Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Lola
It’s just after ten when I pull up outside the diner.
I leave the engine running for a minute, sitting there with my hands on the wheel, staring at nothing. The hum of the motor fills the silence until I can’t take it anymore and turn the key. The quiet that follows settles around me like a heavy, suffocating weight.
I lean back in my seat.
The neon sign that normally buzzes and flickers as if it’s having a seizure is dark.
The parking lot is mostly empty now. A couple of cars sit near the curb. There’s a pickup truck with rust eating through the wheel well. A sedan that looks older than half the people who eat here. Dented. Faded paint. The kind of car that’s held together by duct tape and prayer.
Even here, I can still feel it. That gnawing feeling that at any second my world could come crashing down.
I stare out the windshield at the empty lot and try not to think about the possibility that this might be my life now.
That this is it. Days spent at the hospital sitting beside dad’s bed, holding a hand that doesn’t squeeze back.
Talking to someone I have no idea can hear me.
Not knowing if the man who raised me will ever open his eyes again.
Doctors with their careful voices saying the same two fucking words every single day.
The thought weighs heavily on my chest, making it hard to breathe. I swallow hard and force myself to look at the diner door instead. To focus on something else.
The door swings open, and a group of teenagers spills out into the night, laughing and shoving each other toward a battered car parked under the only working streetlight.
Their voices echo across the lot—loud, careless, full of the kind of happiness that comes from people who don’t yet realize how quickly everything can fall to shit in an instant.
I watch them pile into the car. Watch the taillights disappear down the street. Then it’s quiet again.
Just me, the empty parking lot, and the heaviness in my chest that refuses to leave no matter how hard I try.
All day, I watched that video of Tia’s downfall. Over and over. I watched her face crumble and how the cafeteria erupted after she ran.
I should feel guilty about that. I should feel something other than satisfaction.
Instead, it made me smile. A small, petty piece of justice amid everything else falling apart. One thing that went right when nothing else has.
Headlights sweep across my windshield. Bright and blinding for a second before they cut away. A truck pulls into the spot beside me.
I glance over at Noah’s truck. He cuts the engine and steps out.
Tall and steady as he always is, as if nothing ever rattles him.
He’s probably the only one of us who has his act together even when the rest of us are drowning.
He shuts the door and walks toward my car, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.
I lower the window before he knocks.
I already know what this is. A lecture. Another person who feels the need to warn me about Jace. Telling me I’m making a mistake, that I don’t know what I’m doing, and that in the end, he’s only going to hurt me.
I don’t understand why everyone only sees the surface when they look at him. The jerk. The fuck boy who says whatever he wants and doesn’t apologize. The guy who keeps his distance and acts like he doesn’t give a shit about anything.
That’s not the version of him I see. It’s not the boy who holds me when my chest gets too tight to breathe, who shows up, and who stays.
Noah leans one arm on top of the car door, with a careful expression.
“How are you?” His voice is steady.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically. The words come out flat. Rehearsed.
His eyes slowly scan my face, taking stock and reading the cracks I’m trying to hide.
He doesn’t answer right away. Which means he doesn’t believe me.
Of course he doesn’t. Noah studies people for a living, sees through their bullshit, spots the things others miss. The things people don’t say.
“So,” he says after a moment, his tone softer now, “how are you actually doing?”
I shift in my seat, trying to find an answer that’s honest but not overly so. I’m about to tell him I’m okay considering everything, but the diner door swings open before I get the chance.
Aubrey steps outside.
She’s tying her hair back as she walks, fingers working through the dark strands. Her shoulders slump slightly in that way people do when a shift finally ends and the weight of the day catches up all at once.
Her eyes first land on Noah, moving to me next. She pauses halfway through her step.
The last time we stood face to face it didn’t exactly end in friendship or the kind of shit that doesn’t simply disappear because time passes.
She walks toward us.
Noah turns back at me.
“You been at the hospital all day?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
Aubrey reaches us just as the word leaves my mouth. She leans up and presses a quick kiss to Noah’s mouth. The kind of easy affection that still catches me off guard every time I see it. Natural. Unguarded. Like they’ve done it a thousand times and will do it a thousand more.
She looks at me, and for a moment, I brace myself.
I expect the comment. The judgment. Something about Jace and how fucking stupid I’m being. How I don’t know what I’m getting myself into. How he’s going to screw me over and leave me worse than I already am.
But instead, the only word that leaves her mouth is, “Hey.”
“Hey,” I reply.
A small pause sits between us. Awkward as hell. Heavy with everything we haven’t said.
“How’s your dad?” She asks quietly.
The question surprises me. I wasn’t prepared for that.
“No change,” I say.
The words taste bitter on my tongue.
Aubrey’s face softens immediately. She reaches through the open window and takes my hand before I can pull away or tell her I’m okay.
“You know I’m here for you,” she says.
“I know.” I hate the way my voice sounds. Too small. Too fragile. Too close to breaking.
So I do what I always do when things get too real. I deflect.
“You know what I’m really pissed about?” I say.
Aubrey raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“I missed the biggest showdown of the year.”
Her mouth twitches, almost forming a smile.
“Trust me,” she says. “It wasn’t that exciting.”
Noah lets out a quiet laugh beside her.
“That’s bullshit, Aub and you know it,” he says, before he turns his face toward me. “The cafeteria celebrated harder than when the football team made state.”
Aubrey nudges him with her elbow. “You exaggerate.”
“Do I?” he asks, grinning now.
“Always.”
Their easy back-and-forth loosens the tension that’s been coiling in my chest for days. Watching them exist together without effort, it almost feels as if nothing happened between us. As if we’re still the same people we were before everything fractured and fell apart.
The diner door swings open once more, and Jace walks out.
My eyes are drawn to him. My body responds before my brain does.
He scans the parking lot. His eyes first land on my car, then on Noah, and finally on Aubrey.
His expression shifts into that familiar mix of amusement—the look he gets when he’s walking into something he didn’t ask for but isn’t going to back down from either. He moves toward us with that lazy “fuck what anyone thinks” mask.
He’s carrying a paper bag with grease stains already bleeding through the bottom.
He heads directly toward my car. When he reaches the passenger side, he opens the door and slides into the seat next to me.
The paper bag crinkles as he drops it into his lap. The smell of fries and burgers fills the space instantly. Salt and grease and something fried that makes my stomach twist with hunger I didn’t realize I had.
“What’s that?” I ask.
He glances at it, then at me, raising an eyebrow.
“Dinner,” he says casually, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“You brought me food from the place you just worked.”
“Congratulations,” he replies without missing a beat. “You understand how restaurants work.”
He pulls a fry out of the bag and pops it into his mouth. Chews slowly. Swallows. His jaw works as he stares through the windshield.
“I got your favorite,” he says, popping another fry into his mouth. His lips quirk at the corners of his mouth, forming that cocky half-smirk he always wears when he knows he’s done something right. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
I give him a smile.
When I glance up again, Noah and Aubrey are both watching us. Standing there by my window, taking it all in. The way Jace climbed into the car. Our easy banter. The space we share that doesn’t need explanation.
Noah straightens and pushes away from the car.
“Well,” he says, done assessing whatever he came here to assess. “We’ll see you later.”
“Drive safe,” Aubrey says, turning slightly.
Jace lifts two fingers in a lazy salute through the window. He doesn’t bother with words. Simply has that casual arrogance he carries everywhere.
Noah drapes an arm around Aubrey’s shoulders as they walk back toward his car. She leans into him, fitting against his side perfectly. This is the kind of closeness that comes from knowing someone’s body as well as your own.
I watch them for a brief second before starting the car. The engine turns over. Rumbles to life beneath us. Vibrations humming through the steering wheel.
Beside me, Jace takes another handful of fries from the bag. The sound of him chewing fills the quiet.
“You going to drive?” He asks around a mouthful of food. “Or are we going to sit here while I eat your dinner?”
I shake my head and drive out of the parking lot, headlights slicing through the darkness.
He pulls out a handful of fries and holds them toward me. Grease glistens on his fingers in the dim dashboard light. It makes his skin shine.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the fries. They’re still warm. I pop them into my mouth. The salt hits first.