Page 109 of Dark and Dangerous

It’s four p.m. The same time the cops told me to call in on Monday for an update.

I’ve already lived through twenty-four hours of hell, and now I have forty-eight hours of living through the unknown.

Can’t wait.

I open the front door, leave it that way, hoping the fresh air will somehow find its way into my lungs, and with a heavy sigh, I start to pick up the pieces. The display cabinet has been here since I have, and most of the stuff in there was frombefore.My grandpa’s medals, along with a few of mine from when I was little, but mostly, there are reminders of my mom. I pick up a frame holding two separate pictures and inspect it closely. One photograph is of my grandpa holding my mom out in front of what was oncePayne Automotive.She couldn’t have been older than four. The other is the same setting, only my mom’s older and she’s holding me. I was around the same age as she was in the first picture. In both, my grandpa stands tall, proud, clear of the darkness that lives within him now. He’ssmiling,and I can’t remember the last time he smiled.

At least not with me.

I put the frame aside, along with the rest of the items, then stand, grabbing the broom to sweep up the broken glass. But the shards get caught in the carpet, in the broom, and I force myself to breathe through my agitation.

I don’t get far into the cleanup before a figure appears in the doorway. I’d seen her at the game, way up high in the stands, but I ignored her presence just like I wish I could do now. I don’t want Harlow here, or there, oranywhere,for that matter. And I definitely don’t want her seeing me, or my house, in this state.

Clearly, she doesn’t plan to leave, because she pushes the door open wider, but she doesn’t quite step inside.

“What do you want?” I say with a sigh.

“You were late to the game and showed up like… likethis, and you left right away, so…”

I hate her voice. I hate the way she looks and the way she speaks and the way sheactslike she cares.

Mostly, I hate that I lie to myself about all the above.

I hate that I miss her.

Hate that I spend my nights falling asleep to thoughts of her.

“That didn’t answer my question,” I mumble.

“I guess… I just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re okay.”

I glance up, just in time to see her eyes sweep across the room.

“What happened?”

I swallow my heartache, bury it deep. “You don’t get to know, Harlow.”

“Jace…”

“No,” I rush out. “Youbroke up with me!Youwalked away from me! You don’t get to come here and pretend like you fucking care!”

“Idocare.”

“Bullshit!”

“What did you expect me to do? How do you expect me tofeel?” she says, her voice cracking with emotion. “We had sex—sex that actuallymeantsomething, at least to me, and you go out the next day and brag about it to your buddies, tell them to pay up! I didn’t even know thatstupid bet was still on, and now you’ve got me looking back on our entire relationship wondering what was fake and what was real, and when, if ever, things changed for you.”

I’m frozen, my breath caught somewhere between my heart and my throat, and I lower my gaze, try to make sense of her words, try to understand them, but…

I don’t understand.

Something is wrong with me.

I sweep the glass again, focus on my task. “That’s not the reason you told me when you broke up with me,” I murmur.

“It should be obvious, Jace. I shouldn’thaveto tell you.”

“Yes, you do, Harlow!” That rage, that anger, that frustration that had been brewing and brewing and brewing erupts, and it finally happens.I lose it. Explode. Throw the fucking broom across the room, cracking the drywall. “Withme, you do! You think thatthisman… the man who did this?!” I yell, sweeping a hand across the room. “And this?!” I point to my face. “This fucking man who raised me… You thinkhe’scapable of teaching me right from fucking wrong?! I don’t know what’s acceptable and what isn’t, because no one fucking taught me!”

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