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Anger and hurt flared in me again. But so did hope. Maybe he'd changed his mind. Why was he texting me? Could I forgive him? I just didn’t know. The small hope his text had ignited was delicate. I didn’t think it would survive any more misunderstandings. I needed to be alone, to regroup.
Me: I don't think I can take any more today, Jace.
Jace: I owe you an apology. Let me make it in person.
I sighed and rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. My heart was already rushing down the stairs, flying toward him. But my rational mind was blaring out warnings about trusting men who had already hurt me.
Me: Okay.
I would go. I would let him apologize.
Because even though I was angry and hurt, there was something else.
I was in love.
The house was quiet except for the occasional scratch of Chessy's feet on the planks of the back porch outside, where I guessed Jack must have been on watch. And Gran's sporadic cries as she battled whatever enemies she faced in that game she loved. I was pretty sure she was too old to be behaving the way she did, but then again, I wasn't one to tell people how to manage life.
I was failing at it.
Jace's door was cracked, and my heart rose into my throat as I stood outside. I felt fragile and knew I couldn’t take much more. I wanted to fall into his arms, to feel the heat and comfort of him, but I couldn’t survive him taking it all away again. I took a deep breath and pushed the door lightly, calling quietly inside, "Hey. It's me."
When I entered, he was in the center of the room, barefoot and painfully handsome, his eyes locked on me. "Hey," he said, not moving from the spot where he stood glued.
I shut the door and waited uncertainly just inside. "You wanted to talk to me?" I wrung my hands together, completely uncomfortable in his presence suddenly, unsure what to do with myself. I wished I could be the woman I’d been earlier, the one who’d refused to hear his excuses, the one who’d taken him in her mouth because she was commanding and in charge. Was this what it would be like with us now? Maybe whatever had been here was already broken.
"Juliet," his voice was part plea, part prayer, and my chest constricted with his tone. I stayed where I was and waited. He sighed and dropped his head into his hands for a moment, looking so much like a tortured god, standing there with the overhead light catching strands of his ebony hair, making his light skin glow.
"I'm so sorry," he said after a minute, looking back up at me. He reached both hands forward, and stepped toward me slowly, stretching out to me. My hands lifted from my sides, reaching for him. When our fingers brushed, my skin lit up, goosebumps flying up my arms in a chain reaction started by his touch.
He held my hands gently, gazing down at me with the dark soulful eyes I knew I'd imagine every single time I needed to portray a woman in love. "The things I said earlier," Jace said, his voice a husky whisper. "I didn't mean them. I was an idiot. My ego was hurt. I thought I should be able to take care of everything myself—you, my family. It was hard to accept that there are some things I just can't handle alone."
I dropped his gaze, stared at our hands intertwined. "And you can accept that now?"
"I'm working on it," he said. "I think money is hard for people who grew up without it, who don't have it."
I didn't want to talk about money, but I knew it was critical to him, that it was at the crux of this issue. I made myself look up at him again, wanting him to know I was willing to listen.
"But maybe money is just like sexual lubricant."
I dropped his hands. "What?" Was this some kind of weird foreplay? We had a lot to figure out before I could get into a conversation about sex. And lube.
"Shit. No. I mean ..." He took my hands in his again.
Confusion must have been written across my face, and a little laugh escaped me. "Why are you talking about sexual lubricant?"
Jace's perfect mouth lifted on one side in a doleful half-smile. "Someone else used that analogy once. Someone much smarter than me."
I still had no idea where he was going with that. "Okay."
"What I'm trying to say is that the money isn't the key thing here. It just allows us to focus on the important stuff, keeps us from having to worry about other things."
"Right," I agreed, still confused about the sexual lubricant thing.
"And I also need to say thank you."
I cringed. I didn’t want his thanks. I wished we could just take all of it—the money, his family—and hide it somewhere far away. I didn't want him grateful or indebted. I only wanted him. "You don't have to."
"I do. My family is better off for me having met you. I'm better off."
