Chapter 17 Jace
Jace
By the time the judge adjourned for the day, my jaw was in pain from how long I’d been clenching it.
The defense attorney’s voice replayed in my head.
“Complicit.”
“Influenced.”
“Paid for.”
I was starting to regret not smuggling in a gun.
I exhaled through my nose, slowly, and counted it out. Four in. Six out. Can’t go to prison. Can’t go to prison. Can’t go to prison.
Across the room, Elior stood carefully, like he wasn’t sure his legs would obey him even if he asked nicely. He kept his shoulders back and chin up, despite the way he looked close to hyperventilating.
When he finally turned and found me, our eyes locked. Just for a second. No smile. No nod. Just contact. Checking in. Making sure I was still there.
I’d always be there.
I rose then, positioning myself without thinking—half a step behind him, slightly to his right. Shielding him from the crowd.
We didn’t speak on the way out. There were too many eyes and ears. I could feel them tracking us, curiosity and judgment tangling together.
The defense attorney caught my eye near the exit.
He grinned.
That was when I had to dig my nails into my palm to keep from stealing someone’s pen and shoving it into his eye.
The drive home was quiet.
Elior sat curled slightly toward the passenger door, his squeeze cube in hand, thumb pressing into it rhythmically. He was doing an impressive job at managing himself, and that was great, but it didn’t stop the animal part of my brain from cataloging every micro-tension in his body.
I pulled into the driveway and killed the engine.
“Hey,” I said gently.
He blinked, like he’d been somewhere else. “Hi.”
“You did really good today, baby.”
“You think?” he asked, his voice unsure and small.
“Yeah. I’m so proud of you.”
He stayed seated as I got out of the driver’s seat and walked around the hood to open up the passenger side door. He knew to wait for me.
We walked quietly up the steps of the porch, just taking a minute to breathe. Elior was first in after I unlocked the front door.
He quickly slipped his shoes off and padded toward the couch, perching on the edge like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to relax yet.
I watched him for a moment longer than necessary.
The defense attorney’s questions echoed again, reshaping themselves into something colder.
Can’t go to prison. Can’t go to prison.
I turned toward the kitchen, choosing to calm myself down by channeling my anger into taking care of my boy.
Water kettle. Mug. Chamomile for him, black coffee for me, even though it was too late in the day.
Elior was usually more of a hot chocolate sort of guy, but something soothing like chamomile was a necessity today.
Behind me, I heard his voice, small but steady. “He was trying to make it sound like I owed you.”
I stilled.
“You know you don’t, right?”
There was a pause, then a quiet “yeah.”
I turned then, meeting his eyes. “Cherub, don’t let him bother you. He was trying to upset you on purpose.” I set the mug of tea in front of him on the kitchen island. “Drink. You’re shaking.”
He looked down, surprised, then wrapped both hands around the mug.
As he took a sip, I leaned forward, my elbows on the island, and just watched him drink.
By the time he finished the mug, I’d already decided he wasn’t walking anywhere else tonight.
The thought of him moving through space unguarded—exposed—set my teeth on edge.
“Come here,” I said.
He looked up at me, tilting his head slightly like a curious puppy.
He made it exactly one step before I closed the distance and scooped him up.
Elior startled with a small sound, hands instinctively gripping my shirt. “Jace—”
“Nope,” I said, already adjusting my hold so his weight settled securely against my chest. One arm under his knees, the other braced across his back. Solid and inescapable. “You’ve had enough decisions today. Now what’s my name, baby boy?”
He went still, relaxing into my hold. “Daddy,” he murmured.
“Good boy.”
I carried him down the hall, ignoring the way my shoulders tightened with every doorway we passed, every shadow. The house was safe, but my brain was still out of whack from court.
In the bathroom, I set him down on the closed toilet lid, hands lingering a second longer than necessary on his arms. I crouched to peel off his socks.
“You don’t have to—” he started.
“I’ll do what I want, baby. Now shush.”
He blushed, shyly nodding with his eyes wide.
I ran the bath hot, then cooler, testing it with my hand until it was just right. Steam curled up, fogging the mirror.
I helped him undress without ceremony, and when I guided him into the tub, he sighed in relief as soon as the water hit his skin.
I knelt beside the bath and began to soap up his upper body, massaging his tight shoulders when I got to them.
“You were very brave today,” I said.
He shrugged faintly. “I didn’t feel brave.”
“Well, you were.”
I washed his hair carefully, fingers gentle but thorough. The scars on his back and arms were faint now, but my eyes tracked them anyway. Memorized them. Catalogued every mark like evidence burned into my skull.
I scoffed inwardly at the notion that Elior had fucking consented to his abuse. Complicit, my ass.
Elior shifted, noticing. “You’re mad.”
“Yes,” I said honestly. “Not at you. At a lot of things, but never you.”
I rinsed the soap from his hair, cupping water away from his face. When I was done, I wrapped him in a towel before he could even think about standing.
“Up,” I murmured.
He didn’t argue. Just lifted his arms so I could pick him up again, towel and all.
I carried him straight to the bedroom this time, set him gently on the bed, and sat beside him.
“You’re not going anywhere alone for a while,” I said, not asking.
He looked at me funny. “I don’t go places alone, Daddy.”
I stood and went over to the dresser to get his pajamas out. As I pulled out a pair of soft terry shorts and one of my old t-shirts from the Academy, I explained, “I mean, even in this house, baby. I want you at my side or on my lap at all times.”
He considered that, chewing on his lip. Then, softly, “Okay, Daddy.”
Elior sat still, letting me dress him and towel-dry his hair.
I tossed the towel aside once his hair was mostly dry, then crouched in front of him again, hands settling on his knees. He was calm now—soft-eyed and pliant—but I could still feel the tremor under his skin like an aftershock.
“Sit back,” I told him.
He obeyed immediately, palms bracing behind him as he leaned against the pillows. Trusting. Too trusting, if you asked the wrong part of my brain.
I climbed onto the bed, shifting until I was sitting behind him, legs spread so I could pull him back against my chest.
My arms wrapped around him—one hand splayed flat over his sternum, feeling the steady thump of his heart; the other slid up to rest on the back of his neck, thumb rubbing slow circles against his carotid.
“You did everything right,” I murmured into his hair. “I meant it when I said I’m proud of you. It’s just… hard for me to have so many eyes on you. Do you understand, baby?”
“I think so?”
I nudged him fully into my lap. He made a tiny sound of surprise, then settled, instinctively tucking his legs up and curling into me. I adjusted him without thinking, one arm under his thighs, the other banded around his middle like a seatbelt.
“There,” I said. “Better.” I pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, lingering a little longer than necessary. “At least you were in chastity. That helped.”
“I think it helped me too,” Elior admitted quietly, his face reddening. “It made me feel held by you, even though you weren’t up there with me.”
“Good.”
“I trust you, Daddy.”
I smiled at the sudden declaration. “Thank you, baby, but why’d you say that right now?”
He tipped his head back just enough to look at me, eyes searching my face. “I just wanted to make sure you knew. That I trust you.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it.” I brushed my thumb along his jaw, tilting his face gently back toward my chest.
“I just want you to—to know that it’s okay to… um… well, be yourself?”
I stiffened at that.
“Be yourself,” I repeated quietly, a brow arched. There was a lot packed into those words. Too much, maybe.
Elior swallowed, fingers worrying at the hem of my shirt where it hung loose around him. “I know today was… a lot. For you too. And when you get stressed like that, you—” He hesitated, searching. “Well, you… you seem to need certain things…”
My jaw flexed, but I didn’t interrupt him.
“I don’t mind,” he went on, rushing a little now, like he was afraid I’d shut him down. “If you need to hold me. Or tell me where to sit. Or carry me, or—” A faint blush crept up his cheeks. “Or um… anything, really.”
That animal part of my brain perked up instantly, ears forward, interested and dangerous.
“Elior,” I said carefully, my tone low and even. “I don’t think you understand what you’re giving me permission for. This time is… It’s a bit more than wanting to take care of you.”
“That’s okay,” he said quickly. “I want you to take what you need.” He leaned back into me more fully, trusting his weight to my chest. “I trust you.”
I closed my eyes for a second, breathing him in and trying to keep a rein on my desires. My hands tightened without permission, fingers pressing more firmly into his sternum and waist.
“Elior…”
“It’s okay, Daddy. I trust you.”
My voice lowered to a rasp. “I could hurt you.” I leaned down, my lips brushing his ear. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.” My voice came out rough, scraped raw.
“I do,” he murmured, arching up slightly. “I want it. Use me.”