Chapter 23

Not surprisingly, Jace doesn't speak on the ride to school, and I don't have a lot to say. The past twenty-four hours have done a number on me, and even though I slept better last night in the dark—with Jace in the room—than I usually do in my closet, on the floor, hugging my dead brother's jacket, I'm exhausted.

My battery for merely existing is so close to depletion it's sending off warning signals I keep choosing to ignore.

As soon as Jace pulls into the school parking lot, I immediately feel the sense of dread take over me. Like the day I returned to school after Harley died. Or when my mom forced me to return after everything with Christian came out. At least then, I was in familiar territory. Here? I don't know what to expect.

Jace kills the engine and hops out of his van, never once looking in my direction. He stops by the front, his back turned, and waits. And I know I should move, should get out and face reality, but my fear and humiliation paralyze me to my spot. I glance toward the back of the van, at the mattress there. I could just hide out for the rest of the day, wait until Jace returns and go home. Never come back. Who needs a high school diploma anyway?

My door opens, and I reluctantly turn to Jace. He's standing just outside, between the open door and my seat, his forearm resting on the roof of his car.

He looks from me to my seat belt, still buckled in tight. Then he sighs, so done with my bullshit. "What's wrong?"

I shift my attention from him to the school, then cross my arms. "I don't want to go in there." I sound like a brat, but it is what it is.

"Why not?"

My shoulders deflate, my chest caving in on itself. "Did you see how many people had their phones out recording yesterday? I won't be able to escape it."

"So don't," he says, his tone flat.

"It's easy for you to say. It doesn't involve you."

"Kind of does," he murmurs under his breath. "I was there too."

"Yeah, but you were the hero, and I was the whore."

Another sigh. "Stop calling yourself that."

"Am I lying?"

He moves back a step and looks around us. There are more than enough students in the parking lot, and they're all doing their best to hide the fact that they're watching us, whispering about us.

"We can't change what happened yesterday," Jace says, shrugging, "but we can at least use it to our advantage."

"How?"

"There's no doubt we're together now, so the whole sex thing is going to be far more believable."

It takes a moment for my mind to catch up to his. "We're still doing the whole bet thing?"

He dips his head slightly, so his attention's back on me. "You still need that car, right?"

"Obviously."

"And you'll still help me with my teammates?"

As great as the deal was when I initially came up with it, things have changed. Back then, Jace was a nobody to me. Now—I care about him in ways I don't quite understand. "I don't know, Jace," I say through a sigh, fidgeting with a tear in my denim shorts. "I think you being seen with me might do you more harm than good."

"Possibly." He shrugs before reaching into the van and unbuckling my belt, then physically pulling me out until I'm on my feet, only inches in front of him. "But let me be the judge of that, okay?" Then he throws his arm over my shoulders, pulling me close until I'm pressed to his side. "You're not a horrible person, Harlow," he murmurs.

I press my face to his chest, hiding my shame, my fear, and he brushes his hand along my arm, soothing me. And it's strange… how such a simple touch, such simple words, can change your entire outlook.

I'd love to say that the comfort of Jace's closeness helped get me through the day, but he left the classroom an hour in and never returned. I wish he'd told me he was leaving because I would've gone with him, regardless of where he was going or what he was doing.

It started as whispers, and by the end of the day, people were openly watching clips of yesterday's drama right in front of me. They were so close, I could hear the audio. Could feel their eyes boring into the side of my head.

Jeannie whispered curses at everyone who looked our way. And Sammy… Sammy threatened to throw blows for me, which is appreciated but completely unnecessary. They both assured me things would blow over, and I know that they're right. I just hope it happens soon. But, more than anything, I hope that others' judgments of my past don't affect the people I'm friends with. Me? I can handle it. Somewhat. But I would hate for my bullshit to land on their doorstep.

I was the first one out the doors when school let out, and I walked with my head down toward the bus stop, only stopping when I heard a familiar voice call my name. I slow my steps, but don't stop completely, and as soon as Jonah catches up to me, he gently grasps my arm, turning me toward him. "Jace messaged me, Passenger Princess."

I look him right in the eyes. "You don't have to."

"Why would I not want to?"

"Because you know how this will look, right?"

Jonah blinks in response, his big brown eyes reminding me of a poor, innocent little Bambi. "How?"

Great. I'm going to have to spell it out for him. "Like you're… sharing me."

His head throws back with his laughter, and I eye him, confused. "Jace can't even share his thoughts, let alone his girl, and if anyone here thinks that's the case, then fuck 'em all in the ass with that bus you sure as hell ain't getting on." He links our arms together and leads me toward his truck. "You and me, Harlow? We're besties for the resties."

Jonah does his absolute best to cheer me up on the ride home, and I let him believe it works. And who knows? Maybe, in some way, it does… until we pull up to my house and I realize that my mom's home. I don't see her a lot since school started. If she's around when I get home, she's asleep, and within a couple of hours she leaves for work without so much as a goodbye. She doesn't call or text me in the times between. In fact, she barely even looks at me. I can't even recall the last time she asked how I was, let alone have an entire conversation.

"That your mom?" Jonah asks, motioning toward her sitting at a small table on the porch. She looked up briefly when we drove up, then carried on painting her toenails.

I release all the air in my lungs. "That's her."

"Should I come up and introduce myself, since you're in my car and all?"

I face him, offer as much of a smile as my heart can muster. "Can you pass on a message to your parents for me?"

"Sure," he says with a shrug.

"Tell them I said that they're doing a great job with you."

His eyes light up, his smile all-consuming. "They'll love that."

"I mean it, Jonah." I press my lips to his cheek, kiss him once. "I'll see you tomorrow."

I don't wait for a response, just step out of his truck and hold my head up, disguising my emotions as I make my way to the house. I wait for Mom's greeting, but it never comes. "Hey, Mom," I finally concede.

She motions toward Jonah's truck, now turned around and driving away. "Who's that?"

"A friend." I know what she's thinking. It would be hard not to. "His name's Jonah. He goes to my school, and we work at the rink together."

Mom doesn't respond, just continues with her nails. I push open the front door just as she says, "Is it true? That he showed up to your work?"

My stomach turns, head dropping forward. After the day I've had, this is the last thing I need. "Yeah, it's true."

Mom nods slowly, but never once looks at me. "You know, it's one thing to walk around this town while rumors of your daughter being a slut are just that… rumors. But him showing up makes it real. How the hell am I supposed to show my face anywhere again?"

A knot forms in my throat, and I wish it was big enough to block my airways.

Choke me to death.

"Why don't you just say it, Mom?"

"Say what?" she asks, moving from one toenail to the next.

"That you wish it was me instead of Harley." That she'd much prefer I dropped dead instead of him.

"At least Harley had goals and aspirations." She glances at me, looks me up and down, unable to hide her disgust. "What do you have, Harlow?"

Pain turns to liquid in my eyes, flows down my cheeks, and I whisper, "Nothing."

"Oh, poor Harlow and all her tears…" Mom laughs. A quiet, sinister sound. "Quit acting as if you didn't do this to yourself."