Chapter 20

Jace doesn't know how to cook, but he sure knows how to wash dishes. It was the first job that was given to him when he started working at the rink almost four years ago. Over time, he moved to the counter, then later, promoted to some form of management.

I know all this because Jace tells me so while he stands by the sink, washing, then drying every dirty dish in sight. It's strange to hear him talking so openly about himself, but it's also kind of nice. Like he's giving me a gift—one I plan to unwrap slowly.

"To be honest, I think Lana gave me the front counter so I could get used to talking to people," he says, his back turned to me.

"You don't talk to people a lot?"

He turns to me, still sitting at the kitchen table, and dries his hands. Then he lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "It's just me and my grandpa at home, and he's not really much of a talker."

So no parents at all. Noted.

Jonah had mentioned that Jace lived with his grandpa, but he didn't say it was just the two of them. I want to ask him about the bruises now, and about what happened to his parents, but I don't want him to shut down like he did before. Instead, I ask, "Do you think it helped? Moving you to the counter?"

Jace tilts his head, eyes narrowing as if deep in thought. "I guess," he says finally. "But I was born and raised here, so people know me, or think they do, so the only small talk they attempt is about basketball."

I get up and start putting the now clean dishes away. "Is that how you and my dad got to talking? Basketball?"

"In my defense, he knocked on my door and wanted to talk. What was I supposed to do?"

"When did that happen?"

"The day after I told you both about the bet."

I visibly cringe at the thought.

"It wasn't bad," he says. "He apologized for your mom for that first night and then gave me his number just in case."

"In case what?"

"In case anything like today happened."

"Right." I nod slowly. "So I take it that's when he told you about Christian and how everything went down?"

"Yes, and not everything, obviously, but enough." He pauses a beat. "Trust me, I didn't go looking for the information."

"So you already knew about him when we went to the creek that night?"

"Yeah…"

"Then why did you ask if it was true?"

"I don't know." He shrugs. "I guess I wanted to hear it from you."

"Is that why you reacted the way you did today? Because you knew it was him."

He shakes his head. "It could've been any guy with his hands on you, and I would've reacted the same way."

"What—" A breath catches in my throat. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know," he says through a sigh, and I can see the moment the walls slam down around him. Arms crossed, he leans back against the sink, his gaze lowered. "Do you think he's coming back?"

I could lie, give him an easy out. But the truth is: "I want to say that he won't, but I can't be sure. He wouldn't break into the house or anything, but he might knock on the door. I mean, he drove a long way to say something to me, and you didn't give him that chance, so…"

Standing taller, his eyes flick to mine. "Was I wrong to do what I did?"

"I don't know," I say honestly, putting away the last of the dishes. "But you don't have to stay either way."

"I'm not leaving you alone tonight."

I figured as much. "Well, I'm not going to let you sit on the porch steps all night."

"I don't mind. I have?—"

"You want to watch a movie or something?" I cut in.

He drops his arms to his sides, pushing off the sink. "I can't watch movies."

I rear back. "What?"

"I don't know. I don't have the attention span for them," he says. "I just feel like two hours is a long time to be sitting on your ass when you could be doing better things."

"Like what?" I almost scoff. "Playing ball?"

He shrugs.

"Playing video games?"

Another shrug.

"Having sex?"

I press my lips tight to block the jolt of laughter that wants to escape at his reaction.

Jace shakes his head, looking down at me with his eyebrows drawn. "I swear, sometimes you say things just to get a reaction out of me."

"I do!" I laugh out. "And it works." I poke his stomach, and God, the look on his face, it's as if he's offended by the touch. "You're like the Tin Man."

"I don't know who that is," he deadpans.

"From The Wizard of Oz…"

"I assume that's a movie."

"You've never seen?—"

"Did we not just have this conversation?"

I smile, poke his stomach again. "I've got a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore!"

"No, we're in Texas," he deadpans, and my head throws back with laughter. "What's so funny?"

I settle my guffaw to a simmering giggle. "Nothing," I say. "So no movie then?"

His nose scrunches, shifting the few freckles there, before his gaze trails toward the backyard. Toward the basketball hoop. It suddenly dawns on me that I have no history of this house prior to us moving in. Who knows how many nights, how many hours he used to spend out there? "Was anyone living here before us?"

Jace shakes his head. "Not for ten years."

My eyes widen. "I wonder why it was vacant for so long."

He doesn't respond. Verbally or otherwise.

"You can go shoot hoops or whatever."

The slightest of smiles tugs on his lips. "Only if you're out there with me."