Page 59 of Resisting the Boss (Dirty Hot Resistance 4)

“Oh…” It surprises me that I don’t know it as well. Although, it’s not completely a shocker. I haven’t been to the small house where I lived with my mother since she disappeared.

Putting the address in the car navigation system, I stare outside the window, silently. There’s a certain gloominess surrounding me, a feeling of dread. I can’t help but think of the letter Mom had left for me.

Hal-bear.

When I read that, it had felt like her voice was whispering in my ear. I thought I’d forgotten what she sounded like and yet, that sweet, tinkling voice—it was as if she had never left my side.

In that moment, I truly wished from the bottom of my heart that she were alive somewhere, even as Detective Egerton’s words slowly started to crush the fragile hope in me.

Mom had loved me. She wouldn’t have left me.

“You used to live in a pretty secluded area,” Jace murmurs.

I drag myself back to the present and look around.

We’re on a narrow strip of road, dense trees on both sides. With the heavy clouds rolling in, the road looks dark and forbidding, and so awfully familiar.

“Mom didn’t have much money, and when she was pregnant with me, she found the house at a dirt-cheap price. The man living there claimed it was haunted and Mom loved anything ghost related, so she didn’t mind.” I sigh. “It is pretty isolated, though. With only one road, leading in and out.”

The deeper we go in, the more uncomfortable I feel almost as if my instincts are warning me to turn back.

“What’s wrong?”

I shake my head, slowly. “Nothing. I guess I just never realized how scary this road used to be.”

Jace shoots me a look before taking my limp hand in his and squeezing it. “You brought muscle. What are you panicking about?”

“I’m not panicking,” I grumble but my frame relaxes slightly. His presence makes me feel safe, which has been the case ever since I met him.

The house is down a side lane at the end of the road and one look at it both surprises me and makes me want to turn back. I was expecting a crumbling house, fallen in disarray due to neglect. But the house is in pristine condition, the small garden outside, well maintained.

It almost seems as if—

“Is somebody living here?” Jace echoes my thoughts.

Now, I feel unsure. “They shouldn’t be. As far as I know, Uncle Raymond said that he won’t sell the house till I wanted to.” I hold up the rusty metal in my hands. “And I have the keys.”

Jace tucks his hands in his pockets, a smirk on his face. “Maybe it’s the ghost.”

“Ha- ha,” I say, dryly, walking over to the front door and putting in the key.

The door has been oiled as is evident when it doesn’t so much as let out a squeak when I open it. However, for the moment, I let that go, my eyes drinking in the covered furniture that hasn’t been moved from its place.

The large dining room set we got from a flea market that Mom called a steal is still here. The vase I made for her with macaroni and glitter is still on top of the television, which is uncovered. Each and every piece of furniture in this house has a history and it involved both me and Mom.

My knees shake as I step inside and my eyes fill with tears I haven’t shed since so long.

Mom. Where are you? Come back!

I feel the trails of wetness slide down my cheeks, my heart constricting painfully in my chest as memories rear their head, reminding me of the love I’d experienced in this house, the kind of love I will never be privy to again. A choked sob escapes me and I feel a pair of strong arms encircle me from behind and Jace’s lips press against my forehead. He doesn’t say anything, just holds me, and I absorb his quiet strength even as the tears spill out.

It takes me a few minutes to regain control of myself and I feel the dull ache in my heart. Closing my eyes, the feel of Jace’s hard body pressed against my back, I whisper in my heart to the memories of my mother that still linger in this house, ‘I’m home.’

It takes courage to explore the kitchen, where I can still remember the scent of blueberry pancakes that filled the house on Sunday mornings.

The room I’m looking for is upstairs, and I pause on the steps before looking down at Jace, who studies me with clear eyes, waiting for me to say something.

A rush of something warm fills me at how he’s been holding me up through everything, never asking for anything in return. In that moment, I know there is a good chance that I might be falling in love with this man.

---