Young Love

by Alyson Santos

  Adorable, sure, when they’re six. At twenty-three? I cast another not-so-discreet glance at Jace in his fitted black polo to go with the black pants and knotted belt around his waist. Summer uniform, he’d explained to me. Jace gets to wear black because of his rank Aiden had added with a mix of respect and jealousy. “Adorable” isn’t the word my hormones would choose to describe my boyfriend at the moment.

  Calm down. There are children present.

  “We’ll be on that mat if you want to find a spot over there,” Jace says to me when he finally gets a break from greeting students and instructors. Another student calls for his attention. And another. He smiles and acknowledges both. They all call him Sempai with enthusiasm that tells me I might not be his biggest fan after all.

  “So do you teach or train?” I ask, uncertain about this strange, loud, and fascinating world. So much coordinated yelling coming from the mats.

  “Both. I’ll help with Aiden’s class first, then take my own. You sure you’re okay waiting that long?”

  A little bit in awe, I only manage a nod. He squeezes my arm. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Me too.” And I’m serious as I find a seat and watch my boys take the mat.

  Twenty: the number of jumping jacks they do to warm up.

  Fourteen: the number of students lined in perfect rows facing the instructors.

  Two: the men who command the room with calm respect.

  Jace leads the students through a series of punches, kicks, and blocks, barking out a word which they echo with each repetition. Counting? Probably, because the same ten words label each series of movements. Counting in other languages is a hobby of mine, and I make a note to ask Jace for a private lesson later.

  After warmups, the instructor demonstrates some kind of self-defense move on Jace who falls to the mat with a hard flip. I wince, but he hops up like nothing happened. They repeat it, adding even more complexity to the series of movements. As I watch the way he seems to control every reaction, thoughts of our conversation about Louis come flooding back. It’s about perception. Power. I need him to think he has the upper hand. And here it is, right in front of me. Jace’s entire body is a weapon not just because he can land a hit or a kick. He’s a puppeteer, knowing how to fall, defend, take a punch, and play his opponent into whatever illusion he wants.

  After the demonstration, the kids are turned loose on each other in pairs. Jace and the instructor wander around, observing, correcting, and assisting in accordance with what they see. Just when I’m starting to get comfortable with the structure of the class, the students line up again, clap for the few kids the instructor calls up for recognition, bow, and dismiss.

  Aiden finds me in the chairs and drops beside me.

  “Whew,” he says, letting out a puff of air. “I got my blue stripe.” He holds up the end of his belt, and I hope I show the appropriate level of appreciation for whatever that means.

  “Can I have my tablet?”

  I nod and pull his device from my purse.

  With Aiden immersed in Electronic-Land, I’m free to focus back on the action. The mat has filled again, this time with older students in black polos. Jace is lined up among them with a different instructor at the head. The age range of these students is much more diverse and includes everyone from children who could be as young as Aiden to adults older than I am. But there they stand, united by the same uniform and air of disciplined confidence.

  Forty: the number of jumping jacks these students do to warm up.

  Ten: the number of pushups a late arrival is ordered to perform before he can join the class.

  Twenty-eight: the number of seconds I hold my breath while I watch the man who makes my heart pound do things I didn’t even know were possible.

  Jace is a good sport on the ride back to his house, answering my questions and releasing amused smiles at my enthusiasm. I was right about the counting and now have another ten numbers to add to my vocabulary. Ichi, ni, san, shi…

  “Is it as fun as it looks?” I ask.

  He glances over, eyes bright. “Definitely. It’s also brutal and a ton of work. You should try it.”

  “Stop,” I say. “Not again. You know I can’t.”

  “I know I hate the word can’t.”

  “I’m way too old to start.”

  “Yeah? Tell that to Patrick, Jane, and Sandy.”

  “Who?”

  “Three of our adult students who are much older than you.”

  “Much older?”

  “You want me to demand their ID at the next class?”

  Okay, I earned that.

  “I just…” Want to. There. I do, but it’s not that simple.

  I’m saved from more debate when Jace pulls to a stop in front of an impressive junior mansion.

  “We’re here,” he says, all humor gone.

  Aiden rushes out and is halfway up the walk with his karate bag before I’ve even registered the façade of this castle.

  “Wow. This is your house?” Maybe Jace really is staying for the pool like Aiden thinks.

  “Told you Louis came with money. Hey, before we go in, just a quick word about my mom. She can be a little—difficult. She can also be overly friendly, sometimes both at once. Just, don’t take anything she says or does personally, okay?”

  I study his face, the beautiful eyes that beg me to understand without asking the litany of follow-up questions in my head.

  “Are you worried about telling them?” I ask instead.

  “A little, but it’s better that they hear it from us first. Besides in another few days you won’t even be a client anymore.”

  I nod and continue staring at the massive house. He has a way of making the impossible sound certain. I picture him on the mat, somehow looking both rigid and relaxed. A cobra ready to strike even though he’d prefer not to.

  “You ready to do this?” he asks, taking my hand.

  I squeeze back. “Are you?”

  His quick smile doesn’t answer my question, and it’s not until the brutal grip on my hand during the walk to the house that I have a better answer. Courage isn’t the absence of fear. I’ve never understood that so clearly.

  He lets go when we reach the door and leads us in.

  “Mom? You home?”

  No answer.

  “Let’s check out back. Come on.”

  I follow him through a maze of rooms and hallways. How many stairways does one house need? A whole corridor seems to exist only to display artwork. Still, I manage to keep my cool until we reach the kitchen.

  “Holy…” My eyes struggle to take in the showroom of appliances and lavish upgrades.

  “Yeah. Louis built my mom’s dream kitchen. Maybe one day she’ll actually try to cook.” He squints through the wall of glass at the far end of the room, and my jaw drops.

  “That’s the pool?” I whisper.

  Jace laughs and waves me to the door. “Looks like they’re out back.”

  The pool is what any other person would call a luxury resort. Tropical landscaping disguises a large kidney-shaped oasis that appears to be cut out of the surrounding rock. Several waterfalls rush over faux cliffs and plunge into the water. A couple of them collect in smaller pools, probably hot tubs. Or springs? What do you call fake rainforest features? In addition to the breathtaking pool, a second outdoor version of the immaculate kitchen rests under a giant cabana, complete with a full-sized bar and cocktail tables. The backyard space is so sprawling, I don’t even see the gorgeous woman lounging on a chaise by the water until Jace calls for her attention.

  Model.

  Movie star.

  Mannequin.

  Jace’s mother.

  A sudden brush of sadness slips through me. There’s an emptiness to her face. Beautiful and vacant, she’s an exquisite statue that lacks the warmth in the same version of her son. Her gaze flickers at his presence the same way a person is happy to see a server when they’re ready for the check. The man in the chair next to her turn
s my stomach flutter into a deep clench.

  “Mom, this is Sienna. Sienna, this is my mother, Candice.”

  The woman lowers her cocktail to the table at the same time Louis straightens in his chair.

  “Ms. Porter?” he asks, displeased.

  “Hello,” I say, swallowing.

  “You know her?” Candice asks her husband.

  “She’s the Victorian on Pineview.”

  “Oh, you’re a client?”

  I nod.

  “Do you take karate with the boys? Such a coincidence.” She smiles, every tooth perfect and white against the sheen of deep red lipstick. My own mother would love her. “Nice of you to stop by. Enjoy the pool.”

  She’s already dismissed us when Jace steps forward.

  “No, Mom. Sienna is here because I wanted to introduce her to you.” His chest rises and falls, eyes scanning the situation. And that’s when I notice the clench of his fist, the set of his stance.

  Wait… no!

  Jace knew we’d never be accepted. He didn’t bring me here for an introduction, but for a confrontation so he can start managing the fallout, didn’t he? And suddenly I’m angry. At them, at him. At myself for not considering everything I know about him and his situation.

  Dammit, Jace! Why can’t you hide, just this once?

  “We’ve started seeing each other.”

  Louis’ jaw tightens as a shadow falls over his face. Jace doesn’t flinch. He reaches for my hand, and I struggle not to slink behind him.

  “I’m sorry, what?” There’s something calculated in the way Louis rises to his feet, a measured response that sends a shiver down my spine. I would’ve preferred a furious outburst or violent curse. This cold anticipation is terrifying.

  “We’re keeping it professional during work hours. It won’t impact the project,” Jace says. He takes a step closer, and this time there’s no doubt. He’s tucking me behind him.

  Stop! I see him on the floor in my guest room. Eye swelling shut, blood flowering from the side of his face. “They went out back. By the pool house… Louis was so mad.”

  Candice still hasn’t spoken. Strangely, her gaze is locked on me. Judging, blaming me.

  A momentary truce comes in the form of an eight-year-old in swim trunks.

  “You coming in?” Aiden asks Jace.

  “Another time, little man.”

  “What about you, Miss Sienna?”

  I force a smile. “Not right now, but it looks like lots of fun.”

  He shrugs and launches himself into the pool.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  “Jace, can I have a word?” Louis says.

  Truce broken.

  My stomach drops at the scowl on the man’s face, the way his fists clench and unclench at his side. I want to yank Jace away, shove him in the car, and force him to safety. “I need him to think he has the upper hand. For now.” Will this be the end of now? Or another self-imposed roll to the mat.

  “Give me a minute?” he says to me, squeezing my hand. My fingers instinctively grip his harder. Don’t let him go. Don’t! We exchange a long look before he kisses my cheek and tugs his hand from mine. “It’s better this way,” he whispers.

  I watch them disappear into the house—along with Candice.

  We wait in silence, previous exchanged and unsaid words echoing around us and mixing with the splashing waterfalls. For now. What does that mean? The plastic woman watches me, waiting for something that I can’t interpret. When I sink to a chair on her other side, I notice the way her fingers squeeze the armrest. Her foot taps an irregular rhythm on the patio pavers.

  “Louis doesn’t like when Jace mixes business with pleasure,” she says. A manicured nail pinches between her teeth as she casts another look back toward the house.

  “I know. But they should be finished on my house next week.”

  She nods, then runs her gaze over me. “He’s a good kid.”

  “He’s not a kid.”

  “Actually, he is.” Her eyes narrow, and a sick feeling collects in my gut. “Look. Sienna, right? You seem like a decent person, so let’s play this straight. My son is special and deserves a better future than what he’s had so far. Are you going to give him that?” Her expression answers the question for me. I realize I prefer statues when they don’t speak.

  “He’s mature and conscientious. It’s his decision what he wants for his future.”

  “Yeah? You know why he’s so mature? Do you have any idea what he’s been through?”

  “Yes, actually I do.”

  “I highly doubt that.” She directs a quick glance toward Aiden who’s busy jumping off waterfalls into the pool. “Aiden needs him. I need him.”

  “He knows that.”

  “Yes.” Her gaze lifts to mine. “He has responsibilities.”

  Responsibilities? No, you have responsibilities you’re pawning off on your son.

  Breathe, Sienna. This is for Jace.

  “He’s one of the most responsible people I know.”

  “He doesn’t have time for a girlfriend.”

  “Any girlfriend or me specifically?” It slips out before I can stop it.

  Candice drains her cocktail, returns the glass to the table, and settles a cold look on me. “I was trying to say this nicely, Sienna. Jace is unavailable to you and everyone else outside of this family. He’s ours.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “If you care about him like you say you do, you’d end this before he gets hurt even more.”

  “You mean, because of Louis?”

  “Louis? What does he have to do with this? We’re talking about Jace and Aiden who are my sons. Mine! Why is everyone always trying to take them from me? Stop!”

  Huh? I pull back, watching with a pounding heart as her face goes blank, eyes vacant.

  “Candice?”

  She blinks. “Yes?”

  I hesitate, trying to read anything in her expression. “We were talking about Louis?”

  “My husband, yes.”

  I nod. “Also the stepfather of your sons? Louis has a huge influence over their lives.”

  “Excuse me? What are you implying?” Her perfectly arched brows lift in question.

  My own temper flares. “I’m not implying anything. I’m telling you directly. I saw what Louis did to Jace last week. I was there.”

  The woman looks genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “You didn’t notice the huge bruise on his face?”

  “From the fall?”

  I pull in a breath, my blood running cold. What the hell is going on here?

  “Miss Sienna, watch me!” Aiden calls over. We shift our attention to the eight-year-old who dives into the water.

  “He seems to like you,” Candice says, her tone suddenly soft.

  Is she purposely changing the subject? Wait, does she know she’s changing the subject?

  “He’s a great kid.”

  She nods. “You’re the ‘friend’ who took him to the beach last weekend, aren’t you?”

  I swallow and face her again. “Yes. He had a good time.”

  “Thanks for doing that. I told Louis not to make Jace work that weekend, but he doesn’t understand kids and how disappointed they get. He’s never had children. This is new for him.” She lets out a laugh and waves toward the bar. “How rude of me. Can I get you something to drink?”

  Okay. WTF. A different person sits in front of me. I glance back at the house, my heart thumping against my ribs. Where’s Jace? What’s wrong with this woman?

  “Thank you, but Jace and I were planning to go out after this.”

  “Ah right. For his birthday?”

  What?

  “He hates birthdays. If you’re going to marry him, you should know that.”

  “Marry him? No one said—”

  French doors crash open, and I look up to see Jace storming toward us. “Let’s go,” he hisses, grabbing
my arm. “We’re leaving.”

  “Nice to meet you!” Candice calls after us. “Jace, honey, can you get more bananas on your way back?”

  I’m practically running to keep up with him as he leads us around the house instead of through it. My heels sink into the sod, and it’s everything I can do to stay upright.

  “Hey, can we slow down a bit?” I ask, tugging my arm from his grasp.

  He flinches, stops, and runs a hand through his hair. “Damn, Sienna. I’m sorry. Just—Fuck!” He kicks at a planter and releases a heavy breath.

  “What happened in there?”

  His fiery gaze shoots back at the house. “Not here. Come on.”

  This time he moves at a reasonable pace and we manage to arrive at the car together. Once we’re both inside, he pounds the steering wheel, his brows woven, knuckles white as they grip the leather.

  “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

  He almost seems startled, then finally relaxes into a slight smile. “No, I didn’t touch him.”

  “Did he—”

  “No. I’m fine. Can we just go?”

  He’s already turned the ignition and put the truck in motion. I’m dying to know what happened with Louis. My heart aches to help, but he’s clearly not ready.

  “So your mom is interesting,” I say instead.

  “Shit. Did she have an episode?”

  “An episode?”

  “I told you she wasn’t well.”

  “Yeah, I thought you meant she was depressed about your father or something.”

  “No. Well, I’m sure there’s some of that too. Her issues got way worse after he died.”

  “Is she seeing a professional? What’s her diagnosis?”

  His gaze narrows on the road. “No. Louis doesn’t believe in mental illness.”

  “Wait. What’s not to believe in?”

  “Got me,” he spits through a breath.

  “Jace.”

  He holds up his hand. “Please, Sienna. Don’t. I know, okay? I know but I don’t have a chance in hell of winning that battle. I have to focus on Aiden.”

  I study his profile in the dark. Strong, set in stone, he’s the picture of a superhero trying to save a world he knows he can’t. Emotion swells in my chest. How many battles should one person have to fight? How can he still be everything that he is while being so trapped?