Chapter Twenty #2
His eyes narrow. “Don’t do that.”
I laugh once, sharp and humorless. “Don’t do what? Be aware of reality?”
“Sarah.”
The way he says my name pulls something low in my stomach.
I grip my keys harder. “What do you want me to say?”
“The truth,” he answers.
I stare at him, and the truth rises up in my throat like it wants out.
‘I want you.’
‘I’m terrified of you.’
‘I don’t know how to be in the middle of this without getting burned.’
But I don’t say any of it.
I shrug instead, because it’s easier to play cold than admit I’m scared shitless. “That woman was doing what people do. It’s not your fault.”
His mouth tightens. “It’s not your fault either.”
My chest aches at that, because it’s the exact thing I don’t know how to believe.
I look away. “I should go.”
“Sarah.” His voice drops. “Look at me.”
I don’t want to.
Because if I look at him, I’ll remember. The bed. The heat between us. The moment I wanted him more than I trusted myself not to ruin everything.
I force my gaze back to his anyway.
The look in his eyes is quiet and intense, the kind that doesn’t need volume to feel heavy.
“I’m not asking you to fix this,” he says. “I’m asking you to tell me what you need.”
My breath shakes out of me. “I need… time.”
His jaw tightens, but he nods. “Okay.”
I blink, thrown. “That’s it?”
“That’s what you asked for,” he says.
I stare at him like I’m searching for the catch.
His eyes don’t flinch. “You don’t have to earn patience from me.”
Something inside me twists hard. Because he’s right.
I’ve spent so long earning everything that I don’t know what to do with something freely offered.
My throat tightens. “You don’t understand.”
His gaze stays locked. “Then help me.”
The words snap something in me.
Not anger or heat. Just… the thin thread of control I’ve been holding all day.
I step close enough that I can smell him. Clean soap, cold air, with something warm under it. The familiar pull of a memory I never properly buried.
His eyes drop to my mouth.
My body leans forward like it’s finally done listening to my brain.
And then he’s moving too, slowly as if he doesn’t want to spook me. Like he’s giving me one more second to choose.
I don’t.
I kiss him.
It’s not soft or careful.
It’s the kind of kiss that’s been waiting years and doesn’t know how to pretend otherwise.
His hand comes up to my jaw, thumb pressing lightly under my ear, and the pressure sends a jolt straight through me.
I make a small sound, and he answers it by deepening the kiss, his mouth firm and controlled like he’s trying to keep himself in check while still taking exactly what he wants.
My fingers curl into the front of his shirt.
He shifts closer, and the edge of the car presses into my hip. I don’t care. His other hand slides to my waist, pulling me in until there’s no space left to argue with.
And my brain, traitor that it is, goes quiet.
For a few seconds, there’s nothing but his mouth, his hand at my jaw, the heat in my belly.
Then his lips drag to the corner of mine, and he breathes, “Sarah…”
My name in his voice does something reckless to me.
I kiss him again, harder.
His grip tightens at my waist, and for a second, I feel the edge of his control slip, just enough to make my pulse stutter. He nudges my chin up and kisses down my throat, slow and deliberate. My head tips back before I can stop it.
A car passes on the road behind the lot, headlights sweeping, and the reality of public flashes through me.
I jerk slightly.
Jace stills immediately, lifting his head, eyes sharp. “What?”
I swallow, breath unsteady. “We can’t.”
His gaze searches mine. “Because of them?”
I hate that he’s right.
I hate that he knows me.
I push at his chest, not hard, but enough to make distance.
He lets me go immediately. Which somehow hurts.
I step back, hands shaking as I smooth my jacket like it matters.
Jace’s breathing is heavier now, his jaw tight, his eyes dark in a way that makes my stomach flip.
He takes a slow breath, like he’s pulling himself back behind the line.
“You’re shaking,” he says quietly.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
His eyes hold mine. “No, you’re not.”
My throat burns. “Stop.”
“I’m not pushing,” he says, voice rougher now. “I’m asking.”
I laugh once, and it comes out broken. “You always do that. You always make me feel like I’m on the edge of something I can’t survive.”
His expression shifts, like he’s about to speak.
But I don’t give him the chance.
The words finally break free, sharp and honest and ugly with how true they are.
“You devastate me,” I say, and my voice cracks on the last syllable. “You always have.”
Silence drops between us.
Not awkward.
Not empty.
Heavy.
Jace goes still like I hit him in the chest.
His eyes widen slightly, then narrow with something raw.
“Sarah…” he starts.
I shake my head hard. “Don’t.”
He steps closer anyway, slow, careful. “I’m not trying to devastate you.”
“I know.” My laugh turns bitter. “That’s what makes it worse.”
His hand lifts like he wants to touch me, then stops halfway, like he’s remembering last night. Like he’s choosing restraint even when it costs him.
“I don’t want to be careful with you,” he admits, low. “But I will. If that’s what you need.”
My chest tightens so hard it hurts.
Because I want to be careful. And I also want to be reckless.
I want him to take me home and make my brain shut up.
I want him to prove that I’m not the villain in someone else’s story.
I want him to kiss me until the woman’s smile stops haunting me.
Instead, I stand there trembling in a parking lot like I’m in college again and one wrong choice will ruin my life.
Jace exhales, slow and controlled.
Then he nods once, like he’s making a decision for himself.
“But I do think I need to give you some time,” he says quietly. “I should go.”
My throat tightens. “Jace…”
He holds my gaze. “I’m not leaving you Sarah. I’m just… listening.”
He steps back, giving me space I didn’t ask for but probably need.
“I’ll text you when I get home,” he adds. “You don’t have to answer.”
I hate how gentle that is.
I hate how much it makes me want to cry.
I nod once because I don’t trust my voice.
He looks at me for one more beat, like he’s memorizing my face.
Then he turns and walks away.
I stand by my car until his taillights disappear at the edge of the lot.
And when I finally get into the driver’s seat, I grip the steering wheel with both hands and stare straight ahead like I can force my heart to calm down by sheer will.
It doesn’t work.
Because tonight was unbearable.
And the daylight is coming.
Now I have to live with the fact that I kissed him like I meant it. And stopped him like I was afraid of it.
My house is quiet when I walk in.
Not peaceful or comforting.
Just quiet in the way a place feels when you’re alone with your own thoughts.
I lock the door, lean my forehead against it for a second, and inhale.
My mouth still tingles and my throat still feels like his lips are there.
I toss my keys into the bowl by the entryway and shrug off my jacket like I’m shedding a version of myself I don’t want to look at.
Then I walk to the kitchen, fill a glass with water, and drink half of it in one pull.
It doesn’t help.
Because it’s not thirst.
It’s nerves.
It’s the way my body is still waiting for him to follow me home.
It’s the way I’m already replaying that kiss like it’s proof of something I don’t want to admit.
I set the glass down and stare at my reflection in the dark window above the sink.
My lipstick is slightly smudged.
My eyes look too bright.
My chest rises and falls like I just ran.
‘Normal night,’ I think, and the thought is almost funny now.
Tonight wasn’t normal.
The parking lot definitely wasn’t.
And the part of me that wants to pretend it’s fine is the same part that’s been lying to itself for years.
I walk to my living room and sit on the couch, hands clenched in my lap.
I try to think through it like a problem. Like a PR crisis. Like a narrative I can control if I choose the right words.
But this isn’t an article I can edit.
This is my life.
My heart.
His mouth on my throat.
My own voice saying, “You devastate me. You always have.”
I close my eyes.
The worst part is… I meant it.
Not in the dramatic way. Not in the movie way.
In the simple, brutal way where some people touch you once and you never stop feeling it.
I hear my phone buzz somewhere in the house, and my pulse spikes.
I snatch it off the coffee table before I can overthink it.
Jace: Home.
A second message comes through.
Jace: I meant what I said. I’m not leaving, just giving you time and space.
I stare at the screen until my eyes are stinging.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard.
I type thank you.
Delete it.
I type I’m sorry.
Delete it.
Finally, I type the only truth I can manage without falling apart.
Me: Okay.
I stare at the message after I send it.
One word.
A whole storm contained in four letters.
I set the phone down and lean back into the couch, staring at the ceiling like it might give me answers.
It doesn’t.
But my heart keeps beating anyway.
And somewhere in the quiet, I realize the part that scares me the most isn’t what the town will say.
It’s what will happen if I let myself believe him.
Because if I let myself believe him…
Then there’s no safe way to stay untouched by this.
And I’m not sure I’ll survive wanting him the way I do.
Not again.
Not like this.