Chapter 57
Ace
Finding one hundred cloaks in New York City without raising red flags has turned out to be harder than smuggling a goat through Grand Central Terminal.
Which, for the record, I’ve also done. And that was easier.
It’s one thing to say “Halloween party” when you’re buying a couple cloaks.
People usually nod and smile. But it’s a whole other thing when you’re hunting for cloaks in bulk, preferably hooded, all black, and preferably not with red satin lining or embroidered pentagrams. The more I ask around, the more I get side-eyes like I’m the leader of a local death cult.
I’ve already gotten flagged by at least one Etsy seller who messaged me: “Hi, just checking… You’re not trying to perform a ritual, right?”
No, bro. I’m just trying to host the most epic, secretly sanctioned university Halloween bash in Double C history. One where no one can know it’s me behind it—except everyone kind of does.
My arms are full—two more delivered boxes of party supplies balanced badly on my hip—and I’m half thinking about how I still need to bribe someone at the farmers market in Chelsea for hay bales when I hear a loud crash from across the hall.
It’s sharp and sudden, sounds like glass on tile, and it’s loud enough to echo off the walls of our quiet hallway.
I freeze, and my eyes dart straight to Julia’s door.
And within a second or two, I hear an “Oh shit” muttered from the other side of her door.
A few seconds after that, I hear a thud.
My chest tightens as the boxes in my hands hit the floor.
“Julia?” I call, already crossing the hallway, everything else but the building panic in my gut disappearing.
No answer.
“Jules, open the door.” I knock several times, my fist pounding against the wood of her door harder each time. I jiggle the locked knob. “Julia, open the door!”
Still nothing.
Something’s wrong.
Immediately, I rush into my apartment, kicking the boxes on the floor in the door as I go, and snag the spare key I still have to Julia’s place and sprint back over to unlock the door.
The living room is dim, soft light glowing from the kitchen, and I spot Julia instantly. She’s in the kitchen, on the floor, and slumped against a cabinet. Blood is dripping from her palm, and broken glass is everywhere.
“Jesus, Julia.” I’m already moving toward her, my heart in my throat. “What the hell?”
Her eyes are wide and dazed as they flick up to mine. “I dropped it. A glass. I just wanted water, and it slipped and…and…”
She sees her own hand. The blood. And she starts to sway.
“Hey. No. No, no, no.” I crouch beside her, voice steady even though my insides are unraveling. “Look at me, Lia. Not your hand. Me.”
“I think I’m gonna—”
She doesn’t finish. Her eyes fall closed and she slumps forward, and I catch her before her head can hit the floor.
Shit. She passed out.
I ease her down gently, careful not to jar her hand, and grab the dish towel I know she keeps in the top drawer by the sink.
I press it to the cut and keep talking to her in a calm voice, trying to make her come to again without putting her in a full-blown panic.
“Hey, Jules. It’s okay. I got you, all right?
I’m here.” And the entire time, I keep monitoring her hand.
It’s still bleeding, even with the pressure I’m putting on it.
So much so that I have to switch towels.
“Ace?” She stirs a few moments later. Her lashes flutter as her eyes meet mine. “Did I pass out?”
“Yep, babe. You did. Full drama-queen blackout,” I say softly, giving her a crooked smile. “Don’t worry. You still looked hot doing it.”
Her lips twitch like she wants to laugh but isn’t sure she can.
“I forgot…” she breathes. “I hate blood.”
“I know. It’s okay.” To me, none of this is a shock.
I’ve seen Julia pass out several times over the years.
One time, when we decided to try a blood oath when we were, like, six.
One time when Barry Donahue skinned his knee so bad that blood was dripping into his gym shoe.
And one time when her late dog Stan got a stick stuck in his paw.
I inspect her hand again, and I’m not liking what I’m seeing at all. I didn’t get a great look at it, but I know the cut is pretty deep and the bleeding doesn’t appear to want to stop anytime soon.
Her head rests against the cabinet behind her. Her color is still all wrong.
“Julia, where’s Yoko?” I ask when I realize I haven’t seen or heard him the entire time I’ve been in here.
“He took a little road trip with my grandma and grandpa in the trailer.”
“Okay, here’s the plan.” I tighten the towel with careful pressure. “I’m going to pick you up.”
“No,” she mutters. “Just the couch. I can—”
“You could.” I nod. “But I got a new couch over at my place. It’s practically ergonomic. NASA technology. Reclines. Heated. Sings lullabies.”
She blinks up at me, unconvinced.
But I ease one arm behind her back, the other under her knees, and lift her gently into my arms.
She doesn’t resist. She just rests her head on my shoulder like it’s instinct.
I grab her phone and purse from the counter, and I hook it over my shoulder like it’s mine and carry her to the door.
She starts to stir again as I press the elevator button.
Her brow furrows. “Where are we going?”
I don’t answer right away.
I glance down. Blood’s already soaking through the towel again. Not pouring, but enough.
She follows my gaze. Sees the red.
Her breath catches. “Oh God—”
And then she’s out cold again.
Shit.
St. Luke’s Hospital ER wasn’t busy, and they got Julia back and into a room in no time at all.
Now, she has six stitches in her hand, and I’m pretty sure I have permanent nerve damage in mine from how hard she gripped it during the procedure.
She passed out twice—once in the elevator and again when the nurse unwrapped her hand. Then she damn near bit a chunk out of my arm when they numbed the area. Not on purpose, of course. Julia’s never been great with blood. Even worse with her own.
Thankfully, before the doctor started stitching, they gave her something to calm her nerves—something mild, but it hit her hard.
Now she’s curled up on the tiny ER hospital bed, high as a kite and still cute as hell. Her hair’s a mess, her eyes are heavy lidded, but she’s smiling at me like none of this ever happened. Like we haven’t been strangers for nearly two months.
“You’re really nice,” she says, slurring slightly. “You’re always so nice to me. Even when I’m…you know. A blood fountain.”
My throat tightens.
“You’ve always been a drama queen,” I say quietly, brushing a piece of hair away from her face.
“You love it.”
I love you.
She shifts a little, squinting at me like I’m hard to place. “You smell good. Like, unfairly good. What is that?”
“Uh…soap? I don’t know. You asked me that once in high school too.” I laugh. It’s forced and my chest aches, because even though she’s talking to me in the way Julia always used to talk to me, she’s high. She’s numbed. She’s not fully aware.
She giggles. “Did I?”
I nod. “Right before prom. You told me I smelled like confidence and bad decisions.” Simpler times. You know, when you were still my girl.
She lets out a sleepy laugh and reaches out like she’s going to grab my hand but ends up swiping at the air. “I like that. I like you. You’re warm. Stay here.”
Fuck. I wish I could. I wish I could stay here forever if it meant getting her back. The real her. The version that used to crawl into my bed when she had nightmares and fall asleep with her mouth open and her foot shoved under my thigh.
I sit beside the bed and take her hand carefully—her unstitched one—and she immediately curls her fingers around mine. Like muscle memory.
“I miss you,” I whisper.
She doesn’t answer. She’s staring at the ceiling, smiling lazily. “Can I have my phone?”
I hesitate for a second but pass it to her from where I set it down in the little bin by the bed. “I already texted your mom. She’s on her way.”
“Thanks,” she says, unlocking the screen and scrolling. I see her typing something but don’t think much of it. Probably her sister or something. Maybe she’s ordering pizza. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me.
She sets the phone down and leans her head toward me again. “Hey. Can you kiss my forehead? Just once?”
God. She’s going to ruin me.
But I can’t deny her request. I want to do it as much as she wants me to do it or more. I lean down and press my mouth to her skin, and I let my lips linger for no less than ten seconds.
She sighs like that’s all she needed in the world. “Perfect,” she says.
“Yeah,” I say hoarsely. “Perfect.”
The curtain rustles, and Julia’s mom bursts into the room. Georgia’s voice is half panicked and half relieved as she moves toward where Julia is lying in the bed. “Julia, oh my God. Are you okay?”
“I’m a hemorrhage,” Julia announces proudly. “But Ace fixed it.”
Georgia steps in, taking Julia’s face in her hands, checking her like a worried mom would. And then, my mom walks in right behind her, all energy and zero subtlety.
“What the hell happened?” my mom asks, already making a beeline for the bed. But once she gets an eye on Julia’s face and sees the dopey, adorable smile, she laughs. “Oh honey, they gave you the good shit, huh?”
“Yep.” Julia giggles. “The nurse got me high with drugs. I’m going to try to take some home. I feel goooooood.”
My mom snorts and runs her hand over the top of Julia’s hair. “Maybe the doctor will give us a twofer and I can take some home too.”
Georgia groans. “Seriously, Cass?’
“What?” my mom questions, but Georgia rolls her eyes.
They’re talking over each other now, bustling around her bed, and Julia’s loving the attention, grinning at them like everything is right in the world. And then she’s grinning at me. Her smile so damn adorable I feel my chest tighten from it.
It’s been forever since she’s smiled at me like that.
“Ace is the best,” Julia says, and both of our moms look at me. “He’s also really handsome, you know? Like, it’s almost not fair.”
My mom smiles at me like she’s in on a secret, and I do my best to ignore her.
I haven’t told her or my dad shit about what’s gone down between Julia and me, but Cassie Kelly is sage.
She doesn’t miss a fucking beat…over anything.
I know that she knows something is up. Hell, my dad even knows something’s up, but I refuse to have that conversation right now.
“Cass, you and Thatch have hot genes,” Julia rambles.
Georgia snorts.
My mom is still smiling.
“Every girl on campus wants to date Ace Kelly.” Julia huffs out breath. “It’s annoying.”
“You know, Julia, I think Ace Kelly only wants to date one girl,” my mom says, and she’s running her hand over Julia’s head.
“Who?” Julia asks, looking between my mom and me.
“Don’t even think about it, Cassie,” I warn, and my mom shrugs at me and looks back at Julia.
“Maybe you should ask him,” she tells Julia. “But, like, maybe do it when you’re not so high, okay?”
“Okay!” Julia yells toward her phone that’s now sitting by her hip. “Siri! Remind me to ask Ace who he wants to date!”
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t understand that,” Siri responds, Julia’s phone lighting up.
“I said, remind me to ask Ace who he wants to date!” Julia shouts.
“Searching for pizza-date ideas,” Siri responds.
“Oh my God!” Julia groans and drops her head back against her pillows.
For a moment, it feels like everything is perfect in the world. Like maybe nothing’s broken. Like maybe Jules and I will find a way back to each other. Like maybe she loves me back.
But then, the curtain rustles again, and the last fucking person on the planet I want to see right now steps into the room.
“Julia?” Drew’s voice is all concern and breathlessness as he appears, eyes wide.
Instantly, my little bliss bubble is popped, and I’m catapulted back down to fucking reality. You know, the one where she’s dating this bag of tools and we’re not friends.
“Drew?” Julia looks at him, her expression a little more guarded. “What are you doing here?”
He’s at her side in a flash. “I came as soon as I saw your text back. Are you okay? What happened?”
“It’s no big deal,” Julia says and adjusts her now-bandaged hand in her lap. “Only a little cut.”
“A little cut?” Drew responds with wide eyes. “You got stitches.”
And I stand there, watching him run his hand over the top of her head and looking down at her in a way only a boyfriend does with his girlfriend. Because, yeah, Julia is his girlfriend.
I feel it all like a punch to the gut.
And I… I can’t be here.
Not with him. Not with her pretending like everything’s fine. Not with the taste of her skin still fresh on my lips and the ache of everything we’ve lost weighing me down.
While my mom and Georgia and Drew hover around Julia’s bed, I back away slowly. I make an excuse of going to grab a coffee that no one really hears.
And then I leave the hospital and head back to my apartment. Alone.