Page 90 of Lowering His Guard

“Why don’t surfers tell secrets?” I ask once we’re settled at a table as far away from where his parents are arguing as possible.

“Why?” Jace asks.

“The ocean always spills the tea.”

He snorts.

“What’s a surfer’s favorite subject in school?”

“What?”

“Current events.”

He chuckles. “You don’t have to tell me lame jokes to distract me. I’m not upset.”

I gasp. “Lame jokes. You think my jokes are lame?”

He rolls his eyes. “Duh.”

“You’re not upset?”

He shrugs. “I accepted my mom is not part of my life a long time ago.”

I raise an eyebrow. “A long time ago? You’re very mature for a teenager.”

“Dad made me go to therapy.”

My eyes widen. “Your dad, the giant with the alien in his stomach, made you go to therapy?”

He ducks his head. “I was getting in trouble in school.”

“Dude, I understand getting in trouble. I was always in trouble at school.”

“You were?”

I motion to the ocean. “Who wants to go to school when you can be out there riding the waves?”

“Growing up on Smuggler’s Hideaway must have been magical.”

“It was. But I haven’t always lived here. We moved here when I was a teenager.”

“I wish we could live here,” he mutters.

Me too, Jace. Me too.

He straightens. “Dad’s coming.”

“Is he super grumpy? Should we get food to feed the alien?”

Joking doesn’t help calm my nerves. Did I overstep by yelling at Serenity? Should I have let Jace talk to her? Is Brock mad at me?

Brock arrives and kneels in front of Jace. “You okay, buddy?”

“I’m fine. She means nothing to me.”

Brock winces. “She’s your mom.”

“She’s not my mom. She didn’t raise me. You did. And grandma and grandpa.”