“You’re not asking me out of pity because of how I live,” I say softly, needing to hear her say it. I have to be sure this isn’t charity.
“No, Jace.” Her blue eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that steals the breath from my lungs. “I’m asking you because it’s too hard for me to be here without my dad. Because it makes me think about him lying in that hospital bed with tubes, monitors and strangers deciding if he lives or dies. I’m on edge waiting for a stupid phone call that can change my entire fucking life in the time it takes to say his name.”
She pauses and takes a deep breath. “I’m not asking you to fix anything. I’m just asking you not to leave.”
That hits somewhere deep. Somewhere I didn’t realize I could still feel anything.
She’s not trying to save or rescue the broken guy from his shitty existence. She’s asking me to stay because she needs someone.
I give a nod. “Okay.”
The tension leaves her shoulders in a sigh.
“Okay?” she whispers, like she can’t believe it.
“Yeah, I’ll stay.”
She finally exhales a long breath. “The spare room’s down the hall there,” she says, pointing past the kitchen. “It’s a disaster zone of boxes, mostly. But there’s a bed in there somewhere.”
I smirk. “I’ve slept on worse.”
One perfect brow arches. “Don’t I know it.”
“Hey. My house has feelings.”
“I’m sure it does,” she says. “And I’m sure they’re all begging for a wrecking ball.”
A laugh bursts out of me.
She turns back to her plate, but I see the ghost of a real smile at the corner of her mouth.
I live for this. That sharp tongue, that razor wit, still coming right back at me like nothing’s changed.
I’m the asshole who tried to poison this an hour ago. The one who got spooked the second things got complicated. My gutreaction was to build a wall, to shove as much distance between us that I could. And she just stood there unfazed, like she knew I was full of shit the whole time.
I shovel a forkful of egg into my mouth. It is so much better than any real food I’ve had lately. Much better than the expired Pop-Tarts I pull from the out-of-date bargain bin at the rundown grocery store at the end of my street.
“What will your dad think about me staying when he wakes up,” I ask, the words sounding odd.
Her smile softens, and I can tell she’s grateful I said “when”, not “if”.
“He won’t mind. He’s not like that.”
She pushes her chair back and walks over to the fridge, pulling out a carton of orange juice. She moves around the kitchen with an easy familiarity that I can’t help but watch.
“He never has a problem with anyone.” Her voice is casual as she grabs two glasses from the cabinet, not asking if I want any. She pours the juice and brings the glasses back to the table, setting one down in front of me. “And he would want me to be happy.”
There’s something effortless about being with her. From the very start, really. The moment Noah claimed that spot next to Aubrey, Lola and I just fell into sync. She’s not the usual girl I chase, but damn, if it meant staying like this, in this easy quiet, I’d chase her to the ends of the damn earth just to experience this.
After breakfast, she stands and gathers the plates silently.
“I’ll show you the room.”
We walk down the hallway, her leading, me trailing like a lost pathetic puppy.
Halfway there, she stops abruptly and turns to face me.
“You’re still going to school.”
