Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
JACE
A year ago
“See what I mean?” I point at the giggling toddler, staggering like a cute drunk toward the waves, before she pauses, looking down. “Now watch! She’ll grab a handful of sand, and she’ll…”
I turn to Vivian.
But she’s not watching the adorable sight.
She’s gazing up and admiring me.
On our way here, we talked in my truck about her college photography classes. We split a bag of delicious kitchen sink cookies she baked for our date. We brushed arms as we walked side by side through the dunes.
We fit so naturally together.
She’s not looking away from me as I mirror her gaze. The pause between us is as tender and pure as that toddler.
I know what this feeling is.
And so does she.
“Jace, you have a great eye and a big heart.” She smiles softly, handing me my loaded camera. “Now use it.”
I gaze down at my other treasure, my Nikon. “But I’m confused. The smaller the number, the larger the aperture? The more light it lets in?”
I study the dials, not wanting to seem ignorant, but if the stupid shoe fits…
“I know. It’s okay. It’s inverse logic, but you got this.” Vivian’s patiently showing me how to rotate the ring on the lens. “So on an overcast day like this, you can use the soft light. I’d suggest setting it to f/5.6 and…”
She’s focused on my vintage camera while it’s my turn to focus on her.
Today, she seems more subdued than usual. Almost to the point of being saturated in sadness. Like she’s trying hard to be light and happy with me, but her world weighs too much.
She’s wearing a mask, pretending she’s okay, but she’s not. It’s so obvious, it tightens my throat.
It’s a mask I recognize.
My mom wore one.
I worship my mother’s strength. She never showed weakness, escaping Moscow and my abusive father when we were boys.
We started in America with nothing but my mother’s smiling determination and my brothers’ fierce loyalty to one another.
But one night when I was a boy, I heard my mom crying alone in her bedroom, so I barged in, needing to comfort her, and I froze. Horrified by the sight of the scars she’d been hiding on her back.
Scars my father put there.
And I’ve never been the same.
I can see through the masks people wear. My past taught me how.
We all have pain; you just have to be willing to see it. And I rage when I detect another woman’s abuse. I want to kill the man (usually) who put it there.
“Hey.” I caress her fingertips on my camera. It lifts her eyes to meet mine. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” She swallows, her eyes shifting. “Why? Does something seem wrong?”
Her hands suddenly shake. Her brows bending. I’d swear she’s about to cry. The puffy, dark rings under her beautiful eyes make it look like she did it all night.
“Viv…” I feel her sadness. “Sorry, can I call you that?”
“Please.” Her lips tremble, trying to smile, but they can’t. They’re hiding something. “I mean, yes. My friends used to call me that.”
Used to?
What’s happened to her life?
“Okay, then, Viv.” I step closer, using my body to protect hers from the wind. It’s the least I can do. “What’s going on? Something’s wrong, I can tell.”
We’re surrounded by happy families and relaxed beachgoers, enjoying the warm winter day. Seagulls squawk. Waves crash. Kids squeal with delight at the cold water, but their joyful cacophony falls away.
She’s the center of my world.
“Nothing,” she softly lies.
“Is nothing about to make you cry?”
Her teeth dig into her bottom lip, a tear escaping over her lashes. “I’ve had a perfect day with you, but I have some news.”
My heart clenches. “Bad news?”
“No, it’s not bad.” But tell that to her eyes. Like me, they can’t find the truth in her words. “I’m, uh…” She gulps as if she’s about to be sick but chokes it down. “I’m, uh…”
Officially divorced?
Got in a big fight with her ex, but it’s over?
Scared to admit this is a not-date date?
Whatever it is, I’ll take anything with Vivian. Her friendship. Her time. Her tears. I won’t rush her. We can go slow. We can let this build for months. But whatever it is, good god, I know she feels this between us.
How even when she’s giving me macarons, or I’m leaving her hibiscus tea. Or we’re poring over an Ansel Adams photobook together. Or laughing about the crazy sex toys in the shop. Or we’re bitching about the weather or admiring the azalea blooms.
Fuck, Vivian and I have something together. It’s so tender, it’s overwhelming. So powerful, it defies logic. We have a chance, and I hope it starts today. I hope we can—
“I’m reconciled with my husband,” she whispers like it’s a shameful secret. “As of last night. That’s my news.”
My mind reels. Our world stops. The ocean tips over and empties itself.
It doesn’t make any sense.
Vivian hates him. He hurt her. You can’t be healed by the one who broke you. You have to heal yourself. She wants to divorce him.
But… she’s not?
“But, Viv, I thought—”
“It’s done.” She bows her head, staring down at the sand between our bare feet. “I’m committed to seeing it through, and…”
Committed.
That’s what it sounds like. A death sentence. An execution of hope. Her hope. My hope. This.
This beautiful feeling between us.
Blinking back tears, she glances up at me. “And if you’re disappointed in me and don’t want to be friends now, I understand.”
She’s reading my concern as disgust. Like she’s ashamed of her choice and doesn’t want a witness to it. Like she fears she’ll be judged as weak for reconciling with her husband. Like she knows many hate him and worries we’ll hate her.
But I swallow down whatever the fuck is choking the life out of me, whatever the fuck is crushing my heart.
For her, I can do this.
“I’m your friend, Viv. Today. Tomorrow. I promise. No matter what.”
I want to hold her, but I don’t dare. If I do, I won’t let her go.
If Vivian Tate were mine, I’d make her smile. If I had a chance to love her, the only tears she’d cry would be in bed while I was still inside her, and the orgasmic rush we just shared would overwhelm us with sweet emotions.
Goddamn, I’d kill for her, but that’s not the life she’s choosing.
She’s choosing her vows, and she’s not breaking them.
I’ve never been married—and God knows I want to be to her, I admit—but I know vows should mold you, not break you. They’re supposed to make you stronger when she looks destroyed by them.
It’s all wrong.
Gently, she protests, disbelieving my devotion to her. “Jace, my life is messy, and I know it makes no sense to anyone. I can’t ask a friend to understand my decision, and—”
“But that’s what friends do, right? We don’t judge; we support. We don’t pull away; we get closer.” I point between us. “Because we’re close, Viv. You feel this, too, right? We’re good…” I swallow the lump in my throat. “Friends… together?”
I just need to know this one truth; I don’t care if it’s a risk to ask for it. I need to be sure I’m not alone in this feeling.
This…
Love.
Does she feel it?
A smile breaks through her tears. Hope finds her crying eyes, searching mine. “Yes, Jace. We’re close friends; I feel it too.”
She doesn’t need to say what I just heard.
How this is love.
How I’ll never give up on us.