Jase shrugs and moves a little more in front of me. It’s like someone flipped a switch inside him. He talks differently than he did a moment ago. He moves differently. Heisdifferent. Harder. Colder. Not himself. “I think it’s pretty obvious,” he says.
“Why can’t you behave, just for once?”
I can’t see the expression on his father’s face, but I see Jase’s shoulders tense.
“I asked you to come so your mother wouldn’t be disappointed. But—”
“Spit it out, Dad. Say it already,” Jase says sharply. “Go ahead and say that I’m one big disappointment anyway. Say it. You wish I had died instead of Sam. Then your golden child would still be alive, and you wouldn’t have to put up with me.” He moves nearer to his father, until they’re so close they’re almost touching. “Say it already,” he demands. “Then both of us will probably feel better.”
“I don’t want to discuss it with you right now, Jase,” his father says, coolly and controlled. I flinch, and my heart falters. Did he really just say that?
“Fuck you!” Jase’s voice rings with undeniable pain. And burning hatred.
His father doesn’t deny the accusation. He just refuses to address it. Something shatters inside me. It might be my heart—again.
“You should go now. And if you ever speak to me that way again—”
Jase pushes back his hair, and a laugh escapes him—so broken it brings tears to my eyes. “Then what? Will I be dead to you?”
He doesn’t wait for his father to answer before storming back into the ballroom. I’m frozen in my tracks, though everything inside me demands that I follow him. Instead, I wrap his jacket more tightly around me and look his father straight in the eye. “Maybe you should think about who’s disappointing who here,” I say, then follow the boy whose heart he just ripped out so easily. His son.
Chapter 39
Zoe
When you asked me if I’d ever been in love, I wanted to ask you the same question. But I was afraid of what the answer would be.
—Zoe
I get back inside just in time to see Jase slipping behind the bar while the bartender is busy flirting with a young woman in a tight gold dress. He doesn’t notice Jase grabbing a bottle before quickly leaving the room, not bothering to look back.
Shit shit shit.
My heels clack too loudly on the parquet floor as I hurry after him. I’m still wearing his jacket, and I can feel the disapproving glances of the guests. I hear them whispering, but I somehow manage to block out the voices. They aren’t important. I rush out of the ballroom and hurry down the stairs to the hotel lobby, but he’s gone.
I’m overwhelmed by fear and sick with worry. Sure, he’s an adult and can take care of himself. But he has that damn bottle with him, and his dad just more or less confirmed his suspicion that he would have preferred if Jase had died in Sam’s place. Nobody should have to hear something like that from their father.
The whole situation is so damn unpredictable. Because even if he can take care of himself, he might not want to right now.
I ask the two receptionists if they saw a blond boy leave the hotel, but they just shake their heads without saying a word. I say a quickthank youbefore heading toward the exit. I’ve almost reached the door when a familiar voice stops me.
“Zoe, where are you going?” Startled, I whirl around and see my dad following me, looking worried. “Is everything okay?”
I can hear the concern in his voice, and I nod reassuringly. “I’m fine. It’s Jase. His... His father—” I stop. I can’t tell him what happened; it’s not my place. “He’s not well,” I say, and it’s not a lie. “I have to find him, and then... I don’t know.”
“Okay. Let’s go. I’ll come with you.”
He puts a hand on my back reassuringly. He doesn’t ask what’s going on or why I’m wearing Jase’s jacket over my dress. Instead, he leaves the hotel with me.
Cold wind hits us at the exit, and I immediately start to shiver. I look around desperately to find the guy in the white shirt whose hair I just messed up a few minutes ago.
“There he is.” Dad points across the street, and my heart drops in relief.
Jase is walking along the street with his head lowered. His steps are slow and unsure. He’s swaying a little. He still has the bottle in his hand.
Dad leads me across the street, making an apologetic gesture to the drivers who have to brake because of us, honking in annoyance.
“Jase!” He pauses at the sound of my voice, but only for a second. Then he keeps walking. I let go of Dad’s hand, ignoring the fact that I’m wearing high heels, and run after him. “Stop,” I say assoon as I reach him, grabbing him by the shoulder. He’s freezing cold.
