Chapter 35

I wear a dress to work the next day for… reasons.

Both Jace and Jonah's cars are already in the lot when Dad drops me off. Jace greets me with his usual head nod, and Jonah waves from the kitchen. I enter the office to clock in and drop off my stuff, and when I turn to exit, Jace is standing in the doorway. His eyes make a slow trail of me, from head to toe, the exact reaction I was hoping for from my reason. "What happened to you last night?" I ask, and his gaze shifts back up.

He holds my stare, his lip tugging up in one corner. "I had to go."

"I figured that much."

"But tonight?" he asks. "After work. You want to do something?"

I bite back the force of my smile. "Sure."

Even though it's as busy as any other Sunday, the day seems to d r a g. Every time I look at the clock expecting an hour to have passed, it's only been minutes. By the time we finally clock out, I'm so giddy with excitement I can barely contain it.

Jonah disappears without so much as a goodbye, and then it's just me and Jace, sitting in his van, engine idling while he stares out the windshield.

"So…" I start, and he faces me, eyebrows raised in question. "Where are we going?"

He finally pulls out of the spot, murmurs, "Nowhere special."

He drives us into the woods that line our properties and to the exact spot by the creek he's taken me before. It's only been weeks since we were last here, but it feels like a lifetime. Nothing has changed about it. Same logs used as seats, same solar string lights, same firepit. The only difference is that now, he's brought a blanket and wicker basket, and he sets them both down by the creek edge and sits.

I sit down beside him, the basket between us. He flips the lid open, saying, "I asked Jonah to make a bunch of stuff for us, so hopefully there's something you'll like in here."

I tease, "Is this a date, Jace?"

But he's so quick to answer "No" that I don't have time to hide my disappointment. He tries to recover, saying, "Is it? I don't know. It's just… last week, you made me dinner, so I figured…"

"Right." I look out over the creek, annoyed with myself for getting my hopes up the way I have.

"It can be date," he says, his tone kicking up a notch. "If you want it to be."

I laugh, but it's sad, and it's more at myself than the situation I've found myself in. "I don't think it works like that, but thanks for the offer?"

We eat. In silence. Eventually, even Jace can't handle the silence, because he says, "I would've cooked for you, but I don't know how, so…"

"It's fine," I assure. "This is good."

I've never been on a date before. There wasn't a lot of courting involved in my previous relationships—if one could even call them that. And it's not as if I've been with a ton of guys. I've kissed some, slept with a few, but we never really dated. I have no basis on which to compare such events, but I would assume it involves a time (after work), a place (by the creek), and an activity (dinner). Jace had planned out all those things for me, so… I internally sigh, getting more confused by the second.

"Do you cook often?" he asks, and I face him, stare at his profile. His jaw works as he chews, his cheeks redder than usual. "Or do you like to cook?"

I can't help but smile. Jace—he's not really one to speak openly, let alone try to converse, but he is now. And I have to recognize that. "Only since we moved here," I answer. "Back in Dallas, when I was home alone, I had the convenience of driving somewhere or ordering in, but here…"

"Yeah, we don't have that here."

"I can only really go grocery shopping in Fremont when Dad's home, and I have to plan meals in advance, so learning to cook was kind of a necessity. I spent most of the summer finding recipes and teaching myself, but to answer your question, yes, I enjoy it." In fact, most nights, I wish I had someone to enjoy it with.

"If you ever need a ride to Fremont, I can take you."

"Yeah?"

"Sure," he says, shrugging. "And maybe you can teach me the basics some time."

I can't help but smile. "I'd love that."

A comfortable silence falls over us, and again, he's the one to break it. "Who was that other man with y'all when you moved in?"

"That's my uncle Roy. My dad's brother."

"Thought so," he murmurs. "Where does he live?"

Weird question, but okay. "He was in Dallas, but he got a transfer to Odessa a couple of months back."

"Isn't Odessa where your mom works?"

"Yeah, it is."

"Huh," he says.

"Why?"

He shakes his head, lost in thought. "I was just wondering."

"Does your grandpa work?"

"He was in the military, but no, he hasn't worked for a while. Hey, how long have your parents been together?"

"I'm not exactly sure. They were married before Harley was born, though."

Nodding slowly, he asks, "How did they meet?"

"In college."

"Like, at a party or something?"

I laugh. "What is this, twenty-questions?"

He shrugs.

"I think my dad saw her across campus and approached her."

"Right." He pauses, deep in thought. Then he lowers his gaze. "So… how come you haven't asked me about my parents?"

If you'd ask a million times over where I thought this conversation was going, I'd never once answer here. "I just…" I'm not prepared, and it's evident in the way I stumble over my words. "I know that they're not around, so I assumed… I mean—I didn't want to bring up anything that might… I don't know."

"What do you think happened to them?"

I've thought about Jace a lot since we met, and I fell asleep last night imagining his life outside of the parts we're together. Him—living in that house with that man. "I assumed maybe… maybe they left?"

"My parents would never leave me," he says defensively. "My parents loved me, Harlow."

"I'm sorry, I didn't?—"

"My parents loved me," he repeats, and I don't know if he's saying it for me or himself this time, and it doesn't matter. Too afraid to look at him, I drop my gaze to my lap and listen to his loud breaths form a steady rhythm. After a moment, he takes my hand in both of his, flips it palm up, and traces the lines there with the tips of his fingers like he did out at the spring. It's a simple, gentle touch. One that means more than it should. "My mom used to wake me up like this…" His voice is so low, I have to strain to hear him. "Every morning she'd come into my room and kneel beside my bed, take my hand and…" he trails off, and I blink back my heartache when I hear him sniff once. "My dad—he was a foster kid, and when he aged out of the system, he joined the military. He thought it would be easy, you know? He'd get housing and an education, but then… then 9/11 happened, and suddenly he was this eighteen-year-old kid standing in the middle of a war zone…"

I try to imagine a version of Jace in that situation, but all I can think about is my brother. Heat pricks behind my eyes, my nose, and I try to keep my breaths even as I listen to Jace continue.

"He had a tough time when he got out, and he'd go to this VA center, just for support. My grandpa used to volunteer there, and that's how they met. When my grandpa found out my dad had no family and nowhere to go, he brought him home. My mom had just graduated college and had moved back home, so they got to know each other well. And fast. My dad used to call her his light… because she saved him from the darkness."

I wipe at my tears while Jace continues to trace my hand with his finger.

"I was eight years old, and it was just like any other day," he tells me. "My mom kneeled down at the side of my bed and woke me up, and I went to school, and…" He sniffs again, his breaths shaky when he adds, "It was just like any other day… until it wasn't."

With bated breath, I wait, and I wait, and I wait some more.

"I remember being pulled out of class, and my grandpa was there with two police officers. They sat me down and told me that my parents were dead."

A gasp catches in my throat, forms a knot so big it's impossible to breathe through it.

"I didn't find out until later that he'd taken her out to a field about ten miles north of here, and he shot her. He called the cops right away to turn himself in, but as soon as they got there, he raised his gun at them, and…"

I'm sobbing now, my shoulders shaking with the force, and Jace continues to trace my palm.

"There were never any signs," he says, but he's talking to himself. "There were no mood swings, no arguing, no abuse. Nothing.She was his light, and then… then the world was filled with darkness… but they loved me, Harlow."

"I know," I cry.

"They would never leave me."

"I know, Jace."

"They loved me…"