Chapter 4 I Didn't Know I Could Feel Like This

Jace's mouth tasted like cinnamon and danger.

That was the only thought Ava could hold on to as she sat on the back of his motorcycle, her arms wrapped tightly around his body, her heart racing even faster than the engine. They hadn't said much since the kiss in the greenhouse the night before.

But everything had changed.

Touch meant something now. Silence was heavier. And her mind wouldn't stop replaying that moment: the softness of his lips, the way his breath hitched when she leaned closer, how he held her like she was fragile glass in his callused hands.

⸻

They arrived at an old brownstone tucked into the back edge of Cambridge, near the river. Jace didn't say a word as he led her up the fire escape to a small rooftop overlooking the city.

String lights crisscrossed the railings. A faded couch, a couple of chairs, and an old record player sat under a canopy that looked handmade.

"You live here?" she asked, stunned.

"No," he said, smirking. "But the guy who does is always in L.A. and never locks his roof."

She gave him a look. "So we're trespassing?"

"I prefer the term borrowing magic."

⸻

He set down his helmet, turned on the record player, and let soft vinyl crackle through the dusk.

Then he sat on the couch and patted the space beside him.

Ava hesitated.

She was the girl who planned everything. Curfews. GPA goals. Clean answers.

But with Jace, none of that mattered.

She sat down.

And he looked at her like she was sunlight he didn't believe in.

"You're dangerous," she whispered.

"I know."

"You shouldn't touch me like that."

"I will."

And he did.

His lips met hers again, this time deeper. Hungrier. His hands slid along the curve of her waist, pulling her onto his lap as the city lights shimmered around them. Ava gasped softly when their hips aligned-there was nothing innocent about the way he pressed against her.

But she didn't pull away.

She kissed him back like she'd waited her whole life for this exact wrong moment. His fingers tangled in her hair, his tongue teased her bottom lip, and when he whispered her name, it sounded like a prayer and a promise all at once.

She broke the kiss only long enough to ask, "Have you done this before? Taken good girls apart like this?"

He shook his head. "You're not just a good girl, Ava. You're my girl."

⸻

The next morning...

She didn't sleep with him that night.

But she'd let him see her in pieces-bare legs curled in his lap, oversized hoodie draped over her knees, kisses between sips of cheap red wine under stolen lights.

And that was somehow more intimate.

Now, she stood in front of her bathroom mirror, lips swollen, pulse still skipping, and wondered what came next.

Because something had changed in her.

She liked it.

And it terrified her.

⸻

Back on campus, she tried to concentrate on her classes, but everything blurred into background noise. Her mother texted her five times that day, asking about her grad school essay.

Her father emailed her a new internship suggestion at Mass General.

Ava ignored them both.

That night, she met Jace again.

⸻

This time, he took her to a tattoo shop.

"Ever been in one?" he asked.

"No," she admitted.

He smiled. "Come see mine."

He pulled off his shirt.

And Ava nearly forgot how to breathe.

His chest was a map of ink-layered black lines, quotes, symbols, and one centerpiece across his ribs that read: Not all graves are dug in soil.

She reached out, fingers tracing it.

"What's it mean?"

Jace's face tightened. "It means I carry things that no one sees."

A pause.

Then he whispered, "Want to know something about me no one else knows?"

She nodded.

He pointed to a set of small numbers tattooed near his collarbone.

"Coordinates?"

"Yeah. A town in upstate New York."

"What's there?"

He took a breath. "A girl I killed."

Ava froze.

"I didn't mean to. She was in the car. I was driving. We were running away from... everything. She didn't make it. I did."

The silence that followed felt like a thunderclap.

She stepped back. Her brain raced.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because you deserve to know," he said, voice cracking. "Because this-us-it's real, Ava. But I can't let you love me if you don't see what's underneath."

Her heart thudded.

She wanted to run.

She wanted to stay.

She wanted him to be lying.

But she knew he wasn't.

So she did the only thing that felt true-she reached up, cupped his face, and kissed him. Gently. Fiercely. Desperately.

Then whispered, "I'm still here."

⸻

Two days later...

The world caught up.

A stranger showed up at Whitmore Books. Mid-thirties. Leather coat. Scar on his cheek.

"I'm looking for Jason Rourke."

Ava froze. "Why?"

"He owes people. And they want what's theirs."

Before she could ask more, he walked out-like smoke.

That night, Ava waited at the rooftop.

Jace didn't come.