Chapter 73

Eyes downcast, I bypass Jace standing behind the counter and head straight for the office to clock in. I've barely made it in there before he's standing in the doorway, his arms crossed. "You're not scheduled on Saturdays."

I glance over at him, but not for too long. I'm sure he's sick of people staring, people questioning, but never asking. It's been two weeks since I'd first seen him this way. The swelling around his eye has gone down, but the bruising is still visible. The dressing on his neck has been replaced with a single Band-Aid, and I have a feeling it's no longer needed, but it's used to hide what's there. "Lana called last minute and said she had to take a personal day," I tell him. Then add, because I feel like I need to, "Don't worry, I won't get in your way."

He doesn't respond immediately. Not with words. Not with actions. Seconds pass before he finally moves, heading back down the hallway toward the counter.

I breathe for the first time since he spoke.

I hear his voice sometimes—in my head, of course. Some nights, just as I'm falling asleep, I'll hear the haunting sound of leather bouncing on concrete. I know it's not real. That it can't be. That the sound is nothing more than a ghost, set out to remind of my past. Like I need the reminder.

Occasionally, I watch his house, like he used to do with me. I've caught him carrying furniture from his house to his van, but never enough to make me worry that he's leaving for good. He and Jonah take turns driving to school together now. And his grandpa… his grandpa is nowhere to be seen. He's not stumbling around town or passed out in the general store, and unless he's held up in Jace's house, or dead, I don't know where he could be. The only person I could think of asking would be Jonah, but I doubt he'd tell me, even if he knew.

The day seems to go forever, and the only thing that breaks up the mundane is a kid's birthday party in the afternoon.

Not a single customer enters the rink after that, and I almost contemplate asking Jace if I can skate, but that would mean talking to him, and I don't think he'd like that very much.

Instead, I spend the last two hours of the shift scraping gum from the underside of tables in the dining section.

When it's finally time to leave, I'm the last to clock out, which means that Jace is waiting at the front door for me so he can lock up. He doesn't look at me when I approach, doesn't say a word as I pass him.

But, I've spent the past two hours trapped in my head, and I've concluded that I need to speak to him. I've wanted to speak to him since the day I showed up at his house and saw the destruction there. I wait behind him as he locks the door from the outside, and he seems surprised when he notices I'm still here. "Jace, I…"

"Surprise!"

My head whips to the voice behind me, to the girl who'd been hiding behind Jace's van with Jonah. Big blue eyes and long blonde hair loose around her shoulders. She's more beautiful in real life than she is in the pictures on Lana's desk.

"Reyna…" Jace whispers, and I face him just in time to see the relief on his face. The comfort in his eyes. His shoulders drop as she falls into his embrace, holding her tight. "What are you doing here?"

"My mom called, said you were going through something, so I wanted to be here for you."

Jace smiles at her—a mixture of joy and longing, and he doesn't let her go, not even when Jonah says, motioning toward me, "Reyna, this is Harlow."

Reyna turns toward me, her smile slipping. "Hi," she says, her arms still around Jace's waist and his around her neck. They fit together perfectly, like two lost pieces of a puzzle made only for each other.

"Hi." I swallow the pain, the agony. "How are you?"

"I'm good," she says. "Especially now that I got my boys back." She backhands Jonah in the stomach, and he feigns hurt. She laughs at that. So doesJace. "So… what are we doing tonight, fellas?"

Jonah and Reyna turn their backs to me, looking to Jace for answers, and I watch them for a moment, my chest tightening with every second. When tears start blurring my vision, I turn swiftly and get in my car.

On the drive home, I bury the words I'd planned to tell Jace.

I wanted to tell him I'm sorry—that I don't know which part I'm sorry for the most, but I'm sorry for all of it. I'm sorry for whatever happened to him and whatever happened to us. But it wasn't his fault, and I don't know if it was mine, either, but maybe it was just everything, all at once.

Either way, I'm sorry. I never meant for things to end like this… I never meant to hurt him… because I love him, and I'll always love him.

Even if that love leads to darkness.

I don't know how long I've been staring at my computer, at the flashing cursor after the two words that haven't changed in weeks: My Hero.

It's the final big assignment of the year, and hopefully, for me, one of my last ones ever. I check the time. Nine p.m. I got off work at five and came straight home, ate what little my stomach could handle, and then came up here, to my desk, to complete this stupid project due on Wednesday.

Movement from outside my window has me looking up to see Jace's headlights coming up the driveway. Whatever Reyna and her "boys" got up to after work lasted four hours. Obviously, it's been on my mind. Hence the blank page in front of me.

I watch as Jace opens his door and steps out, then waits by the front of the van. I'm not sure what he's waiting for—not until the passenger door opens, and even though I can't make out much of anything in the darkness, I know who he's with.

I can feel it in the breaking of my heart.

Soon enough, lights flick on in the house, and I beg, pray that his bedroom isn't one of them. With bated breath, I stare at his bedroom window, waiting, hoping it remains as dark in there as it feels in my soul, but… it's only seconds later that the room illuminates, and I choke on a breath as two figures appear, stopping right in front of the window.

I plead with myself to look away, to close my eyes… but I can't.

Not even when he reaches up, moves her hair behind her ear.

Not even when she flattens her palms on his chest, tilting her head up.

Not even when he lowers his mouth to hers, kisses her the way he used to kiss me.

Tears fill my eyes faster than I'm ready for them, and I finally look away when she helps him remove his shirt. I try to inhale through the pain, exhale through the heartache, but it's hard. So damn hard. My chest caves in as I choke on a sob, and without thinking, I reach for my phone, pull up a number I haven't contacted in months, then hit call.

He answers on the second ring. "Harlow?"

"Are you home?" I cry.

He's quiet a beat. "Yeah, I am."

Five hours later, I knock on a familiar door. And only seconds after that, I'm enveloped in familiar arms. I cry into his chest, grateful that I at least have him. He always made me feel safe, even when my world was spiraling. "I'm glad you called, Harlow."