Chapter 83

The rehab facility is tucked away at the end of a suburban tree-lined street, making it look more like an unkept mansion than a clinic. I find a spot on the side of the road and put the car in park. "Take your time," I tell Jace, reaching into the back seat for my bag. I pull out my current read and lift it up between us. "I'm only a few chapters in, so I'll be well and truly occupied for as long as you need."

His eyebrows dip as he looks from the book to me. "Since when did you start reading?"

"Just recently," I tell him, and I don't know if I'm oversharing, but still, I add, "It's become another form of therapy."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh."

"You take up any other hobbies recently?"

I think for a moment. "Baking."

"You always wanted to get more into baking," he murmurs.

"That's about it. Reading and kneading."

His lips tick up at the corners, and it reminds me of all his smiles I'd earned in the past. "And Penelope."

"Yes. We can't forget my Penelope."

Jace watches me for a moment, his eyes searching mine. The longer he stares, the thicker the air that fills my lungs. Eventually, he diverts his gaze and asks, "Do you want to come in and meet him… properly this time?"

I swallow my nerves, my fears—not of meeting his grandpa, but of the weight his offer carries. It's a move, right? A step toward a certain direction? "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he says, through a heavy exhale. "I think I'd like that."

The front of the center is exactly how it looks from the street, and after walking through an overgrown path surrounded by dead brush, Jace speaks to a woman behind the front desk, and she gives us both a visitor's pass. We wait in the foyer, surrounded by cheap art prints behind dusty glass frames. The carpet is faded, so is the paint on the walls, and there's nothing about the place that screams welcoming. But then again, I don't really know what to expect.

A moment later, a middle-aged woman with a blonde bob comes out and greets Jace with a warm smile. She introduces herself to me as Robyn, a counselor at the facility, then leads us down a corridor and into a large room with small seating areas. There are a few groups of people clustered about—others going through the same treatment as Marty Payne, all meeting with their loved ones. "I'll go get your grandpa, Jace," Robyn says, rubbing his arm. "Y'all sit down. I'll be right back."

Jace moves to the corner of the room, right by the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook a garden similar to the front of the clinic. Overgrown, and yet half-dead. I sit down when Jace does, and in my mind, I think about how depressing the place is. Out loud, I say, "I'm really looking forward to meeting him."

Jace stares out the window, his face passive, eyes void again. I don't think he hears me, because he says, "It's not the best place, but it was the only one that could take him on such short notice."

"Has he had anything since he's been here?"

He shakes his head. "No."

"Then it's serving its purpose, right?"

His gaze trails to mine, a forced smile playing on his lips. "I guess." His attention switches to somewhere behind me, and I turn to his grandpa and Robyn walking toward us. His grandpa stands taller than I've seen him in the past. Dressed in cream slacks and a tan sweater, he looks like your quintessential grandpa… not the one who raised Jace. There's more color in his cheeks now, more life. "He looks so much better," I murmur.

"Right?"

I stand, wiping my sweaty palms on my dress. I'm nervous, obviously, and I don't know why.

Robyn rubs Jace's grandpa's arm, the way she did with Jace. "Just yell out if you need anything. Okay, Marty?"

"Okay." He nods, then looks between Jace and me, over and over again. He has Jace's eyes. Not the color or depth, but… the emptiness. "Can I help you?"

My stomach drops, and I slowly turn to Jace, who's wearing the same forced smile he gave me earlier. "Hi, Grandpa," he says. "It's me, Jace."

"Jace?"

"Yeah," Jace replies, helping his grandpa into one of the leather bucket seats. "I brought a friend with me today. This is Harlow."

"Harlow?" Marty asks, searching my face.

I put my hand out between us. "Hi, sir. It's so nice to finally meet you. Jace has told me so much about you."

He takes my hand, his palm rough and cold against mine. "I haven't met you before?"

"No, sir. First time," I lie. Jace isn't the only one who can research things. After he told me that his grandpa might have dementia, I spent hours online reading about it. Put simply, dementia is a literal form of brain damage, and that damage can affect areas that create and retrieve memories. It's a horrible disease—one I wouldn't wish upon anyone. Even someone I once thought to be evil.

"And sorry, who are you again?" Marty asks, looking up at Jace. For a man who caused such intense and horrid pain to a boy who deserved nothing but love, Marty seems so small now, so fragile.

So broken.

"Jace. I'm your grandson."

"Kiera's boy?"

Jace smiles, genuine for the first time. "Yes, sir."

"How is she?"

"She's good," Jace lies. "She said she's sorry she couldn't make it. She had stuff to do at home."

"And Isaac too?"

Jace's throat moves with his swallow. "Yes, Grandpa."

I sit down when Jace does, and Marty looks out the window. I don't know what he sees out there, but it can't be much.

"You want something to eat or drink?" Jace asks after a moment. "I can get something from the vending machine?"

Marty doesn't respond, as if he didn't hear Jace at all.

I glance at Jace's profile, my heart aching at the pure torment in his stare. I reach over, place my hand on his, and he faces me, his heavy intake of breath causing his shoulders to rise. "Will you be all right if I go see the doctor for a minute?" he asks, his voice quiet.

"Of course."

I watch him go down a different corridor from which we came and then face Marty again. For minutes, I sit, and I just watch him. Watch his stare remain blank. Lost. Even when a couple of robins come right up to the window, pecking at the ground, his eyes don't move. Neither does he. I clear the knot in my throat, gaining his attention. "I'm sorry," he says. "Who are you again?"

"I'm Harlow." I smile, but it's weak. "I'm a friend of your grandson, Jace."

"Right… Jace. Kiera's boy?"

"That's the one." I pause a beat. "Jace told me you're teaching him to play chess?"

Marty smiles now, a sheepish, coy little smile so similar to Jace's. "Do you play chess?"

"I'm more of a checkers girl, myself," I tell him. "But I'd love to learn."

"Then I'll teach you too." He gets up from his chair, walking with a swing in his step toward a bookcase filled with board games. He returns a moment later and starts setting us up. I copy everything he does, placing the individual pieces where they belong.

Within minutes, I'm deep into a tutorial of the game. Just as he's finished explaining what each piece is capable of, Jace returns, his eyes narrowed at the chessboard between us. "I asked your grandpa to teach me," I tell him. "You made it seem so fun. I wanted to learn myself."

"You're going to have to pick a team, Jace. Harlow or me," Marty tells him.

Jace's eyes light up as he moves his chair closer to mine. "I think Harlow could use my help more than you, Grandpa."

Marty nods, focused on the board.

"I like the little guys," I say, picking up a piece from the front row and inspecting it closely. "They're so cute."

"Little guys?" Marty chuckles, and my chest warms at the sound. "Those are pawns, young lady."

I pick up a knight. "And the little ponies?"

Marty laughs even harder at that. "Knights."

"Knights," I repeat. "I'll have to remember."

Jace settles his arm along the back of my chair, and when his thumb gently strokes my shoulder, I stutter a breath.

I've missed this.

I miss how close we once were.

And these soft, sometimes inconspicuous touches we'd share.

I miss his voice.

And the way he says my name.

But most of all, I just miss him.

Miss us.

My brother had this phrase as his lock screen on his phone, and it read:

"Regret is more painful than failure."

I don't know where he got it from, and I never really understood what it meant until I waded out of the shadows after losing Jace. I realized then, after looking back on our time together and all the things that drove us apart… that of all the heartbreaks I've had in my life, the mistakes I made with Jace are the most painful of all… because those mistakes were mine.

Everything else happened to me and was out of my control, but my treatment of him was a choice. And those choices are my biggest regrets.

For hours, Jace and I take turns playing chess against his grandpa. We would've gone on for hours more if Robyn hadn't returned to tell us, "It's time to say goodbye. Your group session's about to start, Marty." She turns to us, motioning toward the chessboard. "You can leave that there. We'll pack it up." And then she walks away, leaving the three of us alone.

Jace stands to help Marty out of his chair, and I get up to say goodbye. Marty runs a hand down his clothes as he looks between us, his eyes wide, clear of the uncertainty he walked in with. Then he reaches up, his hand cupping Jace's face, and I can see the moment the tension leaves Jace's shoulders, the moment he presses into his grandfather's touch. My heart swells, grateful that he at least has this—no matter how short-lived it is. Marty glances at me, and with his other hand, he repeats the same gentle sentiment. I smile through my anguish and force the tears away. "How long have you two been married?" he asks.

I choke on a gasp, keep my eyes on his while Jace answers for the both of us. "We're not."

"That's a shame," Marty says, his hands still on our faces as he continues to look between us. "You know… one day, I was just like you. Young, full of life, with my entire future in front of me… and then I blinked. And I now I'm this. Old, staring out of a window, looking at nothing… nothing but the past I left behind." He drops his hands, focusing on Jace now. "You want my advice, Isaac?"

I can hear the change in Jace's breathing. The way it stops. Then stutters. "Yes, sir."

"Don't blink."

And then Marty turns to me, both hands on my cheeks now. I force myself to keep it together while he leans forward, presses his lips to my forehead. When he pulls back, his eyes hold mine. "He's a good man. An honorable man. A kind man who will protect you, and love you, and take care of you. You say yes when he asks, okay, Kiera?"

Tears fill my eyes, and I take his advice—I don't blink. "Yes, sir."