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“Sure,” he says, shrugging. “And maybe you can teach me the basics some time.”
I can’t help but smile. “I’d love that.”
A comfortable silence falls over us, and again, he’s the one to break it. “Who was that other man with y’all when you moved in?”
“That’s my uncle Roy. My dad’s brother.”
“Thought so,” he murmurs. “Where does he live?”
Weird question, but okay. “He was in Dallas, but he got a transfer to Odessa a couple of months back.”
“Isn’t Odessa where your mom works?”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Huh,” he says.
“Why?”
He shakes his head, lost in thought. “I was just wondering.”
“Does your grandpa work?”
“Hewasin the military, but no, he hasn’t worked for a while. Hey, how long have your parents been together?”
“I’m not exactly sure. They were married before Harley was born, though.”
Nodding slowly, he asks, “How did they meet?”
“In college.”
“Like, at a party or something?”
I laugh. “What is this, twenty-questions?”
He shrugs.
“I think my dad saw her across campus and approached her.”
“Right.” He pauses, deep in thought. Then he lowers his gaze. “So… how come you haven’t asked me about my parents?”
If you’d ask a million times over where I thought this conversation was going, I’d never once answerhere. “I just…” I’m not prepared, and it’s evident in the way I stumble over my words. “I know that they’re not around, so I assumed… I mean—I didn’t want to bring up anything that might… I don’t know.”
“What do youthinkhappened to them?”
I’ve thought about Jace a lot since we met, and I fell asleep last night imagining his life outside of the parts we’re together. Him—living inthathouse withthatman. “I assumed maybe… maybe they left?”
“My parents would never leave me,” he says defensively. “My parents loved me, Harlow.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t?—”
“My parents loved me,” he repeats, and I don’t know if he’s saying it for me or himself this time, and it doesn’t matter. Too afraid to look at him, I drop my gaze to my lap and listen to his loud breaths form a steady rhythm. After a moment, he takes my hand in both of his, flips it palm up, and traces the lines there with the tips of his fingers like he did out at the spring. It’s a simple, gentle touch. One that means more than it should. “My mom used to wake me up like this…” His voice is so low, I have to strain to hear him. “Every morning she’d come into my room and kneel beside my bed, take my hand and…” he trails off, and I blink back my heartache when I hear him sniff once. “My dad—he was a foster kid, and when he aged out of the system, he joined the military. He thought it would be easy, you know? He’d get housing and an education, but then… then 9/11 happened, and suddenly he was this eighteen-year-old kid standing in the middle of a war zone…”
I try to imagine a version of Jace in that situation, but all I can think about is my brother. Heat pricks behind my eyes, my nose, and I try to keep my breaths even as I listen to Jace continue.
“He had a tough time when he got out, and he’d go to this VA center, just for support. My grandpa used to volunteer there, and that’s how they met. When my grandpa found out my dad had no family and nowhere to go, he brought him home. My mom had just graduated college and had moved back home, so they got to know each other well. Andfast. My dad used to call her hislight…because she saved him from the darkness.”
I wipe at my tears while Jace continues to trace my hand with his finger.