Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

JACE

I pace the bedroom, stewing about what Mary said, unsure how to feel.

I’m not used to people looking too deeply at me. They see an ex-con, and that’s pretty much all they care to know. Hell, Amanda’s known me for thirty-five years, and she disowned me without asking any questions. But Mary gets me enough to recognize that I wouldn’t steal a car just for a joyride.

To be honest, that scares the shit out of me. I feel naked, like she can see all the ways I’m fucked up.

The walls in this building are practically made of cardboard, so I can hear Mary and Aidan’s muffled voices, and I know when the call ends. I open the door, and my stomach plummets when I see the devastated look on her face. “Is Aidan okay?”

“What?” She blinks and gives me an apologetic smile. “Yes. He’s fine. Ruth, Glenn’s mother, that is, always makes sure he checks in with me when he’s with them.” A pause. “Then he saw your photo.”

She points to a photo on the wall of me, Roger, and Mrs. Rosa. Mrs. Rosa insisted on taking it last year on my birthday, and her phone got batted over by Bingo the second after the timer went off, which is why the photo is slightly hazy around the edges. She gave me the framed photo a few days later as a belated birthday gift.

“And he realized you were at my place,” I say, understanding why she’s upset. “I’m guessing he didn’t take it well.”

“That’s an understatement.” Her mouth twists to the side, and she moves to the kitchen table. “Can we sit and talk?”

I hesitate before joining her at the table. It doesn’t take a genius to know where this is going, and I suspect I’m not going to like where it ends.

She waits until I take a seat, then lowers into a chair on the opposite side of the table. Her posture is perfect, and I can tell she’s steeling herself by channeling her inner lawyer. After she folds her hands together, she says, “I think this has been a big mistake.”

Even though I was expecting her to say something of the kind, it’s still like a dagger to the heart. The last eighteen hours with Mary rank up there as some of the best of my life.

“Aidan…” She takes a deep breath. “He sees you as his friend. When he realized I was here—at your apartment—he was so hurt. I just can’t do that to him.”

“I know.” And I do. She’s his mother, and she’s a great mother. She will sacrifice her own happiness for his.

“I know I suggested we could be friends with benefits, but…” She swallows and looks up at me with tear-filled eyes. “I was naive to think that would work. I’m not sure I’m designed for that kind of relationship.” She shrugs meekly. “I mean, look at how I kept asking you things about your life. Friends with benefits don’t do that. It’s supposed to be impersonal, and this—what you and I have—doesn’t feel impersonal.”

“I understand.” Because I’m not designed for it either, at least not with her, but I would have agreed to just about anything for the chance to be close to this woman who is at once so vulnerable and so strong. But then a new fear sets in. “What about Aidan?”

She throws out a hand. “Oh! I’m not taking you from him. I’m doing this for him . He needs you.”

I look down, then nod.

“Are you…?” she starts, then stops. “Are you upset with me?”

My gaze jerks back to hers. “No, Mary. I understand.”

“You do?” she asks, her voice breaking.

I don’t like her decision. In fact, I’m fighting the urge to argue with her, but I always knew this would be short-lived. It just turned out to be shorter-lived than I’d hoped. “You’re his mother. He comes first.”

She pauses, then says, “Thank you for understanding.” But the look in her eyes suggests she doesn’t like it either. I take small comfort in that.

“Of course.”

Her gaze shoots anxiously to my arm and then my chest. “It might help Aidan if we set up a playdate for the two of you once he gets back. He helped decorate his grandparents’ tree. I think he’ll be receptive to decorating our tree if you’re there. He’s said as much.” Then she looks stricken. “If you’re uncomfortable with having me around, I can hide in the kitchen again. Or my room.”

Her face turns scarlet, and I know she’s thinking about what we did in her room last night. And this morning.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” I say softly. “You don’t have to treat me like a scorned boyfriend. We agreed that what we had was casual. There were no emotions involved. It was just sex.”

I’m lying through my teeth, and it’s hard as hell to push out the words. But it’s what she needs to hear. Or at least I thought it was until her face goes slack and I see a flicker of pain in her eyes.

“I’ll text you,” she says, rising from her chair and taking a step backward toward the door. “About the day and time.”

“I’ll be watching for it.”

She darts out the door, and suddenly my apartment feels colder and emptier than it has the entire time I’ve lived here. How is that possible when she’s been here a total of ten minutes, tops?

I get up and start pacing, my gaze taking in the space. Seeing it from her eyes.

I’ve lived here for years, but there’s not much of me here either. Part of me has been in a holding pattern, waiting for my life to start. But things changed when I joined Mary and Aidan for hot chocolate that first day. I can see that now.

Mary hasn’t been gone more than a few minutes when the door bursts open and Mrs. Rosa appears.

“Tell me all about Mary. Where did you meet her? How long has this been going on?” she says in a breathless rush.

I groan and lower into my beat-up recliner. “Mrs. Rosa…”

She sits on the arm of the sofa. “Don’t you Mrs. Rosa me,” she scolds.

“As I’m sure you’ve gathered, Mary is Aidan’s mom. I met her when I met him.” I push out a sigh and grab the remote control from the table next to my chair, then pull up Netflix. I want to end this conversation as quickly as possible, and I can only hope she takes the hint. “It was a one-time thing, and the one time has happened.” It was more like a three-time thing, but she doesn’t need to know that.

She picks up a throw pillow and tosses it at my face. “You idiot.”

I grab the pillow and lower it to my lap. “Can you be more specific?”

“You need to woo her.”

My brow shoots up my forehead. “ Woo her?”

She throws another pillow at me. “You know what wooing is.”

“It’s not that kind of a relationship.”

“It has to be some kind of relationship if she came ’round with you to look for Roger’s cat.”

I lean forward in my chair. “She’s new to this single parent thing, and she’s got enough on her plate. She doesn’t have time for a relationship.”

“Then what was she doing here with you?”

“It was a mistake.” Only it doesn’t feel like a mistake.

Her face contorts, and she practically jumps off the sofa arm and charges toward me, pointing her finger in my face. “Don’t you dare call that woman being here to save Roger’s cat a mistake!”

“Okay,” I concede. “It wasn’t a mistake. And yes, I want more with her, but it’s not going to happen, Mrs. Rosa. Mary set the rules, and right before she left, she told me this wasn’t going to work.”

Her lips press together, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “She resents the time she spent helping Roger find Cleo?”

“No, it’s not that.” It wouldn’t be fair to let her think badly of Mary. I run a hand through my hair in frustration. “Aidan FaceTimed her while we were here, and he figured out Mary was at my apartment. He got jealous, and Mary’s worried about hurting him.” Before she can respond, I add, “But we weren’t starting a relationship anyway. She made it very clear that she doesn’t want one. She just wants to be friends.”

“That may be what she’s saying, but that’s not what she wants.” Her brow lifts. “I saw the way she was looking at you. It wasn’t the way a woman looks at a friend .”

I sit back in my chair.

Her expression softens. “You could fight for her.”

I stare at the Netflix homepage, swallowing my rising disappointment over Mary’s decision.

“You deserve good things, Jace,” she says softly.

Startled, I look over at her. Her tone, her expression—everything about Mrs. Rosa is throwing me.

“Your sister’s not the only one who did a number on you. Your daddy did too. But they were both in the wrong. I hope someday you realize that. The Marys of this world aren’t too good for you. That woman would be lucky to have you.”

Her words hit a little too close to home. “She’s an attorney, Mrs. Rosa. I’m a carpenter who doesn’t even make enough to support a family.”

Her lips purse again, and she places a hand on my shoulder. “A man’s worth isn’t determined by the size of his paycheck or the amount of money in his bank account. If it were, then Roger Ditmore would be considered scum.” Her gaze pierces mine. “Roger lost his job before he retired, which cost him his pension. He doesn’t have much in his bank account. Do you consider him to be a poor excuse for a man?”

“Of course not,” I bark, my anger rising at the mere suggestion. “He’s a good man, deserving of respect.”

“And you’re a good man,” she says insistently. “A man who made a mistake, then paid for it many times over.”

“There’s a difference between losing a job and going to prison. A big difference.”

She leans over and cups my cheek, pity filling her eyes. “You need to deal with your sister’s betrayal, and then maybe you’ll accept that you’re a good man. A man who made a stupid mistake as a kid, just like every other kid out there. You just had the misfortune of getting caught.”

With that, she walks out the door.

I spend the rest of the afternoon thinking about what she said. Come nightfall, Roger shows up for dinner, looking frailer than usual. I baby the hell out of him, making his favorite dinner—macaroni and cheese and my version of meatloaf, which is more like baked hamburger patties with barbecue sauce on top. But he just picks at his food before excusing himself to go home and go to bed. I follow him, making sure Cleo is doing okay after her walkabout and that they’re both all set for the evening.

I’m worried about Roger, but hopefully a good night’s sleep will help.

When I go back to my apartment, I pick up my phone and stare at it, shocked that I’m actually thinking about calling my sister. I know I’ll never change Amanda’s mind, but maybe talking to her one more time will give me some sort of closure.

The phone rings several times, and I’m sure she’s screening my call. Then the ringing stops. I expect it to go to voicemail, but I hear a male voice instead.

“Hello.”

The crack in his voice suggests I’m talking to a teenager.

My heart skips a beat. Is this Ben ?

I’m a half second from asking whether it’s him, but if Amanda doesn’t want me to have contact with him, it would hurt him worse to have a five-minute conversation with me, followed by a lifetime of nothing, than to not hear from me at all. Instead, I ask, “Is Amanda there?”

“She’s busy. She ate corn for dinner, and now she’s got the squirts.”

I can’t hold back my laugh. Yes, it’s definitely Ben. I can’t believe I’m actually talking to him again.

“Did you know that an ear of corn has about eight hundred kernels?” he asks.

“I did not know that.”

“Do you think Mom’s gonna squirt out sixteen hundred pieces of corn? She ate two ears.”

“I suppose that’s possible.”

“Your voice sounds familiar,” he says. “Do I know you?”

I take a moment to swallow the lump in my throat, but my voice still sounds tight when I say, “We knew each other when you were little.”

“I’m not little anymore. I’m five foot and four and three-quarter inches,” he says. “I weigh one hundred and fifteen point two pounds. Yesterday, I weighed one hundred and fourteen point six pounds. I gained point six pounds, but the average ear of corn weighs one to one-and-a-half pounds, so I should weigh more.”

“You would think so,” I say patiently, my eyes stinging with welling tears. “But you didn’t eat all of the ear, did you? Just the kernels.”

“ Oh. Yeah.”

“Even so, your body burns calories just to pump your heart and keep everything going. Are you still playing basketball?”

“I didn’t make the school team, but I play on another team,” he says. “Mom says it’s better.”

“What position do you play?”

“Forward. I make a lot of baskets.”

“You used to when I knew you too,” I say, then immediately regret it. The last thing I want to do is upset him.

“Are you one of Mom’s special friends?” he asks.

One of the many men who’ve paraded through her life after Ben’s dad deserted them when he was three? I don’t appreciate being lumped into that category. “No. But I knew you, and you were an amazing kid. I bet you still are.”

“I know lots of things,” he says. “I like to learn things.”

“You’re incredibly smart, Ben. Don’t you ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“I have to go,” he says. “ Star Trek is coming on.”

“Okay,” I choke out. I was the one who got him hooked on Star Trek . “It was great talking to you, Ben.”

He doesn’t respond, just hangs up.

I lean against my kitchen counter, trying to get my shit together. After a separation of six years, I just had an actual conversation with him, even if he didn’t know it was me. I swallow back a sob, and tears stream down my face. My eyes are blurry, so when my phone rings a few minutes later, I can barely read the screen.

It’s my sister’s number. I almost don’t answer, worried Ben is calling me back. But it’s the promise of hearing his voice again that makes me pick up.

“What did you say to my son?” my sister snarls.

“Amanda,” I say in surprise.

“Sorry if you were expecting Ben to call you back,” she snaps. “What kind of stunt do you think you’re pulling?”

“I was calling you ,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Ben had no idea it was me.”

“He doesn’t even know you anymore,” she says, her voice tight with anger. “You need to leave us alone.”

“I want to make this right, Amanda. I want to see you and Ben.”

“That’s never gonna happen.”

“Look, I know you’re mad at me. I know you think I killed Mom.”

“You did kill Mom!” she shouts. “You broke her heart!”

“I stole that car when I was twenty years old,” I plead. “I was young and stupid and drunk.” Then I remember what Mrs. Rosa said. “But I dragged your ass home plenty of times after you’d been out partying with your friends, drinking underage. I slipped you past Mom and Dad more times than I can remember, and they were none the wiser. You crashed Dad’s truck into a tree, and I took the blame. You were driving drunk, Amanda. You could have killed someone. You just weren’t caught. I was.”

She’s silent for a moment, then counters, guns blazing, “You know it’s more than that stupid car. It’s how you treated Uncle Lester after Daddy died. He tried to help us. He offered to buy the business, and you wouldn’t let him.”

“Because he’s the one who gave Dad his heart attack,” I say with plenty of heat. “He was trying to buy the business before Dad even died.”

“He was trying to help us, you idiot! If you’d sold then, we would have made a profit instead of you running the business into the ground and then hammering nails into its coffin by getting yourself arrested.”

“He was telling people not to hire us so we’d be desperate for money and he could buy us out, Amanda. And he started a good year before Dad died. When Dad found out the truth, it broke him. So no. I was never gonna sell to the man who betrayed our father.”

“How can you accuse him of that? He’s our godfather, Jace!”

“Which only made it that much worse when Dad figured out the truth.”

“Whatever your delusions are,” she snarls, “it doesn’t change the fact that you fucked up and left us with nothing .”

We’ve had this conversation too many times to count, and it never ends in any other way than with both of us more pissed off.

“You killed our mother,” she says, her voice breaking. “You bankrupted Daddy’s business. And you broke Ben’s heart. That’s three strikes. You’re out, Jace.”

She ends the call, and I’m left in silence.

When I wake up on Sunday, I’m restless and in need of a project, so I make myself a huge to-go coffee and head out to the local hardware store. Roger needs cheering up, and I have the perfect Christmas gift to lift his spirits—a cat tree. The job site I was working at last week has several pieces of scrap carpet I can use. All I need is the wood.

I’m standing next to the plywood in the hardware store, loading up a piece that’s already been cut, when I hear someone call my name.

A brown-haired guy in his thirties is approaching, and he looks vaguely familiar.

“Hey,” he says. “I thought it was you.” He grins. “Cal Reynolds. We met a few months back at the McGruff job site. Remember?”

Cal Reynolds. This is Mary’s sister’s boyfriend.

Shit.

My old boss Mitch Pincher got into a dispute with Cal over some scrap wood on a job site. They were working on adjacent properties, and Mitch tried to claim the stash belonged to him.

It didn’t.

I reach out and shake his hand. “Sorry. Haven’t had enough coffee yet. Hope you don’t hold all that against me.”

“What? No,” he scoffs. “Pincher is an asshole.” He looks at the lumber on my trolley and the small piece of plywood. “Whatcha making?”

I rest my hand on the handle. “A cat tree.” I’m not sure why, but I add, “For my neighbor’s cat, not mine. Bingo would turn up his nose at any perching spot that wasn’t the back of my sofa or, in the middle of the night, my chest or the top of my head.”

Cal laughs. “And that’s why I have a dog.”

I laugh too, but although Bingo is a pain in the ass, he’s my pain in the ass.

“Chuck tells me you’re working for him now,” he says. “I also heard Pincher let you go.”

I draw in a breath. Great. Does he know I’m helping Aidan? Does he plan on telling Mary to keep me away from them?

“Pincher is an asshole and an idiot. Everyone in construction around here knows that Trey Miller is a drug addict and steals from job sites to support his habit.”

My mouth parts in surprise.

“Say,” he says in a hopeful tone as he rubs his nose. “I know Chuck has big plans for you, but are you looking for any side projects?”

I stand up straighter. “I could be.”

“I need some help with a special project I’ve been working on. You can put in time on the evenings and weekends, whatever you can fit in. I just want it done by Christmas.”

Which only gives us a few weeks.

“Sounds interesting,” I say. “What is it?”

“It’s a house remodel.” He pauses, turning up a sheepish grin. “For Molly and me. I want to surprise her for Christmas, but one of my guys broke his leg roller-skating with his kid last week, and another guy moved back to Michigan to take care of his mom with Alzheimer’s. Neither of them meant to leave me high and dry, but it means I’m behind on some paying jobs, which doesn’t leave me much time to work on our house. Especially since I’m trying to keep it a secret from Molly, which is next to impossible. She already suspects I’m up to something.”

I could definitely use more money, but I also respect Cal. Rumor has it he treats his crew well. Plus, there’s a stupid part of me that wants to do this for Mary’s sister. “I’d love to help.”

He glances down at my cart. “Are you too busy to come take a look now? You can even work on your project at my house if you’d like. You live in an apartment, right?”

I frown. “Yeah, how did you—?”

“Molly,” he says with a grin. “One thing you need to learn about the O’Shea sisters is that they usually tell each other everything.”

I doubt Mary tells her younger sisters everything , but she must have shared my address with them during the whole Cleo search. They’d both offered to help, something that had surprised me, because my own sister wouldn’t have lifted a finger unless there was something in it for her.

“Mary says she helped find your neighbor’s cat.” He points to the wood. “I’m guessing this is for the same cat?”

“Yep.” I tilt my head. “Did Mary happen to mention how we got Cleo back?”

“Just that one of your neighbors found her after someone posted on the Nextdoor app.”

I grin. “Molly’s sister is a badass. This tough guy was holding Cleo hostage, and Mary marched up to the door and demanded that he release Cleo or she’d have him arrested for felony theft.”

Cal’s eyes bug out. “ Mary did that? Mary O’Shea?”

I laugh. “So apparently, she left part of it out.” But that doesn’t surprise me. She doesn’t strike me as the type of woman who loves the limelight.

Cal sobers. “I hear you’ve been spending time with Aidan. He’s a good kid. Thanks for helping Mary out.”

“He is a good kid,” I say with a touch of wistfulness. “A great kid.”

Cal’s silent for a moment. “Mary’s pretty awesome too.”

“She’s amazing.”

There’s a hint of a smirk on his face, but it’s there and then gone. “I hope you’re ready to work your ass off, because this house needs a lot of TLC.”

“TLC is my specialty,” I say as I start to push the trolley down the aisle.

“Yeah,” Cal says, watching me with a sideways glance. “I can see that it is.”