of that, too. Afraid I’ll fall in love and lose him.’

  Basil didn’t really need to consider what he was going to say next. He never talked about Chad—occasionally with Amaranth but only when she pushed until he was forced to give in. But as he raised his hands, he felt the words come without that familiar resistance. ‘I went to University. A Deaf University, you know?’ Derek nodded. ‘It’s in DC, and I worked at a coffee shop by campus. A guy used to come in, he was an intern for a senator, and he liked me. I never dated a hearing person before, but he was nice, my friends told me it was a good idea.’ He paused to make sure Derek was following, and though Derek probably wasn’t getting all if it, by his face it was obvious he was getting enough. ‘We were together a long time. Two years. We shared an apartment. He told me to take speech therapy, he didn’t know much sign, wanted to voice and write. He would invite friends over and before I could read lips at all, they would mock me to my face because I couldn’t understand.’

  “Fuck,” Derek’s lips said, an involuntary slip that Basil could read easily.

  He huffed a laugh and nodded. ‘One day I could understand, and I knew. The whole time, it was like that. So, I left, and I promised I would never date a hearing person again.’ He watched in that moment a Derek’s face crumpled when he fully understood what Basil was saying, his emotions playing out before he was able to control it. And it was in that moment Basil knew without a doubt there was more than just friendly interest.

  And he knew he was okay with it.

  ‘I understand,’ Derek finally replied, that look still on his face.

  ‘I know,’ Basil told him with a half-smile. ‘That’s why I let myself like you.’

  Derek’s entire body twitched with surprise, his gaze flickering back and forth between Basil’s hands and face like maybe he’d read the signs all wrong. But Basil had gone slow, had spelled the words he knew Derek didn’t know yet, had mouthed them, taken his time because he wanted to be understood.

  ‘You like?’ Derek’s hands repeated.

  Basil licked his lips, then took a step in close—not enough to encroach on their signing space, but enough he could just feel the heat of Derek’s body. ‘I like you,’ he repeated.

  Derek’s entire face pinked, and he lifted both hands, curled them into the I love you sign, then circled them in front of each other. ‘Romance.’

  It was probably one of those cheesy throw-away signs his teacher had given as a reward at the end of one of their classes. It was how all the hearing people he’d met knew swears and pick-up lines, but this felt different. He could picture Derek practicing the sign, clinging to it, hoping to use it one day.

  Maybe that was an arrogant line of thought, but the way Derek was looking at him mirrored the way he was feeling inside. Because if the roles were reversed, he might have done the same thing. Basil’s bitterness toward Chad had eclipsed his growing feelings for Derek for a little while, but he was too far gone now to ignore it. The moment Derek had pressed his hand against his arm and marked his skin forever, he was lost.

  Basil nodded, stepping in even closer now, making it impossible for them to talk. His hands raised, curling around Derek’s neck, watching his
face for any signs that he didn’t want it. Derek’s lips parted and he felt a rush of air hit him. His breath was sweet from the ice cream, and still a little cold, and under his fingers he felt the slight vibration of what might have been a moan.

  His dick twitched, and he knew there was no going back now. Even if Derek backed away and said he couldn’t do this—didn’t want this—Basil wouldn’t be able to turn it off. Things had changed, evolved, and he was ready for it.

  His hand lifted to his face. ‘Kiss,’ he signed.

  Derek licked his lips, and even if he didn’t entirely understand that sign, it was clear enough he got the point. His head dipped low, his hands lifting to press against Basil’s waist, and then there was no space between them at all.

  12.

  It was all happening so fast, his head was spinning so intensely, Derek wasn’t entirely sure the moment wasn’t a long hallucination until Basil’s lips met his. The first press of their mouths together was a little clumsy, not exactly on target. Derek mostly got Basil’s stubbly chin and he felt a hot brush of air against his nose. Then Basil’s head rearranged, and the grip on Derek’s neck got a little tighter, and it changed.

  Like a gust of wind hit him, suddenly he felt rocked off center, and he fell down to his back against the love seat cushions as Basil hovered over him kissing him breathless. Derek kept his grip on Basil’s hips, fingers digging into his rough jeans, holding them together in a furious press of bodies in desperation to keep it going. Basil’s mouth was insistent, demanding, exactly the way he imagined it might be when he let himself.

  His head was reeling, body aching with want because it had been so fucking long since he’d let himself be touched like this, let himself touch anyone with this kind of intimacy. And before this, there hadn’t been meaning behind it. He’d given in to his body’s desire to reach orgasm with another person in the past, but he’d never let himself feel—he’d never wanted to. He hadn’t been lying when he said watching Sage break apart and nearly give up had terrified him beyond reason.