My Riley

Chapter Fifteen — Vincent

I was glad I had been there.

That was the first thought that stayed with me.

If I hadn’t been at the headquarters when it happened, I didn’t know what would have happened.

I still remembered the sound of Riley screaming.

The way his hand had immediately gone to his ear.

The way his entire face had changed.

I had never seen him like that.

Riley was always composed.

Even when things went wrong with the project, he stayed calm.

A shipment was delayed?

He found another option.

Something wasn’t working?

He fixed it.

A design needed changing?

He adjusted it.

But when that sound came, everything changed.

And now we were sitting in a hospital.

Riley was beside me, his hearing aids removed.

Both of them.

I kept looking at him.

Without them, something about him seemed different.

Not weaker.

Just… different.

His long hair covered most of his ears, so if I hadn’t known, I probably wouldn’t have noticed anything.

But now I knew.

Without those devices, Riley couldn’t hear.

Not properly.

Maybe not at all.

And somehow, knowing that made me see him differently.

The doctor came in carrying a tablet.

“Riley?”

Riley looked up immediately.

The doctor began speaking.

Riley watched his mouth carefully.

I noticed it almost immediately.

His eyes stayed on the doctor’s lips.

Focused.

Following every movement.

The doctor stopped.

Then looked at Riley.

“Can you hear me?”

Riley shook his head.

The doctor nodded.

Then he raised his hands.

And started signing.

I stared.

Riley immediately understood.

His hands moved as he responded.

I looked between them.

They were having an entire conversation.

In silence.

I had no idea Riley knew sign language.

The doctor eventually turned toward me.

“His ears appear to have been exposed to a very loud, sudden noise. I don’t see signs of a major emergency, but we need to give his ears some time to recover.”

I nodded.

“What does that mean?”

“He needs to stay away from loud environments for the next several days.”

Riley watched the doctor carefully as he spoke and signed.

The doctor continued.

“I also want him to stop using his hearing aids temporarily.”

Riley nodded.

“For how long?”

“Several days. At least until we reassess him.”

He explained that Riley’s hearing aids would also need to be checked and reprogrammed.

“The devices may have been affected by the sound exposure,” he said. “Some internal components can become damaged or behave abnormally after exposure to very high sound levels. We need the audiologist to inspect them properly before he uses them again.”

I looked at Riley.

He seemed calm.

Almost too calm.

The doctor continued.

“We may need to reset and recalibrate both devices. Don’t try to adjust them yourself.”

Riley nodded again.

The doctor gave him further instructions.

“No loud music. No construction areas. No machinery. Avoid anything that could produce another sudden loud sound.”

Riley signed something.

The doctor smiled.

“Yes. Exactly.”

I didn’t understand what they were saying.

But Riley seemed to understand everything.

The doctor examined his ears again and checked his hearing response.

Then he said, “You should be fine.”

Riley exhaled.

The doctor wrote down a few medications.

“I’m prescribing something for the discomfort.”

He gave Riley the instructions.

“Take paracetamol if you need pain relief. If the pain becomes severe, you develop discharge from the ear, significant dizziness, worsening symptoms, or anything unusual, come back immediately.”

He paused.

“And please keep your ears protected.”

Riley nodded.

The doctor looked at me.

“He needs rest.”

“I understand.”

“No pressure on the ears.”

“I understand.”

“And absolutely no loud environments.”

“I understand.”

The doctor smiled.

“Good.”

He looked back at Riley.

“You can go home.”

Riley nodded.

I stood.

He stood too.

He reached for his hearing aids.

Then stopped.

The doctor shook his head.

“Not yet.”

Riley put them back into their case.

We walked out.

⸻

The drive home was quiet.

Very quiet.

I didn’t know where Riley lived.

He took my phone and typed his address into it.

Then handed it back.

I put it into the GPS.

We started driving.

Neither of us spoke.

Riley sat beside me, looking out of the window.

I occasionally looked at him.

He seemed tired.

His hair was covering his ears again.

Then, after several minutes, he lifted both hands.

He gathered his hair and pushed it backward.

Behind his ears.

I looked over.

And stopped.

For the first time, I saw his ears clearly.

They were small.

Slightly red.

Probably from everything that had happened.

And somehow—

Cute.

I looked back at the road immediately.

Why did I think that?

I had no business thinking that.

I focused on driving.

But a few seconds later, I glanced at him again.

His ears were still visible.

His face looked softer somehow.

Without his hearing aids, without his hair covering everything, there was nothing hiding that part of him.

He looked vulnerable.

Not fragile.

Just exposed.

And he wasn’t saying anything.

He couldn’t.

Not because he didn’t want to.

Because he couldn’t hear me.

I suddenly became painfully aware of how much I took hearing for granted.

The radio was playing quietly.

I turned it off.

The silence felt better.

Riley continued looking through the window.

⸻

When we reached his house, I parked.

Riley looked at me.

Then typed something on his phone.

Thank you.

I shook my head.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

He smiled.

Then opened the door.

I got out too.

He looked surprised when I walked around the car.

I followed him toward the house.

“You shouldn’t walk home alone after what happened.”

He looked at me.

I couldn’t tell if he understood what I was saying.

He probably didn’t.

So I simply motioned for him to keep walking.

He did.

We reached the front door.

Riley knocked.

A moment later, the door opened.

His mother.

The second she saw him, her face changed.

She immediately started signing.

Riley answered.

Their hands moved quickly.

Naturally.

Comfortably.

His mother touched his face.

Then his hair.

Then his ears.

She looked worried.

Riley responded, apparently reassuring her.

I stood there completely lost.

I understood absolutely nothing.

Then she looked at me.

“Oh, Vincent.”

I nodded.

“Good evening, ma’am.”

“Thank you for bringing Riley to the hospital.”

“He’s okay.”

“Yes.”

She looked at her son.

Then back at me.

“He’ll be fine.”

I nodded.

“Good.”

She smiled.

“Are you okay?”

I hesitated.

“Yes.”

She gave me a knowing look.

“You look tired.”

“It’s been a long day.”

She nodded.

“I understand.”

Riley was still signing something to her.

I watched.

I couldn’t stop wondering how many conversations like this had happened throughout his life.

How much I didn’t know about him.

His mother turned to me again.

“Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome.”

I looked at Riley.

He was watching me.

For a second, our eyes met.

I nodded toward him.

“Rest.”

He smiled.

Then signed something to his mother.

She laughed softly.

I had no idea what he had said.

I left.

⸻

By the time I returned to the office, it was already late.

Most of the building was quiet.

I went into my office.

Closed the door.

Sat down.

And immediately thought about Riley.

I couldn’t stop.

His scream.

His hearing aids.

The doctor speaking.

Riley watching his lips.

Then signing.

His mother signing.

His ears.

I leaned back.

How had I worked with this man for months and not known any of this?

I knew his work.

I knew his professionalism.

I knew he was punctual.

I knew he cared about details.

I knew he could walk into an empty building and somehow see the finished space before anyone else could.

But I didn’t know this.

I didn’t know he couldn’t hear without those devices.

I didn’t know he knew sign language.

I didn’t know his mother communicated with him that way.

I didn’t know how much effort it took for him to navigate a world that I moved through without thinking.

And then I remembered something else.

I didn’t have his number.

My brother did.

My secretary probably had it.

But I didn’t.

That suddenly felt absurd.

I picked up my phone.

I called my office.

“Send me Riley Rosewood’s personal contact information.”

There was a pause.

“Sir?”

“You heard me.”

“Yes, sir.”

A few minutes later, his number appeared on my phone.

I stared at it.

I had never personally texted Riley.

Never called him.

Every interaction between us had been through email or the office.

Professional.

Always professional.

But tonight was different.

I opened a new message.

I stared at the blank screen.

What was I supposed to say?

Are you okay?

Too simple.

How is your ear?

Better.

I typed.

Deleted it.

Typed again.

Deleted that too.

Finally, I wrote:

Vincent:

How are you feeling? Is the pain any better?

I stared at the message.

Then pressed send.

For several seconds, nothing happened.

I placed the phone on my desk.

Then picked it up again.

No reply.

I put it down.

Then picked it up.

Still nothing.

I sighed.

This was ridiculous.

I had sent one text message.

One.

Why was I staring at my phone like an i***t?

I put it face down.

Then turned it back over.

Still nothing.

I leaned back in my chair.

For months, Riley had been the one person who never contacted me personally.

And now I was the one waiting for him to reply.

I didn’t know what that meant.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

But tonight, for the first time, Riley wasn’t just the man designing my headquarters.

He was the man whose scream I couldn’t get out of my head.

And for some reason, I needed to know that he was okay.