Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

JACE

“Jace.”

I look up from the wall I was building to find my boss, Chuck, standing a couple of feet away.

“Got a minute?” he asks.

Nodding, I set down my nail gun. I’m not surprised by the interruption. I’ve been expecting him all day. If I’m right, he’s here to fire me.

I’ve had this job for six months, and things have been going well, but I’ve been down this road before. When something goes missing on a site, I’m the first person the boss interrogates. And Travis, one of the other rough carpenters who’s working with me now, told me this morning that a circular saw disappeared off the truck yesterday.

When I look at it from Chuck’s perspective, I get it. I mean, I did do time for stealing a car. But damn. I’ve paid for my crimes. I’ve served my time. I haven’t been that person for a long, long time, and I’m fucking tired of being everyone’s scapegoat.

I follow him from the gutted living room of the Vine Street house into the kitchen, which is only slightly less noisy. Given there’s currently no real wall between the two spaces, the sound of Led Zeppelin—Travis’s favorite group—and the rhythmic pounding of Trav’s stud gun are still deafening. The band is in the middle of a guitar riff, and Travis is shaking his ass so much his pants fall halfway over his butt cheeks.

He isn’t wearing underwear, and he seems in no hurry to cover up.

“I didn’t know there was a full moon tonight,” Chuck says in a dry tone.

I can’t help quipping, “I think that’s technically a half moon.”

Chuck presses his lips together as he surveys Travis’s ass. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

He shakes himself, then turns his back to my coworker. Crossing his arms over his chest, he levels his gaze on me. “I got a call this morning.”

“Oh?” I say, slightly confused. Had someone called in an anonymous tip claiming I’d taken the saw?

“Butterfly Buddies. They called for a reference.” He narrowed his gaze. “You looking at taking a job with a conservation group?”

I stare at him wordlessly for a moment. Then the name registers, and I rub the side of my jaw. “No.” I give him a half smile. “It’s a volunteer organization that works with kids on the spectrum.” When I see his blank look, I add, “Kids with autism.”

His eyes widen. “Oh.” Then they widen even more “ Oh. Why would you do that? I thought you were done with parole.”

“I am,” I say, hating that I have to explain myself, especially since I’m so caught off guard. I never expected to hear from Butterfly Buddies after submitting my application a few months ago. The organization has been on my radar for a couple of years, but it wasn’t until my nephew’s fourteenth birthday that I took the plunge and applied. Given that I’d had to consent to a full background check and provide them with fingerprints, I hadn’t expected them to take me seriously, let alone call my boss. “I just like giving back.”

It’s a lame answer, but it’s the only one I’m capable of providing right now.

“That’s awesome,” he says. “Will you need to take off work for that?”

“They say the time commitment is minimal. Mostly after school and some evenings or weekends. We usually wrap up our jobs by three at the latest, so I shouldn’t need to take off.”

His hands drop to his sides. “You’re a damn good worker, Jace. Mitch Pincher was a fool to let you go, but his stupidity was my gain. If you need to take off an hour or so early so you can volunteer, just let me know. Maybe you can come in early to make up for any lost time.”

“Thanks.” This isn’t going anything like I’d expected.

He turns pensive, looking me over. “Are you happy working with my crew?”

I hesitate, unsure where this is going, and warily answer, “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” he says with a smile. “I’d like to start giving you more responsibility. You up for that?”

I blink, sure I’ve heard him wrong. “Yes, sir.”

“Glad to hear it. I’d like to try you on finish carpentry. When I hired you, you said you had experience.”

“I do.” I learned carpentry with my dad, and he was bitterly disappointed when I refused to take over the family construction business…until I was forced to and ran it into the ground. I’ve spent more time than is probably healthy wondering what he’d think of his son scraping for jobs. Part of me is glad he’s not alive to see it.

“Good,” he repeats, nodding. “I’ll start you at the Hudson house next week. You’ll work with Darren installing cabinets and trim.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Chuck studies me for a long moment and then starts to walk away. But he only takes a few steps before he stops and turns back. “Jace?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Keep an eye on the equipment, will you? I heard a saw went missing.”

Was this all an act so he could get me to lower my guard? But before he walks out the door, I find myself telling him that I will. For a couple of seconds, I just stand there soaking it all in—Chuck not blaming me for the saw. Chuck offering me a promotion. Butterfly Buddies calling for a reference. Does this mean they’re actually going to let me volunteer?

When I get off a few hours later, I check my phone in the cab of my old pickup. Sure enough, there’s a voicemail from Butterfly Buddies.

As my truck warms up, I return their call. An older woman answers and introduces herself as Susan Duckworth. She immediately asks if I can come in today for an interview.

“I know this is short notice,” she says in a kind voice, “but we’ve had several new applicants, and we’re short volunteers.”

“Yeah,” I say, still in shock. “I just got off work. I can be there in an hour.”

“Splendid,” she says. “I’ll see you then.”

Fast forward an hour, and I enter the waiting room in my best pair of jeans and a button-down shirt. There are adult-sized and child-sized chairs, all empty. In the corner, there’s a tacky white plastic Christmas tree, and a peeling plastic menorah sits on a table beside it. It’s not exactly the kind of scene to spread holiday joy, not that I find the holidays joyful anymore. I guess at least they tried. A twenty-something woman is sitting at a desk behind a glass partition, so I walk over. She gives me an appreciative smile as she opens the window.

“Jace Hagan,” I say. “I’m here to see Susan Duckworth.”

The door next to her workstation opens, and a cheerful woman with snow-white hair steps into view. “Jace. I’m so glad you could come on such short notice.”

She looks me up and down, appearing slightly taken aback. I sent a photo of myself with my application, but I’m not surprised by her reaction. I know how I look. I’m tall, and I have broad shoulders and big arms, both from my job and from working out. It’s probably for the best my tattoos are currently covered by my shirt and jacket.

When people find out I’m a felon, they’re usually intimidated, but Susan, despite knowing my history, quickly sheds her surprise at my appearance and gives me a bright smile.

“Somebody’s been eating his Wheaties,” she teases.

I offer her a tight smile and extend my hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. Thank you for inviting me in.”

“And polite too. I think we’ll get along just fine, Mr. Jace. Follow me.” She leads the way down the hall and into a small office. As she circles the desk, I take in my surroundings. The whole office is covered in ducks. Rubber ducks, ceramic ducks. Photos of ducks line the walls and are perched on top of her hutch. She takes a seat, then motions to the two chairs that face her. “Close the door and have a seat.”

I do as she asks, then rest my hands on my knees, surprised by how nervous I am.

“I see you’ve noticed my ducks.”

“Kind of hard not to.”

She releases a laugh. “Touché. Someone bought me a duck as a gag gift after I got remarried about fifteen years ago, and now I just keep getting them.” She leans closer and whispers, “I much prefer cats.”

I grin. “I have a cat. Bingo.” Then I add, “He came with the name, and I didn’t change it. He’s a rescue.”

It’s a wonder I’ve said so much without being asked a single question. I learned to keep my mouth shut in prison, and the trait kind of followed me back into society.

“I’d love to have a cat, but my husband’s allergic.” She rests her hands on her desk and looks me in the eye. “I confess, your application has been passed around the office over the last few weeks. There are some of us who weren’t keen on letting you volunteer.”

“If I’m honest,” I say, “I didn’t expect to hear back from you.”

She smiles. “If I hadn’t read your application, then I would have assumed you’d applied to earn brownie points somewhere. That was the biggest question,” she says. “Your motivation.”

I don’t say anything. There’s nothing more to add to what I wrote in my application.

“I was moved, Jace, and I believe in second chances.” She continues to stare at me, like she’s performing a CAT scan of my soul. “We’d like to try you on a probationary period. As I mentioned in my voicemail, we’ve had an influx of new applicants, and there’s a boy who needs someone like you. His name is Aidan Fisher. He moved here from Charlotte about a month ago, and his father left him and his mother just after Christmas last year. He’s six.”

I swallowed, surprised by the way this news tugs at the loose thread in my heart. The one that’s been unraveling for years. “Six?”

For some reason, I expected an older kid.

“Yes. He’s receiving occupational therapy, but we feel like what he really needs is a buddy. Especially since his father is no longer in the picture.”

I nod.

“Just so we’re clear: your sole responsibility is to be his friend. Give him some stability. We’d like you to see him two or three times the first week. The first few times, you’ll meet in the school library. One of us will hang back and watch you two interact, and if all goes well, you’ll be able to leave the school and walk to the park. How does that sound?”

“It sounds…” Warmth spreads through my chest. “It sounds great.”

“Good!” Susan says, clapping her hands together. “How about we start tomorrow? We’ll meet at four o’clock at Thomas Edison Elementary. Plan on spending about an hour with him.”

“Okay,” I say, still amazed this is happening. “Thank you.”

“Thank you , Jace. Now, let me tell you a little bit about Aidan.”

The next day, I show up at Thomas Edison Elementary a few minutes early, surprised that my hands are sweaty. Susan is waiting for me just outside the entrance. The temperature dropped today, and she pulls her coat closer to her body.

“Ms. Duckworth,” I say, acknowledging her with a nod.

“Hello, Jace. And call me Susan. Aidan is in the library.” Her gaze drops to the reusable shopping bag slung over my shoulder.

“I brought a few games my nephew enjoyed at that age. Since I’m a stranger, I figured he’d feel more comfortable if we had an activity or two.” Conversations with new people can be difficult for kids on the spectrum, so an activity will help. At least I know Aidan is verbal. There’s extensive training for buddies who are paired with nonverbal kids.

Her smile brightens. “Yes, that’s an excellent idea. We had some activities prepared, but I think this is better.”

I follow her inside and down a hall until we stop just outside the library. The wall is lined with windows on the top half, and I can see a dark-haired little boy sitting at a small table. He’s staring at a spot on the wall and running the zipper up and down on his sweatshirt. Two women are talking behind the librarian’s desk, next to a stack of fake presents that probably have been owned by the school since the ’80s. There are several holiday displays on top of the five-foot-tall bookshelves. One is a twelve-inch pink Christmas tree with silver and hot pink paper clips for decorations, and another is a Hanukkah display featuring a menorah with a few dreidels scattered around it. But it’s the foot-and-a-half-tall Santa surrounded by smaller elves that catches my eye. It looks like some older kids have made a few alterations. Santa is holding two dreidels in his hand like they’re craps dice, and a couple of elves have Monopoly money in their hands as if they’re placing bets.

“Aidan’s nervous,” Susan says. “His teacher, Ms. Liu, is going to introduce you. She’ll leave soon afterward if Aidan feels comfortable. He knows you’re coming, but he’s anxious.”

“Understandable,” I say. I’m nervous too, but I don’t admit it.

She opens the door and motions for me to enter.

The little boy’s dark eyes flit to me, but he looks away quickly. One of the women behind the desk glances up at me. She’s young, probably younger than I am, and the look in her eyes goes from friendly to speculative as she walks over. “Hi, I’m Rebecca Liu. I take it you’re Jace, Aidan’s new buddy?”

“Jace Hagan,” I say, offering my hand.

She shakes it, and I notice her gaze lingering on my bicep, but then her cheeks flush, and she says, “Aidan is a little anxious.”

“No worries,” I say, shifting my focus to him. He’s staring off into the distance, but Susan is watching me. She’s taken a seat next to the librarian’s desk. I feel like Aidan and I are in a fish tank at an aquarium, and I can’t help thinking it will make him more nervous.

Ms. Liu has turned her attention to my new friend. “Aidan, this is Mr. Jace. He’s come to hang out with you for a bit.”

Aidan glances up at me as if I’m an algebra equation he’s supposed to solve.

“Can I sit with you?” I ask, motioning to the chair across from him.

He nods, then resumes working his zipper and peers down at the table.

I pull out the chair and realize my legs won’t fit well under the table, so I spread them wide as I scoot closer and set my bag on the floor. “I thought we could play some games today while we get to know each other.”

His gaze lifts to my mouth. “Can we play Minecraft?”

“Not today,” I say. “We’ll have to ask your mom about that. I don’t want to break any of her rules.” I know some parents don’t want their kids to play video games, and the last thing I want to do is alienate his mother.

“But we’re at school,” he says matter-of-factly. “We’re supposed to follow school rules.”

“That is true,” I say. “But I didn’t bring Minecraft. I brought some other games. We’ll see about next time.”

He doesn’t respond.

I pull out a box from my bag and set it on the table. “This is a matching game. Can you help me get it out and set it up?”

He nods, but he’s still messing with his zipper, not that I’m surprised. I’m a pretty big guy—a stranger at that—and he’s pretty small. I consider the fact that he’s still sitting here a win.

We take the cards out of the box, and he helps me turn them over, using one hand. I start to explain the rules to him, but he says, “I know how to play this game.”

“Then how about you tell me the rules?” I suggest.

He looks at me in surprise. “But you’re a grown up. You’re supposed to know the rules.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“You turn the cards over and match them,” he says.

“What happens if you get a match?” I ask.

“Then you get another turn. And if you don’t, it’s my turn.”

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s play. You go first.”

He turns over two cards—a little girl with braids and an old woman with salt-and-pepper hair—then turns them back over. “Your turn.”

“Thank you,” I say, then turn over two cards. A man with a bald head and glasses and a little boy with freckles. “Do you remember my name?” I ask as I turn them back over.

He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “You’re Mr. Jace. Ms. Liu told me five times that you were coming today.”

“And you’re Aidan,” I say as he takes his turn. “Ms. Duckworth told me three times I was coming to see you.” I motion toward the older woman, but Aidan doesn’t turn to look.

“Is she your teacher?” he asks as he flips his unmatched cards back over.

“No,” I say. I almost tell him she’s my boss, but I worry about how his brain will interpret that. The last thing I want him to think is that he’s my job. “She’s my friend. She thought you and I would make good friends.”

“Why?”

Shit. That question could be a minefield. “Because I need a friend, and she thought maybe you did too.”

He studies the game, saying idly, “I don’t have any friends. I just moved here, and Mom says it takes time to make new friends.” He looks up at me. “Do you know how long it takes?”

I’ve known this kid for about five minutes, and he’s already melting my heart.

“Are we friends yet?” I ask.

“You brought me a game to play.”

“And I brought another one we can try after this one. So, are we friends?”

He scrutinizes me, or rather the shoulder of my shirt, for a long moment. “Friends play together.”

“They do.”

“Then I think we are friends.”

I smile, then look at the clock on the wall behind him. “It took us six minutes to become friends. It usually takes me a lot longer.”

He glances down. “Me too.”

“There’s nothing wrong with taking your time when it comes to making friends,” I say as I go through the motions with the game. No match. “But every now and then, you meet someone, and you just know you’ll be friends.”

Aidan’s hand drops from his zipper, and he gives me a shy smile. “Like me and you.”

I smile. “Just like you and me. Those are the best kinds of friends.”

He turns over two cards, revealing two images of the same man in a suit. “I have a match.”

“That’s awesome,” I say, and he gets another before it’s my turn again.

We spend the next forty-five minutes playing two rounds of the matching game and a couple of rounds of the sorting game I brought. I’ve learned that Aidan is an only child, he recently learned that Santa is a lie, he sees a lot of his grandparents, even though they still live in Charlotte, and his father has been away for a very long business trip. “This is the longest one he’s ever been on,” Aidan says. “By eleven months and three days.”

I cringe a little at that. Because it’s no business trip the man’s on, and I question his mother’s choice to tell a lie that will have to be set right at some point. But it’s none of my business.

“Mom says they’re not going to be married anymore, but he’s still my father. I haven’t talked to him since January, though, and you’re supposed to talk to your father. At least that’s what Mikey says.”

“Who’s Mikey?”

“He sits next to me in school,” Aidan says, pulling his zipper up and down, up and down.

Mikey sounds like kind of a dick. Sure, he’s only six, but some people start early. Still, I doubt Ms. Duckworth would appreciate it if I said so.

So I change the subject by sharing about my own family, telling him that I have one sister and a nephew, but I refrain from telling him that my parents are dead. I’m not sure how much he understands about death, and I don’t want to open that can of worms. I also talk about my job remodeling houses. Before I know it, Susan is waving at me to get my attention.

“I think you two have had a splendid afternoon,” she says, beaming, “but Aidan’s mother is here. Would you like to meet her?”

“Yeah.” She needs to feel comfortable with the man spending time with her son, so I ask Aidan to pick up the game. I get to my feet, then turn to face her, but I stop in my tracks.

I wasn’t sure what I expected. A beaten-down woman struggling to make ends meet after her husband abandoned his family? Maybe she’s both of those things, but that’s not how she looks. She’s wearing a white blouse under a gray jacket, paired with a gray pencil skirt that clings to the curves of her hips and stops several inches above her knees. Her three-inch black pumps make her about six inches shorter than me. The only concession to disorder is her auburn hair—chin length but wavy.

Mary O’Shea is sexy as hell in her power suit, but what draws me in most is the vulnerability in her bright hazel eyes. I of all people know that a tough exterior doesn’t mean she’s okay on the inside. This woman is worried about her son, and God help me, I want to make everything okay for her.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I mentally shake my head. Get your shit together, man.

Extending my hand, I twist my mouth into a friendly smile, and say, “Hi. Jace Hagan. Nice to meet you.”