Jace pointed at me over his shoulder. “Hear that?”
“I hear betrayal,” I said.
My mother kissed my cheek, then Jace’s, then inspected the food like she had been asked to judge a county fair. My father and Cal Holloway ended up near the grill within ten minutes, talking like they had known each other for years. Cal had one beer, a steady voice, and a way of looking at Jace that still made Jace pretend to need something inside whenever it got too tender.
Harper found the veggie tray immediately.
“You remembered,” she said to Jace.
He tapped his temple. “Elite mind.”
“You wrote it on your arm.”
He glanced down at the faint ink near his wrist. “Elite system.”
She hugged him anyway.
Olivia arrived at three with her hand linked through a woman named Camille, who had kind eyes, short curls, and the calm confidence of someone who did not need to prove she belonged anywhere. Seeing Olivia in my backyard still hit a place in me that would probably always ache a little.
Not regret for where I stood now.
Regret for how long we had both lived lonely beside each other.
It had taken months before Olivia and I could sit across a table without every sentence carrying old damage. Our divorce was finalized quietly in the winter. She was fair when she did not have to be. Angry when she needed to be. Gracious only after she had told me exactly how badly I had hurt her. I had not asked herto make me feel better. Eventually, she stopped needing me not to.
When she reached me, she smiled. Soft. Real.
“House looks good,” she said.
“Jace hid most of the chaos in the laundry room.”
“I heard that,” Jace called from the cooler.
Olivia laughed. Then she looked at me more carefully. “You look happy.”
“I am.”
Her eyes moved to where Camille was talking to Tessa near the patio. “Me too.”
“I’m glad.”
“I know.”
That was all. It was enough.
Vanessa came later with a man named Ellis, a photographer with rolled sleeves and a nervous smile. Her presence had been the surprise. Her forgiveness had been slower, sharper, and less predictable than Olivia’s. For a long time, she only spoke to Jace through necessary texts about belongings and public statements. Then, after her own social media storm settled and her followers found newer scandals to devour, she asked to meet him for coffee.
Jace came home wrecked from that conversation.
Not because she had been cruel. Because she had been honest.
She told him she had loved parts of their life more than she had loved him. She told him he had made her feel foolish. He told her she deserved better than being someone’s camouflage, even accidental camouflage. They did not become friends overnight. They were not pretending nothing had happened. But when she hugged him today, it was brief and genuine.
“I brought dessert,” she said.
Jace looked at the box. “If that’s another gluten-free brownie situation, I’m calling this off.”
She smiled. “It’s lemon bars. Calm down.”
