Chapter Eleven
Jace
Iknew this was coming the moment I saw their faces.
I’ve seen that look before. On teachers. On parents. On girls who decide I’m fun until I’m not. That tense, evaluating stare that indicates they’ve already judged who I am and what I’m worth. It no longer surprises me; it just confirms what I already know.
People see only what they expect and nothing more. I gave up trying because it’s simpler to be what they believe I am than to keep disappointing them by being something else completely.
But when Lola’s voice cracks slightly on the word hospital, something inside me shifts. I glance up without meaning to, my eyes finding her through the windshield.
I’ve seen her be sarcastic. I’ve seen her throw insults that land cleaner than a right hook. But I’ve never seen her do this. Defending me.
Standing on her front lawn, telling her best friends that I showed up, that I mattered, that what I did means something.
It does something dangerous to my chest. Not a punch or a rush of adrenaline. It’s something slower. Heavier. Something that spreads under my ribs and makes it hard to breathe properly. It makes my throat tight in a way that has nothing to do with the cold morning air.
No one has ever fought for me. People tolerate me, but they don’t stand up for me. They won’t risk their friendships to defend my honor because everyone knows I don’t have any worth defending. Except apparently Lola does.
Lola, the girl who is currently tearing into her friends with the same vicious precision she once used on me.
My hands clench in my lap.
When Aubrey asks if she slept with me, my hand instinctively reaches for the door handle, muscles tensing as I feel the urge to bail, to get out of the situation before it worsens.
Because that question is loaded.
I know exactly what it sounds like—what they’re really asking. Not if we had sex, but if she’s stupid enough to be another name on the very list of girls who thought they were different, in a long line of mistakes I’ve walked away from and never looked back.
But Lola handles it.
“None of your business.”
Calm. Controlled. Not defensive. Not embarrassed. Just firm. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world to tell them to back off. As if she’s not ashamed of whatever did or didn’t happen between us. As if their judgment doesn’t have the power to make her second-guess herself.
The realization hits harder than I anticipate.
She didn’t push me away because someone looked down on me. She didn’t shrink or scramble to explain, justify, or distance herself from the trash sitting in her passenger seat.
She stands there, steady, claiming me in front of the people whose opinions truly matter to her.
No one in my life has ever done that. No one has ever looked someone else in the eye and said, “Yeah, him. So what?”
But Lola is standing on her lawn, voice trembling with anger and exhaustion, telling her best friends that I showed up when they didn’t and that I matter. That I’m worth giving a fuck about.
My chest feels too tight, as if something is expanding inside me and has nowhere to go.
I don’t know what to do with this feeling.
I don’t know how to process the fact that someone is standing up for me without expecting anything in return—without keeping score, without waiting for me to fuck up so they can say they knew better all along.
Lola’s face is locked in that hard mask she wears when she’s trying not to fall apart, but I can see the pain underneath it. The cracks in the foundation.
It’s not about me. It’s about everything. Her dad. The hospital. The exhaustion simmering beneath her skin, turning her bones to lead. And how Aubrey and Sam have been too caught up in their own perfect little worlds to notice she was drowning.
And I also take ownership of that because I’m the wedge now—what’s driving them apart. The proof that she’s making bad decisions, spiraling, and choosing all the wrong things.
They’re right. She deserves someone better than me. But here I am sitting in the passenger seat of her car as she burns bridges for me.
Eventually, Sam shakes her head and mutters something I can’t make out. Aubrey grabs her arm and guides her toward the blue hatchback. They don’t give Lola the chance to change her mind or take any of it back. They just leave.
Only when their car disappears around the corner does Lola breathe easily.
I watch her chest rise, see her exhale something that seems painful. She watches them go and just stands there a second longer than she needs to, staring at the empty street where her best friends used to be.
Finally, she turns around to face me, and her eyes meet mine through the windshield. The look on her face does something to me.
She jerks her chin toward the house.
“Come inside.”
My feet seem heavier than they should when I step out of the car.
This is the part where I should walk away. Give her space. Let her fix the fallout without me standing in the middle of it, making everything worse just by existing.
Instead, I follow her to the front door.
“Come inside,” she says again.
I hesitate on the porch. She shouldn’t have to choose me and lose everything she cares about. She shouldn’t have to trade her best friends for some fucked-up asshole who’s only going to disappoint her in the end anyway.
She pushes the door open and steps inside. I’m still standing here, frozen between leaving and staying, between doing the right thing and doing what I truly want, which is to stay.
“Jace.”
I step forward, one foot in front of the other, crossing the threshold into the house.
She closes the door behind me.
“You’re going to regret this,” I say.
Her head slowly turns toward me. “Regret what?”
“Choosing me.”
There it is. The fear I’ve been holding onto since I stepped in front of her car this morning.
Since I kissed her that first time. Since I let myself feel anything beyond surface level.
The truth that’s been eating at my insides every time she looks at me without flinching, every time she doesn’t treat me the way I deserve to be treated.
Her eyes don’t soften. They harden, sharp enough to draw blood if I’m not careful.
“I didn’t choose you,” she says evenly, toeing off her boots near the door, “I chose myself. Plus, they’re not my whole world. They made that clear when they decided ghosting me was easier than showing the fuck up.”
That makes me look at her. The tightness around her mouth. The way she keeps her chin lifted even though I can see how much it cost her to stand out there and burn those bridges. The exhaustion etched into the space beneath her eyes.
I should crack a joke, make it lighter. Pretend this isn’t heavy enough to crush both of us.
Instead, I say the thing I don’t want to.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Defend me.”
Her jaw tightens slightly. “I wasn’t defending you. I was simply stating the truth.”
But the truth is I’m exactly what Aubrey said I am. I am a walking red flag with a reputation that follows me into every room. I’m the kind of guy who peaks in high school and spends the rest of his life wondering why nothing ever gets better.
“The truth,” I say slowly, “is that they’re right about me.”
“Are they,” she says, turning. She pads down the hallway in her socks.
It’s warm here. Not the thin, useless kind that leaks out of cracked trailer windows and disappears before it reaches your bones.
Lola enters the kitchen and places her keys on the counter.
“But still, Bells,” I say, “I didn’t want to come between you and them.”
She looks over her shoulder. “You didn’t.”
“I know how this looks,” I add. “You and me. It just feeds into what they already think.”
“So what… they already thought it, at least now it’s honest.”
She opens the fridge and pulls out eggs, milk, and leftover bacon.
Her hair is still wild from last night. Long curls are tangled and falling over her shoulders in a way that should look messy but somehow doesn’t. Instead, it just looks real.
“You said something to my aunt.” I change the subject.
“She deserved it.”
I lean one shoulder against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, watching her crack eggs into a bowl.
“What did you say?”
Her chin lifts. “She was staring at me, so I asked her what the fuck she was looking at.”
A short laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Jesus.”
“Well, she treats you like shit.”
I look away briefly, focusing on the floor instead of the way her beautiful blue eyes blaze behind those glasses.
“You don’t have to fight my battles, Bells.”
“I wasn’t fighting your battle,” she says, cracking another egg against the bowl with unnecessary force. “I was pissed at you and took it out on her.”
That makes my mouth twitch. “So you were multitasking.”
“Yes, I suppose, but you should know I’m excellent at multitasking,” she fires back without missing a beat. “I can be furious at multiple people simultaneously. It’s a gift I was born with.”
The smirk breaks free before I can stop it. “That’s not the flex you think it is.”
“Says the guy who specializes in pissing people off just by existing.”
“Touché.”
She whisks the eggs with sharp, aggressive movements.
There’s a beat of silence before she lifts her head and studies me. “Is it always that cold in the trailer?”
I don’t answer immediately. Instead, I walk over to the kitchen island and sit on one of the stools while she continues whisking the eggs.
“Yes,” I say finally.
She swallows. “You don’t have a heater.”
“It died,” I tell her.
“And you just…”
“Manage,” I cut in.
Managing, that’s what my life is. A series of making do with broken things and pretending it’s fine.
“Jace.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Whatever you’re about to say. Don’t.”
I can hear it coming. The pity. The concern.
She moves to the stove and pours the eggs into the pan. They sizzle and pop in the heat.
“How long has it been broken?”
“A while.”
“How long is a while?”
“Since January.”
Her shoulders go rigid.
“It’s March.”
“I’m aware.”