15. Easton #2
“Christ, Mother, I didn’t kill anyone,” Jace said defensively. It wasn’t often that he was cornered like this, and the same childish instinct of self-righteousness flared in him after all these years.
“Couldn’t you find an honest job?” I demanded. “Be a janitor or something.”
Jace snorted. “As if being a janitor suddenly makes you honest. You should pay more attention, Easton. It’s a fucked-up world.”
“And that excuses you?” I asked in disbelief.
Jace shrugged. “I only have a limited set of skills. It was either this or worse.”
Did I want to know? I doubted it. But there was something new between us, and I couldn’t go on pretending like it didn’t matter to me what Jace was like and what he was up to. “What could be worse?”
He looked up, meeting my gaze with every bit of intensity that lived in mine.
“I happen to be very good at doing the kinds of things that require discretion. But since moving all sorts of illegal products from one side of the city to the other isn’t in my sphere of interest, I fell back to the backup plan. ”
“So you cheat at cards,” I said, still in disbelief.
He dismissed this with a shake of his head.
“Hardly. The guys I play against aren’t worth the effort.
They earn their money by settling debts and moving products.
They’re the light infantry in some big shot’s little army, and they’re all dumb as logs.
So, excuse me for taking advantage of that.
If you lived on the streets like I did, you’d build up a basic set of skills to survive.
As it stands, you probably wouldn’t last a week. ”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Jace,” I cried. “Why did I think you were capable of being better than that?”
He looked at me now, and I saw, perhaps for the first time in my life, that I had hurt him. I had put this thing we had in question because of something that was inherently part of Jace.
He stood up and nodded his understanding.
“Easton, I am what I am. I don’t pretend to be better than the lowly scum from the bottom of the barrel.
I play by my rules because that’s all that keeps me from doing worse things.
Don’t think I never look in the mirror and pretend I see something other than this.
” He pointed at his face. “I’m a freak. This pseudo-incest turns me on.
Cheating insignificant little wannabe criminals gives me a thrill.
I get high so I can fall asleep. But I know that I am a freak.
Is that something you can understand? Something you can live with? ”
And there it was: my free ticket out of this.
If I couldn’t accept him the way he was, then I wasn’t meant to have him.
We hadn’t done that much damage anyway. We had slept together once, and I spent a day dreaming up the things we could do if we had all the time in the world.
I could give it all up now. It wouldn’t cost me much.
But he had said it all so earnestly, willing to level the ground between us. He was honest, even if he was a cheat. He was devoted even if he was a mess. He was quietly dependable despite being the son of chaos and storms.
No. I didn’t want to give him up, not like this.
“It doesn’t make it any better that they are criminals,” I said, resisting the chills at the thought of making some madman with a gun put a target on Jace’s back.
Jace tilted his head. “Perhaps. But if they were innocent, it would be much worse.”
I didn’t know how that logic worked, but it did. So I took two steps toward Jace and put my hands on his shoulders, sliding them to his neck and cupping his face. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
He lifted one side of his lips into a crooked smile that took my breath away. “Believe me, I don’t want to get hurt, either.”
He was far better at surviving, it was true. I kissed him on the lips, the scent of smoke oddly attractive, the fierceness of the kiss incredibly comforting. And when I pulled back and looked into his eyes, I said, “Tell me how you did it when you were on the streets. How did you survive?”
Jace wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Boring. Play us some music, Easton.” He tossed his head toward the piano.
“I don’t want to,” I said.
“Do it. Play what you played yesterday. I liked that one.” Jace pushed me away, nudging me toward the stool.
“Beethoven,” I said.
“Yes, the big, hairy dog,” Jace agreed lightly.
It drew a contemptuous snort out of me, but I sat on the piano stool anyway. As I flicked the piano on, a shiver passed through me. “It’s not fair,” I said. “They should have let you learn, too.”
“But they let you learn,” Jace said. “So you have to play for me.”
I turned to face the piano, lowering my head all the way down and smiling to myself. “Sure. I have to obey you until you let me come.”
Jace stood behind me, his hands resting on my shoulders. “That’s one way of looking at it.”
His touch grounded me. His presence gave me strength and clarity of mind.
Had I thought of giving him up just a minute ago?
It seemed so impossible to imagine a life in which Jace hadn’t crashed back into it.
Without him, I would probably still be lying in that alley, too broken and embarrassed to crawl out into the world.
Without another word, my fingers glided across the keyboard, and I played for him.