Chapter 33 JACE
JACE
Tonight I tell him.
And I have walked into rooms with worse odds than this.
Wren’s in the passenger seat in a sundress that ties at the shoulders. Hair down. Lip color her mother will immediately notice. Fancier than her usual Sunday — none of us knew until this morning her brother was coming home.
That is how these things work in his unit. He found out his orders were dropping yesterday. Susan called us at six. Wren was crying before she got the words out.
The Manhattan Bridge is behind us. The sun is still high over Brooklyn and the air conditioning is working hard against the July heat coming through the windshield. I take the exit onto Tillary.
“Jace.”
“Are we telling him tonight?”
I reach across the center console and put my hand on her thigh.
“Yeah, baby. We’re telling him.”
“Okay.”
I glance at her.
“You okay with that?”
“Yeah. I just—I want to be ready.”
“You don’t have to do anything, Wren. I’m handling this.”
She turns to look at me.
“Tell me how.”
“I’m not going to hit him with it the second he opens the door. I’ll pull him aside after dinner. Just him and me, somewhere quiet. I’ll tell him man to man.”
“Just you and him.”
“Just me and him.”
She’s quiet for a second.
“He’s going to be okay with this, right?”
I exhale.
“Wren. You were the one thing he ever asked of me. The one rule in fifteen years.”
“I know.”
“He told me when he enlisted that if anything happened to him, I had two jobs. Look out for his parents. Stay the hell away from his sister.”
The light at Court turns red and I bring the car to a stop.
Her hand finds mine on her thigh and stays there.
“Is it going to be okay?”
“I’m going to make it okay.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“I know, baby. I know it’s not.”
The light turns green. Her hand stays on top of mine.
“Jace.”
I keep my eyes on the road.
“He loves you.”
“I know.”
“He’s going to be hurt before he is anything else. But he loves you. He has loved you since you were nineteen years old.”
She looks out the passenger window.
“I just—I need you to know that when he yells. Whatever he says when he yells. He loves you.”
For a second neither of us says anything.
Then I squeeze her hand once.
The brownstones rise up on either side of us.
I have been driving down this street since I was nineteen years old.
I know which steps are crooked. I know which house belongs to the lady with the cane who used to wave at us through the window when Daws and I came home on leave.
I know which corner of the block the basketball hoop used to live on before Tom finally took it down.
Susan and Tom’s place is on the right side, halfway down. Red brick. Black wrought-iron railing on the stoop. A planter on the third step Susan has been overfilling with flowers since Wren was in elementary school.
I find a spot at the curb across from the house and park.
Two kids on bikes go past the front of the car. Through the front window I can see the warm yellow of the kitchen at the back of the house, and a shape moving across it that is either Tom or Daws, and Tom’s old Subaru parked at the corner where it has been parked my entire adult life.
We don’t move.
Wren takes a breath. Looks at me.
“Okay. What’s the plan when we walk in?”
“I drove you because of Tyler. Daws will assume that. Your parents won’t think twice about the one car.”
“Okay.”
“We act normal.”
“Normal.”
“Normal-normal. Like before.”
I look at her sitting next to me and I don’t know how I am going to pull that off.
“I have to keep my distance, Wren. If I don’t, Daws is gonna peg it the second we walk in.”
“Okay.”
She turns in her seat.
“Look at me.”
I look at her.
Hazel eyes. Strawberry-gold strands spilled over the cream sundress.
Beautiful. Mine .
She finds my hand on the gear shift and squeezes.
“Whatever happens in there. We come out of this together, Jace.”
Her grip tightens.
“Say it back.”
“We come out together.”
“Good.”
She holds my hand for one more second. Then she lets go, undoes her seat belt, and gets out of the car.
I sit alone for two seconds. Then I get out and follow her up the stairs.
Susan opens the door before I get to the top step.
She is in capris and a thin cotton blouse with an apron tied over the top. She’s laughing and she pulls Wren into a hug right there on the threshold.
“Hi, honey. Get in here.”
“Hi, Mom.”
Susan lets her go and pulls me in next, both arms.
“Jace Carrington. Look at you. Still breaking hearts, I see.”
“Hi, Susan.”
“It’s been too long. You don’t get to disappear on me, you hear me?”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Get in here. Daws is just inside. Have a drink with us.”
Wren disappears through the door. On her way past she stops to hug Tom and kisses his cheek. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hi, sweetheart.” He squeezes her shoulder.
Then he turns to me.
Tom is in the foyer in a short-sleeve button-up with a beer in one hand. He puts the beer down and pulls me into a one-armed hug.
“Good to see you, son.”
“Hi, Tom.”
“You two ride in together?”
“Swung by her place on my way over.”
“Good of you. Beer’s in the fridge. Help yourself.”
“Thanks.”
I walk past him into the kitchen.
Daws is leaning against the counter by the back door with an open beer in his hand. Leaner than he was eight months ago, tan from somewhere I don’t want to think about, hair shorter than the last time I saw him.
Wren stops in the doorway and just looks at him.
Then she goes.
She crosses the kitchen and he sets his beer down and pulls her into him, hard. She is crying into his shoulder. He has his eyes closed. His hand is on the back of her head. He says something into her hair I can’t hear.
I stand in the doorway and don’t move.
This is what eight months looks like.
When he finally pulls back she’s still hanging onto his shirt. He keeps one arm around her and looks across the kitchen at me.
“Brother.”
“Daws.”
I cross the kitchen and put my hand out. He takes it and pulls me into a one-armed hug, his other arm still around Wren.
“Good to see you, Carrington.”
“Welcome home.”
He pulls back. Hand on my shoulder.
“Beer.”
“Yeah.”
He pulls one out of the fridge and hands it to me, then steers Wren back across the kitchen, asking her about the shop, about Sasha, about what she’s been up to.
Susan is at the stove. Tom is at the counter pouring wine into glasses for the table.
The kitchen is warm and loud and full of the people I love.
I take a long pull of my beer.
I’m going to tell him in an hour.
* * *
After dinner Wren pushes back from the table to clear plates.
“Sit down, honey,” Susan says. “I have it.”
“Mom, you have been on your feet for three hours. Park it. I’ve got this.”
Wren stands and starts stacking plates. I get up and grab the serving dishes and follow her through the doorway into the kitchen.
I cross to her and set the plates down on the counter beside her.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
She’s staring out the window over the sink, shoulders tight.
“You okay?”
She lets out a breath. “Tonight’s a lot.”
“I know.”
She turns and looks up at me.
I should step back.
I don’t.
For a second we just stand there in the kitchen with the noise from the dining room drifting through the doorway behind me. Her family talking. Glasses clinking. Normal.
She moves first. Steps into me and slides her arms around my waist like it’s instinct, like this is where she goes after a long evening.
My hand settles at the back of her neck before I think about it.
She presses her face into my chest and I breathe her in.
“Jace.”
I tip my head toward hers. Too close.
My thumb brushes under her jaw. Her mouth parts. Her eyes lift to mine.
“You should go back before your mom sends out a search party.”
“I needed you for a second.”
Jesus .
I almost kiss her. Actually almost do.
In the middle of her parents’ kitchen like I forgot where we are.
The door swings open.
Wren jerks against me.
Daws stops in the doorway holding two empty wine glasses.
He goes still.
I feel the exact second he sees it.
Not just her in my arms. My hand on her neck. The way she’s looking up at me. The fact neither of us moved apart fast enough.
His face barely changes.
That’s what makes it worse.
He sets the wine glasses on the counter.
Hard.
“Wren.”
Her arms slip from around my waist.
“Daws—”
“Outside.”
I let her go.
The room feels too bright.
Wren looks between us.
I should say something.
I step back instead.
Hurt flashes across her face.
First mistake.
Daws catches it. So do I.
“Wren,” Daws says, quieter. “Give me a minute with him.”
She looks at me.
I don’t know if she wants me to stop this or fight for her right here.
For the first time since this started, I hesitate.
Second mistake.
She walks past her brother without another word.
* * *
Out back it’s warm, the light going. Tom’s grill cooling on the far side. Daws stops at the rail with his back to me.
Daws shuts the kitchen door behind him and turns toward me.
He stares at me for a long second like he’s waiting for me to laugh. Say it’s a misunderstanding. Say it’s nothing serious.
I don’t.
His jaw tightens.
“Tell me this is some stupid hookup that got out of hand.”
There it is. The opening. The easier answer.
I could take it.
“I’m in love with her, Daws.”
He flinches.
Small. But real.
“Jesus Christ, Jace.”
He drags a hand over his face.
“Are you going to tell me you didn’t manipulate her into this?”
“I didn’t.”
“You watched her grow up.”
“I know.”
“You’re eleven years older than her.”
“I know.”
“The one thing—” He turns away from me. Comes back. “The one fucking thing I asked you, in fifteen years, was not her.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying I know.”
“Daws.”
He looks at the yard for a second.
When he turns back to me his eyes are wet.
“Do you honestly think you’re good for her?”
The question lands somewhere deep.
I don’t answer.
“You spend half your life carrying ghosts around, Jace.”
“Daws—”
“No.”
His jaw flexes.