Chapter 42

"So you can build a computer from scratch?" I ask Jace, my back to the door as he pulls his van into our driveway after school.

"With my eyes closed."

"Can you build a website?"

"Yes."

"Can you build me a website?"

He shrugs. "What do you want it for?"

"To sell pics of my feet."

He side-eyes me as he veers left, toward my house, and I force myself to remain straight faced. "They already have websites for that," he deadpans, which is not the answer I was expecting, but I've learned not to predict anything when it comes to Jace.

I slip my sandals off, turn to him, and rest my feet on his thigh. "I have cute feet."

He glances down at them, his brow furrowed. "You do."

"Think I could make bank with them?"

He grasps both my feet in one giant hand and sighs. "I can't tell if you're fucking with me or not."

I giggle. "Guys pay big bucks for good feet," I say, teasing him some more as I grab the mini Polaroid camera Dad had gifted me for my birthday, and snap a picture of my feet.

Shaking his head at my shenanigans, he moves his hand from my feet, higher, gliding all the way up to my thigh, where he squeezes once. "Include these, and they'd pay double."

It's hard to ignore the heat that simmers beneath my flesh when he talks to me like this. When he touches me like this. "You think?"

"I like your legs."

I snap another picture—this one of his profile. "You do?"

He shrugs, his cheeks warming. "Your mom's home."

"What?"

He slows his van to a stop and motions toward my mom's car. "Your mom's home," he repeats, and I hate the way my stomach instantly drops, the way fear wraps itself around my neck, making it impossible to breathe. I hadn't seen my mom since the day she practically wished I was dead, and those few words we exchanged were enough to put me in a state of depression for days. I don't want to go through that again. Not when everything else in my life is perfect. "You okay?" Jace asks.

I trail my eyes from Mom's car to him. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah." I leave, but he grabs my arm, stopping me. A part of me wishes he'd ask to do something together. Anything to avoid seeing my mother.

"No kiss goodbye?"

I force a smile as I lean across the cab, kiss him once, and then exit his vehicle. I know he'll wait until I'm inside before taking off, so I open the door as quietly as possible, hoping not to make my entrance known. I watch from the living room window as he turns his car around and goes back down the driveway. Then I wait a few minutes, listening for any movement. It's dead silent in the house, meaning Mom's most likely asleep. Still, I don't want to take my chances. I slip back out of the house as quietly as I entered and find my bike leaning against the side of the house. Then I hop on, my school bag still strapped to my back, and ride the fuck away.

I end up in Jace's spot by the creek, sitting on a log, attempting to do homework. But my mind is a mess, unable to hold on to a single thought for longer than a second.

"What do you have, Harlow?"

"Oh, poor Harlow and all her tears…"

I look up when I hear a car nearing and release a breath when it's Jace's van. He hops out, his eyebrows drawn as he approaches me.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

He shrugs. "I saw you riding through the field from my bedroom window." The log shifts with his weight when he sits down beside me. "I take it you didn't want to see your mom?"

"Something like that."

"You could've told me. We could've gone somewhere else."

I smile, leaning into his side until he lifts his arm, brings me closer.

"It's that bad with her?"

Of all the things I can complain to Jace about, my mother's treatment isn't one of them. At least I have a mother, and at least she's not a drunk who uses me as a punching bag. "It could be worse," I mutter.

He's quiet a moment, but I can feel his hold on me loosening with each second. As if reading my mind, he says, "If you're comparing your mom to my grandpa right now, then don't."

"Why not?"

"Because…" he trails off, shaking his head. For a long moment, we sit in silence while I wait for him to continue. Instead, he says, coming to a stand and offering me his hand, "Let's go to the rink. We'll grab dinner there, and you can skate for as long you like. And if your mom's still home when we get back—" he motions to his van "—then we can sleep under the stars tonight."

Mom is still home when we're done hours later, and so we do what Jace suggested. We spend the night in his van, and I fall asleep in his arms, and not once does Mom call or text me wondering where I am or who I'm with. And I know why. I worked it out months ago. To her, I'm as dead as the offspring she wishes were alive.