Page 30 of Dark and Dangerous

Jace glances up, just for a moment, before pulling out his headphones. “You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m going to leave you alone tonight.”

I groan. Sure, there’s a part of me that recognizes and is grateful for how protective he is—whether it’s his doing or my dad’s—but he’s going about it the wrong way. “Christian’s gone, Jace. You don’t need to worry?—”

“I could’ve gone the rest of my life without ever knowing that motherfucker’s name,” he mumbles. “And ifChristianfound where you worked, I’m sure he’s found where you live. I’m not taking any chances.” He turns on the console and gets comfortable.

“So you’re just going to sit there all night?”

“Yep.”

“And what exactly are you going to do if he shows up?”

He places his headphones over his ears, clearly done with listening to me. “Take out his legs.”

I turn swiftly, go back in the house, and close the door between us. Because really? What else can I do?

In the kitchen, I start on dinner, and while the water is boiling, I shower, attempt to rid the day’s shittiness off me. Mind only slightly clearer when I’m done, I make my way downstairs and peer out the living room window, not at all surprised that Jace is still there.

I cook enough pasta to feed an entire family, then head back outside. Jace looks up from his game, and I wait for him to shift one headphone out of the way to ask, “Are you hungry?”

He shrugs. “I could eat.”

Jace downs an entire bowl of pasta in the time I take to have three mouthfuls. When he’s done, he looks down at his empty plate, as if wondering how it got that way. Then he looks over at mine, noticing how much is left on my plate, then up to my eyes. His cheeks bloom a sheepish pink, and he swallows. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and I don’t really know what he’s apologizing for.

Without a word, I take his empty bowl, make him another serving, and set it down in front of him. He eats this one slower, but still with the fervor of a starving man. “You can relax, you know. No one is going to take it from you.”

“It’s just so good,” he says around a mouthful.

“It’s pasta.”

He shakes his head. “Best damn pasta I’ve ever had.” He cleans his second serving within minutes, then looks over at the stovetop.

I take his plate, reload it, and set it in front of him. “Athletes,” I murmur. “My brother eats like you.” I freeze halfway between his chair and mine. “I mean… heusedto.”

Jace clears his throat, waits for me to sit opposite him, before saying, “I played against him once.”

“Really?” I choke out, and I don’t know why I’m so emotional. Why the possibility of simply hearing or talking about Harley creates a warmth in my chest.

Jace nods, his dark eyesalmostmeeting mine. “It was at an invitational in San Antonio a couple years back.”

“I know the one.” I sit taller. “I was there.”

“So you got to witness his winning fadeaway with three seconds left in the semi?”

“Oh my God.” My shoulders drop. “That was insane.”

“The crowd lost their minds.”

“Did you play him in that game?”

“No.” He shakes his head, a slight smile tugging on his lips. It’s clear that, just like my brother, ball is his sanctuary. His peace. “My team was already eliminated, so I watched it from the stands.”

My grin is so big I couldn’t contain it if I tried. “So you were one of us.”

“I guess.”

“Who was watchingyoufrom the stands?”

His smile falters, and he lowers his gaze. “My coach was there.” He picks up his fork, starts eating again, and just like that, the moment is gone.

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