Chapter 52

I like Harlow the best when she's quiet.

Wait.

That came out wrong.

What I meant to say is that I like the quiet moments with her, when no one else is around, and we're not really doing much of anything besides existing in each other's presence.

I'd gone home after washing the dishes to check on my grandpa, who was there, awake and semi-lucid. There were empty beer cans by his feet, but none in his hands, which meant that he'd run out for the night. I told him I was heading out again, and he didn't react, which is probably the best-case scenario.

By the time I returned to Harlow's, using my key to let myself in, she'd just gotten out of the shower and was drying her hair. Now, she's sitting at her mirrored dresser thing, smearing white stuff all over her face, and I sit on the edge of the bed and just watch her.

Her eyes meet mine through the mirror, and she smiles—this timid little smile she saves for moments like this… when she catches me looking at her. Which I often do, because… how could I not? The girl's beautiful. And she's mine.

Sometimes I wonder how we got here or what we'd be to each other had she not knocked on my van door and made that proposition. She'd probably be dating Jonah by now, which means she'd be far more social, and he'd make her laugh more than I do. She'd probably have weekly dinners at his house, with his family—a mom, a dad, two younger sisters, and she'd feel like she's part of something. Something more than just me and all my bullshit baggage. And she'd go to all our games, like she does now, but she'd wear his jersey instead of mine, and fuck that.

"Why is your face like that?" she asks, pulling me from my nightmare.

I try to school my features, but I can still feel the tension there—right between my eyebrows. "What's wrong with my face?"

She giggles, collects a few jars and bottles of whatever from her dresser, and stands. "Your turn."

"My turn for what?"

"To fix your face." She nods toward the bed. "Sit back. I'm about to blow your mind."

I smile full force.

She rolls her eyes. "Not like that!"

"Oh." I do as she says, settling in with my back against the head board. "It's just… last time you said that, you?—"

"I know what I did," she cuts in.

"It was in the back of my van. You told me to pull over at that abandoned factory on the way home from a game…"

"I remember," she says, laughing quietly. "I was there too."

"You did blow my mind."

"My dad can probably hear everything you're saying."

My smile slips immediately, and I sit ramrod straight as she gets comfortable opposite me, her legs crossed, and I match her position. She takes a bottle, pours some of its contents into her palm, then dabs her finger into it before smearing it across my forehead. I narrow my eyes at her, but remain still as she does it again, this time on my cheek. "Did I agree to this?"

"You got lost in the whole blowjob thing."

"Right."

She scoots closer, but it's not close enough, and so she adjusts each of her legs until they're over my knees. I settle my hands on her thighs while she resumes "fixing my face," my nose scrunching when she smooths the white stuff over it. For some reason, her eyes light up at that before placing both hands on the side of my face and squeezing. Hard. "You're so cute," she says in this high-pitched voice I've never heard before. "I just want to squeeze you and shrink you and keep you in my pocket forever."

I chuckle, and she continues her task, remaining quiet as she does. I try to remember my life before her. The nights I'd spent alone out by the creek because I didn't want to go home. Or the nights I'd spend in the half-court, pushing myself to the brink of absolute exhaustion because I knew that basketball was my only way out.

It still is.

But now, I'm not in such a hurry to leave. The problem is, I don't know how Harlow feels. I'd had meetings with other schools before, and tonight was the first time she'd ever asked about them. I know I'm leaving the decision late, but it's hard to make a choice.

Most guys in my position change schools for better opportunities, and that means they get to play the best of the best, so if they stand out, it actually means something. I didn't have that option. I'm hit or miss with colleges because it's hard for them to see my potential when I'm not challenged the way other players are. I'm well aware of this—which is why I'd always been prepared to double down and prove my worth. But the more time that passes, the fewer options are presented to me, and I don't know what to do.

"All done," Harlow says, pulling me from my thoughts.

I pat my face, feel the moisture there. "It's fixed now?"

"Yep."

Never, in my eighteen years, did I ever think I'd be spending my Sunday nights doing whatever Harlow just did to me, but here I am. And I know that I have to deal with the whole elephant in the room thing, but I just don't even know where to start or how to go about it. I've tried, multiple times, and failed at every turn.

Harlow grabs all the face shit and starts to move away, but I grab her legs, stop her. "His name is Rowan."

She freezes mid-movement, eying me sideways. "Your secret lover?"

"The scout from LSU."

She drops what she'd been holding and sits taller, giving me all her attention. "And?"

I gauge her reaction as I tell her, "They want to fly me out there to check out the facilities. See if it's a good fit for me. The problem is they'll have a senior next year in a similar role, so I probably won't get as much game time as I want, which means not that much exposure…"

"So, you might have to do two years?"

"Yeah."

"Is that a make or break for you?"

I shrug. I'd always planned to do my one compulsory year before the NBA draft, but I've enjoyed the college classes I'm taking, so I'm not all that worried right now.

"Can I ask you something?" she asks, getting more comfortable, and I nod in response. "Why are you so secretive about all of it?"

I don't know if I'd call it secretive. I've just been waiting for her to bring it up, which she hasn't. Until tonight. "It's not like you've asked about it before, and besides, you're not exactly open about your plans, either."

"Jace… I just started taking my life seriously less than a year ago. I have no idea what I'm going to do, but it probably won't be college."

"Okay." I sigh, frustrated that the words don't verbally form as easily as they come to my mind. I mutter, "Things were so much easier before you came along."

"Ouch." She tries to move off me again, but I tighten my hold, grimacing.

"That came out wrong, huh?"

"A little, yeah."

I shake my head. "I just meant that before you, I was so ready to get the hell out of here and never look back. But… things are different now."

"How?" she asks. "And please don't say because of me…"

I can only stare ahead because what am I supposed to say? I don't want to lie to her, and the truth might scare her, so there's no winning on my end.

Harlow sighs, the sound almost deafening in the stillness of our surroundings. "This is why I don't ask about it. Whatever decision you make should be what's best for you, and you only." She pauses a breath, locking her hands at my nape. "You know… my mom didn't want Harley to have a serious girlfriend in high school. She didn't want a random girl to sway any decisions when it came to his future, and to be honest, it was the only thing I agreed with her on. You can't make a decision that could possibly determine the rest of your life based on me, Jace. I won't let you."

"You're not a random girl," I murmur, searching her eyes as I try to come up with an argument. But… as much as it kills me to admit, I know that she's right. To an extent. We've only been together a few months, and, granted, they've been the best months of my life. I don't know her past—never wanted to—so who knows what she's had to compare it to? "I could always set up that website for you. You can sell pics of your feet." On second thought… "Or I could teach you to code. You could make websites for other people." I pause, my mind spinning, working overtime, and I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. "Or you could sell those protein ball thingies you make for me and the guys. They're always offering to buy them from you. You could package them nicely… be an entrepreneur…"

Harlow watches me, her eyes right on mine, and I hate that I can't read her thoughts. Hate that she gives nothing away. Now I guess I know what it feels like to be in her shoes. She blinks a few times, lowering her gaze. "These all seem like jobs I can do from anywhere…"

"I guess so, yeah."

Her eyes meet mine again, narrowed slightly, and she says, "Okay, this is one of those times when I need you to take the direct route to your point, no veering off course, no going around in circles."

"Like when I told you I wanted to wait?"

"Exactly like that."

Groaning quietly, I release her so I can run my hands through my hair, tug at the ends. Anxious energy crawls through my veins, pulses wildly beneath my flesh. I roll my neck, attempting to ease the tension building there.

"Are you nervous?" she asks, holding my face in her hands and forcing me to look at her. "Jace… you don't get nervous."

"I do around you," I murmur.

"Why?"

"Because…" I inhale as much air as my lungs can handle, then give her all my thoughts, all my feelings, all at once. "Before you came along, I never really knew what it felt like to love someone, but I've started to remember what it feels like to be loved. By my parents, and now by you. You make me feel loved, Harlow, and I hope that maybe one day, you'll feel the same about me…"

Breaths short, staggered, tears well in her eyes as she whispers, "Are you saying?—"

"I'm saying that I love you, Harlow. And I want you with me wherever I go. Not just in the next stage of my life, but for the rest of my life… and all the lives after that."