Page 38 of Unleashing Chaos

I place the pizza in the refrigerator and move to the sink next to Jace. “Mind if I wash my hands?”

He steps to the side, giving me room to reach the soap dispenser. “Cannon seems to be a good candidate for your . . . quest,” he says, keeping his voice low so only I can hear him.

“Quest?” I say with a chuckle.

“Do you have a better name for it?”

“Not really, but quest makes it sound like some sort of noble cause that will save the universe.”

Jace bumps my shoulder with his. “Think about it. It kind of is. You’re keeping balance in the force. Good and evil.”

I lift an eyebrow and quirk my mouth at the thought. It’s a strange way of thinking about my attempt to find an eternal partner, but he’s right. It kind of is a quest, minus the swords and horseback riding that come to mind when he calls it that. “I guess you’re right. But it’s not really good and evil. More like tranquility and mayhem.” I glance behind me to see Cannon rummaging through the freezer. “And as far as Cannon goes, he’s a possibility. I like spending time with him.”

Jace shrugs and says, “He’s an easy solution to your problem.”

Solution to my problem? I don’t like the way that sounds. In fact, there’s a gut-roiling feeling just talking about Cannon as an option. Maybe it’s because we’re whispering about him when he’s on the other side of the kitchen. Whatever it is, it doesn’t feel right.

I turn to face Jace and open my mouth to tell him that maybe considering Cannon isn’t the best idea. But the words never come out.

“Who’s up for shots before we start movie night?” Cannon asks, holding up a bottle of amber liquid.

Jace and I exchange a glance at Cannon’s random question. I wonder if his brain is going to the other night when he thought someone had drugged his drink. He was so worried about losing control. Come to think of it, I can’t recall a time when he had more than one beer.

“Why?” Jace asks, drawing out the word.

“Just because. Haven’t y’all ever done shots just because?”

“I mean, yeah, in college, but not in years.”

“Desi?”

“Not really,” I admit. “But I’m always up to try new things.”

Cannon and I lock eyes and then drag our gazes to Jace, who just sighs.

“The shot glasses are on the top shelf in the cabinet next to the fridge.”

Cannon gets to work setting up a shot for each of us before handing them out and lifting his glass. “To a random Tuesday night!”

Jace and I each pick up a glass and raise it. We clink them together, say “Cheers,” and toss them back.

“Fuck!” I say, hissing as the strong, spicy liquid burns all the way down my esophagus. “What the hell is this?”

Cannon raises an eyebrow and turns the bottle around so I can see the name, and the laugh that escapes me is nearly hysterical.

The cinnamon whiskey has none other than a dancing red devil at the top of the label. What are the odds?

“What’s so funny?” Cannon asks.

“Oh, I don’t know, I—”

“Want another?” Jace interrupts, and I’m grateful.

I exhale and still feel the burn in my throat, but say, “Yeah, why not?”

He pours Cannon and me another shot but skips over his own glass. I hate that he clings to control even in the one place he should feel the safest. None of us would let anything bad happen within these walls, but Jace doesn’t seem to trust anything or anyone but himself. And sometimes I wonder if he even trusts his own judgment. Damaged. He is so damaged. All I can do is hope that he’ll choose to repair the emotional hurt that accident caused him.

Cannon and I clink glasses and take the second shot, but before another can be poured, I put the bottle back in the freezer, rinse out the glasses, and set them in the dishwasher.

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