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It takes me an eternity to wash the cake out of my hair, and by the time I emerge from the shower, not a drop of strength remains in me. I crawl under the blankets even though I haven’t been invited to sleep over.
A quiet knock on the door jolts me awake. I drag myself, still in a robe and hair half-damp and cold, out of the bed. “Coming.” The clock on my phone tells me I got a whole thirty minutes’ worth of sleep. It’ll hold me over until I’m home. Maybe.
Cracking the door open, I peek out.
Jace holds out a cloth bag to me. “Briar…suggested I deliver these to you. All clean.”
I take what I assume to be my clothes and shut the door, heart climbing up my sternum.
My phone rings from the bed. I let it ring. There’s only one person who ever calls me—Jace—and I don’t want to answer. If he tries to explain or apologize, I’ll believe him, and I’m still throbbing from everything we’ve put each other through tonight.
The phone keeps ringing. Jace is not a quitter. I place my finger on the power button, but at the last moment I change my mind and accept the call.
“Can we please talk?” he asks without any tiptoeing.
“Okay.” This may be the last conversation we’ll ever have.
“I’ll wait for you on the deck. It’s at the end of the hall, on your left once you walk out the room.”
I hang up and get dressed.
The deck is easy to find, and it’s beautiful in its simplicity. The view of the ocean is the main decoration. Several thick sitting cushions and a low table are placed in the middle. LED candles glow on the table, and I spot two large mugs of some steaming drink.
“Zach made us ‘something for our nerves,’” Jace explains, nodding at the mugs. “Ginger, honey, and lemon tea.”
He’s still wearing the red shorts, but the mind-bending tee is gone. Same as most of his war makeup. Wearing a long-sleeve athletic shirt, black with gray stripes hugging his sides, Jace is back to his more day-to-day appearance. I’m glad. When he’s in a performance getup, it’s harder to ignore the fact that the things we want are complete opposites. It’s harder to keep my senses about me as well.
Jace offers me one of the mugs.
I hesitate. Are we going to have another fight? I don’t want that. Staying in the vacuum of uncertainty is preferable to something that’ll snap whatever ties we have left. I take the tea.
Jace steps back and rubs his face with both hands, which then dive into his hair, making a mess of it. “You want to break up or…” Jace shatters me to pieces with his wide, earnest eyes. “Or would you be willing to make up?” His voice fades at the end, and I wonder if the only way I hear him is with the help of the ocean breeze carrying his words.
“I don’t know.” My body feels so paper-thin and frail, the breeze won’t have any trouble carrying me away. “You pretend you’re not in love with Juliette anymore. You pretend you don’t hate Shane. You even pretend that guitar is your only skill.” His singing is still ringing in my memory. “What about me? Do you pretend to tolerate me? Do you pretend to…like me?”
Jace’s hands fly to his hair again. I cling to the warm mug. The wariness between us is suffocating. I asked what should’ve been simple questions, but Jace doesn’t say anything. The whisper of the waves caressing the beach surrounds us. Nothing else.
I’m nothing to him.
“Laurel.” Jace faces me again, his expression resolved in a subdued way. “I have so many things I want to say, but they’re all a mess in my head. Please give me another minute to think.”
“All right.” I settle on a cushion and take a cautious sip of tea. Its warm, herby scent envelopes my face, and the honey soothes my throat. My next sip is long and greedy. It warms my tight chest and brings a sting to my eyes. Zach made this tea for us. They don’t know me. They’re Jace’s friends, but everyone has been so kind.
Jace follows my example and sits on the other side of the table. Eyes closed, he picks up his mug and inhales the steam. The breeze plays with the ends of his hair. The faux candlelight amplifies his chiseled features and his thoughtful frown, and I want nothing more than to reach out and smooth out those concerned wrinkles.
“You’re right, of course.” He looks at me, and the unmasked fear in his eyes makes me freeze. “I pretend a lot.” He takes a breath, followed by several deep glugs of tea. “And before you say it, I know I’m an idiot, but I can’t do it any other way. I’d rather pretend than walk away. I need an actual solution, a closure, a win, not to shove my problems under the rug. Or move to another town. It won’t help. I’ll go mad knowing I have something I failed to figure out and put to rights.”
“What if it can’t be made right?”
“Ithas tobe.”
I concentrate on the lemon slices floating in my mug. “In situations like yours they always say to forgive and forget. I don’t think you can. Not when your wounds never even get a chance to grow scabs, let alone heal. You need to step away, Jace. From everything and everyone.”
“I don’t want to step away from you.” His intense gaze singes my skin. “I don’t want to break up, and please don’t ask me if I love Juliette ever again. When you do, I’m forced to remember that Ididlove her. It took me everything to stop, and I’m sick and tired of everyone thinking that I’ll never get over her. That’s the part that poisons everything. I’m not in love with her. I don’t even wish I could be. I want you to—” He swallows so hard I can see his throat bobbing.
I’m a terrible person for enjoying his struggle, but I do. He made me reveal all the uncomfortable things I’ve been bottling up for years. It’s his turn. “You want me to what, Jace?”
“I want you to know I am available.” He slides his mug aside and leans on his arms across the small table. “For you. I like to mess around with you and write music and have you glare at me and even steal food from your kitchen.”
