Beneath Dark Skies (Rolling Hills Ranch #1)

18. Theo

EIGHTEEN

THEO

COFFEE & CRUTCHES

Day 402

Damn, this thing itches.

The gauze wrapping around my ankle is driving me insane, and I'm trying to scratch under it without disturbing the wound. I feel the floorboards vibrate under me and look up to see Farron standing there, her brows furrowed, and lips pressed into a thin line. She looks more exasperated than usual, which is saying something. It’s a look she’s been reserving for the other two since we’ve gotten here.

I quickly yank the pen out from under the wrapping on my leg, but Farron moves faster, snatching it from my hand. Her movements are swift and precise, just like everything she does. She grabs the pad to write something down, her fingers moving with practiced ease. “Are you crazy? You know you could further injure yourself or, worse, cause an infection by using this thing, right?”

I try to stifle a laugh, knowing she's right, but I can’t help wanting to lighten the mood somehow. “I’m not scratching the wound, just around it,” I write back, trying to sound innocent. She shoots me a withering look, her arms crossed over her chest, and I can't help but notice how cute she looks when she's trying to be stern. Her eyes, usually a calm forest green, are dark and filled with concern.

Before long, I let out what I imagine is a wheezy laugh, my chest shaking with the effort. Farron’s stern expression falters, the corners of her lips twitching as she tries not to smile. It's a small victory, but I'll take it.

“Sorry, Doc. I won’t do that again.” I add under my last note.

Farron takes the pad from me and sits on the futon beside me. Usually, she sits by my leg to check on the wound, but now she's closer, and I can feel her body heat radiating toward me. Her proximity is both comforting and disconcerting. All I want to do is reach out, touch her, and trace the freckles scattered across her face like constellations. I shake my head, snapping myself out of that little fantasy.

There's something about Farron that I've never felt with anyone else. It's a connection that both excites and terrifies me. At first, I thought I should be scared of it, but now, I want to dive headfirst. I can't help but think that Farron feels the same. She seems more relaxed around me, like the heavy burden she always carries is a little lighter when we're together. But maybe I’m just imagining things.

I watch as she writes out her response, handing it over with a smirk. “I’d hope not, considering I came in to give you the good news that you’re officially released from bed rest. I want to get you on a crutch and moving around.”

A smile breaks out on my face, and I look up with my eyebrows raised, looking for confirmation that she’s serious. She gives me a smile and a nod of her head, and in my moment of pure joy, I reach for her hand and pull her into me for a hug. I feel the air leave her from the sudden movement and, feeling sheepish, I pull back with an apologetic look.

Her cheeks flush a delicate pink, and she lets out a small laugh, shaking her head. She writes quickly, “Alright, let’s get you up and moving. But no more sudden movements like that!”

I nod eagerly, and she helps me swing my legs off the futon. I wince as my foot hits the ground, the pressure sending a sharp pain up my leg. Farron’s hand is steady on my arm, her touch reassuring. She picks up the crutch from the corner of the room that I hadn’t noticed before and hands it to me, guiding me as I position it under my arm.

“Take it slow,” she writes. “It’s going to feel weird at first, but you’ll get the hang of it.”

I nod, gripping the crutch tightly. With her support, I push myself up, wobbling as I try to balance. The crutch feels awkward and cumbersome, but Farron’s encouragement keeps me focused. Slowly, we make our way out of the office, into the hallway, and toward the kitchen, Farron’s hand never leaving my arm.

Each step is a challenge, but Farron’s presence makes it bearable. The warmth of her hand on me helps give me the strength to keep going. By the time we reach the kitchen, I’m sweating and breathless, but I feel a sense of accomplishment.

Farron guides me to the dining table and helps me sit down. She grabs two mugs from the cabinet and pours us both some coffee, the rich aroma filling the room. She sits across from me, handing me a mug, and we take a moment to catch our breath.

Farron picks up the notepad and pen, her expression softening. She scribbles a quick note and slides it over to me. “You're doing a good job. We'll keep practicing walking for a few more days, and you'll be moving around easily soon.”

I smile at her encouragement, nodding as I sip my coffee. The heat of the coffee seeps into my bones, soothing the tension from the effort of walking. Farron watches me with a curious expression, then writes another note and passes it to me. “Can I ask a question that’s going to sound ignorant but is coming out of a place of genuine curiosity? Why didn’t you ever get a cochlear implant?” she writes.

I take another sip of coffee and think about how to answer. My chest grows warm as I think about my mom, and a soft smile graces my face. After a moment, I take the pen and start to write. “My mom always told me she wanted me to choose for myself, no matter how much the doctors at the hospital pushed it when the hearing tests showed signs of Deafness. I’ve always known how lucky I was to have a mom who wanted me to decide on my own, a mom who was so willing to learn another language for me.

“I guess I just never felt the need. I’ve always been comfortable with who I am and didn’t want to change that. The people most important in my life learned ASL to communicate with me, and they never made me feel like I had to get one. Plus, the idea of surgery freaked me out, and I met other Deaf and hard of hearing people who got implants and found that the static and noise was too much.”

Farron reads my note, nodding thoughtfully. She writes back, “I get that. It’s important to feel comfortable in your skin and you’re not obligated to do things like that to make it easier on anyone else. I was serious yesterday when I told you I wanted you to teach me to sign. I want to communicate with you more easily.”

My chest tightens with a mix of emotions, a burning sensation lingering in the back of my eyes. People have often overlooked me throughout my life, opting to communicate through Adrian and Kenji instead. It's not their fault, but it's always been a silent ache—a feeling of being unseen. Farron's genuine effort to connect with me cuts through that loneliness more deeply than I expected. Her willingness to learn sign language feels like a beacon of understanding in a sea of indifference.

I blink a few times before writing my response. “I thought you wanted to learn so you could spy on the other two?”

She reads my note and smirks before writing something down and sliding the notebook back to me. “That would merely be a plus.”

I pretend to consider her offer, knowing there’s no way I’ll pass up more time with her. The idea of teaching her to sign is intriguing and somehow intimate. It's a chance to connect with her more deeply and share a part of my world with her. I find myself looking forward to it, but I also remember a promise she made not too long ago.

I pick up the pen and write, “Remember, you owe me some spicy books in return. The kind that would give Nora heart palpitations.”

Farron reads my note and raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful smile. She writes back, “I haven't forgotten. I’ll get some to you when I come by tomorrow morning.”

I raise an eyebrow, feigning skepticism. “Just make sure they're the craziest ones you can find. I want my money's worth.”

Farron chuckles, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “Challenge accepted. You might regret that request, though…Got any preferences?”

I chuckle silently, shaking my head and writing, “Surprise me. What's the craziest romance book you've ever read?”

Her eyes light up with mischief as she writes her response. “I once read a romance book about a woman who falls in love with a door.”

My brows furrow as I read what she said once. And then again. “Like an actual door?”

She looks even more excited by my question and nods enthusiastically. “An actual door. And it was an erotica.”

I burst into laughter, trying to imagine the absurdity of such a storyline. We continue exchanging notes as we finish our coffee, enjoying each other's company. Farron places the mugs in the sink and helps me practice walking with my crutch before leading me to a different room she designates as mine.

As she prepares to leave for the barn, I reach out and squeeze her hand three times in gratitude. She smiles warmly, giving me a wink before disappearing from view. It feels like she's taken a piece of my heart with her, leaving me with a warmth I haven't felt in a long time.