28. Jace
The heat of her rage could’ve powered a mid-sized town for an entire month. I could feel it vibrating through the air like heat waves during the entire walk back to her apartment. Though I don’t really understand what she’s so angry about. Lionel is a dick. He had it coming.
Following her into the apartment, I close and lock the door behind us. I expect to hear Kayla’s angry footsteps continue towards her bedroom. But instead, they stop in the living room. Halfway between my bedroom and hers.
I heave a deep sigh before turning to face her. Here we go.
“In the morning, you’re going to call my father and tell him that you quit,” she declares.
Scoffing, I stride away from the door and towards her. “No.”
Fury flashes like lightning strikes in her eyes at my arrogant tone. As I close the distance between us, I study her. She is angry. Really, really angry. It radiates from her entire being with such intensity that I’m almost surprised that I can’t see real flames flickering along her red hair.
Drawing my eyebrows down in genuine confusion, I demand, “What’s your problem with me?”
“You!” She throws her arms out in rage as I come to a halt in front of her. “You are the problem. First you had me kidnapped by your psycho brothers and had me handcuffed in a basement.”
“You didn’t seem to mind the handcuffs during the second part of that night.”
Her eyes flash, but she doesn’t take the bait. Instead, she stabs her finger into my chest. “And then you dragged me to that wedding where I almost caused a mass shoot-out.”
“How is that my fault? You are the one who caused the standoff.”
“You could’ve warned me that you were all armed.”
“It was a church full of hitmen. You seriously expected us not to be armed?”
A snarl rips from her throat, and she gives my chest a shove. “And now you embarrassed me in front of the entire university!”
“I embarrassed you? Lionel?—”
“Lionel is my friend. And you don’t get to treat my friends like that.”
Wrapping my hand around her wrist, I stop her from shoving me again while I lock hard eyes on her. “Lionel is a leech.”
“He—”
“He’s not with you because he wants to be your friend. He’s with you because he wants something from you.”
She jerks back as if I had slapped her. And I immediately regret saying that. Even though I know that it’s the truth. There is nothing genuine about Lionel Henderson. He’s only trailing after Kayla because he wants something from her. And I’m pretty sure it’s financial security in the form of a very advantageous marriage.
“You don’t know anything about me,” she snaps, and yanks her hand back. “Or him. Or my other friends.”
Guilt twists inside me, because I suddenly realize that this is a topic that she’s self-conscious about. My expression softens, and I raise my hands in surrender.
“Look, I’m not saying that people don’t like you for you,” I explain. “I’m just saying that Lionel is a selfish asshole who doesn’t deserve to be your friend.”
Cold fury burns in her eyes as she flicks a mocking look up and down my body. “As opposed to you?”
The words hit harder than I want to admit. Because I did actually think that we had started to become friends in a way. But I make sure to keep my expression blank as I just stare back at her.
“I’m just doing my job,” I say tightly.
“No, you’re not!” She throws out her arms again. “You’re being obnoxious and difficult?—”
“As opposed to you?” I throw back in her face.
“You’re ruining my life!” Her chest heaves with rage as she stares up at me. “It’s not my fault that you’re the screw-up of your family who got stuck with babysitting duty while all of your brothers are out doing cool hitman stuff. It’s not my fault that you don’t measure up to the rest of your family. So stop trying to ruin my life too.”
Her words hit me like a knife to the gut.
For a second, all I can do is to stand there and stare down at her while something crumbles inside me.
She jerks back, as if realizing what she just said.
But I don’t care.
I simply turn around and walk towards my bedroom.
“Jace,” Kayla says from behind me, her voice strained. “Wait. I didn’t?—”
The door lets out a soft thud as I shut it completely behind me.
Standing there on the other side of the door, alone, I let the blank mask slip from my face. Raking my fingers through my hair, I tilt my head back and draw in uneven breaths.
Fuck. It feels as if my chest is caving in.
I drag in another breath and walk over to the drawers by the bed. Yanking one open, I grab the bottle of whiskey I’ve kept in there. I haven’t felt the need to drown out my thoughts ever since I started this job, and I know that I shouldn’t drink when I’m technically still on duty, but her words just… hit too close to home.
Slumping down on the floor, I sit with my back against the side of the bed and drink straight from the bottle while staring out the window. Purple and red streaks from the setting sun are reflected in the windows of the building across the street, and the sounds of cars honking echo outside.
I drink from the whiskey bottle again.
Because Eli, Kaden, and Rico are so effortlessly skilled at everything, I’ve grown up always feeling like I have something to prove. That I need to prove that I’m as good as them. It’s the curse of being the youngest sibling.
But it’s more than that.
All of them are completely fine with just continuing on the legacy of the Hunter family and the Morelli family, as if the thought that they could do something else is not even worth considering. And it makes me feel as if there is something wrong with me. Why else would I be the only one who is angry about not having a choice in the matter?
Kayla said that I was the screw-up of the family. That I didn’t measure up to the rest of them.
Pain stabs through my chest.
Because she might be right.
Gripping my shirt right over my heart, I curl my fingers into the soft fabric so hard that my joints ache.
Fuck, what if she is right.
I have always been terrified that my brothers would think that I don’t measure up to them if they ever found out my true feelings about being forced onto this path. And now they know. So is that how they see me now?
Bringing the bottle back up to my lips, I drink deeply again. The whiskey burns on its way down, but the feeling is gone too quickly. And the alcohol still hasn’t helped me numb the ache in my chest.
Kayla called me a duck once. Said that everything just runs off me like water on a duck. Most people think the same thing when they meet me. And for the most part, they’re right. I have an ego the size of North America and way more confidence than should probably be legal. But there are also some things that I am incredibly insecure about. And this is one of them.
I tilt my head back and heave a deep sigh.
Sitting there on the floor, I stare at nothing as I raise the bottle to my lips once more while trying to fight off the suffocating emotions in my chest.
A soft knock comes from the door.
I blink, realizing that the room is now dark around me. The sun must have set. Only yellow light from the streetlamps outside shine in through the windows and illuminate parts of the walls. I glance down at the bottle in my hand, noticing that it’s almost half empty.
Another knock comes.
I ignore it.
“Jace,” Kayla says from the other side of the door, her voice gentler than I have ever heard.
It sends another stab of pain through my chest.
“Jace,” she repeats. “Please.”
I take another drink.
“Please can I come in?” she says.
Remaining on the floor, I say nothing.
The door is opened anyway. It brings with it the smell of food. But I don’t have enough fucks to give right now, so I just keep staring out at the window.
Soft footsteps sound on the floor.
Then Kayla appears next to me. I can feel her looking down at me, but I don’t bother turning towards her. A soft and very miserable-sounding sigh escapes from her chest.
She sits down next to me. Resting her back against the side of the bed, she stretches out her legs along the floor. She’s so close that her thigh almost brushes against mine.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly.
And then she holds out something to me. Tearing my gaze from the window, I glance down at the item she’s holding out to me with both hands. It’s a bowl. One of her normal kitchen bowls. Filled with something… vaguely edible-looking.
I shift my gaze up to her face.
My heart clenches.
She looks genuinely sorry. And a little miserable.
“What’s that?” I ask, nodding down at the bowl she’s still holding out to me.
“It’s food.”
“You don’t know how to cook.”
She winces. “I know. But you like food. And I wanted to… well, I wanted to apologize. And to do something… well, give you something… that you would like.”
The way she’s floundering makes my heart warm a little. I’ve never seen her like that before. Never seen her this… vulnerable. And the fact that she’s even showing me this side of herself, for the sole purpose of apologizing to me, is undeniable proof that she actually means every word.
After setting the whiskey bottle down on the floor beside me, I reach out and take the bowl from her still outstretched hands. There is a fork stuck into the food. It looks kind of like pasta. Except the long noodles have been broken into small pieces. Which is an absolute sacrilege.
Spearing some of the floppy bits with the fork, I bring it to my mouth and eat.
I almost choke. Coughing, I force myself to swallow the bite. Did she drop an entire tub of salt in the pot or what?
Next to me, Kayla grimaces and squirms a little on the floor.
Holding her gaze, I drink some more whiskey to wash down the taste of salt before I announce, “This is terrible.”
An apologetic look flashes across her face.
“Seriously.” I arch an eyebrow at her. “Are you trying to apologize or poison me?”
Alarm pulses in her eyes, and she opens her mouth to no doubt apologize again and reassure me that she is not trying to poison me.
Then she notices the smile on my mouth.
A huff of amusement rips from her throat instead. With a smile pulling at her own lips, she gives my shoulder a soft shove and then turns so that she is facing forwards again, looking out the window. Her leg moves a little closer to mine.
“I really am, though,” she says, gazing out at the dark night outside. “Sorry, I mean. I really am sorry.”
I set the bowl of overcooked and oversalted pasta down on the floor.
“I didn’t mean that,” she continues. “It was just a shot in the dark. I’ve grown up feeling like I always have so many expectations to live up to, so I used that and hoped that it would hit you as hard as it would’ve hit me. But I didn’t actually mean it.”
She fidgets with the hem of her shirt for a few seconds.
“Actually,” she continues, and then she at last glances towards me. “That’s not the entire reason. I also chose that specific insult because I was jealous.”
Confusion pulls at my brows. “Of what?”
“Of what you have.” She heaves a deep sigh and rakes her fingers through her hair. “Back at your brother’s house, when we were all in the living room, I was angry because of the kidnapping. But I was also angry because I was jealous. I saw how much they love you, how much you all love each other, and I just… I just want a family like that too.”
“Don’t you have?—”
“Anyway,” she interrupts, looking away and clearing her throat in a way that signals that she really doesn’t want to talk about that. “So that was why I said that to you in the living room just now. I was angry and frustrated and jealous. And I’m sorry.”
I keep my gaze on the side of her face until she finally turns back to meet my eyes again. “Apology accepted.”
Relief flickers across her beautiful face.
But I keep speaking. “If you tell me what it is that I have done to make you hate me so much.”
She winces. Drawing her legs up, she braces her elbows on her knees and slides her hands through her hair once more. Then she lifts her head again and glances at me. There is something between a grimace and a smile on her face.
“I don’t hate you,” she says. “I actually like you. Which is what makes me hate you.”
A surprised laugh escapes my throat, and I frown at her. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I like you as a person, but I still don’t want you here.”
“Ouch.”
She laughs, somehow sounding both amused and miserable at the same time. Heaving another sigh, she shakes her head and lets her legs slide back down to the floor. “It’s just… I don’t want a bodyguard. I want freedom.”
Uncomfortable emotions start crawling up my throat, because I realize that I know exactly what she’s talking about.
But she must have misinterpreted the expression on my face, because she hurries to explain again. “So it’s not you that I hate. It’s the situation.” Desperation floods her beautiful blue eyes as she holds my gaze. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to never have the freedom to choose what your life looks like?”
My heart squeezes painfully, and my throat constricts.
Fuck, I never thought about it like that. I never realized what living like this must be like for her. Never having a moment of privacy. Always having someone looking over her shoulder and checking what she does and who she talks to. It must be suffocating her.
This job, guarding her like this, is my ticket to freedom. But in doing so, I’m taking away hers. I’m essentially trading her freedom for mine.
Guilt slices through me.
“Yeah,” I reply, the word coming out a bit more strained than I would’ve preferred. “I do.”
But I still can’t quit. I need to make it to the end of the semester so that I will be able to choose my own future. And even if I were to quit, Mr. Ashford would just hire someone else, so it still wouldn’t make a difference in Kayla’s life.
So quitting is out of the question. But there is something I can do.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She blinks in surprise. “For what?”
“For being a jerk. For deliberately staying closer than I actually have to in order to ensure your safety. I’m very good at what I do. I don’t need to be standing right on top of you to protect you.” I nudge her leg with mine and give her a small smile. “Look, I can’t quit. Your dad will just hire someone else. But I promise that I will give you more space from now on.”
Her eyes light up like glittering starlight.
The sight is so beautiful that my heart almost stops.
“Really?” she says, sounding both hopeful and a little guarded. As if she’s afraid that I will take it back.
I nod. “Really.”
She smiles as brightly as the moon.
A mischievous smile spreads across my own lips as I hold up a finger in the air and add, “If…”
She nods, ready to agree to whatever demand I’m about to present. “Anything.”
“If you promise to never break pasta like this again.” With a glint in my eyes, I shake my head at her. “It’s an absolute sacrilege.”
She laughs. A real genuine laugh that ripples through the air like silver bells.
And the sound of it makes my heart stutter.