I nod, even though part of me is terrified of the answer.
“The Scarlett Letter,” he says, and I can hear the slight embarrassment in his voice.
I blink at him for a second, then burst out laughing. “Seriously? No, you didn’t.”
“Okay, maybe not entirely because of that book,” he says, a flush creeping up his neck. “But remember when your dad took Charles and Cal out to New York with Cal’s dad, and Silas had some medical procedure done and was in the hospital?”
The laughter dies in my throat as the memory surfaces. “Yeah. You stayed at my house that weekend even though...”
“Yeah, even though you didn’t need a babysitter.”
“You’re only two years older than me! How was a nineteen-year-old you a better choice to keep a seventeen-year-old safe than leaving me alone?”
“Ouch.”
“You know what I mean.”
His mouth quirks upward, the first real smile I’ve seen from him all morning. “Well, you got your payback, remember? You said if I was going to be your overseer, I’d have to oversee you watching Easy A.”
“Yes!” The memory makes me grin despite everything. “You hated that movie.”
“I did. But you loved it. A modern-day Scarlett Letter story.” He glances at me, something soft and vulnerable in his expression. “You made me watch it three times that weekend. By the third time, I wasn’t watching the movie anymore. I was watching you laugh at all the same jokes, quote all the same lines. And I realized I’d rather be miserable watching a movie you loved than happy doing anything else.”
My chest tightens. “Jace?—”
“So when I bought the boat and needed a name...” He shrugs, trying for casual and missing by miles. “It reminded me of the weekend I figured out I was completely gone for you. Seemed fitting.”
“Jace.” His name comes out softer than I intended, raw with something I don’t know how to name.
“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugs, but there’s something vulnerable in the set of his shoulders. “It’s obvious how you feelabout me. Seems my focus on being the best at my job came at a cost.”
“It didn’t,” I say quickly, stepping closer without thinking. “I just... this is a lot to unpack in less than twenty-four hours. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to choose...”
“It’s not about choosing, Parker.” His voice is patient, certain. “It’s about listening. To us, yes, but most of all to yourself. It’s not about being your family’s princess in a tower or an asset—we have no expectations except that you be you.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “So of course, we worked your ability to overthink shit like no other into any scenario where any of us told you the truth about how we see you. Me, Cal, Silas... we knew you’d spiral.”
Despite everything, I huff out a laugh. “I don’t spiral.”
“You absolutely spiral. You’re spiraling right now.”
“I am not—” I stop, because he’s right. My mind is racing through a thousand different scenarios, analyzing every word, every look, every possibility and consequence. “Okay, maybe I’m spiraling a little.”
“A little.” His smile widens, becoming more real. “Parker, you’ve been catastrophizing since you were eight years old. Remember when you convinced yourself that forgetting to feed the goldfish for one day meant you were a terrible person destined to kill everything you touched?”
The memory makes me wince. “Mr. Bubbles lived for three more years.”
“Exactly. You overthink because you care, because you don’t want to hurt anyone. But sometimes...” He reaches out, hisfingers brushing mine on the wheel housing. “Sometimes you have to trust that the people who love you can handle a little uncertainty while you figure things out.”
The contact is brief but electric, and when he pulls back, I immediately miss the warmth.
“What if I figure it out wrong?” The question slips out, smaller than I intended.
“Then we figure it out together.” His answer is immediate, certain. “That’s what we do, Parker. We’ve been figuring things out together since we were kids. This doesn’t have to be different.”
But it is different, and we both know it. The air between us has changed, charged with possibility and want and twelve years of careful distance that’s finally crumbling.
The coastline grows larger ahead of us, and the first drops of rain begin to spatter the windscreen. We’ve outrun the worst of the storm, but I can see it building behind us—dark clouds and churning water that promise an interesting trip back.
“There,” Jace points to a marina ahead. “I can see the van in the parking lot.”
