Chapter 2 2

"Smoke and Mirrors"

Jace and I became experts at avoiding each other. I'd wake up early, take my coffee to the back porch, and stay there until I was sure he was either asleep or out. If I heard the shower running upstairs, I stayed downstairs. If I heard him downstairs, I locked my door and put on headphones.

And yet- he was everywhere.

His leather jacket hung on the coat rack next to my canvas tote. His motorcycle helmet lived on the dining table like some kind of decoration. And his presence... it lingered in the air like cigarette smoke-strong, stubborn, and impossible to ignore.

It wasn't just the way he moved, either, though that didn't help. Everything about him screamed trouble wrapped in temptation. His tattoos peeked from under plain white tees. He walked like he didn't care who was watching, and people noticed. Even my mom couldn't stop smiling when he helped carry groceries in. Like he was a stray she was proud to have rescued.

But me?

I didn't trust strays.

Especially the kind who watched you when you weren't looking.

Especially the kind who made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

It was Thursday afternoon when everything came to a head.

I had a shift at the bookstore where I worked part-time. The place was quiet, tucked between a record shop and a smoothie bar downtown, and it smelled like paper, cinnamon tea, and peace.

I'd just finished shelving a stack of fantasy novels when my phone buzzed.

Mom: Hey sweetie, can you pick Jace up from the mechanic on your way home? His bike's in the shop and I'm stuck at a showing.

I stared at the message, heart dropping like a stone.

Of course. Of course she was stuck. And of course she thought I could play chauffeur to the brooding mystery guy she barely knew.

I debated ignoring it-but I knew she'd call if I didn't reply.

Me: Fine. Where is he?

When I pulled into the lot ten minutes later, Jace was leaning against the chain-link fence like he'd been waiting for years. Sunglasses on. Hoodie sleeves pushed up. A cigarette between his fingers and that look on his face-half bored, half daring the world to piss him off.

I rolled the window down but didn't turn off the engine.

"Get in."

He took his time. Tossed the cigarette, crushed it under his boot, and slid into the passenger seat like he belonged there.

"Nice ride," he said, glancing around my beat-up Honda.

"Don't talk about her like that. She's sensitive."

That earned a rare grin. "Didn't peg you for the sentimental type."

"I'm not. She just gets me where I need to go, and doesn't talk back."

His grin widened. "I think that was a shot."

I didn't answer. Just pulled out onto the road and turned the music up a little-lo-fi beats that usually calmed me, though nothing could completely drown out the fact that Jace was right there, one arm slung over the headrest, the other resting on his thigh.

"So," he said casually. "You always this warm and fuzzy, or is it just me?"

I kept my eyes on the road. "I don't make small talk with people I don't trust."

"Fair enough."

The silence stretched. Comfortable for me. Maybe not for him.

Finally, he spoke again-quieter this time. "Why don't you trust me?"

I glanced at him. His sunglasses were off now, and his blue eyes were unreadable.

"Because I don't know you," I said. "And what little I do know? Not great."

He didn't look offended. Just... thoughtful.

"What if I said you were right?"

I blinked. "What?"

"What if I said I am trouble? That you're smart to keep your distance?"

I snorted. "Then I'd say thanks for the warning."

A small pause. Then-

"But what if I said I didn't want to be anymore?"

The question hit harder than I expected. There was something raw in it. Something that didn't match his swagger or his lazy confidence.

I didn't know how to answer. So I didn't.

We drove the rest of the way in silence.

Later that night, I couldn't sleep.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the hum of the fan masking the storm in my chest.

That question-what if I said I didn't want to be anymore-kept echoing.

It didn't make sense. It shouldn't have mattered.

But somehow, it did.

At some point, I got up and wandered downstairs for water.

The kitchen was dark, moonlight spilling in through the window. I didn't expect anyone else to be up.

So I nearly dropped the glass when I saw him-sitting on the floor in front of the open fridge, barefoot and shirtless, holding a container of leftover lasagna like a lost child.

"What the hell are you doing?" I whispered.

He looked up, startled, then smirked. "Midnight snack. Want some?"

I crossed my arms. "Do you always raid the fridge half-naked?"

"Only when I'm trying to make a statement."

I rolled my eyes. "And what statement is that? 'I'm incapable of wearing shirts like a normal person'?"

He laughed-actually laughed-and for the first time, it didn't sound bitter or mocking.

"I didn't peg you for funny."

"I'm not. You're just ridiculous."

He stood, lasagna still in hand, and leaned against the counter. The shadows softened him. Made him look almost... human.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.

I hesitated. "No."

"Nightmares?"

I blinked. "What?"

"You had one the other night. I heard you through the wall."

I swallowed hard. "You were listening?"

"Didn't mean to. Thin walls."

I looked away. "Yeah. Well. It happens sometimes."

He was quiet for a moment, then-

"Me too."

Our eyes met.

And in that fragile second, something passed between us. Something real. Something terrifying.

"Why did you really come here, Jace?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't answer at first. Just stared down at the floor, lashes casting long shadows over his cheeks.

Then he looked up.

"To disappear," he said.

And I knew- right then- that whatever secrets Jace Sullivan carried, they were heavier than I'd imagined. And whether I wanted to or not... I was going to find out every single one.

The silence after his confession- "To disappear"-was thick. Not awkward, not strained... just heavy. Like the weight of his past had spilled into the room with us.

I wanted to press him for more. Ask what he was running from, who he was hiding from. But I didn't. Maybe because I was afraid he'd ask the same of me.

And I wasn't ready to answer.

Instead, I leaned back against the opposite counter, arms crossed, studying him in the dim light.

"Disappearing's a temporary fix," I said quietly.

He gave a bitter half-smile. "So is pretending everything's fine."

That one landed.

Touché, stranger.

He set the lasagna down and reached into the fridge again, pulling out a bottle of water and tossing it to me. I caught it, barely.

"Thanks," I muttered.

"Don't mention it."

For a while, we didn't talk. We just stood there, two strangers forced to orbit the same broken space, breathing the same air, pretending not to notice the way the tension shifted-softened.

It wasn't attraction. Not yet. It was something more dangerous.

Curiosity. Recognition. The kind of unspoken pull that comes from seeing someone else's cracks and realizing they mirror your own.

Eventually, he moved, walking past me to head back upstairs.

But before he disappeared around the corner, he paused and turned just slightly.

"For what it's worth," he said over his shoulder, "I think you're a lot braver than you let on."

I didn't know what to say.

And by the time I thought of something-anything-he was gone.

The next morning felt surreal.

I woke up late, groggy and disoriented, the memory of our strange, quiet conversation playing over in my head like a scene from a movie I hadn't meant to watch.

I found a note on the kitchen table in Jace's messy handwriting:

Thanks for the ride. Told your mom you were decent company. She looked proud. Hope I didn't ruin your image.

-J

I rolled my eyes, lips twitching.

He was impossible.

And impossible to ignore.

That weekend, my friend Kira dragged me to a small get-together at her boyfriend's house. Normally, I'd bail with some excuse about needing to study or reorganize my closet-but after the week I'd had, I figured I could use a night out. Something mindless. Light.

Of course, the universe had other plans.

We were only twenty minutes in-me nursing a lukewarm soda, Kira glued to Mason's side-when I saw him.

Jace.

Across the backyard, leaning against the porch railing with a red cup in hand and a group of guys I vaguely recognized from the local auto shop. His hoodie was gone, replaced by a black t-shirt that hugged his arms in a way I absolutely did not notice. His eyes caught mine almost instantly.

And just like that, the world shrank.

He didn't smile. He didn't wave.

He just watched me.

As if trying to decide which version of me had shown up tonight-the ice queen from day one, or the girl who listened in the kitchen when no one else was awake.

I looked away first.

"What is he doing here?" I whispered to Kira, tugging her aside.

She blinked. "Who?"

"Jace. My-" I paused. "Stepbrother."

Her eyes widened. "That guy? Oh my God. That's Jace? Mason said some new guy showed up in town, kind of a mystery. Rides a bike. Apparently, some of the guys think he used to be in a street crew or something-"

"What? That's insane. He's just-"

I stopped myself. I didn't know what he was. And I hated how much that bothered me.

"Do you want to leave?" Kira asked gently.

I shook my head. "No. He doesn't get to chase me out of my own life."

"Atta girl." She grinned, squeezed my hand, and disappeared back toward Mason.

I found a quieter spot near the side of the house, sipping my soda and trying not to look again.

But then-

"Didn't peg you for the party type."

I stiffened. Jace leaned against the wall next to me, casual as ever.

"I'm not," I said. "Kira insisted."

"You look like you want to disappear."

I shot him a look. "Guess we have that in common."

A ghost of a smirk. "Touché."

We stood in silence, the low thrum of music vibrating in the air around us. For a moment, I almost forgot who we were-almost forgot we weren't supposed to be standing this close, talking like this, thinking things we shouldn't be thinking.

"You shouldn't believe everything people say about me," he said suddenly.

"I don't," I replied. "But you haven't exactly tried to correct the narrative."

He looked out over the yard. "Maybe I like keeping people guessing."

"Or maybe you're just scared they won't like the truth."

His jaw tensed. For a second, I thought he might walk away.

But instead, he turned to face me-really face me.

"What about you, Lena? What truth are you hiding behind all that ambition and control?"

My breath caught.

Because I didn't have an answer.

And because he was too close.

I should've walked away.

But I didn't.

Instead, I whispered, "Maybe I'm not the only one pretending to be something I'm not."

And then I left... Because the most dangerous thing about Jace Sullivan wasn't his past. It was how easily he saw through me.