Chapter 46

Harlow's quiet on the ride back home, and I'm too damn angry to speak. I just wanted one night. One night to actually relax and not have to worry about my grandpa's bullshit.

We're back in Rowville and just passing our houses when Harlow finally speaks, her voice shaky. "Where are we going?" I don't know if she's disappointed we had to leave or if she can tell I'm upset and doesn't want to push me. Either way, I hate the uncertainty in her voice—the way it trembles as it comes out just above whisper.

I should've let her stay and have fun with her friends, had Jonah drive her home. But I didn't want our night to end. Ignoring her question, I quip, "You want to hear something funny?"

"Okay?"

"My grandpa's name is Martin. Everyone calls him Marty. Marty Payne."

Harlow's quiet for so long, it forces my eyes to hers. "That's not funny, Jace."

"Ironic, then?" I offer with a shrug, then sigh. "I have to pick him up," I tell her, not feeling the need to explain why. I try to calm my thoughts, my frustration. "Look, I still want to hang out with you if you still want to."

"I do," she says quickly, and I force a smile in her direction as we pull up at the general store's door. Mae had mentioned that my grandpa was drunk, which is always the case these days, but usually he's a quiet drunk. This time, he's belligerent, yelling at people to clear out. There was no one there.

"I'm really sorry to do this," I tell Harlow, motioning to the back of the van. "You mind going in the back?"

"No." She unclips her belt and makes quick work of moving between the seats to the back. "And do me a favor?" I add, "Just… don't make yourself known."

"Okay." I watch as she sits behind the passenger's seat, her legs drawn to her chest, and I absolutely hate this for her. That she has to hide from him. Or maybe he's the one I'm hiding from her.

Without another thought, I hop out and enter the store. Mae's sitting behind the counter, watching movies on an old laptop. "I'm so sorry," is the first thing I say.

"You don't need to keep apologizing, Jace. It's not your fault." It's not hers, either, I want to say, yet she's the one constantly cleaning up his mess.

"Grandpa." I shake his shoulder gently. "It's Jace. You ready to go home?" No response, other than a groan. I lift him to his feet, put his arm around my shoulder. "You're going to have to use your legs to walk out to my van. You think you can do that?"

For the absolute shit show my grandpa is, I give him this: he tries. Whenever I ask something of him, he tries, and it's all I can ask for.

I help him outside, thanking Mae again as I do, and lead him to my van, where I open the door, set him down in the seat as carefully as possible. "We'll get you home and into bed, okay?"

"Okay, Jace."

He falls asleep in the time it takes for me to get from his door to mine, his quiet snore filling the cab. I reach behind his chair until I find Harlow's shoulder. She grasps the tips of my fingers, kisses them gently, and that simple move, that simple touch, fills my lungs with air, reminds me of my purpose.

At home, I quickly get my grandpa into the house and into his bed, covers up, light on in the bathroom, door ajar, then I run back out, let Harlow out of the back of my van. "Sorry about that." I grab her waist, helping her down. "Meet me at the back door. I'll just make sure he hasn't gotten back up before I let you in."

"Okay."

Grandpa's still in his room when I re-enter the house, and I let Harlow in through the back, from the kitchen. The kitchen and upstairs are the only areas in the house that are clean, mainly because Grandpa doesn't use them. He'd never make it up the stairs in his constant state, and he only enters the kitchen to grab beers from the fridge. Lately, he hasn't even bothered to store them in there—just sets the entire case by his feet while he sits in his recliner.

I take Harlow's hand and lead her upstairs to my bedroom, where I close the door after us, and lean against it. "Sorry," I repeat.

"It's fine, Jace," she says, only it's not. Not really. I shouldn't have dragged her into my shit like this, let her into this part of my world. Into the darkness. "Is your grandpa okay?"

"Yeah. He's out for the night."

"Good." She's looking around my room now, mostly dark, lit up only by my computer's screen saver. She flicks her attention from the dark walls, furniture, and bedding, to the half-built computers lying around, then to the video game consoles and controllers strewn about. I didn't clean my room before she got here. I didn't think I'd need to. "Huh," she says, eyes trailing back to me. "You really are a nerd."

"Geek," I correct and sink down on the edge of my bed. I reach for her hand, pull her closer until she's standing between my legs. "Now, you were saying something before we got rudely interrupted."

She twists her lips, eying the ceiling. "I don't recall."

I pull her closer by her thighs. "Something about you showing me how turned on you were?"

"Oh." She keeps her smile restrained, placing a knee on the bed on either side of me. I rest my hands on her back as she pushes forward an inch. She tilts her head, her mouth meeting mine, followed by her tongue, and when she moans into me, grinding her hips down, I lose control. I grab her ass with one hand, her hair in the other, tugging hard until she reveals her neck to me. There's something about her neck that drives me wild—the way it forms when she bends it, giving me access to it. I pull on her sweater, beg against her skin, "Off."

She does as I say, her hips still moving in tiny circles, and I can feel her warmth against my cock, feel her need against the back of my fingers when I touch her there. Sweater now gone, she's in a low-cut top, and I kiss down her neck, to her chest, and she links her hands at my nape, arching her back for me. I get to her breast, just above her bra, and I glance up, questioning.

"Please," Harlow whispers, and I bite down on her top just as a loud thud sounds from downstairs.

"Fuck." I help her off me until she's on her feet, adjusting her clothes while I adjust my erection. "You should probably go."

Eyes wide, she shakes her head. "I'm not leaving you."

"Harlow, I'll be fine."

"No."

"I'll just get him back into bed, and he won't get up again, but you should leave."

She stands her ground, roots her feet to the floor. "No."

Another loud bang—Grandpa's bedroom door opening so fast it hit the wall behind it—followed by his grunt. "I have to go," I rush out. "Just stay here. Don't move."

I run down the stairs to see Grandpa in the middle of the living room, yelling for Isaac.

"Grandpa." I grasp his shoulders, try to get his eyes to meet mine—a mistake on my part, because it's clear he doesn't see me when he looks at me. "You fucking…" he sneers, spit flying out of his mouth. He leans in close, his beer breath washing over me as he fists my jacket. "Isaac, you son of a bitch!"

I lose my breath when he pushes me into the wall, his forearm right at my throat. Hands up between us, I close my eyes when he balls his fist, and I wait for the inevitable.

"You took her," he taunts, releasing the pressure on my neck, just so he can come back twice as hard. "A life for a life, Isaac, that's how?—"

"Stop!"

I don't recognize the voice right away, because the voice had never lived in my nightmares before.

Grandpa steps away, releasing me completely. He looks at Harlow, standing at the foot of the stairs, then to me, and I can see the moment reality hits. Using the wall to stand taller, I reach for my grandpa as he retreats into himself. "It's okay, Grandpa," I assure, and I can hear his breaths switch from anger to pain. "It's okay," I repeat, turning him to me. I hold him in my arms while telling Harlow, "Wait for me outside." She hesitates a beat, but I don't have time for these games. "Now, Harlow!"

I keep my grandpa hidden while she exits through the front door, and as soon as the door's closed, Grandpa mumbles, embarrassed, "No friends in the house, Jace."

"I know. I'm sorry. It won't happen again." I help him to his room and back into bed. "I'm going to take her home, and I'll be right back. Try to get to sleep, okay?"

"No friends in the house, Jace."

"I know, Grandpa. I'm sorry," I repeat.

Harlow's waiting on the porch when I step out, pacing back and forth, her hands spread at her sides. "I told you to stay in my room," I snap.

"And I told you no." She steps up to me, livid, as if she has the right. "If you think for a single second I'm going to let you be treated like that by anyone, then you're out of your fucking mind. I may not have a baseball bat and the urge to smash out some headlights, but it's the same fucking thing."

I unlock my van, head toward it. "I'm taking you home."

"Fine, but you're staying with me."

"Whatever."

She gets in the van, and I bypass the driveway and cut through the grass until I'm in front of her house.

I can't look at her when I say, "I need to get back to him."

"Bullshit. You're staying with me tonight."

I shake my head, try to keep my frustration in check. "What part of I need to get back to him is unclear to you, Harlow?"

"The part that something bad will happen to you if you do!" she yells.

I match her tone. "Nothing is going to happen!"

"But what if it does?!"

"Dammit, Harlow!" I reach over her to unlock her door, push it open, and practically shove her out of it. "Get out!"