Chapter 62
"DID IT NOT GO WELL?"
I picked him up at the doors of the hospital's admissions bay, his stride to the car a determined – almost angry – march.
Jace buckles himself in, fumbling with the clasp of the seatbelt, his eyebrows pinched in concentration; the kind where a person is vexed and wishes to be anywhere else but not talking about what's upset them.
"It's nothing," he replies, turning on the radio, fiddling the dial until he finds a station worth listening to.
Rock music. He's definitely angry. And I want to know what happened and all what Harper said to my mate.
There are no cars behind us, so I lean back into the seat, fingers resting on the steering wheel as I watch him closely.
"Baby?"
"Can we just go? The others are probably at Ashton's."
"Did Harper say something?"
He rolls his eyes with a scoff. "He said a lot of stuff," he grits out. "A lot of bullshit."
"Do you want to talk about it? It might make you feel better."
Jace lets out a steadying, calming breath. He smiles; the soft kind that reaches his eyes, that makes his gaze brighten with the spark of affection he holds for me. The kind of smile that dismantles any argument or opposition I might have.
"I love you," he confesses and I know it's code for "I see what you're doing, and I appreciate you for it."
"But now's not the time, right?" I finish for him, and he nods.
"He just said some weird, out-of-pocket crap. I think he's still shaken up about last night."
I raise an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. "Weird, how?"
Jace runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up a little, giving him a touch of unkemptness that suits him more than it has any right to. I reach for him, touching his hair, curling my fingers around the stubborn strands that stray across his forehead.
"Just some weird shit. Like how you and your friends are monsters. He meant it literally."
My fingers halt in their explorations.
"Monsters?"
Does Harper know about us? About werewolves?
He shrugs, reaching up to clasp my hand between his, brushing off the accusation like it means nothing. I'm almost grateful that he's nonchalant about it because for my life, I cannot imagine a single scenario where revealing the truth ends favorably.
I haven't figured out how to broach that subject.
"Like I said, he's still shaken up. I think you scared him a lot when you speared him through the fence. And how he got injured, too. I think he's afraid of you."
"I didn't mean for that to happen." Truly, it wasn't my intent. I didn't plan on injuring him either. Which makes me feel even worse when I think about, and though I've never cared about Brent Harper before, it's unsettling that he's now terrified of me because he thinks I'm a monster.
And yeah, at the rate I'm spiraling, grasping at straws, hoping to remain in control, I might just become that monster.
"Don't dwell on it," Jace chirps, suddenly brighter and more relaxed. His smile returns, eyes considerably softer and my defenses completely shatter. "Let's go. Ashton's already messaged asking where we are," he continues, even as I grip his chin and pull him closer.
He comes willingly, melting into the kiss. It's quick but soft, managing to capture just how much I adore him. When we separate, he blinks up at me.
"What was that for?"
I shrug. "Because I wanted to."
AFTER-PARTY CLEAN UP IS a workout. That much is evident when I park near the curb adjacent to the Meyer's place, taking in the amount of litter strewn about the front lawn.
There are cups and bottles scattered around. I'm pretty sure that's someone's underwear hanging off the lower branches of a flowering tree. The porch is decorated with toilet paper that flutters in the light morning breeze.
"Wow," Jace muses quietly as we get out, surveying the extent of clean up that needs to be done. Thankfully, that's not our job.
A few boys from the basketball team work the front lawn, gloves on their hands, each carrying black plastic garbage bags they fill up with trash.
On the side of the road, Carter's polished-black Chevy Silverado is parked in front of Dale's GLS SUV. They're nowhere in sight so they must be in the Meyers' backyard examining the true extent of the fence's damage and coming up with a plan to begin repairs.
Jace acknowledges his former teammates as we head inside where more of them are busy, hard at work, rearranging furniture into their original spots, discarding litter in garbage bags. Some are sweeping the floors, others are busy wiping down counters and mopping other rooms.
"Ah, you're here!"
Ashton Meyers sweeps into the living room, drinking from a bottle of water and wiping sweat off his brow. He's been working hard too. His face is reddened from being in the summer sun, sweat dripping down the side of his face and neck, sweat spots gathered on the neckline of his tank top.
"Been working long?" I ask as Jace raises a fist for a greeting. Ashton returns the gesture, bumping fists with my mate.
"Nope. Outside is hot and I'm frying. Your friends are already here," he replies, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the back door leading out to the backyard.
"Noted." I leave Jace behind to catch up with Ashton. They hardly had a chance to talk at last night's party since the host was busy fluttering from yard to ground floor to upstairs and back again.
Out in the backyard, more boys from the basketball team are cleaning up litter from the pool and bits and pieces strewn across the lawn.
On the far side where the wooden fence comes up behind the patio, the guys are huddled with planks of wood and tools.
Pails of paint and varnish are stacked under the patio next to a cooler filled with cold drinks.
Carter lounges under with a bottle of water dangling between his fingers, an arm resting over his eyes.
Asher is crouched on the lawn, sorting through inventory – nails and hammers, and sheets of heavy-duty sanding paper. Laken is also here, helping to stabilize planks of wood while Dale saws each according to the required lengths.
"Carter's out of commission?" I ask, walking up to the three of them. Dale nods in acknowledgment of my arrival. Asher pauses his inventory. Laken sends a wave; I wave back.
"Unfortunately," Laken replies. "Still hungover."
I whistle lowly, glancing at the patio. Carter's changed position now, star-fished across one of the wooden benches. "How much did he take last night?"
"I'm thinking he slipped some while I wasn't watching," Ash chimes in, referring to the prescribed wolfsbane that Carter usually carries around and which is never far from his reach. Asher shakes his head. "Beginning to think that prescription is doing more harm than good."
"I wouldn't blame the aconite," Laken pipes up, holding the plank of board firmer, applying more of his weight when it shifts slightly.
"You wouldn't?" Dale queries, casting a curious glance at his mate. He continues sawing until the excess bit is cut clean.
"I wouldn't," Laken affirms with a shake of his head, and a smile on his face because he's happy to be included in our banter and conversations. "It's only a coping mechanism. Maybe not a great one, but what other options does he have?"
"A very clear-cut one," mutters Ash. He gets to his feet having completed taking stock of our inventory. "He knows what to do," he continues. "I can't imagine loving someone so much that I stay regardless of how shitty they make me feel. At the risk of destroying myself."
"I hear you!" comes Carter's bellow, carrying across the backyard. He props his head up to glare at us from the short distance.
Of course, he's eavesdropping.
But other than to reprimand us for talking about him, he's unable to say much else. He groans and plops back down.
"Am I wrong?" Asher throws back. He gets a middle finger in response. "Want to lose that finger, Hayes?"
"That's bullying, Stone," Carter shouts back.
"That's what we're calling it now," Ash mutters with a roll of his eyes. He shrugs off Carter's impertinence and we get to work, splitting up tasks between the four of us.
Carter remains under the patio recuperating from his hangover. At some point, Jace comes outside, splitting himself between chatting with Carter, and trying to help us out with repairing the fence.
His attempts are futile when I chase him off and tell him not to exert himself because what if he falls sick again?
Eventually figuring out that he's not getting near the fence, he joins his former teammates, helping them with the house.
The hours pass quickly between ripping down damaged wood panels, measuring and cutting new pieces, and prepping each length that needs to be nailed in.
Ashton Meyers and his sister, Lauren, sponsor pizzas for lunch. It's the only time the four of us take a prolonged break. Once we finish our lunches, we get right back to work. It doesn't take much longer to paint and varnish the newly renovated section of the fence.
Though I'm certain Meyers' parents would be able to tell that part of the fence is new – if they look closely – I don't think he'll get in trouble for it because it's not like he paid for the repairs. That came out of our pockets, the materials and all else.
It's getting late into the afternoon when we're wrapping up repairs; the sun dipping lower in the sky and it's not so hot anymore. Carter's finally able to move around, still a little woozy but steadier as he helps Ash lug the materials we didn't use and the tools back to his Silverado.
"How many hours was that?" Ashton Meyers asks when we head back inside.
The house is quieter now; most of the boys from the basketball team who were here earlier have left. Only three remain, occupying the long couch in the living room while playing video games on the TV.
"About five hours, I think," Jace supplies, checking the time on his phone.
Ashton Meyers has changed out of his clothes from earlier, looking freshly showered going by his still damp hair. He's sitting on the island counter in the kitchen with an open can of soft drink, munching on a bag of potato chips.
"You guys work fast," he comments.
Jace slips past me and plucks the bag of chips from his friend's hand, dunking in and pulling out a handful. He gives the bag back and Meyers peers inside, gauging what is left. Meyers shoots my mate a disapproving side-eye and gets a sheepish grin in return.
"That's nothing," Dale assures. He's walked into the kitchen from the back door with Laken trailing behind him. He has Dale's phone clutched in his hands and he's busy scrolling through it. "It's easy work," Dale continues.
"Well, thanks for repairing my fence," Ashton replies; an easy, grateful smile. "'Preciate it. You saved me having to explain that massive hole."
At this, he shoots me a disapproving glare. I shrug. "Word of advice, vet your guests better."
"Then that means you're not invited to my next party," he retorts with a snort, stuffing more chips into his mouth. "If I don't get grounded until the end of time first."
"Seriously?" Jace defends. "Then what about Blake? What about Brent, and Katy? Blake started it. Katy filmed it. And Brent got involved."
Meyers rolls his eyes. "Fine. I'll bar them from my future parties."
"And you're better for it, too," I follow with.
Dale and Laken head toward the front door.
Carter and Asher are already outside. I linger behind, idly scrolling through social media while waiting for Jace to finish his departing conversation with his friend.
During that time, a mass text message comes in from Alpha Isaiah's number and at a quick glance at its context, I know my friends have received the same information.
The message is short and concise. It's a command:
It's some minutes before Jace finally moves, repeating for the fifth time within five or so minutes that he should get going.
"The two of you talk like you're not going to see each other again," I remark when he joins me. We step onto the front porch and down the concrete strip leading to the curb.
Jace gives me a smile. It's one I can tell he doesn't feel. It doesn't reach his eyes and make them sparkle like they do when it's a genuine one.
"Everything okay?" I prod, playfully bumping my shoulder into his. He hums quietly and nods his head.
I feel it through the bond. He's hiding something.
I assume it's the same thing he's been keeping secret since that night on the beach; something about his illness that he's refusing to share.
I can't pressure him for it, though. I haven't been as transparent either but, hopefully, in due time, when we get to that crossroads, we're able to come clean.
"It's nothing," he says, opening the passenger's side of the SUV and slipping inside. He gives me one more smile and pulls the door shut, ending the conversation prematurely before it turns into something he's not ready to face.
What am I going to do with you?
"Baby," I call, peering at him through the open window. Jace glances at me. "Whatever it is that's got you this way, you can tell me."
His smile is soft. "I know."
The engine of Dale's GLS rumbles to life.
As I walk around to the driver's side of my SUV, he strolls to a stop beside me.
The window is down on the passenger's side.
Laken is fiddling with the radio dial trying to find something to listen to.
He pays no mind to the conversation between Dale and me, slouching deeper into the seat when his mate leans across, pops open the glove compartment, rifles through it and comes back with a sleek, rectangular device with a yellow rubber phone case.
I recognize it from the night before in the hands of a particular, infuriating girl.
"You got Katy's backup phone?" A sinister smile, no matter how small, curls the corners of my mouth as I reach to take it from Dale's outstretched hand.
"Thought you might want to hold onto it just in case."
My smile widens, reflecting upon Jace's visit to the hospital this morning and the envelope I'd given him to hand over to Harper. At some point, I reckon Katy will get that phone returned to her, the one I took last Friday in the school's parking lot.
What condition it will be in and the state of mind of the person returning it – that's something I should like to see.
Harper won't be too happy when he sees the gold mine of material I found. He sure as hell will feel miserable for defending Blake as he did last night against Jace.
They can mess with me all they like. The second they target Jace, all bets are off and it's no more Mr. Nice Guy.