Page 49 of When Ben Loved Jace (He Loved Him #2)

Moving day is fast approaching. Allison and I have been packing all week.

The experience is bittersweet, because I’m going to miss living with her.

Then again, the past month has been magical.

Ever since Jace and I were given the keys to the home we’re going to share, we’ve been fixing it up, learning new skills to save money on repairs.

His trailer is already parked outside, so we had somewhere to escape what often felt like a construction site.

Not anymore. The house has really come together.

My mother, the interior designer, deserves the most credit.

She helped us paint, choosing colors that complement our existing furniture.

No boring white walls for us! The house already has personality, and we haven’t even moved in yet. I can’t wait!

And yet, part of me wouldn’t mind one more week here.

With so much to do, I’ve barely been at the duplex lately.

Allison and I didn’t really have time to celebrate what we’ll surely think back on as the end of an era.

Just me and my best friend, bumbling through life together.

We’ve had some good times. My heart is heavy as I glance around a bedroom that already looks bare.

I’m tempted to reopen a few cardboard boxes to let some of that magic out again.

“Look what I found!” Allison says, barging into the room carrying something flat and unwieldy.

“Oh god!” I say when recognizing the painting Tim gave me for my birthday a million years ago. After we moved to the duplex, I asked her to put it somewhere safe, unwilling to hang it up again but also unable to throw it away.

She cackles at my expression. “I found it in the back of my closet.”

“Very appropriate. Feel free to keep it as a house-warming present.”

“You mean apartment -warming present,” she corrects with a pouty expression.

“You could always move into Jace’s trailer,” I suggest, only half-kidding.

“Pass. On both offers.” She leans the painting against a stack of boxes. “I’d ask if you plan on keeping that, but I know you too well. ”

“I can’t hang it up at the new place,” I say with a grimace.

She raises her eyebrows. “So you want me to throw it away?”

I nibble my bottom lip before my shoulders slump. “No.”

Allison laughs. “I’m gonna miss toying with you every day. C’mon. I found something that will make up for my abusive behavior.”

I follow her to the kitchen, where a half a bottle of whiskey sits on the table. “This was way at the back of a cabinet,” she says. “Don’t ask me why.”

I don’t need to. She’s gotten into the habit of hiding booze, so it’s harder to tell how much she’s been drinking. I’m surprised when she takes two glasses out of a cardboard box and the ice cube tray out of the freezer.

“We’re not going to drink that now ,” I say in shock.

Allison shrugs. “Seems an appropriate way to end things. I’m pretty much done packing. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, but it’s eleven in the morning.”

This doesn’t dissuade her. With the lightning-fast reflexes of a bartender, she fills two glasses with ice and whiskey. “Live a little,” she says when handing one to me. “Besides, I don’t want my dad to be tempted when he helps us move tomorrow.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about!”

She narrows her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you haven’t slowed down since college. If anything, you drink more.”

“Ben… Do you really want the last memory we make here to be an argument?”

I shake my head. “I’d rather it be a heart-to-heart. I’ve been worried about you for a while now.” Especially as moving day neared. Soon she’ll be living on her own and won’t have to worry about accountability.

“Fine.” Allison sets the glass on the table with a thunk. “I honestly didn’t think it would be a big deal to have a drink together. Yes, it’s early, but when’s the next time we’ll get to do something crazy like this? I thought we could get a little buzzed and reminisce, or whatever.”

“I don’t need to drink to do that,” I say, setting down my own glass. “Do you?”

“Of course not! Oh my god, I do not have a problem.”

I hold my tongue, wanting us to part on good terms, but I won’t agree with her just to smooth things over. My silence does enough of the talking, as it turns out.

“Yes, I drink every night,” she admits. “That isn’t so unusual. And when your job is to listen to other people’s problems all day long, I feel completely justified in taking the edge off, if only to maintain my own sanity. I really don’t need your judgement.”

“That’s how your dad used to refer to it,” I say.

“What?”

“Taking the edge off.” I nod at the glass in her hand. Allison looks surprised to see it. I don’t think she even realized that she picked it up again while snapping at me. “Just as a mental exercise, if a patient told you that they drink every day to deal with stress, what would your response be?”

Allison sets down the glass again. “God damn it.”

“Sorry. It’s just… Alcoholism runs in families, right? And with your dad’s history…”

“Give me a second!” she says, raising a palm. “I’m mentally putting myself on my own couch.”

Her forehead creases as she concentrates.

I hold my breath, hoping that she won’t talk herself out of this, because she gets drunk way too often.

Sure, she never becomes violent, like her dad used to, but she has driven home while intoxicated on occasion.

And her most recent relationship was especially toxic when they’d both been drinking.

He’s history now, but that did nothing to change her habits.

Allison’s gaze flicks to mine. She glares, grabs both glasses off the table, and tosses the contents into the sink. I pick up the bottle and join her.

“I hate it when you’re right,” she says, watching whiskey pour down the drain. Then she leans against me briefly. “Thank you. I’ll do exactly what my dad did and join a group. I’ll also tell him what I’m going through, so you won’t have to bear this burden alone.”

“Don’t worry about me,” I say dismissively.

She shakes her head. “This is what we do. We worry about each other. Don’t you ever stop. I sure won’t!”

I set aside the bottle and give her a hug. “I’m going to miss you.”

“We’ll still see each other all the time. I’m not going anywhere. ”

“But it won’t be the same.”

“No. I guess not.” Her arms tighten around me. “I’m so glad we’re friends.”

“Me too,” I reply with a heavy heart.

Allison takes a step back while dabbing at her eyes. “Okay, it’s fine that we’re not getting blitzed, but we’ve gotta celebrate somehow.”

“Burgers and milkshakes?” I suggest.

“Cheesecake and steak,” she counters. “I’ll take you somewhere fancy. Don’t worry, I’m paying. By the time we’re done stuffing ourselves, we’ll be just as groggy as a couple of drunks.”

“And just as loud and obnoxious while we eat?”

She nods in approval. “Always.”

— — —

I wish it was possible for me and Jace to have a biological child, but the new house is the next best thing.

Now that everything has been moved in, we can finally see what we look like when combined.

I’m biased, but in my opinion, the end result is beautiful.

The living room especially. His books have joined mine on the shelves that fill a wall, any gaps occupied by souvenirs he picked up on his travels and a fake grammy that Allison gave me for my twenty-first birthday.

She also let me take the couch we had shared since moving in together.

The coffee table between it and my old TV came from Jace’s trailer.

Squaring all of this in is an end table we found at a thrift store and my favorite reading chair, which Samson has claimed as his own.

He's lounging there now, grooming himself while pausing on occasion to watch us deliberate.

Today we’re decorating the walls. A vintage French advertising poster for champagne has already found its place in the kitchen.

We hung a concert poster in our bedroom over my stereo system and the shelf that contains my vinyl record collection.

Framed photos of our favorite memories have been arranged in a cluster above our bed.

I’m glad we didn’t get a bigger place. We barely had enough furniture to fill each room and the walls are no different.

“We either need something big,” I say while eyeing an empty space above the couch, “or a bunch of little things that go together. ”

“Got it,” Jace says, leaving the room. When he returns, I’m not sure how to react, because he’s carrying Tim’s painting. “I almost forgot you had this. I haven’t seen it in a while.”

I tear my eyes away from the canvas. “I meant to send that home with my parents, so they could store it for me.”

“Up to you,” Jace says, lifting it up and holding it over the empty spot. “But it is the right color.”

The walls are burgundy. The couch fabric is goldenrod. The painting is all warm colors, so it does fit, but… “Wouldn’t that be weird?”

Jace considers me. “For you?”

I shrug. “I like it but… You know who painted that.”

Jace lowers his voice, whispering in conspiring tones. “You mean Tim? The guy who almost wrecked our relationship?” He chuckles. “I don’t find that threatening. In fact…”

I watch him set down the painting and walk to the bookshelves, where he picks up a wooden lion. His fingers move over the roughly hewn lines with reverence before he looks up at me.

“Did I ever tell you about this?”

I shake my head. “I’m not sure.”

“Victor carved it. He wasn’t big on material possessions, so it felt meaningful at the time.

Especially since…” Jace swallows. “I wasn’t very secure in our relationship.

I was crazy about him but never quite sure if he felt the same way.

Not back then, at least. I guess he needed something to do while sitting in the woods all day, but when he gave this to me, he mentioned that whitling helped him think.

When I asked him what he thought about, he got this intense look and said, ‘My dandy lion.’” Jace breathes in sharply, as if caught up in the memory, and what must have been his reaction to it.

“That was his pet name for me. Anyway, I know how simple that all sounds, but in the moment, it was incredibly powerful. I felt loved.” He considers the lion fondly.

Then he nods at the painting. “So if having that on the wall reminds you that you’re loved, I don’t mind it being around.

I hope you feel the same way about this. ”

He walks over and hands the carving to me.

The lion’s features are serene, by no coincidence I’m sure, because I see the same expression when looking up. “It’s beautiful. Victor had real talent. ”

“So does Tim,” Jace says. “I’ve always liked that painting.

The decision is yours. I don’t think we’d be the same people if not for those clumsy first attempts at love.

I’m certain my relationship with you wouldn’t be the same.

So at the very least, please don’t feel like you need to hide that part of your history from me.

I honestly can’t remember the last time you spoke his name aloud. ”

I do have a way of compartmentalizing. Especially when it comes to him. That seems silly after so many years. I’m married now. The past has been laid to rest. As much as it ever can be. I hand the lion back to Jace with a smile. Then I walk over to pick up the hammer and nails.