Their thoughts are loud to him, but he doesn’t mind the volume. His ability had been fine-tuned over the years and it was now second nature to him—the act as instinctual as breathing. He weaves together their thoughts and few spoken words into one cohesive conversation, jumping from one to the other like one might skip rocks atop the water. It stretches him a little, but he enjoys the exertion, flexing the muscle and feeling the satisfaction of it deep in his bones. If this wasn’t what his gift was for, then what was?
“Don’t worry,” he murmurs again into her ear, feeling the sorrow spread like a poison through her veins. “He says that he rather likes being Wyck.” He pulls back to catch her gaze, knowing that he was something of a buoy for her in these uncharted waters and marveling that he was ever appreciated for his stability. Who would have thought? “So don’t go in the deep end on me.” He nudges her neck lightly, and grins. “We’re all good here.” He looks down at the smiling children. “All of us.”
But, of course, she navigates the waters flawlessly, because if anything, Dempsey had learned that Oksana was a good mother. He found it oddly endearing. “Don’t listen to her kids,” he grins, winking at them conspiratorially, “I’m the cleverest.” His laugh is rich and it bounces against his throat before his attention turns toward Isle, his heart warming with an alien emotion. “I know, love,” he drops his head again, his face naked with compassion—his cavalier attitude stripped from him before her pleading eyes.
“You can shut it out though, I promise.” His voice is low, and he feels the beginning of a headache at not only hearing his own version of the thoughts around them, but the amplified version of chaos in her own head as he concentrates on it. He winces slightly, but does his best to smooth it over. “Think about something very quiet—like a meadow where it’s just you and me. Imagine what it would be like if there was absolutely nothing but the wind. Focus on that.” He pauses. “You can mute the world.”
He remembers what it was like before he had managed to get a handle on the ability, the way that thoughts could barge in uninvited—taking up unwanted space and echoing in his ears. Then, when he had started to more purposefully filter through his companion’s thoughts, how clumsy he had been—his actions almost always detected (and resented). He did not miss those times, and he found his often apathetic heart aching at the growing pains that Isle would feel as she went through those same motions.
“You are different too, Isle—although I prefer special. We’re all a little special.”
Another laugh and a wink. “Even your mother.”
DEMPSEY
lord have mercy on my rough and rowdy ways
