Chapter 48

Jace has college classes on Mondays, so I don't expect him to be at school, but I at least expect—or hope—that he answers my call in the morning.

He doesn't.

And I promised myself last night that if he doesn't answer, I would stop trying. It's one thing to worry like I have, but it's another to have the boy who causes the worry blow me off.

I'm okay, he said, and maybe that should be enough for me, but it's not.

Jonah drove me to school and back, and we didn't have a lot to say. He said he was exhausted, still recovering from the tournament and work, then school, and I was still recovering from… life, I guess.

Dad left for work early in the morning, and now I'm alone, and it's late and pouring out.

It feels like it's been raining for days.

From the window above my desk, I can see into what I now know is Jace's bedroom. I wonder if he ever looks for me too.

His house is dark, the same way it has been every time I've checked, and his van is nowhere to be seen.

My phone vibrates with a notification, and I'm quick to check it. Hope dies in my chest when I see the text from Jonah telling me he can't give me a ride to school the next day.

I respond, thanking him for letting me know, and check the time. It's 9:48. I take one more look over at Jace's house, but nothing has changed. I'm exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and so I crawl into bed, hope that the darkness behind my lids strips away the darkness that lives in my heart.

I'm just about to shut my eyes when a flicker of light passes across my window. I sit up, confused, wondering if I imagined it, and listen for any noises. I question if I locked the doors before bed, then worry if I could even hear an intruder over the sound of the rain pelting against the tin roof.

Heart in my throat, I flick on the lamp on my nightstand… just as I hear that familiar sound…

I'd wake up to it most mornings. Fall asleep the same way.

A basketball bouncing off concrete.

It's faint, but it's there… I know it is. I rush down the stairs, more annoyed than anything, because Jace is here, out in the fucking rain, playing basketball, when he doesn't even have the courtesy to call me back. Or to answer any one of my calls.

I open the back door, almost get blinded by his headlights aimed directly at me. Then I push open the screen door, staying a step back so I don't get pelted by the rain. Jace is on the half-court, in his usual black attire, and he's shooting hoops as if it's just any other day.

"What the hell are you doing?" I call out.

He finishes his shot, buckets of course, and then goes after the ball before turning to me. He's already drenched, his clothes sticking to him like a second skin. His hair falls over his brow, like ink spilled on cedar. "I was more tired than I should've been after the tournament," he yells over the rain, shrugging. "I need to practice."

"It's pouring out!"

He turns swiftly, ignoring me completely, and dribbles toward the basket for a lay-up.

I shut and lock both doors between us and head back up to my room. The boy plays games, both on and off the court, and I refuse to be his teammate.

Or his opponent.

I crawl back into bed, earphones in, white noise on, to block the sound of him so close.

Yet so far.

And I pray that sleep finds me.

I toss.

I turn.

Over and over.

And when an hour's passed and nothing has changed, I give up, remove my earphones. I expect nothing but the sounds of rain. I get leather on concrete again.

"Idiot," I mumble and make my way to the back door again. Mists of rain cover my entire front, but I don't care. "Jace, you're going to get sick!"

He either doesn't hear me or he doesn't care. He just continues to dribble between shots. After a few minutes, he finally slows, but he doesn't look at me. Elbows bent, ball perched on his hands above his head, he faces the hoop, and yells, "Hey, who am I?" He takes the shot, letting out a high-pitched, feminine grunt when the ball leaves his hand.

He sinks the shot, and I…

I laugh. "Shut up!"

He positions himself in the same spot, then repeats the process, mocking me again.

"I'm going to kick your ass!"

Finally, he faces me, a slight smile tugging on his lips. He waves me over, eyebrows raised. "Come on then. Show me what you got."

I consider my options. Close the door between us, go to bed, and hopefully get some sleep. Or step out in the rain and do as I threatened.

Water pools around my bare feet as I step out onto the concrete, approaching him with a forced glare. I kick water at him, and he rolls his eyes. "That all you got?" He has the ball in one hand, the other tempting me closer. I playfully kick his thigh. He scoffs. "Weak," he teases, and so I charge for him. He runs away, chuckling, twisting at the waist and switching directions every time I get near, and then it turns into a game of tag I have absolutely no hope of winning.

For one, I'm barefoot.

Two, I can barely see through the sheets of rain coming down around us.

And three, he's Jace fricken Rivera.

At some point, he finally lets me tap him, and then he stands to full height, offering a wolfish smile. "My turn," he deadpans, and I squeal, run away from him. He takes less than two steps to catch me, his arms around my waist as he lifts me off the ground, spinning me in circles. I throw my arms in the air, my face to the night sky as I let drop after drop fall on me. This feeling washes over me, like weightlessness mixed with hope. Too soon, Jace lowers me to the ground, and I immediately turn in his arms.

His eyes meet mine, squinted by the force of the downpour. "You're okay?" I ask, and his smile fades at my words. A part of me wishes I hadn't brought us back to reality, but reality is where we stand, and anything else would just be a lie. I reach up, my hand going to his jaw and turning his face so I can scan it for injuries. It's clear.

"Harlow…" It's all he says.

And before I can think straight, I'm lifting the hem of his shirt, inspecting his torso. No bruises. No welts.

"You're okay," I repeat, but it's not a question this time. It's as if I needed to hear the words out loud to confirm the truth, even if the words came from me.

I trail my eyes back to his and force my teeth to stop chattering so I can say, "Where have you been?"

"Why?" he asks. "Did you miss me?"

"Jace," I say through a sigh, hugging my arms to my chest. I hadn't realized how cold I was until I stopped running. The rain is thick, the air frigid, and I can't be standing out here much longer.

Jace finally answers, "I had to take my grandpa to an appointment on Sunday."

"And you couldn't have told me?"

Shrugging, he shifts his gaze to anywhere but me. "I didn't know what to say." He shrugs. "It's embarrassing, you seeing that… for both of us…"

I rear back, confused. "For you and me?"

He shakes his head. "For me and my grandpa…" he trails off, then pauses a breath before adding, "He doesn't know what he's doing when he's like that, and I knew him seeing you there would cause him shame, and then he'd try to erase that shame by drinking more. I needed to be home to make sure he didn't take things too far."

I play his words over in my mind, on repeat, until I'm forced to make sense of them. "So I made it worse?"

Jace's shoulders drop. "Yeah, you did."

My chest tightens at the thought. But… "I'm allowed to worry about you."

"I know," he says, his eyes meeting mine again. "But you don't need to." Stepping closer, he settles one hand on my waist, the other shifting my hair behind my ear. "By the way, I've missed you too." And then he's kissing me, his warm tongue stroking against my cold lips as he holds me close, cradling the back of my head in his hand. I return the kiss, arms locked around his neck, and I forget who I am when he treats me like this. When he holds me like this. When he makes me feel like no one else and nothing else matters but this.

Us.

Together.

Thunder claps, loud and forceful, and we pull apart just in time to see the lights go out in the house.

"Shit," I murmur, dropping my hands.

"It might just be a fuse," Jace says. "Wait for me inside."

I run into the house, watching from the other side of the screen door as Jace runs to the side of the house to check the fuse box, then reappears to go to his van and kill the lights before joining me in the house. "It's not a fuse," he remarks, his hair and clothes dripping water all over the floor. All over me.

"Come on," I murmur, taking his hand and carefully leading us to the laundry room. It's almost pitch black through the house—the only source of light streaming in through the windows comes from the intermittent strikes of lightning above. I lift the lid of the washing machine and strip off my shirt, dump it in there. "I'll find something of my dad's you can wear. You can't stay in these clothes." I struggle to slip off my sleep shorts, the wet fabric rolling and sticking to every bit of exposed flesh as I slide them off my legs. I realize I'm in nothing but my bralette and underwear, in front of Jace, but it's dark in the room, and I doubt he'd be able to see much.

"Jace?"

He clears his throat.

"Shirt and shorts off. I don't want you traipsing puddles throughout the house. And I think…" I feel around the room until I find the closet, then feel for the beach towels we keep in there. "I have towels," I murmur, grabbing two of them.

In the darkness, I can make out his shape, and then there's a loud thud, before he curses.

"What happened?"

"There's no room in here, and I just hit something with my elbow… and I can't get this fucking shirt—" My giggle cuts him off, and he grunts in response. "My fucking arms are stuck."

I laugh full force, putting my hands out to help him. I find his abs first, and I flatten my palms on the solid muscle there before moving them higher, to his chest, and I ignore his gasp, his sharp intake of breath at my touch alone. His arms are next, and I step closer, our fronts touching, so I can reach higher, help move his shirt past his elbows, then over his head.

He's hard.

I can feel the cold nylon pressed against my stomach, and I choke on a breath, try to control the shakiness of my exhale. Jace's chest rises and falls with each rapid breath, and I can feel each one move against me, can hear each one fill the space around us.

His hands find my waist, creeping up and down, as if memorizing my shape. Droplets of water fall against my bare feet, and I lift my hands to the band of his shorts, slide the tips of my fingers beneath the fabric.

Jace stutters a breath, whispers a curse into the darkness. I lower the fabric, inch by inch, moving with it, until I'm on my knees in front of him. His hand's in my hair, fisted, and I don't know what he wants. Does he want me to stay put? Or…

"Did you say you had towels?" he asks, releasing my hair and pulling me from my daze.

"Yeah." I try to level my breathing as I reach for the towels I'd dropped on the floor, before handing him one. We dry ourselves in silence, lost in our thoughts.

"I left my phone in my van," he says. "Where's yours? We should see if the whole town's out. And I should probably check on my grandpa."

"It's up in my room."