Page 39
I still haven’t taken that step back. But I’m not stepping forward either. And he notices. God, he notices. The way his face crumbles tells me he’s feeling every inch of that distance between us.
“What do you mean, you tried to push him away ?” My voice is tight. “How can you try to push someone away? You either push or you don’t, Jace.”
He flinches. “He moved at the same time…” He lets out a heavy sigh and drags his hands down his face. “It’s all over the damn internet. It’s a miracle you haven’t seen it yet.”
I stare at him, at my boyfriend , my partner , and hold up my hand for his phone.
“My battery died,” I say, my voice a broken whisper.
He hands his to me without a word, before dropping his gaze to the floor, like he can’t bear to see my face when I watch it. Maybe I’m lining myself up for a direct hit to the chest. Maybe this is going to ruin me. But I have to see it. I have to see it.
I type in his code to unlock it, open the browser, and it’s already right fucking there, loaded and paused. He must’ve watched it on the trip over here. And if I know him just the tiniest bit, he must’ve watched it over and over again, probably as a punishment for himself.
I brace myself as I press play, but a tear glides down my fucking cheek the moment Mick presses his lips to what’s fucking mine , anyway.
My heart was already cracked, but it splits apart right now. And I can see it, oh God, I can see what he means. I can see exactly what’s happening, even if the fucking excited shitheads in the comment section don’t.
I can see it in the tension in his face, the press of his lips, in his trembling fists. I see it in the way he stiffens before the contact even lands. And yeah, I see it in the way his fists fly forward when Mick finally steps back.
He didn’t want this. He pushed. I know this. I know him.
“I think I’m gonna get sick,” Jace whispers when the clip ends and the cheering of the crowd is silenced.
I tear my eyes away from the screen and see him rocking back and forth on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, fingers digging into the blonde strands of his hair in what seems utter desperation.
“Oh fuck, I’m gonna get sick.”
“Jace—”
But he’s already on his feet, stumbling out of my room to the bathroom.
I follow without hesitation, dropping down beside him the second he hits the floor and starts heaving into the toilet. I don’t know if it’s from the drugs or from this . From the guilt, the panic, the sheer emotional overload. But it doesn’t really matter.
It doesn’t.
Because the anger I still had, the remnants of betrayal clinging to my chest, it all shifts to that vile shit Mick when I see him break down like that. Jace didn’t want this.
“I’m here,” I mumble, crouched next to him. “I’m here, Jace. I’m not going anywhere, promise. Calm down.”
I rub his back. Long, steady circles, part of me so relieved and happy that he’s in my arms again, even though this sucks like hell. I rub and hold him against me until nothing comes out anymore. Until his body stops shaking. Until I stop shaking and can flush the damn toilet.
We lean back, and he drops his face in my chest, holding on to me as tight as he can. “Just hold me close and tell me everything will be okay,” he croaks, voice wrecked and barely there.
And I nod. I nod and nod and nod as I hold him to me, telling him it is going to be okay.
Because how the fuck can I not tell him that?
How can I blame this on him, when it’s so fucking clear to me that he’s not at fault?
When I know he tried to stop it. When I can feel it in every fucking fiber of my very fucking being.
It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like a son of a bitch. It doesn’t mean that I don’t have the right to be angry, because I think I fucking do.
It’s been months of this bullshit, and I’ve kept my cool, kept my mouth shut about everything Mick-related. The innuendos, the duets, the morning runs. All because I didn’t want to risk Jace’s career, because the label pushed for it. But I’m so fucking done.
Jace has been nothing but honest with me, and this is not on him.
Because that stupid part of me, that rational, logical, stupid part that’s just entirely me . That is me down to my fucking core, understands . I understand why he didn’t push right away. Why he fucking froze. I fucking understand .
But I’m still going to beat Mick’s ass into the goddamn ground.
“You’re not breaking up with me?” It’s barely more than a whisper, so soft I almost miss it.
I exhale hard, hugging him tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of his clammy head. “Of course not,” I murmur into his hair. “Jesus, Jace. You think I’d let one unwanted kiss undo us?”
He lets out this broken, watery breath full of relief and clutches my hoodie like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he loosens his grip.
“I still love you,” I add quietly, because I know he needs to hear it, and I need to say it. “That hasn’t changed. It’s never going to.”
“I love you too,” he breathes. “So fucking goddamn much. I was so scared I ruined it. Fuck, it’s unreal how much I love you. You’re everything.”
The words hug my heart. I brush my lips against his temple. “You didn’t ruin it. You came here right away. He pushed you into a corner you couldn’t escape from. You didn’t want this. That’s what matters.”
He nods, barely.
“You still doing the concert in LA?”
He nods again, slow and hesitant. His breath is still stuttering, shallow and uneven. “I have a contract,” he whispers. “But I don’t want to go.”
“Oh, you’re going,” I say, my voice a low, deadly calm. “And I’m going, too.”
He doesn’t ask why. Maybe because he already knows.
I’m going to be there, front and center. And if Mick even thinks about pulling that shit again, I’ll end his fucking career and his face before he finishes his first verse. Contract or no contract.
I help him up once he stops shaking, my hand firm around his wrist. He looks pale, shaky as hell, but he nods when I tug gently.
“Come on,” I murmur. “Let’s go back to my room.”
He follows without a word, like his whole body’s on autopilot now. But the second we step into the hallway, I stop short and wince. “Uh, brush your teeth first?”
Jace blinks at me.
“You just puked, babe,” I murmur, rubbing a hand down his arm, suppressing a grin. “I’m not getting near your face until you do.”
His mouth twitches like he wants to smile and cry at the same time. “That’s fair. Take a shower with me?”
Even though I just came out of the shower not even an hour ago, I nod. A shower sounds way too fucking amazing right now. Not because I need it. Not because I’m dirty. But because he needs it. Because we need it. Because it’s not about sex. It’s about him, me, us .
I lock the door and turn on the water while he strips slowly, like the last two days are still clinging to his skin, like it hurts to move.
I grab a new toothbrush out of the cabinet and push it in his hands before getting rid of my clothes.
I step in first, letting the hot stream soak my hair, my shoulders, wash the aching between my ribs away while I let him brush his teeth.
When he steps in after me and closes the curtain, I open my arms without a word, and he just fucking melts into me.
I hold him to me, my Jace, water sliding down our backs like a second skin. His arms wrap around my waist, mine around his shoulders, our bodies fitting together like they’re trying to put the pieces back. And shit, how he belongs there, here, with me.
He buries his face in my neck on a sigh, trembling. And then, quietly, brokenly—
“Replace it,” he says. “Please replace that kiss.”
And of course, I fucking do.
I cup his face, gently, reverently, and he clings to my wrist like I’m the only solid thing in the world, those wicked gray eyes full of storms, damn near begging me to anchor him.
I let my nose slide against his and he shivers on a gasp, chest rising against mine, before I kiss him.
The first brush of my lips is soft. Hesitant. And then I kiss him again. Firmer. Deeper.
I replace the pain with every brush of my lips.
I replace the violation with every stroke of my tongue.
I replace all the heartbreak with every quiet moan that spills from my Jace.
We stay like that for a long time, only kissing, just touching. The water pours down on us, washing away the worst of it. Not all, never all, but enough. Enough for now. We’ll fix this in time, I know we will.
He’s here. And that’s all that I care about.
Eventually, when his breathing settles, when the tension leaves his shoulders, I reach for the soap and wash him gently. His hair. His shoulders. His hands. And he lets me. No shame. No words. Just us.
When we finally dry off, we shuffle back to my room, wrapped in towels.
I shut and lock the door, and without a single word, we drop under the covers like we’ve been doing this forever.
And then we fucking hug. Hard. Almost as if we’re both afraid the other might vanish if we let go.
His arms wrap around my middle, face buried in my neck, breath still hitching every now and then. Mine are tight around his back, holding all the broken pieces together.
Neither of us says anything, we don’t need to. We just lie there, tangled up, breathing each other in like it’s the only thing keeping us grounded.
Eventually, I whisper into his damp hair, “I’ve got you, okay? You’re home.”
And he nods against my chest, his wet hair tickling my skin, like that’s the only thing he’s been waiting to hear before he can finally let go and drift off, wrapped in my arms, safe again. Home.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39 (Reading here)
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49