I wonder where he went.
The bar maybe? It would’ve still been open and I’m sure Eli would’ve let him crash at his place.
Or maybe he went to Cade’s? No, because if he had Thea or Rae would’ve surely texted or called.
I know he wouldn’t have gone to his dad’s so I have no idea where else he could’ve ended up.
I brush my teeth and hair and clean my face. It makes me feel slightly better but dark circles still cloud the skin beneath my eyes. I gather my hair up in a messy bun and change into a pair of sweatpants and a loose shirt that says Bed Hair Don’t Care. Something tells me I’m going to spend the day moping and that calls for comfy clothes.
I’m not hungry, but I want something to do so I make breakfast.
I toast some bread and start a pan with scrambled eggs.
I’m shoveling the eggs out onto a plate when the door opens.
My body instantly stiffens and I put the pan into a sink full of water.
The door clicks shut and Jace walks quietly across the room to me.
We stare at each other, the island separating us. I want to run to him, to crash into his arms, but I know more than likely he wouldn’t want that. He can probably barely stand to look at me.
Jace eyes the food I’ve laid out, which is honestly enough for five people. I may have gone overboard with the amounts.
The silence is unbearable so I decide to break it.
“Confession, I can cook.”
“I can see that.” He continues to stare at the food and not me.
“Confession,” I say again, “I like it better when you cook. Your food’s better and you’re hot when you cook. Plus, I think it’s cute when you try to teach me.” I’m rambling at this point, diarrhea of the mouth, but I need to fill the silence with something even if I make myself look like a bigger idiot in the process.
He sighs and scrubs his hands over his face. He looks as exhausted as I do.
“You have a son,” he states.
My chest pangs and I nod. “I do.”
“Where?” he asks, looking around like I’ve hidden a kid behind the couch.
I laugh but there’s no humor in the sound. “Adopted,” I say, wrapping my arms around my chest. It still kills me to say that word.
Adopted.
My son is adopted.
He pulls out a stool at the island and drops onto it. “Tell me everything. I … I need to know.”
“Did you read my letters?” I ask.
He nods. “I did. They’re in my truck. Safe and sound, I promise. I wouldn’t destroy them if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t think you would. Here, eat something.”
I split the food up and give him half. I’m not sure how much either of us can eat, but it helps to have something else to do.
A minute passes and his soft green eyes meet mine. “Tell me. Please.”
I sigh, leaning against the island. “I don’t know where to begin. Give me a minute,” I beg.