Chapter 19 Jace
Jace
“Coming right up, baby boy.” I smiled and shook my head, looking down at Elior lying across my lap like a cat. “You’re going to have to let me get up, though.”
“Oh…”
His lips tilted down, like the idea genuinely hadn’t occurred to him, then looked up at me with a pout. “But you’re warm, Daddy.”
“I can be warm again in thirty seconds,” I said, amused. “Hot chocolate requires locomotion.”
He considered this gravely, then sighed and rolled just enough to free my legs. “Okay…”
“I’ll be back in just a minute,” I said, already standing, ruffling his hair once before heading across the foyer into the kitchen.
The chocolate mix was still out on the countertop from earlier, so I grabbed a mug, poured in milk, and heated it in the microwave.
Behind me, I could hear Elior shifting on the couch, dragging the blanket with him, re-nesting.
When the microwave beeped, I pulled out the mug and spooned in several scoops of the chocolate mix. A few stirs, and it was ready.
When I came back into the living room, he looked up with sparkling eyes, his smile making my heart clench. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get over how adorable he was.
I sat back down and handed him the mug, watching the way his fingers curled around it, and how his shoulders relaxed as the sweet warmth hit him.
He snuggled into my side as he sipped and watched the animal show I’d forgotten was still playing on the TV.
I gazed at him from the corner of my eye, letting myself really look.
Elior’s blonde lashes fanned against his cheeks when he blinked, soft and thick, and I found myself tracking them without meaning to. His eyes were fixed on the screen, pupils widening and shrinking with the shifting light of the documentary.
His cheeks were flushed now, a gentle pink from the steam of the mug he held close to his face.
I’d known that he was mine. I’d known it for months now and never doubted it.
But I hadn’t expected him to just… accept me.
I knew he loved me, sure, but even so, I had still expected hesitation, worry, something that would say he’d only ever love part of me.
Instead, he’d shown me that no part of him could only love one part of me.
Elior shifted again, his head tipping back just enough to rest against my shoulder. His lashes fluttered once as he adjusted, then stilled. His breathing evened out, slow and warm. He handed me his empty mug without a thought, as if it were a certainty that I’d take care of it for him.
I placed it on the side table for now and went back to observing him.
My hand found his thigh without thought, fingers splaying comfortably over plush warmth. He didn’t tense. Didn’t glance down. Just let it be there, like it belonged—which, of course, it did.
I leaned down, lips brushing the crown of his head, breathing him in—hot chocolate, clean skin, and something undeniably home.
Elior hummed again, content, eyes still on the screen.
“Why don’t you lie on my lap now that your cocoa is finished?” I suggested.
“Oh, yes!”
He didn’t even hesitate. Elior turned and lay down so his head settled in my lap, cheek pressed against my thigh, blanket still wrapped around him like a cocoon.
“I love you,” he whispered, closing his eyes.
* * *
“The defense apparently needs him to testify again. There’s not much we can do about it. I’m sorry.”
I closed my eyes.
For a second—just a second—I let myself imagine crushing the phone in my hand.
“How many times will he have to do this?” I hissed, rubbing hard at my temple like I could grind the pressure out of my skull. “Didn’t they get enough from him already?”
Patel didn’t answer right away, which told me everything I needed to know.
“Jace,” he said carefully, like someone approaching a sedated animal they weren’t entirely sure was fully sedated. “This is the system. The defense is grasping. They’re trying to poke holes. Wear him down. Make him contradict himself.”
My jaw locked. “Because that worked so well the first time,” I said flatly.
“I know,” Patel replied. “But if we refuse, it looks bad. And if he doesn’t cooperate, they’ll spin it. You know that.”
I did.
That didn’t make it easier.
“When?” I asked.
“A few weeks.”
I made a low sound in my throat that wasn’t quite a growl, wasn’t quite a laugh.
“Great,” I muttered.
We wrapped it up not long after that. Reassurances. Logistics. The kind of conversation that pretended human beings were just pieces on a board.
When the line went dead, I stayed exactly where I was, phone still pressed to my ear, staring at nothing.
A few weeks.
I thought of Elior in bed this morning, warm and pliant and safe. Of the way he’d blinked up at me when I adjusted the blanket. Of how easily he trusted that I wouldn’t let anything hurt him.
My grip tightened until my knuckles ached.
I could make this stop.
The thought came fully formed and seductive.
I knew how to disappear. I had money that wasn’t traceable in any meaningful way. Passports could be obtained—real ones, not sloppy forgeries. There were places where the internet was a suggestion and records were negotiable.
I pictured it with terrifying clarity.
Elior asleep in the passenger seat of a car that wasn’t registered to either of us. His head tipped toward the window, mouth slightly open, trusting even in unconsciousness. Me driving. Always me driving. Watching mirrors. Planning routes. Keeping him fed, warm, and sheltered.
Safe.
No courtrooms. No attorneys. No strangers fucking dissecting him.
Just us.
I exhaled slowly through my nose and forced myself to dismantle it, piece by piece.
Elior wouldn’t forgive me.
Not truly.
He might cling at first—confused, frightened, and dependent—but once the fog lifted, once he realized what I’d taken from him, it would rot something between us. He needed the closure this case would eventually bring.
And Malachi—
I let my gaze drift to the window, to the quiet street outside.
Malachi didn’t get to walk away untouched.
Not after what he’d done to Elior. He had nine bodies linked to him, but I could honestly care less about getting those people justice. I was only mad about the killings because hearing about them had shattered Elior. Sweet, pure Elior and his murderer dad.
If we ran, Malachi won.
If we ran, Elior would always be looking over his shoulder, wondering if today was the day his past finally caught up to him.
The thought faded, reluctantly, like a predator backing into the trees.
I scrubbed a hand over my face and stood, pacing, trying to bleed the excess energy out of my muscles.
The real problem remained.
How the hell was I supposed to tell him?
I pictured kneeling in front of him, taking his hands, watching his face carefully for cracks. The way his mouth would start to wobble. The way he’d nod even if it hurt, because he was brave like that. Because he always chose the hardest, most honest path even when it cost him.
The anger flared again, sharp and bright.
They didn’t deserve him.
None of them.
I stopped pacing and looked down the hall toward the door to the back patio, where I could hear the familiar chime of his voice as he talked to his plants.
I rolled my shoulders back, schooling my expression before I went to him. I’d tell him gently, then comfort him.
And when the time came, when he had to walk back into that room and bare himself to strangers again—
I’d be there.
Every step. Every breath.
And God help anyone who tried to break what was already mine to protect.
I slid the phone into my pocket and walked toward the patio door.
Elior was kneeling on the stone, sleeves pushed up, dirt smudged along his fingers as he fussed over one of the smaller planters. He was talking to it under his breath—soft encouragement, like the plant might perk up just from being believed in.
Just like he did.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, carefully straightening a leaf. “You’re not dead. You can do this.”
I leaned against the doorframe for a second, just watching him. Watching the way the sun caught in his hair, the way his shoulders rose and fell, easy and unguarded. This—this—was why we couldn’t run. Why we wouldn’t.
He sensed me before I spoke.
“Hi, Daddy,” he said without turning around, voice light. “Did you know this one hates direct sunlight? I think it’s offended by—”
“Baby,” I interrupted gently.
That got his attention.
He looked over his shoulder, eyes immediately searching my face. The smile faded—not gone, just quieter, like he was bracing for something without knowing why.
I stepped outside and crouched in front of him.
“Hey,” I said softly. “First of all, you didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”
His brows knit together. “Okay…?”
I reached out then, taking his hands carefully, thumbs brushing over the dirt decorating his skin.
“They need you to testify again,” I said.
The words landed between us, solid and unavoidable.
For a heartbeat, he didn’t react at all.
Then his shoulders dipped.
“Oh,” he said quietly.
Not “why?”
Not “do I have to?”
Just “oh”—like he’d already known the world wouldn’t let him go that easily.
“I’m sorry,” I added, because it mattered that he heard it. “It’ll be in a few weeks, probably. We’ll work with Mark again, just like last time. We’ll get through it.”
He nodded once, eyes dropping to where our hands were joined. His fingers curled into mine, tight but not panicked.
“A few weeks?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He swallowed. “That’s… okay,” he said after a moment. “I mean. It’s not okay. But I can do it.”
I shifted closer, one knee touching the ground now, lowering myself until we were eye level.
He was quiet for a long moment. I could practically see the thoughts moving behind his eyes—memory stacking on memory, preparing.
“Will you be there?” he asked, finally looking up.
“Of course, baby. I’d never let you do this alone.”
His composure cracked, and he leaned forward to tuck himself into my chest, arms sliding around my waist. I wrapped him in my embrace immediately.
“When this is over, will you take me to New York?” he asked.
“I’ll take you anywhere you want.”