“You'll what? Fight him? He's an orthopedic surgeon. He could probably diagram exactly where to hit you to cause maximum damage.”
“I'm serious.”
“So am I.” She came back to the table and sat down, reaching across to squeeze my hand. “I appreciate the protective instinct. I do. But I'm okay. He's good to me. And if that changes, you'll be the first person I call to help me bury the body.”
“Deal.”
She grinned and got up to serve dinner. The pasta was incredible—some kind of homemade sauce situation that tasted better than anything I'd eaten in weeks. We ate and talked about her roommate's terrible dating life, Dad's latest garage project involving a vintage motorcycle he had no business trying to restore, and Mom's book club drama that somehow involved a feud over who got to host next month.
Normal sibling shit. The kind of conversation that had nothing to do with hockey or performance or being Jace Hartley the Brand. Just me and Leah, the way it had been since we were kids.
“This is good,” I said, gesturing at the pasta.
“I know. Mom's recipe. She'd kill me if she knew I wasn't sharing it with you so you could make it yourself.”
“I don't cook.”
“You could learn.”
“Why would I learn when you make it for me?”
She threw a piece of bread at my head. “You're impossible.”
“You love me.”
“Debatable.”
We finished eating, and she packed me leftovers despite my protests. When she drove me back to my building, she put the car in park and turned to look at me.
“Go see Mom and Dad,” she said. “I'm serious. They miss you.”
“I will. Soon.”
“This month.”
“Leah—”
“This month, Jace. Or I'm telling Mom you're living on protein shakes and spite, and she'll show up at your apartment with a week's worth of food and an interrogation plan.”
The threat was real. Mom absolutely would do that.
“Fine. This month.”
“Good.” She handed me the container of leftovers. “And text me more. I like knowing you're alive.”
“I'll try.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I got out and watched her drive away, then headed inside with the leftovers and the warm feeling that came from being around family who gave a shit about you even when you were being difficult.
CHAPTER 4
FIVE MINUTES
GRANT
