11. Jayce
ELEVEN
Jayce
T he minute she comes out of Whitmore’s back door, she falls into my arms and it’s almost natural as I take her. It’s so sudden that my damn knee breaks a little and I have to steady myself with a hand, grabbing the wall, but once I smell this perfume of hers it’s…incredible. God, did I miss her since she left my apartment. But the fact that I had to lie to Riley, and all my feelings washing over me, made it impossible for me to text her, to tell her that I want all in. How could I ask that of her? She’s been my secret for years; doing what I want after all these years isn’t easy, since it’s so highly forbidden.
“Thank you for being here,” she says softly.
When she looks up, her teary whiskey-colored eyes lock on mine, and I feel it—this ache deep in my chest. I gently tap her chin, stalling a little. I’m not ready for the words I need to say. Just a little longer. I hold her a little longer.
“Always, Rosie. I’ll always be there for you. Just one call away,” I murmur. “So, how about we visit that stupid friend of yours?”
She narrows her eyes. “Charlotte?”
“That’s the one. I think she needs to tell us her side of the story.”
“Yeah, she probably knows more. But she’s not picking up my calls.”
“That’s why we make her answer,” I reply, the edge in my voice making her grin.
“Ugh, I like you being all rough,” she teases, giving me another heart attack. Rosie, on a normal day, is already dangerous. Flirty Rosie? A straight-up death sentence for me. I can’t count the times she made me speechless. She’s always been straightforward, and usually it’s with her whole family in the room as she’s trying to flirt with me, but until last night, I never jumped on it. I usually turn quiet because my insides explode. I just need one sentence out of that beautiful mouth and I’m turned on.
She’s my weakness.
We make our way to the car, her new bodyguard trailing close behind. It takes me a second to recognize him. Ivan—the same guy Riley assigned to Liora last year. The one who pretended not to understand English but actually followed Riley’s orders not to listen to Liora’s bribes. Classic.
Stanley takes the wheel, with Ivan riding shotgun. Rosie and I settle in the backseat with the privacy screen up.
After she gives Stanley Charlotte’s address, I take her hand, my chest tight with what I need to say. I just have to, even if I hate it with all that I’ve got.
“Rosie,” I begin, turning to meet her fiery gaze. “We need to talk about what happened at my apartment.”
“Jay, we don’t have to talk about it,” she says, rolling her eyes like she’s brushing off a bad grade.
“We do. It was…unbelievable. But I need to be honest with you.” I pause, exhaling slowly. Why is this so hard? “I want to help you figure this out—not because I’m wrapped up in this mess, too, or because we brought that idiot back leaving all kinds of fingerprints. No, it’s because I care about you. You’re my friend. And that’s why we can’t keep doing this.”
“We can’t fuck?” she says bluntly, looking right through me.
I swallow hard.
She’s sitting there with her legs crossed, still in her leotard, looking like sin itself. And none of this makes sense.
“Yeah, we need to stop.” My voice is firm, even though my insides are a mess all over again. “I can’t lie to Riley, and even if this is just a fling for you, I’m too old for this. For us. We’re in different chapters, Rosie. I’m ready to settle down. You’re not.”
“Wow,” she says, a little smirk forming. “So, you’re proposing after one night?”
“Stop,” I snap, but she doesn’t let up.
“No,” she insists, a small frown replacing her grin. “Why make this so complicated? We had sex, Jay. We liked it. So what? Let’s just do what we want. You’re worse than the pope.”
“No,” I repeat, shaking my head. “It’s not that easy. If we keep going, someone gets hurt.” Probably me. Because I know I’ll never be able to tame that wildfire inside her. And honestly, I don’t want to. But I do want a family—sooner rather than later. I can’t wait another decade for her to be ready.
“Maybe not,” she counters, her voice softer now. “We don’t know unless we try. And to try, we have to give it a chance first, but you’re too afraid.”
“Of course I am,” I grunt out, “because when it all falls apart, you’ll hate me. And guess what? I’ll still be stuck in your life, because I’m your brother’s best friend. We’ll see each other at every wedding-related event until the day he says ‘I do.’ And even after, I won’t go away.”
“And that’s good,” she snaps. “What if we don’t mess it up? Is that not even worth considering?”
Her words hit harder than I expected. I wince, knowing how much this must suck for her to hear. “I just don’t want things to get awkward between us because…”
“We fucked? God, Jay. Just say it. You’re a grown man, aren’t you,” she finishes for me.
“I don’t want to say it because then I’ll want to do it again.”
And just like that, the memory crashes over me. Her body moving against mine, her voice tangled with mine, the way she felt so perfect, it haunts me. I’ve already jerked off four times this week just thinking about her, and now she’s sitting here, looking at me like she knows exactly what’s running through my head. This isn’t easy for me. Fuck, I’m saying no to the woman of my dreams. I know she could be perfect, everything I’ve ever wanted. But I also know it would only be perfect until the day she decides she doesn’t want me anymore. And I’m not sure I’d survive that. So, I have to stop it now, before she becomes a part of me and I can never let go. Because if I call her mine, even for a week, a month, a year, I’ll never be able to forget her again. And I also know that it won’t just be me drowning in whiskey like when I lost my leg.
“Jay, it doesn’t have to be awkward,” she says again, quieter this time.
“It will be,” I say. “You’re twenty-two , Rosie.”
“My birthday’s soon. Then I’ll be twenty-three,” she says, as if that changes everything.
I let out a bitter laugh. “Funny. I’m thirty-one, smart mouth. I’m retired. You’re just getting started. I want a family, you haven’t even started your career yet.”
She winces this time, and I can tell her mind hasn’t gone there yet.
“Look at you,” I say, pressing the point. “Even the idea creeps you out.”
“It doesn’t,” she protests.
“It does,” I say, smirking a little now even though there’s nothing funny about the situation. “But I’ll go further. I want a wife. I want a house. I want a dog. I want babies .”
“I like the making of babies,” she teases.
“I’m serious here.”
Her lips twitch into a grin, but I can see her cheeks flush. “Well, that doesn’t mean I don’t want all those things too.”
“Yeah,” I say gently, “but I can’t wait ten years. And I’m not going to push you into things before you’re ready. You’re still out partying, Rosie. Still doing…” I gesture vaguely. “Drugs, not diapers.”
“And you drink,” she snaps back, her words sharper than I expected. “I don’t think that screams ‘baby father,’ does it?”
The jab lands hard, and I know she sees it in my face because she immediately reaches for my hand.
“Shit. Sorry, Jay,” she says quickly, her voice softer.
Before I can respond, the car slows. “We’re here, Miss Huntington,” Stanley announces, his voice cutting through the tension.
I take my hand away from hers and take a deep, deep breath.
“Thank you. One moment, Stanley,” she calls out to the front. Then she turns back to me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I really shouldn’t have.”
I run my fingers over her hand, wishing I could just hold it and never let go. “It’s fine. It just shows we’re not there yet. Let’s keep it casual, all right? Just appreciate that night for what it was and keep it together, because if we keep pushing, it’s not gonna end well. We stop while it’s still good and we can walk away…okay?”
She opens her mouth and closes it again; something is flickering in her eyes but I can’t tell what it is. Disappointment?
“Fine,” she says at last, her tone clipped but soft enough to sting. “I’ll give you some time.”
I furrow my brows. She what? “You’ll give me time?”
She tilts her chin in that defiant way of hers, and for a split second, I see her father. Not the cold, ruthless side, but the calculating one. The side that knows how to get exactly what he wants.
“Yes, Jay. Time to figure it out. To figure us out. To admit you want this too.”
“Rosie…” Her name leaves my mouth like a prayer, though I don’t even know what I’m praying for. For her to stop? To stay? To make this easier? Or maybe, for her to just magically be older. God, I’m losing it again. She doesn’t say another word. Just opens the car door and steps out like she owns the world.
I sigh, following her lead. Madame Huntington, it seems, has decided this conversation is over. I guess it’s true, you can take the girl out of the billionaire’s world, but you can’t take the billionaire out of the girl.
We head toward Charlotte’s door, and I take a deep breath, trying to keep my cool. Though, honestly? I’ve always wanted to dunk Charlotte’s head in a toilet.
Charlotte lives right in the heart of the Upper East Side. From what I know, she comes from a wealthy family, too, just like almost everyone Rosie knows, since she went to that high-end prep school. You know the type: bratty kids in school uniforms, flashing their privilege, ticking all the stereotypical boxes and, well, many of those stereotypes are spot on.
Meanwhile, I was working my ass off just to get into my dream college, so this whole “elite world” was a strange experience for me, seeing it all for the first time. But Riley never really fit the mold of those spoiled kids, always staying grounded. As for Rosie, she had this knack for playing the part of a privileged socialite, but she’d throw you off when you least expected it.
Like that time she came home one night, hours late, with a calf she’d rescued. She brought it to their villa, fed it milk, and caused her mother to nearly faint, all while Riley and I were playing PS3. The calf spent the night in Rosie’s room, and the next morning, her father called in a vet, and together, they figured out how to make sure the calf had a proper home again. It was completely out of the blue, just like Rosie herself—always doing the unexpected, surprising everyone, even those who thought they knew her best.
Anyway, we’re standing in front of Charlotte’s apartment door, knocking.
After a beat, it swings open to reveal the blonde devil herself, still disoriented, wearing nothing but a white, oversized, man’s shirt. Classy. Her hair is a tangled mess, and her face is smudged, as if she’s been partying into the early hours of the morning.
Charlotte hesitates for a moment, blinking at us as if she’s still half asleep. “Hey, um, what are you doing here?”
“I called you. Like a hundred times,” Rosie says.
Charlotte yawns, stretching as she glances inside her apartment. “Um, sorry?”
I cut in, my tone sharp. “Do you have a guest we shouldn’t see?”
She looks me up and down, clearly annoyed. “What is he doing here?”
“ He’s the one who knows how to get addressed properly in the first person, and he’s keeping an eye on Rosie while some of her so-called friends are failing her. May we come in?” I grunt out.
Charlotte makes a move to shut the door, but I quickly wedge my healthy foot in the gap, blocking it. “We need to ask you some questions.”
“Please,” Rosie adds. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the whole Kix Lyle situation…it’s getting out of hand.”
“Can he wait outside?” Charlotte asks, her eyes narrowing at me.
“No,” I snap. “Definitely not.”
Rosie gently touches my arm, signaling me to ease up, and I take a small step back—but I’m not about to let Charlotte treat Rosie like she always has. Back in high school, Charlotte would tear Rosie down, telling her she looked ugly just to make herself feel better. She’d manipulate Rosie, always making it about her own need to be the center of attention, pushing everyone else into the background. I’ve never been able to stand her.
“I just need you to tell me what happened that night,” Rosie presses. “We’ll be gone after.”
Charlotte gives me one last look, then steps aside, letting us in.
“Finally,” I mutter under my breath as we enter.
The apartment is a beautiful space, with sharp white walls and clean lines, but it’s a mess. Empty glasses of alcohol are scattered across the counter, and a half-eaten pizza lies forgotten on the table. Clothes are strewn about, abandoned as if she couldn’t even be bothered to pick them up by herself.
As we make our way past the clutter and settle on the couch, Rosie takes the lead.
“Charlotte, what happened on the night out?” she asks. “I have no memories left and all these stories that are appearing on the internet—I just feel so lost.”
Charlotte rolls her eyes, a dismissive smirk curling on her lips. “Of course, you don’t remember. You were so wasted again. You never know when to stop.” She pretends to check her nails, as if she’s not even fazed by the situation. At the same time, Rosie and I glance at the table in front of us. A golden Rolex sits there—an expensive one. These kids have so much money. It’s gross.
“We partied,” Charlotte goes on, “and you took pills and stuff and when Vaughn had to leave, I did too. I think you hit up a club and met Kix Lyle there. Vaughn sent me pictures, and honestly, I don’t really want to talk to you. Vaughn is my friend, too, and you cheated on him. That’s not cool. I’m not sure I want to be friends with you anymore. There. I said it.”
She shrugs and I have no idea why anyone would be friends with someone like that in the first place.
Rosie’s eyes narrow, her voice sharp. “You can’t be serious, Charlie.”
Charlotte leans in, gazing at Rosie. “You slept with him, duh . You fucked Kix Lyle and I don’t know what else you guys did. I actually can’t believe you. After all he did to Vaughn.”
Rosie’s face drains of color.
“That’s not true,” Rosie says, her voice trembling with disbelief. “I was never with Vaughn in the first place, and I didn’t sleep with Lyle.”
“I saw you kissing him,” Charlotte insists, a sneer in her voice. “I was so disgusted by you that I left, and the next morning, I saw the allegations online. So whatever happened after that, I don’t know.”
“Where would she even meet Lyle?” I say, giving Rosie a second to process this.
“Well, he came to the party, too, and apparently liked Rosie, for whatever reason.”
I can’t stop myself from biting back at Charlotte. “You’re a real piece of shit, you know that? You were never her friend. No friend would talk about another friend like this.”
“Call me what you want, but it’s facts. All I said is true,” she says, her tone too casual. “You know how Rosie parties, so this shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. As if she knows who she fucks when she’s high.”
Rosie’s face hardens and I want to touch her, comfort her, but I don’t. “You practically talked me into taking drugs that night, Charlotte,” she snaps. “You left me alone. I remember feeling dizzy and telling you that I didn’t feel okay…why didn’t you get me out or—”
Charlotte shrugs, unimpressed. “Yeah, I may have given you the drugs, but was it really that hard to convince you? No. You’re just an addict who thinks she’s better than everyone because Daddy practically owns New York.” She makes a gagging gesture, and I see Rosie freeze, her body stiffening.
I stand up. “Okay, I think we’re done here.”
“W-why are you like this?” Rosie says, her voice cracking. “You know I wouldn’t hurt anyone, and these are just accusations.”
Charlotte leans back, her eyes cold. “We both know you’ve done worse things in your past than anyone’s ever cared to talk about. But you should’ve been faithful to Vaughn. He’s devastated and I can’t stand seeing him like this. I’ve been there for him. I care for him. And I don’t know what you’re hoping to get out of this cripple right here.”
Cripple.
Wow.
The word feels like a punch to the gut, and before I can stop myself, the urge to lash out builds inside me. But before I can speak, Rosie is on her feet. She grabs a glass of old wine from the table, throwing it straight into Charlotte’s face.
The liquid splashes, and Charlotte stumbles back, screeching.
Rosie lunges at her, but I’m quick enough to grab her by the wrist, pulling her back before she can even get to Charlotte.
Rosie struggles, but I hold her firm. “I don’t care what you say about me but never say another word about him ever again. Understand?”
With a sneer, Charlotte wipes the wine off her face using her shirt.
“Or what?” She scoffs. “You’ll trash my flat too? Push me down the stairs like you did with Kix Lyle? Yeah, sure, you’re not a violent person. Too bad your latest boy toy didn’t let you take a swing at me. I’m sure the cops would’ve loved that.”
Rosie’s face drains of color once again, and I reach out to steady her as her knees begin to buckle slightly.
“Look at you. No one ever said he was pushed down the stairs,” I say. “I guess you do know something then, huh? We’ll find out what else you’re hiding.”
I pull Rosie close, my hand on her waist, whispering in her hair, “She’s not worth it. Let’s go.”
Before we leave, I turn back to Charlotte one last time, who still stands there, wiping wine from her face. “Never talk to her ever again, or I will make you regret it.”
When we get to the car, Rosie is crying and shivering so hard I know I have to take her home. It’s been too much for her, so during the ride home, I hold her and caress her hair, promising her that it will be all right soon. At least I hope it will be. I’d be lying if I said that some things don’t sound sketchy, and there is a possibility that she indeed played some part in this, but no matter what, I’m here for her. Even if the consequences might break her. I will mend it again, no matter what it costs.
The first thing you notice when walking into Rosalie Huntington’s apartment is the sprawling open layout, where floor-to-ceiling windows frame breathtaking views of the Manhattan skyline, their glow softened by heavy, slate-gray drapes.
Riley’s apartment has an amazing view as well, but it’s nothing compared to Rosie’s. It’s like you’re living in the heart of Manhattan, as if you’re a hawk, watching everything unfold.
And just like that, the city night lights spill into the room, reflecting off the gleaming black marble floors. I walk her over to her sleek leather Chesterfield sofa that sits like a throne in the middle of the living room, its deep brown tone complemented by velvet pillows in muted golds and burgundies. A low, glass coffee table stands in front, covered in books about the theoretical aspects of ballet. I drape a heavy white blanket over her and watch her for a split second. It’s as if she’s not even registering that she’s back in her apartment. She’s shivering, even though she’s still wearing her jacket.
“I’ll be right back,” I say and make my way to the back, to her little kitchen nook. I remember when she moved in. It used to be her parents’ apartment. But since they’re not around much, they took the smaller one instead.
I limp to the dining area and glance at the long, dark table surrounded by high-backed chairs, the surface bare except for a sleek centerpiece—a floral arrangement in dark hues. The kitchen beyond is barely visible, its sharp, stainless-steel lines blending into the apartment like it’s meant to be admired, not used.
I turn on the kettle and take in the rest of her apartment.
It’s way too big for just her.
The walls are a mix of polished wood and industrial metal. A statement piece of modern art hangs over a minimalist fireplace, its abstract swirls of black and crimson blending perfectly with the room’s sultry aesthetic. Across the way, an open bar stocked with top-shelf liquor glistens under warm, recessed lighting, the bottles neatly arranged like a curated collection of treasures. My hand twitches when I see the alcohol, and my knee hurts more, as if it’s begging me to drink. It was a good day. I only drank four glasses of bourbon, but that’s because Rosie distracted me…
The bottle is right there, but so is she.
I take a slow breath and focus on the steam rising from the kettle.