Page 110 of Hunt Me

His eyes go wide, face filled with both anger and alarm. ‘I told you not to go out on your own?—’

‘I didn’t,’ I interrupt with an angry hand. ‘I was at the café. Rome came in to get some cat litter, and I had my back to the door when the guy came in. But I’m fine. Percy took him down, and Milo has him now. Putting him in the shed.’

Archie takes a moment to process everything I’ve just told him, and then he swallows heavily. ‘I’m coming home.’

‘No,’ I sign, my fingers snapping sharply. ‘Please. Take the time you need with your dad, okay? I’m fine. I was barely hurt, and this guy will probably be dead by morning.’

I see Archie’s lips part with a scoff. ‘No. I will make Milo keep him alive. I want to look into his face before he goes.’ His hand hesitates, and then he asks, ‘Do you know him?’

I shake my head. ‘No. Different guy from before. I don’t know where he first saw me or what he wants with me.’ My whole body feels tired again, and I realize I don’t want to talk about this with him until he’s home and I can burrow against his chest for comfort.

Archie seems to read that off my face because he softens. ‘I miss you. I’ll be home soon. Ask Nico for cuddles.’

I grimace. ‘He was in a bad mood.’

Archie rolls his eyes. ‘Trust me, he wants cuddles, and I’m bad at them. He won’t say no.’

All I really want is Archie, but at this point, I think I’ll take anything. And I don’t think Milo or Percy will offer up affection and comfort the way I need.

‘I can’t wait to see you.’

‘Me too,’ Archie offers. ‘I’ll call you later.’

The call ends abruptly, but I’ve come to expect that from him. When he’s done talking, he’s done. He doesn’t linger. It’s oddly charming, and I feel better now that he knows what happened and that I can accept I’m safe.

I don’t love the idea that my attacker will be on the same property as me, but I know under Milo’s specific sort of tender loving care, he’s not going to get access to me again.

And maybe, for the first time in a long time, I can relax.

When I get in, I find Nico curled up in Archie’s bed, sitting in the center in a little blanket nest with a cup of what smells like cocoa in his hands. He’s dressed in yoga pants and a loose T-shirt that hangs off one shoulder, a cloth headband pushing his hair back, and a gray volcanic clay mask smeared from forehead to chin.

‘Hi,’ he signs with one hand.

I let out a short breath. ‘Archie called you.’

He glances away for a second, looking guilty.

‘He told me to find you for a cuddle, but it’s fine if you don’t want to,’ I hurry to say.

Nico leans over to set his mug aside, then beckons me toward him with both hands. ‘Come here. I’m watching a documentary about bees.’

That sounds like the dream, in all honesty. I don’t want to think about stalkers or murderers or the fact that my life was in very real danger not more than half an hour ago. And Nico is very warm and welcoming as he pulls me close to him, then kind of wraps around me and tucks the blanket up to our chests as we lie back against the pillows.

I look at him, but only for a second. He has very tan skin and long fingers that toy with the hem of my shirt almost absently. He fidgets a little bit like Archie does, just not as profoundly.

But I’ve found that in kids raised by Deaf families. Their hands are rarely still. They mumble in sign and use their bodies to speak, even when they’re not really talking.

Nico catches me looking and glances up at me. ‘Something wrong?’

I shake my head. ‘No. Long day. Face hurts.’ The scrape on my cheek is more tender than my neck, which is a surprise.

I feel the rumble of his hum, and he grazes the wound with the tips of his fingers. ‘If this is too much, tell me. I’m a touchy-feely person. Growing up with Deaf family, you know?’

I don’t know. Coming from a hearing family, it took me a while to acclimate to how physical people in the community were with each other. It’s more second nature to me now than it was back then, but I know I don’t quite fit the mold of the perfect Deaf man.

Nico doesn’t seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t seem to care. He sits here comfortably, like he belongs. Like he never worried himself sick over whether or not he was actually wanted.

‘Is your family close with everyone here?’ I ask.