Page 216 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“Help me?” I demand, my voice rising. “I’ve already served my time. There’s no getting those three years back. There’s no sparing my mom the pain and embarrassment she felt before she died. There’s no getting Ben back in my life.”

Her eyes light up, and she grabs my forearm. “That’s where you’re wrong. Dennis found something that might allow you to see your nephew again.”

I look down at her, my mind swirling with betrayal and anger. “I explained everything to her, and she still doesn’t give a shit. She believes Lester.” I pull my arm from hers. “No. You did this for you, because you were starting to think this could be more than a fling, and sanitizing my past makes me more socially acceptable.”

Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head from side to side. “No, Jace. I swear that’s not it.”

She’s never lied to me before, that I know of, but hell, maybe she’s lying to herself. I’ve been wronged by so many people who claimed they were on my side that I can’t trust her, and it’s fucking breaking something inside me. My chest physically aches.

I avert my gaze to her house. “You should go inside.”

“Jace,” she says, her voice breaking. “You need to know what Dennis uncovered. I really think it’ll make a difference. He dug down deep, and—”

“Wait. Youpaidfor this,” I spit out, my mind a whirl of thoughts. “You told the person on the line to send you a bill.” Of course she did, but for some reason it feels like a sucker punch. When she searched my records before, it only took some of her time. This, though, was a real commitment. She might have even signed a contract. How much did she spend?

A tear streaks down Mary’s cheek, and the ache in my chest spreads, making it harder to breathe.

“I did it to help you,” she whispers.

“So you keep saying, but why does it feel like a betrayal?”

She starts to say something, then stops.

“I need to go,” I say as calmly as I can manage. The emotions inside me are building, and I need to be alone to sort through the mess of them.

“I don’t want you to leave like this,” she says, her voice cracking with emotion.

“Like what?”

“Hurt. Upset. If you’ll just let me tell you what Dennis discovered—”

“I keep telling you that I alreadyknoweverything,” I grind out, gripping the steering wheel so I don’t shout at her. “Mary, you need to get out of my truck orIwill.”

Her body stiffens. Is it in fear? Anger? Does it matter? I said what she needed to hear to reach for the door handle.

“I really think you need to hear this, Jace, so maybe when you calm down…” Her voice trails off, and after a couple of seconds, she opens the door and gets out.

I want to throw the truck in reverse and get the fuck out of here, but I still care about her, in spite of everything. So I waituntil she unlocks the front door and goes inside before I pull away, feeling like I’ve just lost the best thing I ever had.

Though I don’t remember driving home,somehow, I found my way here, because I’m in the parking lot turning off the engine. Just as I start to get out of the truck, I see the wedding present in the back seat and something inside me snaps. I grab the doorframe and hang my head as I suck in a breath.

I’m an idiot. A fool. I’ve let myself start believing the fantasy that I could fit into Mary and Aidan’s life.

I slam the truck door shut, then climb the stairs to my apartment, feeling so numb I barely register the brisk wind or the slight flurries in the air. When did it start snowing?

I need to work out, to release this excess energy, but I took my gym bag out of the back earlier, not wanting the truck to look unkempt for Mary. My only thought now is to get inside, change clothes, and head to the gym.

Mrs. Rosa pops her head out of her apartment the moment I walk onto our floor. Her mouth drops open, and her eyes bulge. “What the heck are you wearing?”

I glance down at my black shirt, jacket, and pants, then back up to her, fuming. “Turns out it was acostumewedding.”

“And they had you dress like Batman?” she asks in confusion.

To my surprise, I start laughing. “No. More like…” I shake my head, my humor evaporating. I don’t feel up for explaining Nicole and Damien’s musicalGreasewedding-slash-rehearsal. “Never mind.”

“Where’s your nice suit?” she asks in concern. “The one you spent all that money on?”

Half my rent, to be precise. I choke down the reminder, one more piece of evidence that I was delusional to think I had a real shot with Mary.

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