Chapter Six #2
Myah rolled her eyes and stubbed the joint out on the log beside her, “Please, Mr. Abercrombie meets Hot Topic.”
Jace released a chuckle that was much deeper and playful then any other she had heard.
Myah studied him more carefully then. He wasn’t performing or trying to impress her or angling for attention. He was just there, just honest, just present.
Her chest tightened and guilt stirred again, sharper this time. Because he didn’t know. He didn’t know about the bet, about the teasing, about how this had started as a game she was supposed to win. He thought this was real.
Her throat felt dry.
“So,” she said quickly, her voice lighter than she felt, “are you always this agreeable or am I special?”
His gaze flicked toward her. “You’re loud.”
She snorted. “That’s not an answer.”
“It is,” he said. “I don’t usually do loud. But you’re…” He hesitated, searching for a word, his brow creasing slightly. “Not exhausting loud. More like–” He gestured vaguely, like he could see it but couldn’t quite hold it.
She raised a brow. “Careful. You’re about to say something poetic and ruin your whole mysterious vibe.”
His mouth curved faintly. “More like sunlight loud.”
Her brain short-circuited.
Sunlight loud. Who said things like that?
Her chest fluttered in a way that felt suspiciously like feelings, which was absolutely unacceptable.
Red flag. Red flag. Red flag.
She grabbed a nearby stick and carved lines into the dirt in front of them just so she had something to do with her hands besides react.
“You’re weird,” she said hoarsely.
“Yeah,” he agreed easily. No denial. No embarrassment. Just acceptance.
They sat in companionable quiet while the sounds of the park softened around them, like someone had gently turned down the volume on the world. Myah felt the familiar slow looseness settling into her muscles, tension unwinding thread by thread.
Beside her, Jace shifted and propped himself on one arm, looking more relaxed already. His shoulders had dropped, his posture less guarded, his mouth no longer held tight like it expected interruption.
She watched it happen. Watched him open up. It felt sacred somehow, like witnessing something private she hadn’t earned access to.
“So,” she said softly, “tell me something real about you.”
His eyes flicked to hers, cautious and curious. “What counts as real?”
“Not customer-service answers,” she said. “Not small talk. Something you don’t tell people at counters.”
He studied her for a long moment, and the silence stretched so long she almost rushed to fill it.
Then he said quietly, “My parents are dead.”
The air left her lungs in a slow, stunned exhale. Not because of what he said, but because of how simply he said it. No dramatics or performance. Just fact.
She blinked. “Oh.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Car accident, a couple years ago.”
“I’m–” She stopped herself. The automatic sorry felt too small, too rehearsed, too flimsy for something that big.
He didn’t look like he wanted pity anyway.
So she went with honesty. “That’s really shitty,” she said.
His mouth twitched faintly. “Yeah. It was.”
They sat in the truth of it together while the wind stirred the leaves above them. Myah picked at a blade of grass, twisting it between her fingers. She felt like she needed to tell him something as equally deep and sad.
“My mom died when I was five,” she said after a moment.
His eyes snapped back to her.
She kept her gaze on the ground. “Cancer. I don’t remember her voice. Just pictures.” She shrugged like it didn’t matter, like it wasn’t a hollow space she still felt sometimes. “My dad’s still alive though, unfortunately.”
That got a quiet huff of laughter out of him. “Unfortunately?” he echoed.
“He’s the kind of guy who thinks parenting is optional if you’re busy,” she said. “And he’s been busy for about twenty years.”
Jace didn’t look at her with pity. He looked at her with understanding. And somehow that was worse, because it made her feel seen. Her throat tightened and her mouth felt suddenly dry.
She forced a grin. “Anyway, trauma bonding complete. We’re basically best friends now.”
He didn’t laugh. He just watched her. “You joke a lot when things matter,” he said gently.
Her heart slammed once, hard. Alarm bells rang instantly.
He sees you. Abort. Retreat. Deflect.
She flicked his knee lightly. “And you analyze people when you’re high. That’s suspicious behavior.”
That finally made him smile again, but he didn’t look away from her.
“You don’t have to joke with me,” he said.
Her chest squeezed tight.
Too close. Too real.
She leaned back on her hands and tilted her face toward the sky. “Too bad I like joking.”
The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward. It was just still. She could feel his presence beside her the way you could feel warmth from a fire even without looking at it.
Her brain whispered again: You like him.
She shoved the thought down hard.
This is BPD brain. You always do this. You meet someone nice and suddenly they’re everything. You build castles out of eye contact. You fall too fast, too hard, too much.
Her ex-girlfriend's face flashed across her mind, smiling while lying, kissing someone else like Myah had never existed at all. The memory snapped something taut inside her.
Careful. Don’t spiral. Don’t attach. Don’t ruin it.
Beside her, Jace spoke softly. “I didn’t used to talk about them.”
She turned her head. “Your parents?”
He nodded. “After it happened I just stopped mentioning them. People don’t know what to say. They either get weird or overly nice.” He picked at the seam of his jeans. “You didn’t.”
Her chest warmed unexpectedly.
“I don’t do overly nice,” she said.
“I noticed.”
She smirked faintly. “You’re welcome.”
He glanced at her, eyes clearer now despite the haze. “I like it.”
Her stomach flipped.
Nope. Stop that feeling immediately.
She pushed herself upright and brushed grass off her legs. “Okay, emotional vulnerability quota reached. We need a topic change before I start journaling about my inner child.”
He laughed softly as he stood too. “Deal. New topic.”
She pointed at him. “Favorite movie.”
He blinked. “That’s your interrogation question?”
“Yes. Answer carefully. This determines whether I keep hanging out with you.”
He pretended to consider. “Probably The Crow.”
Her brows shot up. “Okay, unexpected. Dark. Moody. Leather aesthetic. I see you.”
He looked faintly embarrassed. “It’s good.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” she teased. “I’m just updating your profile in my head.”
“And what was it before?”
“Sad indie boy who alphabetizes his feelings.”
He snorted. “I don’t alphabetize my feelings.”
“Color-code them?”
“…maybe.”
She laughed, and he smiled, and the moment settled around them warm and easy. And without warning, something inside Myah softened.
It wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t obsession. It wasn’t the frantic dizzy rush she usually felt when her brain decided someone was Important.
This was slower. Warmer. Scarier. Because it felt real.
You’re doing it. You’re getting attached. You’re making him matter.
Her ex’s voice echoed from memory: You’re too intense, Myah. It’s a lot.
She swallowed hard. Maybe she should stop smoking.
“Hey.” Jace’s voice pulled her back.
She blinked. “Yeah?”
“You went somewhere.”
She forced a grin. “Vacation. Five stars. Would recommend.”
His eyes searched hers like he didn’t believe her, and she realized he was observant in a way that could be dangerous if she let him get too close.
“I’m good,” she added quickly. “Promise.”
He held her gaze another second, then nodded. “Okay.”
No pushing. No prying. Just acceptance.
After a few more minutes they decided to go see the birds. Myah expected there to be more than three ducks, but of course there weren't.
Once they reached the bay, Jace stopped and pulled out a handful of dried oats, unbagged.
“Youre kidding.” Myah snorted, her hand shooting up to cover her mouth.
“What? You said they like oats.” Jace looked adorably confused.
“You were just raw dogging those in your pocket? No bag or wrap?” Myah couldn't help the bubbles of laughter moving through her sternum.
Jace looked amused, looking between the oats in his hands and her, “I guess I didn't really think about it.” His cheeks turned pink and he looked embarrassed.
“It’s okay, follow me.” Myah grabbed his bicep–ignoring the hard muscles beneath–and pulled him closer to the water before taking her own handful of oats.
She knew Jace was watching her intently as she tossed a few pieces into the water. The ducks swam over quickly, snatching them up.
“So,” he said after a moment, “why’d you really ask me to come today?”
The question slid into her ribs and made her suddenly nauseous. Why’d he have to keep reminding her how shitty she was?
Because of a bet. The truth rose like bile in her throat. She swallowed it down.
Instead she said lightly, “Because you looked like you needed to touch some grass.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Fair.”
Guilt twisted sharper inside her chest. He trusted her. He showed up. He told her real things. And she was still holding this stupid secret like a splinter under her skin.
Why does this feel bad?
It wasn't supposed to feel bad. It was supposed to be funny, harmless, just flirting, just a game. So why did it suddenly feel like she was lying to someone who didn’t deserve it?
She risked a glance at him. He was watching a dog chase a ball across the field, his expression soft and peaceful, like he wasn’t bracing for impact the way she always was.
The guilt spread. God, she was going to ruin this. She always ruined things.
Tell him. Her thoughts whispered. No, don’t. Tell him. He’ll leave. Tell him. He’ll hate you.
Her pulse picked up and she was beginning to feel crazy.
Jace glanced at her. “You okay?”
She forced a smile. “Yeah. Just high.”
He nodded like that made sense. They walked a few more steps, the grass brushing their ankles.
Then he said quietly, “I’m glad you asked me to come.”
Her throat tightened. “Yeah?” she asked.
“Yeah.”