Page 133 of Dark and Dangerous

“Jace…”

“And she took my shirt off, and?—”

“Jace!”

“And then I stopped it.”

Her eyes whip to mine, questioning.

I shrug. “I thought I needed to go through with it to get over you, but I knew it wouldn’t work, and then I’d just feel empty afterward.Again. But you were right—about feeling comfortable and safe with her…”

Harlow’s silent now, her eyes focused ahead.

It feels wrong leaving things there, so I add, making sure she understands, “So we didn’t—you know. We talked for a bit, and that was it.” It was kind of awkward afterward, and so I drove her home. I could tell she was feeling a certain way about it, and I hated hurting her, but what could I do?

What could I say?

That I was still in love with a girl who somehow managed to not only crack my armor, but shine light in all the gaps she created? And no matter how much Iwantedto hate her, my love and admiration for her outweighed all other thoughts?

All other emotions.

Every.

Single.

Time.

83

Harlow

The rehab facility is tucked away at the end of a suburban tree-lined street, making it look more like an unkept mansion than a clinic. I find a spot on the side of the road and put the car in park. “Take your time,” I tell Jace, reaching into the back seat for my bag. I pull out my current read and lift it up between us. “I’m only a few chapters in, so I’ll be well and truly occupied for as long as you need.”

His eyebrows dip as he looks from the book to me. “Since when did you start reading?”

“Just recently,” I tell him, and I don’t know if I’m oversharing, but still, I add, “It’s become another form of therapy.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You take up any other hobbies recently?”

I think for a moment. “Baking.”

“You always wanted to get more into baking,” he murmurs.

“That’s about it. Reading and kneading.”

His lips tick up at the corners, and it reminds me of all his smiles I’d earned in the past. “And Penelope.”

“Yes. We can’t forget my Penelope.”

Jace watches me for a moment, his eyes searching mine. The longer he stares, the thicker the air that fills my lungs. Eventually, he diverts his gaze and asks, “Do you want to come in and meet him…properlythis time?”

I swallow my nerves, my fears—not of meeting his grandpa, but of the weight his offer carries. It’s amove, right? A step toward a certain direction? “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he says, through a heavy exhale. “I think I’d like that.”

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