Chapter 35 Jace
JACE
The rhythm of sparring is familiar—Cal’s footwork, his tells, the way he drops his left shoulder half a second before he commits to a strike. We’ve been doing this for twenty years, moving through the patterns like a conversation we’ve had so many times the words don’t matter anymore.
I catch his wrist, redirect, use his momentum to take him to the mat. He rolls, comes up fast, grinning despite the sweat dripping down his face.
“Getting slow,” I tell him.
“Fuck you,” he says, breathing hard. “You’re just—”
The gym door slams open.
Parker stands in the doorway, backlit by the hallway lights, and for a moment I just stare.
She’s in workout gear—black leggings that hug every curve, a sports bra under a loose tank top that’s already been cut short enough to show a strip of pale skin at her midriff, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail.
Her feet are bare, her hands already wrapped.
She looks ready for a fight.
And fuck if that isn’t the hottest thing I’ve seen all week.
Cal straightens beside me, his grin fading as he takes in her expression. Across the gym, Silas pauses mid-strike on the heavy bag, his knuckles still pressed against the leather.
“Parker,” I start, but she cuts me off.
“Get on the mat.” Her voice is flat, controlled. “Either one of you. I don’t care which.”
Cal glances at me, confusion written across his face. “Angel, what—”
“Now.”
There’s something in her tone that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Not fear—I’ve never been afraid of Parker. But wariness. Recognition that the woman standing in front of us isn’t here to talk.
She’s here to make a point.
“Okay,” I say slowly, moving to the center of the mat. “What’s this about?”
She doesn’t answer. Just walks onto the mat with the kind of deliberate calm that precedes violence, rolling her shoulders back, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet.
Her stance is good. Better than good—weight distributed properly, hands up but loose, ready to move. This isn’t someone who took a self-defense class once and thinks she knows how to fight.
This is someone who’s been trained.
“Silas,” she calls out without taking her eyes off me. “Medical cabinet down the hall. Swabs and sample tubes.”
I see Silas’s expression shift—understanding, then satisfaction. He doesn’t question it, just heads for the door.
“You want to spar?” I ask, keeping my voice even. “Parker, I don’t think—”
She moves.
Fast—faster than I expected—closing the distance between us in two steps. I react on instinct, raising my arm to block, but she’s already pivoting, using my defensive position to get inside my guard. Her elbow comes up toward my ribs and I twist away, catching her wrist.
She uses the grip against me, pulling herself closer instead of away, and suddenly her leg is hooked behind mine and I’m off-balance.
I let her take me down—not because I have to, but because I’m still processing the fact that Parker Carter just executed a textbook sweep that would make most of our guys look sloppy.
We hit the mat and she’s immediately moving, trying to establish position, and I have to actually work to counter her. She’s strong—not as strong as me, but she knows how to use leverage, how to make her weight count.
“When were you going to tell me?” she asks, her voice sharp as she attempts an armbar I barely escape.
“Tell you what?” I’m breathing harder now, focused on defense because attacking feels wrong even though she clearly has no problem coming at me.
“About Charles asking Cal to investigate my sons’ paternity.” She shifts her weight, tries for a choke. I block it but she’s already transitioning to something else. “About Ryan Matthews lying about us having history. About you two spiraling instead of just fucking asking me.”
Fuck.
“Parker—” Cal starts from the edge of the mat.
“Get on the mat, Cal,” she snaps, not looking away from me. “Unless you’re too busy hacking into my medical records to fight me face to face.”
Cal’s face goes white.
I use Parker’s momentary distraction to reverse our positions, pinning her beneath me. She doesn’t panic—just immediately starts working to escape, her body moving with practiced efficiency.
“How did you—” I start.
“Aria.” She bucks her hips, nearly dislodges me. “Ryan told her he’d been helping me in California. That we’d dated before Charles’s wedding. He told Charles the same thing, didn’t he? And Charles passed that along to you.”
Her knee comes up toward my ribs and I have to shift to avoid it. She uses the movement to slip out from under me, rolling to her feet with a grace that shouldn’t surprise me but does.
“That’s not—it wasn’t like that,” Cal says, and I can hear the guilt bleeding through his voice.
“Then explain it to me.” Parker’s breathing hard now, chest heaving, ponytail slightly disheveled. She looks fucking magnificent. “Explain why, if you want me to trust you, if you want this thing between us to work, you didn’t just come to me and ask.”
Cal steps onto the mat slowly, hands raised in a placating gesture that I know won’t work. Parker’s past placating.
“Charles made it sound—” he starts.
“I don’t care what Charles made it sound like.” She moves toward him, her stance shifting. “I care that you chose to believe him over me. That you chose to investigate me instead of trusting me.”
“We didn’t want to believe it,” I say, getting to my feet. “But Parker, you kept the boys secret for years. You’ve dodged every question about their paternity. What were we supposed to think when Charles said Ryan claimed to have been helping you, that maybe he was—”
“You were supposed to think I wouldn’t lie to you!
” Her voice cracks on the last word, anger giving way to hurt for just a moment before she shoves it back down.
“You were supposed to remember that night six years ago. You were supposed to trust that if Ryan Matthews had been anywhere near me or my children, I would have told you.”
She’s right. Fuck, she’s right.
Cal reaches for her and she sidesteps, grabbing his wrist and using his own momentum to take him down. He lands hard, the air whooshing out of his lungs, and she’s on him immediately—not trying to hurt him, I realize, but making a point.
“I continued my training in California,” she says, shifting to avoid Cal’s attempt to reverse their positions. “After the boys were born, I kept it up. Because I knew what family I came from. I knew what dangers might find us. And I knew I couldn’t depend on anyone but myself to keep them safe.”
Cal taps out against the mat—once, twice, three times.
Parker releases him immediately, rolling to her feet and turning to face me.
“Your turn,” she says.
“Parker, we fucked up,” I say, staying where I am. “We know we fucked up. But you have to understand—”
“Do I?” She advances on me, and I can see tears threatening at the corners of her eyes even as her jaw stays clenched. “Do I have to understand why the three men who claim to love me chose doubt over trust? Why you let Charles manipulate you instead of coming to me?”
“It wasn’t manipulation,” I argue, even though part of me knows it was. “He was concerned about optics, about the boys’ safety—”
“Bullshit.” She’s close enough now that I can see the gold flecks in her eyes, see the way her pulse jumps in her throat. “He was concerned about control. About knowing everything, about having leverage. And you gave it to him instead of giving me the benefit of the doubt.”
I should defend myself. Should explain about the surveillance files, about how the timeline could have worked, about how Ryan’s story seemed plausible even if we didn’t want to believe it.
But looking at her now—furious and hurt and still fucking beautiful despite the sweat and the tears she’s refusing to let fall—I can’t.
Because she’s right.
“Get on the mat, Jace,” she says quietly. “Or admit you don’t trust me enough to make this work.”
It’s the ultimatum that does it. The clear line she’s drawing between who we say we are and what we’ve actually done.
I step onto the mat.
Parker doesn’t wait for me to be ready. She comes at me hard, using techniques I recognize from our organization’s training regimen but with refinements that speak to years of continued practice. She’s not as strong as me, not as big, but she’s fast and she knows how to use my size against me.
I defend but don’t attack, trying to talk while we move. “Ryan said he’d been in contact with you. That he’d been helping you financially, checking in—”
“He lied.” She ducks under my arm, tries for a takedown I barely avoid.
“I haven’t spoken to Ryan Matthews in years.
The last time I saw him was at graduation when he asked me out and you three had him relocated for touching my arm.
I only remembered he existed because Charles reminded me on my first day with the office. You were in the fucking car!”
“Then why would he say—”
“Because he wants me!” She’s breathing hard now, frustration and anger making her movements slightly less controlled. “Because he sees me as an opportunity—alliance with the Carters, access to power.”
She gets inside my guard and I have to actually work to counter her, my respect for her skill growing with every exchange. This isn’t amateur hour. This is someone who’s put in the hours, the work, the dedication.
“We should have asked,” I admit, catching her wrist and pulling her close. “We should have trusted you.”
“Yes, you should have.” She uses the hold to get leverage, sweeping my leg.
I see it coming but I’m off-balance and we both go down, her on top this time.
“Because I have two children, Jace. Two five-year-olds who depend on me to make good decisions, to protect them, to be the adult. I don’t need three more children who can’t communicate, who spiral into doubt at the first sign of trouble, and who lie to my face about being better only to revert back to who they were that made me run in the first place. ”