Chapter Fourteen #3
I inhale slowly, steadying myself. “She’s fine.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Jace’s jaw flexes. He runs a hand through his hair, pacing once before turning back to me. “Kade, I’m not asking to pry. I’m asking because I care about her. She’s my friend. She’s family. If something happened, I need to know how to help.”
I look past him, toward the couch where Mara sits. She’s laughing at something Shae said, her fingers tapping lightly against the Monster can, her eyes bright. She looks alive. She looks safe. She looks like she’s finally breathing again.
And she doesn’t remember. And she doesn’t need to. And I will burn the world before I let anyone drag her back into that darkness.
I turn back to Jace. “She doesn’t remember,” I say quietly.
He freezes. “Remember what.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Kade.”
I step closer, voice dropping. “If you push her, if you ask her questions, if you try to dig, you’ll hurt her. She’s healing. She’s finally steady. Don’t take that from her.”
Jace swallows hard, eyes flicking toward the couch again. “Is she safe now.”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure.”
I nod once. “I’m sure.”
He studies me for a long moment, searching for cracks, for lies, for anything that might tell him more than I’m willing to give. He finds nothing. He won’t. I’ve buried the truth too deep.
Finally, he exhales. “Alright. I won’t push her.”
“Good.”
“But if something happens again,” he adds, voice firm, “you tell me. I don’t care what it is. I don’t care how bad. I don’t care how messy. You tell me.”
I hold his gaze. “If something happens again, you’ll know.”
He nods, tension easing from his shoulders. “Okay.”
We walk back toward the main room. Mara looks up the second she sees me, eyes brightening, smile softening. She shifts on the couch, making space for me without thinking. I sit beside her, her body leaning into mine instantly, her hand finding my thigh like it belongs there.
Jace watches us for a moment, something warm and protective flickering in his eyes.
He won’t ask again. He won’t dig. He won’t break her.
And I won’t let anyone else try.
Mara
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I notice it the second they step away. The shift.
The quiet. The way Kade’s shoulders tense just slightly as Jace leads him down the hall.
They’re whispering. Not loudly. Not angrily.
But urgently. And I feel it in my chest, a small tightening, a pull, like a thread being tugged somewhere deep inside me.
Shae is still talking beside me, rambling about ink viscosity and a client who cried because she thought her tattoo looked “too emotional,” but her voice fades into the background. My eyes stay locked on the hallway where Kade and Jace disappeared.
Something’s wrong. Or maybe something already was. Or maybe I’m imagining it. But I don’t think I am.
I take a sip of my Monster, the familiar taste grounding me for a moment. Shae nudges my shoulder, trying to get my attention, but my gaze keeps drifting back to the hallway.
Kade returns first.
He walks toward me with that steady, controlled stride he uses when he’s trying to hide something. His jaw is tight. His eyes softer than they should be. He sits beside me, close enough that our legs touch, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him through my clothes.
I lean into him automatically, but my eyes stay on his face.
“What was that about,” I ask quietly.
He doesn’t answer right away. He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, gentle, careful, like he’s trying to distract me. “Nothing important.”
I stare at him. “You’re lying.”
His breath catches, just slightly. He doesn’t deny it. He just looks at me with that expression he gets when he’s trying to protect me from something I don’t remember. Something I’m not supposed to remember.
Jace walks back into the room, pretending nothing happened, but he won’t look at me. He sits down beside Shae, grabs a sketchbook, flips through it without seeing a single page.
I feel the shift in the room. I feel the tension. I feel the silence beneath the noise.
I turn back to Kade, my voice softer. “You don’t have to tell me. But don’t pretend I didn’t see it.”
His eyes meet mine, dark and steady. “I’m not pretending.”
“You’re hiding something.”
He exhales slowly, his hand sliding to my thigh, thumb brushing slow circles, grounding me. “I’m keeping you safe.”
The words hit me harder than they should. I swallow, my chest tightening. “From what.”
He shakes his head. “Not now.”
I want to push. I want to demand answers. I want to know why Jace looked at me like he was carrying something heavy. But Kade’s hand is warm on my thigh, his eyes soft, his voice steady, and something inside me unclenches.
I lean into him, resting my head against his shoulder. “Okay,” I whisper. “Not now.”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, slow and lingering. “Thank you.”
Shae looks over at us, eyebrows raised. “You two good.”
I nod. “Yeah. Just tired.”
Kade’s arm tightens around me, protective, possessive, steady.
I lean into him, letting the warmth of his side settle me, and then the door swings open.
The sound is nothing, just wood and hinges, but my body freezes on instinct.
My breath catches. My muscles lock. It feels like the shadows have come back for me, crawling up my spine, reaching for my throat. Terror climbs fast, sharp, choking.
Kade’s arm tightens around me. “You’re okay,” he whispers against my ear, voice low, steady. “It’s just dinner.”
I force myself to breathe. The delivery driver steps into view, a paper bag in hand, and the fear loosens its grip. My shoulders drop. My lungs unlock. I swallow hard, embarrassed by how fast the panic hit me.
Jace hands over the cash, muttering something about exact change, then pads back toward us, inspecting the bag like it’s a sacred artifact. He places it down, churros clutched in his hand like he’s guarding treasure.
“Mine,” he warns, eyes narrowing at everyone.
“Not even one?” I tilt my head at him, widening my eyes just slightly.
He melts. Actually melts. His whole posture softens, his shoulders slump, and he shuffles closer, holding the bag out like an offering. “I swear, you and those puppy eyes are my kryptonite.”
I grin up at him, leaning against his side. “Thank you,” I chirp, taking one from the bag. I pop the sugary treat into my mouth, groaning softly as the sweetness hits my tongue. “So good.”
I dig through the bag until I find fries, warm and salty, exactly what I’ve been craving.
I munch quietly, the familiar rhythm of eating and drawing settling me.
The gaggle of conversation flows around me, Shae’s dramatic storytelling, Jace’s sarcastic commentary, Kade’s quiet presence beside me.
It all blends together, lulling me into something soft, something steady, something safe.
I pull my iPad closer, sketching lines, refining shapes, letting the world fade into background noise.
The wolf and bunny design sits beside me, but I start a new one, something abstract, something gentle.
My hand moves without thinking, tracing curves and shadows, letting the pencil glide across the screen.
Kade’s thigh presses against mine, warm and grounding.
Every few minutes he glances at my screen, not saying anything, just watching, just being there.
Shae laughs loudly at something Jace says, smacking his arm.
He yelps. She smacks him again. I smile, chewing fries, letting their chaos wash over me.
I keep sketching, lines flowing across the screen, but the edges of everything start to blur. My hand slows. My eyes feel heavy. The Monster helps for a moment, but even the sugar rush can’t fight the exhaustion creeping up my spine.
It hits me quietly.
Soft. Slow.
Like a wave rolling in.
My fingers loosen around the stylus. My head dips forward for a second before I catch myself. I blink hard, trying to focus on the design, but the lines start swimming. The voices around me fade into a gentle hum, comforting but distant.
Kade notices immediately.
His hand slides from my thigh to my lower back, warm and steady. “Bunny,” he murmurs, voice low enough that only I hear it. “You’re tired.”
I want to deny it. I want to pretend I’m fine, pretend I can stay here forever, wrapped in the noise and warmth of the studio. But my body betrays me. My shoulders slump. My eyelids flutter. My breath slows.
“I’m okay,” I whisper, though it sounds more like a sigh.
He shifts closer, his arm curling around me, pulling me gently into his side. “You’re exhausted.”
I lean into him without thinking, my head resting against his shoulder. The smell of him, the warmth, the steadiness, it all pulls me deeper into the haze. My fingers slip from the stylus completely, falling into my lap.
Shae notices next. Her voice softens. “Hey, you alright?”
I nod, but it’s slow, heavy. “Just tired.”
Jace stops mid bite of his churro, eyebrows lifting. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”