So, no, that doesn’t matter.
The only thing is…
He told me that there wasn’t much of me in my house, and I took it to heart. I bought a painting, and a duvet cover, and whatever else is in all those Amazon boxes. But there’s not much of him in his place either—just that picture of his sister and Ben—and it makes me think we’re more alike than we seem on the surface, Jace and me.
I want to talk about him.
I want to know this man who befriends his neighbors and who can make me come multiple times in one night.
“Just for a few minutes,” I press. I don’t want him to be uncomfortable, but I do want to get my way.
“Did you hear her, Mrs. Rosa?” Roger sputters. “Just a few minutes. Can’t say no to an offer like that, Jace.”
My cheeks heat, but I don’t look away from Jace.
He gives a firm nod, then turns toward Roger and Mrs. Rosa. “I’ll see you for dinner.”
Their nods confirm it’s a regular thing, and then Mrs. Rosa rushes up and gives me a hug.
“You give that cake to your sweet boy, now,” she says. Because she’s already given me a huge piece in Tupperware for Aidan.
“I will.”
I mean it. If anyone can get him to eat, it’s this woman.
Then we’re crossing the hall to Jace’s apartment in silence, my heartbeat in my ears, my confidence suddenly flagging, because it’s obvious he doesn’t want to bring me there.
But as we reach his door, he takes my hand and squeezes it, the sensation bolstering me.
He opens the door and gestures for me to go in first, which I do. I take a quick glance around while he closes the door, and just as I remembered, it’s a blank slate.
“What is it, Mary?” he asks, turning to me. He runs a hand through his golden-brown hair, the tips unruly and long. “I’m sorry if this was all a bit much. I know I agreed to your terms. If you’ve changed your mind, it’s your right.”
“No, no.” I hurry up to him, putting a hand on his arm, and I immediately know it’s a mistake, because his bicep under that thermal shirt is firm and perfect, and it gives me all kinds of thoughts that have nothing to do with why we’re in here right now.
“No,” I say again, more firmly, removing my hand. “I’m so grateful you brought me here. It’s just…I…”
You’re presuming. It’s not okay to ask him something so personal.
But I want to. I want to. And Nicole challenged me to stop apologizing for the things I want.
It’s just a hunch, but…
“Your sister doesn’t know why you stole that car, does she?”
He couldn’t have looked more surprised if I’d spontaneously turned into a jellyfish and stung him. His features dip into a severe look that would be a little frightening if we hadn’t spent the morning looking for his eighty-year-old best friend’s cat.
“I don’t believe in making excuses for myself.”
Something tells me his father taught him that, but I don’t say so. I just wait.
He throws his hands up. “I fucked up, Mary. Big time. She’s not obligated to feel a certain way about it.”
“But you had a reason for doing it,” I say, certainty pounding through me. “You didn’t just take that car out for a joy ride and decide to destroy it. I know you had a reason.”
That certainty thrums through my words. The look on his face tells me that I’m right and he’s not quite sure how to feel about it.
“Yeah, I had a reason,” he says, still gruff, still a little angry. “I doubt she’d be interested in hearing it. That car belonged to my godfather, the man who stepped up and took care of my mother and sister after my father died.” His words are shocking, but he says them with so much bitterness, so much hate, that I know there’s more to the story. The man I’m getting to know wouldn’t do something like that on a whim.
“What did he do, Jace?”
Of course, that’s when my phone rings with a FaceTime call. It could be Molly, tired of waiting for the story and determined to track it down, but I have to check anyway, because (a) it could be Aidan and (b) something terrible could have happened to him.
I nearly fumble the phone on its way out of my pocket, and I flinch when I see his name on the display.
Aidan will want to know where I am. He’s not the kind of kid who won’t ask, but I still have to answer his call. I have to. I could no sooner ignore him than I could stop breathing.
I glance up at Jace, taking in his drawn features and the severe line of his mouth. “It’s Aidan. I need to…”
And just like that, he softens. “You can take it in here. I’ll wait in the bedroom.”
I’m so flummoxed, so thrown, that my body doesn’t even remember to shiver at the thought of Jace waiting in his bedroom. At the thought of joining him there.
Actually, it does, but then he’s gone, and I’m answering, and Aidan is frowning at me.
My first reaction is, of course, thank God he’s okay. And then: this is not going to be good.
“There you are!” I say, peppier than I’m feeling. “Are you having a fun weekend with your grandparents?” I can hear them in the background, Ruth saying something about her readers, and Tom responding that she’s lost them so many times he’s going to buy them for her in bulk.
“Yeah. We decorated their tree.”
I feel slightly offended for our Charlie Brown tree, but before I can say anything, he asks, “Where are you, Mom? You’re not at Aunt Maisie’s or Aunt Molly’s. I’ve never seen that apartment before.”
“I’m at a friend’s place,” I say, turning away from the seating area.
“Which friend?”
Oh, God. Do I have to tell him? I’m about to say something about the new friends I’ve made—technically true, there is Nicole—when his eyes widen.
I glance behind me and see there is, in fact, one more personal item in this room—a framed photograph of Jace with Roger and Mrs. Rosa. (The fancy frame suggests it was a gift from Mrs. Rosa, unless Jace has a thing for frame shopping.)
Shoot.
“Mom,” Aidan says, his voice getting louder. “We discussed this. You shouldn’t spend time with Jace without me. He’s my buddy. Why are you in his apartment?”
The background noise on the other side falls silent, and I can practically see Ruth setting down her readers and Tom tuning up his hearing aid.
Shit. They’re going to pepper him with questions after this call, and given he’s been all about Jace lately, he’s likely to answer.
“I’m not going to say anything to make him stay away, Aidan,” I reassure him, hoping to God it’s still true.
“I want to go over there,” he says, his lip quivering. “You shouldn’t have gone without me.”
The guilt cascading through me would be powerful enough to supply the city’s electric grid. What am I doing here? Aidan needs Jace. Or at least he thinks he does. And I’m jeopardizing that for sex.
No, that’s not totally true, and if it were just sex, I doubt it would jeopardize anything. Even so, it feels wrong to put my needs before Aidan’s.
“When am I going to see Jace?” he asks, his face still pouty.
“I’ll talk to him,” I say with a sigh. “I’ll figure something out for next week.”
“Good.” He’s partly pacified, but from the look on his face, I know he’s still upset that he’s missing out. Then he passes the phone to Ruth without saying goodbye—not that I’m surprised—and she looks at me with a clearly manufactured smile.
“Found my readers!” she says perkily. “We were thinking of bringing Aidan to listen to carolers tonight.”
It’s not a great idea. He’s reactive to loud sounds and big crowds, something they should know, but when I open my mouth to say so, she smiles, a little sadly this time, and says, “We’ll bring his headphones, dear. He wants to go. Sometimes we need to take chances in this life, because it’s the only one we have.” Something sparkles in her eyes.
“Now, you have fun with your friend. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
The phone disconnects before I can gather myself, and I’m left with the knowledge that she knows. It shouldn’t matter—Ruth is Team People Who Didn’t Abandon Their Family in this divorce—but it leaves me with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Then the door to the bedroom cracks open, and Jace is standing there, and I’m left with a decision that I don’t want to make.
Chapter Nineteen
Jace
I pace the bedroom, stewing about what Mary said, unsure how to feel.
I’m not used to people looking too deeply at me. They see an ex-con, and that’s pretty much all they care to know. Hell, Amanda’s known me for thirty-five years, and she disowned me without asking any questions. But Mary gets me enough to recognize that I wouldn’t steal a car just for a joyride.
To be honest, that scares the shit out of me. I feel naked, like she can see all the ways I’m fucked up.
The walls in this building are practically made of cardboard, so I can hear Mary and Aidan’s muffled voices, and I know when the call ends. I open the door, and my stomach plummets when I see the devastated look on her face. “Is Aidan okay?”
“What?” She blinks and gives me an apologetic smile. “Yes. He’s fine. Ruth, Glenn’s mother, that is, always makes sure he checks in with me when he’s with them.” A pause. “Then he saw your photo.”
She points to a photo on the wall of me, Roger, and Mrs. Rosa. Mrs. Rosa insisted on taking it last year on my birthday, and her phone got batted over by Bingo the second after the timer went off, which is why the photo is slightly hazy around the edges. She gave me the framed photo a few days later as a belated birthday gift.
“And he realized you were at my place,” I say, understanding why she’s upset. “I’m guessing he didn’t take it well.”
“That’s an understatement.” Her mouth twists to the side, and she moves to the kitchen table. “Can we sit and talk?”
I hesitate before joining her at the table. It doesn’t take a genius to know where this is going, and I suspect I’m not going to like where it ends.
She waits until I take a seat, then lowers into a chair on the opposite side of the table. Her posture is perfect, and I can tell she’s steeling herself by channeling her inner lawyer. After she folds her hands together, she says, “I think this has been a big mistake.”
Even though I was expecting her to say something of the kind, it’s still like a dagger to the heart. The last eighteen hours with Mary rank up there as some of the best of my life.
“Aidan…” She takes a deep breath. “He sees you as his friend. When he realized I was here—at your apartment—he was so hurt. I just can’t do that to him.”
“I know.” And I do. She’s his mother, and she’s a great mother. She will sacrifice her own happiness for his.
“I know I suggested we could be friends with benefits, but…” She swallows and looks up at me with tear-filled eyes. “I was naive to think that would work. I’m not sure I’m designed for that kind of relationship.” She shrugs meekly. “I mean, look at how I kept asking you things about your life. Friends with benefits don’t do that. It’s supposed to be impersonal, and this—what you and I have—doesn’t feel impersonal.”
“I understand.” Because I’m not designed for it either, at least not with her, but I would have agreed to just about anything for the chance to be close to this woman who is at once so vulnerable and so strong. But then a new fear sets in. “What about Aidan?”
She throws out a hand. “Oh! I’m not taking you from him. I’m doing this for him. He needs you.”
I look down, then nod.
“Are you…?” she starts, then stops. “Are you upset with me?”
My gaze jerks back to hers. “No, Mary. I understand.”
“You do?” she asks, her voice breaking.
I don’t like her decision. In fact, I’m fighting the urge to argue with her, but I always knew this would be short-lived. It just turned out to be shorter-lived than I’d hoped. “You’re his mother. He comes first.”
She pauses, then says, “Thank you for understanding.” But the look in her eyes suggests she doesn’t like it either. I take small comfort in that.
“Of course.”
Her gaze shoots anxiously to my arm and then my chest. “It might help Aidan if we set up a playdate for the two of you once he gets back. He helped decorate his grandparents’ tree. I think he’ll be receptive to decorating our tree if you’re there. He’s said as much.” Then she looks stricken. “If you’re uncomfortable with having me around, I can hide in the kitchen again. Or my room.”
Her face turns scarlet, and I know she’s thinking about what we did in her room last night. And this morning.
“You don’t have to hide from me,” I say softly. “You don’t have to treat me like a scorned boyfriend. We agreed that what we had was casual. There were no emotions involved. It was just sex.”
I’m lying through my teeth, and it’s hard as hell to push out the words. But it’s what she needs to hear. Or at least I thought it was until her face goes slack and I see a flicker of pain in her eyes.
“I’ll text you,” she says, rising from her chair and taking a step backward toward the door. “About the day and time.”
“I’ll be watching for it.”
She darts out the door, and suddenly my apartment feels colder and emptier than it has the entire time I’ve lived here. How is that possible when she’s been here a total of ten minutes, tops?
I get up and start pacing, my gaze taking in the space. Seeing it from her eyes.
I’ve lived here for years, but there’s not much of me here either. Part of me has been in a holding pattern, waiting for my life to start. But things changed when I joined Mary and Aidan for hot chocolate that first day. I can see that now.
Mary hasn’t been gone more than a few minutes when the door bursts open and Mrs. Rosa appears.
“Tell me all about Mary. Where did you meet her? How long has this been going on?” she says in a breathless rush.
I groan and lower into my beat-up recliner. “Mrs. Rosa…”
She sits on the arm of the sofa. “Don’t you Mrs. Rosa me,” she scolds.
“As I’m sure you’ve gathered, Mary is Aidan’s mom. I met her when I met him.” I push out a sigh and grab the remote control from the table next to my chair, then pull up Netflix. I want to end this conversation as quickly as possible, and I can only hope she takes the hint. “It was a one-time thing, and the one time has happened.” It was more like a three-time thing, but she doesn’t need to know that.
She picks up a throw pillow and tosses it at my face. “You idiot.”
I grab the pillow and lower it to my lap. “Can you be more specific?”
“You need to woo her.”
My brow shoots up my forehead. “Woo her?”
She throws another pillow at me. “You know what wooing is.”
“It’s not that kind of a relationship.”
“It has to be some kind of relationship if she came ’round with you to look for Roger’s cat.”
I lean forward in my chair. “She’s new to this single parent thing, and she’s got enough on her plate. She doesn’t have time for a relationship.”
“Then what was she doing here with you?”
“It was a mistake.” Only it doesn’t feel like a mistake.
Her face contorts, and she practically jumps off the sofa arm and charges toward me, pointing her finger in my face. “Don’t you dare call that woman being here to save Roger’s cat a mistake!”
“Okay,” I concede. “It wasn’t a mistake. And yes, I want more with her, but it’s not going to happen, Mrs. Rosa. Mary set the rules, and right before she left, she told me this wasn’t going to work.”
Her lips press together, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “She resents the time she spent helping Roger find Cleo?”
&nbs
p; “No, it’s not that.” It wouldn’t be fair to let her think badly of Mary. I run a hand through my hair in frustration. “Aidan FaceTimed her while we were here, and he figured out Mary was at my apartment. He got jealous, and Mary’s worried about hurting him.” Before she can respond, I add, “But we weren’t starting a relationship anyway. She made it very clear that she doesn’t want one. She just wants to be friends.”
“That may be what she’s saying, but that’s not what she wants.” Her brow lifts. “I saw the way she was looking at you. It wasn’t the way a woman looks at a friend.”
I sit back in my chair.
Her expression softens. “You could fight for her.”
I stare at the Netflix homepage, swallowing my rising disappointment over Mary’s decision.
“You deserve good things, Jace,” she says softly.
Startled, I look over at her. Her tone, her expression—everything about Mrs. Rosa is throwing me.
“Your sister’s not the only one who did a number on you. Your daddy did too. But they were both in the wrong. I hope someday you realize that. The Marys of this world aren’t too good for you. That woman would be lucky to have you.”
Her words hit a little too close to home. “She’s an attorney, Mrs. Rosa. I’m a carpenter who doesn’t even make enough to support a family.”
Her lips purse again, and she places a hand on my shoulder. “A man’s worth isn’t determined by the size of his paycheck or the amount of money in his bank account. If it were, then Roger Ditmore would be considered scum.” Her gaze pierces mine. “Roger lost his job before he retired, which cost him his pension. He doesn’t have much in his bank account. Do you consider him to be a poor excuse for a man?”
Jingle Bell Hell (Bad Luck Club) Page 20