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There’s a kindness in him that he hides, a fierce protectiveness that seems to come out whenever I’m upset or in trouble. I’ve never experienced something like that, never had somebody I can lean against without worrying about how to pay them back.
The entire week I spent angry with him for his weird behavior, I felt off and unhappy. The novelty of being hit on faded quickly because none of those men could compare to my boss. I’d much rather have Jace scowl at me and scold me even as he tosses me a cushion to put behind my back when sitting on his office two-seater. And when he gives me his rare smiles, it makes my heart feel light and airy.
“Stop leering at me.” He puts his hands over my eyes.
I grin, slyly at him. “Why? Are you shy?”
He immediately removes his hands, glaring at me. “Do I look shy to you?”
“Sure seems like—Ow ow! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I take it back! You’re not shy!” I howl out my words incoherently, as Jace pinches my cheeks and tugs. When he releases me, I rub my aching cheeks, muttering, “You’re a tyrant. That’s what you are.”
“Stop whining or your food will get cold,” He guides me over to the table and pushes me down into the chair. As he unwraps the food, he asks, “Aren’t you hungry?” He raises a brow at me.
I squirm in my seat. I don’t know why I’m feeling so self-conscious but I’m extremely aware of the bed, and its presence is just a vivid reminder of everything Jace did to me on it just a few hours ago.
What happened to all my bravery?
I take the utensils he’s holding out, overcome with this strange shyness, and I catch him giving me an odd look before sitting across from me.
The food is still hot and I feel the flavor bursting into my mouth with each bite of the baked fish. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d gotten a little bit of everything. The whole table is littered with dishes. I sneak a glance at him. “Aren’t you going to put on a shirt?”
He blinks at me, then a wicked grin forms on his lips. “Am I distracting you?”
I sniff, disdainfully. “As if.”
He clearly looks like he is enjoying himself as he leans back in his chair, and smirks. “Then why would you point it out?”
I open my mouth and struggle to say something. However, I come up empty and I snap my mouth shut, only to open it to mutter out, my cheeks red, slumping in my seat. “You’re stupid.”
He chuckles. “Eat your food.”
I shove the fish in my mouth to prevent myself from saying something dumb. We eat in silence but I catch myself sneaking glances at him when I don’t think he’s looking. Of course, that doesn’t really work out because he keeps catching me in the act and the silly smile on his face keeps growing broader and broader till I just want to hit him.
It’s making me feel weird and I don’t know what to do about my heart, which is beating so loudly that I fear Jace can hear it over the humming of the generator.
However, I don’t get much time to ponder over my feelings because once we’re done with our meal, reality sinks in as I bring over my laptop to the table and open it.
Seeing my mother’s picture in the downloaded file is jolting, and for a few seconds, I just stare at her unsmiling face in her passport sized photo that someone had provided them with and there’s a pang in my heart. I swallow the pain, wondering why after all this time, it still feels so fresh and raw like the wound never stopped bleeding.
Would I have turned out different if she had been alive to guide me through life? Would she have approved of Jace? Would she have held my hand through my nightmares and stroked my head like she used to?
My eyes burn.
I feel a heavy hand on my shoulder and I look up to see Jace standing next to me. I stare at him, almost blindly as a tear escapes, trailing down my cheek. “I’m being stupid, aren’t I?” I ask, brokenly. “It’s been so long—I shouldn’t…” I can’t get the words out.
His hand cups my face and he wipes my tear away with his thumb as he tells me, his tone so unbearable gentle, “You’re not being stupid.”
My lower lip quivers before I firm it, giving him a shaky nod, and turning back to the screen.
Everything is handwritten and it has simply been scanned to create an online copy. The writing is sloppy, very hard to read, and I find myself squinting at places.
Detective Egerton clearly worked hard at trying to track down my mother and I’m surprised that she was declared missing only after I was found roaming in the parking lot of a small motel, the nearest one to our house.
As the weeks go by, I can see the hopelessness in Egerton’s words, the frustration with the lack of a trail.
I move to the statements of family and friends.
‘…child is clearly traumatized…no recollection…injured feet…malnourished…psych eval concurs that she herself has repressed the memories of the incident.’
