Chapter 19

I lead Jace through the entire house, flicking on every light possible just to appease him and my dad. He walks around, on guard, baseball bat at the ready. I know he won't find anything, so I'm not worried. Like I said, Christian is a cheater, not a criminal. Breaking marriage oaths is as bad as it gets with him. Breaking into houses? Absolutely not.

The last room of the house I allow Jace into is mine. For… reasons. There's nothing wrong or embarrassing about the room. It's a typical teenage girl's bedroom. My dad made sure of it. He spent days painting it the exact gray I wanted and even took me shopping to buy new decor.

String lights hang above my bed, centered against a wall, and opposite, a hanging chair takes up one corner while a TV takes up another, and between them is a desk beneath the window—the window now covered up with cardboard.

I watch Jace as his eyes trail to it, his brow dipping in confusion. He turns to me, his jaw set, but he doesn't say anything, just shakes his head slightly before continuing his check of the room, going as far as pushing the shower curtain aside and checking under my bed.

I heave out a sigh while he's down there, laid flat on his stomach, and say, "I'll tell my dad you did a stellar job. Are we good now?"

Jace gets to his feet and nods once before exiting the room. I follow downstairs and out of the house, expecting him to leave. Instead, he stops on the porch steps, where he parks his ass, unzips the backpack he left there, and pulls out his gaming console.

"No." It's the only thing I can think to say.

Jace glances up, just for a moment, before pulling out his headphones. "You're out of your fucking mind if you think I'm going to leave you alone tonight."

I groan. Sure, there's a part of me that recognizes and is grateful for how protective he is—whether it's his doing or my dad's—but he's going about it the wrong way. "Christian's gone, Jace. You don't need to worry?—"

"I could've gone the rest of my life without ever knowing that motherfucker's name," he mumbles. "And if Christian found where you worked, I'm sure he's found where you live. I'm not taking any chances." He turns on the console and gets comfortable.

"So you're just going to sit there all night?"

"Yep."

"And what exactly are you going to do if he shows up?"

He places his headphones over his ears, clearly done with listening to me. "Take out his legs."

I turn swiftly, go back in the house, and close the door between us. Because really? What else can I do?

In the kitchen, I start on dinner, and while the water is boiling, I shower, attempt to rid the day's shittiness off me. Mind only slightly clearer when I'm done, I make my way downstairs and peer out the living room window, not at all surprised that Jace is still there.

I cook enough pasta to feed an entire family, then head back outside. Jace looks up from his game, and I wait for him to shift one headphone out of the way to ask, "Are you hungry?"

He shrugs. "I could eat."

Jace downs an entire bowl of pasta in the time I take to have three mouthfuls. When he's done, he looks down at his empty plate, as if wondering how it got that way. Then he looks over at mine, noticing how much is left on my plate, then up to my eyes. His cheeks bloom a sheepish pink, and he swallows. "Sorry," he mumbles, and I don't really know what he's apologizing for.

Without a word, I take his empty bowl, make him another serving, and set it down in front of him. He eats this one slower, but still with the fervor of a starving man. "You can relax, you know. No one is going to take it from you."

"It's just so good," he says around a mouthful.

"It's pasta."

He shakes his head. "Best damn pasta I've ever had." He cleans his second serving within minutes, then looks over at the stovetop.

I take his plate, reload it, and set it in front of him. "Athletes," I murmur. "My brother eats like you." I freeze halfway between his chair and mine. "I mean… he used to."

Jace clears his throat, waits for me to sit opposite him, before saying, "I played against him once."

"Really?" I choke out, and I don't know why I'm so emotional. Why the possibility of simply hearing or talking about Harley creates a warmth in my chest.

Jace nods, his dark eyes almost meeting mine. "It was at an invitational in San Antonio a couple years back."

"I know the one." I sit taller. "I was there."

"So you got to witness his winning fadeaway with three seconds left in the semi?"

"Oh my God." My shoulders drop. "That was insane."

"The crowd lost their minds."

"Did you play him in that game?"

"No." He shakes his head, a slight smile tugging on his lips. It's clear that, just like my brother, ball is his sanctuary. His peace. "My team was already eliminated, so I watched it from the stands."

My grin is so big I couldn't contain it if I tried. "So you were one of us."

"I guess."

"Who was watching you from the stands?"

His smile falters, and he lowers his gaze. "My coach was there." He picks up his fork, starts eating again, and just like that, the moment is gone.

I've thought about Jace a lot since the day we moved in here. I've wondered about his parents, about the bruises, about whatever it is that "didn't happen in my house." Sometimes I just want to pull him aside and tell him I'm here if he needs me. But then he'll treat me like I don't exist, or at the least, like I don't matter. And while I hope it's not intentional, it still hurts.

And then there are moments like these… when I just want to reach out and hold him, but… it's so damn hard to connect with someone who constantly acts as if they don't want to be seen.