My Stepbrother Secret

"The Stranger in My Kitchen"

There are few things more sacred to me than my early mornings- silence, solitude, and coffee. So when I padded into the kitchen barefoot and groggy, fully expecting to have the house to myself, the last thing I was prepared for was the shirtless stranger standing at our granite island like he belonged there.

He was tall, lean but muscular, his back a canvas of intricate ink that crawled over his shoulder and down his arm. His dark hair was tousled in a perfectly messy way, and he wore nothing but black sweatpants that sat low on his hips. He looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine-a brooding model with a cigarette behind his ear and a dangerous glint in his eye.

My hand froze on the cabinet door.

He turned around slowly, sensing my presence, and met my stunned gaze with amused, ice-blue eyes.

"Morning, princess," he said smoothly, lifting the mug to his lips. His voice was low and slightly hoarse, like he'd been up all night drinking or screaming into the void. Probably both.

I blinked. Twice.

Then I snapped back into reality. "Who the hell are you?"

He quirked a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting in a lazy grin. "Wow. We're skipping introductions now?"

I narrowed my eyes. "I'm serious."

He put the mug down with a quiet clink and crossed his arms, muscles flexing in a way that felt completely unnecessary. "Jace Sullivan. Your new stepbrother."

No.

No, no, no.

This was not happening.

I stepped back like he might disappear if I stared hard enough. "You weren't supposed to be here."

"That's what I hear," he said, shrugging one tattooed shoulder. "Change of plans."

My stomach turned, cold and tight. I remembered my mom's call last week, her excited voice gushing about how she and Mark had eloped in Vegas. Classic Beth Matthews behavior-falling in love after three months and marrying a guy with a grown son she barely mentioned. I hadn't thought much of it. I'd assumed I'd never meet him, not when he lived across the country and was "busy figuring himself out."

Apparently, he figured himself right into my kitchen.

"How long are you staying?" I asked carefully.

He looked far too comfortable, like he'd already claimed the space. "Indefinitely."

Indefinitely. The word echoed in my head like a curse.

"You can't just move in."

Jace smirked and leaned back against the counter, sipping his coffee again like he had all the time in the world. "Tell that to your mom. Or my dad. They seem pretty convinced this is a fresh start."

I felt heat rise to my face-not from attraction, though if I were being honest, he was insanely attractive-but from pure, unfiltered rage. My entire summer had been planned around having the house to myself. A final breath of freedom before college. Time to read, write, think-be.

Now, I was stuck sharing space with him.

"I don't care what your reason is," I said, grabbing the cereal box from the top shelf a little more aggressively than necessary. "Just stay out of my way."

"No promises." He grinned. "You don't seem like the kind of girl who's easy to ignore."

I turned my back to him, pouring cereal into a bowl. My hands shook slightly, and I hated that he could see it. I hated more that I was aware of him-his gaze, his voice, the way he was watching me with that lazy curiosity that made my skin crawl and tingle all at once.

"Seriously, Lena," he said after a moment. "You're not even a little glad to see me?"

I froze, spoon halfway to my mouth. "How do you know my name?"

He didn't miss a beat. "You talk in your sleep."

My head whipped around. "Excuse me?"

That infuriating smirk widened. "Relax. I heard your mom say it yesterday. You were already asleep when I got in."

I exhaled through my nose, forcing myself to calm down. It was too early to have a meltdown. I had finals next week, an internship to prepare for, and now a stepbrother who looked like a delinquent version of every bad boy fantasy rolled into one tall glass of trouble.

I took my cereal to the far end of the kitchen, sat down, and tried to focus on chewing. But I could still feel him. He hadn't moved. He was still leaning, still watching, still radiating that quiet storm energy that made it impossible to breathe normally.

"You're staring," I muttered without looking up.

"You're interesting."

"I'm eating cereal."

He shrugged. "You can tell a lot about someone by how they eat breakfast."

I looked up at him slowly. "And what have you learned? That I like Frosted Flakes and hate company?"

He chuckled, the sound warm and rumbling. "Something like that."

We sat in silence after that. Well, I sat. He loomed. And I hated that a part of me-not a big part, but enough to make me uncomfortable-was curious. About the ink on his body. About why he left California. About what kind of trouble he meant when he said "got into some."

He didn't look like someone who shared his secrets easily.

"Did you get kicked out or something?" I asked before I could stop myself.

He raised a brow. "Is that what your mom told you?"

"No. She just said you were staying here for a while."

"Then maybe you should ask her."

I frowned. "I'm asking you."

He paused. Something flickered behind his eyes-an edge, a shadow- but it vanished before I could name it.

"I made some poor choices," he said vaguely. "Now I'm here."

I opened my mouth to press further, but he cut me off.

"You don't have to like me, Lena. I'm not here to mess up your perfect little world."

I bristled. "You don't know anything about my world."

He nodded once. "You're right. But I've lived enough lives to know the type."

"The type?"

"You walk around with a chip on your shoulder, books in your arms, and expectations a mile high. You don't like mess. And you definitely don't like people like me."

My jaw tightened. "You've known me for ten minutes."

"And I'm a fast learner."

I stood, grabbing my bowl and moving to the sink. "You think you're so clever. Like you've got everyone figured out."

He didn't answer. Just watched me with that unreadable expression.

I rinsed my bowl, set it in the dishwasher, and turned to face him fully. "Whatever you're dealing with, it's not my problem. I've got my own life, and I don't need your chaos dragging me down."

His face darkened just a little. The smirk faded. "Got it."

He pushed off the counter and walked past me, grabbing his mug on the way out. Just before he left the kitchen, he paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder.

"You can relax, princess. I'm not here to ruin you."

Then he disappeared into the hallway, leaving me breathless, frustrated, and furious with myself for how fast my pulse was still racing.

I stood alone in the kitchen, gripping the edge of the sink like it might stop the spinning in my head. My heart still pounded, not because I was afraid, but because he'd gotten under my skin. In less than ten minutes, Jace Sullivan had taken everything I'd carefully built around myself and cracked it open- just enough for the cold air of uncertainty to rush in.

And worst of all? He knew it.

I hated that he was observant. That he saw too much. That he said things that stuck like splinters.

"I'm not here to ruin you."

God. What did that even mean?

I rubbed my temples and forced myself to breathe. I had more important things to worry about than some mysterious stepbrother with an attitude problem and a face straight out of a fever dream. I had a scholarship to protect, an internship with a local law firm that started in three weeks, and a whole lot of emotional stability to maintain.

My phone buzzed on the counter.

Mom: You met Jace, right? Isn't he handsome? Be nice. He's had a rough year.

I stared at the message.

Be nice.

As if this was some teen movie and Jace was the new guy in school trying to find a table at lunch. He wasn't. He was a grown man with scars in his eyes and secrets he clearly had no intention of sharing.

Still, I typed back.

Me: Yeah. I met him.

Mom: Good! He's staying through the summer. Hope that's okay. xo

No. It wasn't okay. But what choice did I have?

I sighed and pocketed my phone, then grabbed my tote bag and headed upstairs. If Jace was going to be living here indefinitely, I needed to figure out how to avoid him without losing my mind. That probably meant keeping my door locked, my headphones in, and my temper very much in check.

When I reached the landing, I heard his voice behind a closed door- his new room, formerly the guest room at the end of the hall. He was on the phone, his tone quiet but sharp.

"No, I'm not going back... No, I don't care what he said. I told you- I'm done with that."

A pause. A muffled response from whoever was on the other end.

"Look, I'm trying, okay? Don't call again unless it's important."

The click of the call ending followed, and then silence.

I tiptoed past his door, heart racing for no reason I could understand, and slipped into my room.

The second I shut the door behind me, I exhaled.

This house suddenly felt too small. Like the walls were pressing in and every hallway was haunted by the presence of a stranger with a dark past and a grin that dared me to ask questions.

And damn it, I wanted to ask. That was the worst part. I wanted to know what he was running from. What had forced him to move across the country and land in my perfectly controlled life like a bomb. I wanted to know why his eyes looked like they'd seen too much. Why he seemed so calm and reckless all at once.

But wanting didn't mean I'd get answers.

And getting too close? That was a mistake I wasn't willing to make.

Later that night

Dinner was... awkward.

My mom and Mark sat across from me, laughing softly about some real estate drama, while Jace sat next to me, silent, fork idly pushing peas around his plate. He hadn't said a word since "Pass the salt."

I didn't either.

Every so often, I'd feel his eyes on me. Like he was watching my reactions more than the conversation. I tried not to let it show, but my jaw was tight, my grip on my fork white-knuckled.

"So, Jace," my mom said eventually, breaking the silence that had been thick between us. "Have you thought about what you want to do this summer?"

He shrugged without looking up. "Figure it out as I go."

Mark cleared his throat. "We talked about maybe taking some online courses, or getting a part-time job. Something low-pressure."

Jace nodded but didn't respond. His tone wasn't disrespectful-it was distant. Like he was here, but not really here.

"What about you, Lena?" my mom asked brightly. "Ready for your internship?"

"Almost," I said, grateful for the shift in focus. "I start in a few weeks. Just prepping now."

"She's working with one of the top firms in the city," Mark said proudly. "Our little overachiever."

I forced a smile. "It's just an internship."

Jace finally looked up, his voice low and even. "Sounds like a lot of pressure."

I met his gaze. "Only if you care about your future."

A flicker of something crossed his face-amusement, maybe. Or something darker. "Touché."

The tension returned like a tide, and I quickly excused myself once my plate was clean.

Back in my room, I closed the door and flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. It wasn't fair. I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for him.

But somehow, the universe had thrown Jace Sullivan into my world like a test I hadn't studied for. And something told me, this was just the beginning.

"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.

"Lines in the Sand"

.

Jace had been enrolled last minute, courtesy of my mom pushing for "a fresh start." Apparently, the school had just accepted his records from whatever place he'd been before. Not that anyone knew where that was, exactly.

Now he walked the same halls I had owned for years. And people noticed.

By third period, the whispers had already begun.

"Isn't that the new guy Lena's mom took in?"

"I heard he was in juvie. Something about cars?"

"He doesn't talk to anyone-except Lena."

Great. Because that wouldn't make everything worse.

It didn't help that Jace didn't seem to care about the attention. He breezed through the crowd like he was above it, eyes forward, headphones in. He didn't smile. He didn't acknowledge anyone. And yet, everyone wanted to know him.

Everyone... except me.

At least, that's what I told myself.

"Earth to Lena."

I blinked. Kira waved a hand in front of my face as we sat in the cafeteria, a half-eaten apple in her hand and a knowing look in her eyes.

"You've been zoned out since second period. Let me guess..." she dropped her voice and wiggled her eyebrows. "It's the bad boy."

I groaned. "Can we not?"

"We can't not." Kira leaned forward. "He sat next to you in Lit, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah, because there were no other seats."

"And?"

"And nothing." I bit into my sandwich. "We didn't talk."

That was technically true.

What I didn't say was how it had felt to sit next to him for an entire forty-five minutes. How his scent-something like cedar and cold air-had messed with my ability to focus. How the whole room seemed smaller with him in it.

"I just don't get it," Kira said thoughtfully. "You two live together. Isn't it awkward?"

"Yes. Very."

"But he's hot."

"Stop."

"You're step-siblings."

"I said stop."

But the damage was done. The thought had already taken root-dangerous and untouchable.

Because the truth was, it was getting harder to keep the lines between us clear.

Especially after Friday night.

Especially after what he said.

"I think you're a lot braver than you let on."

I hadn't stopped thinking about it.

And that scared me more than anything.

That afternoon, I found him leaning against my car in the parking lot, twirling his keys like he had every right to be there.

"You're blocking my door," I said flatly.

He didn't move. "Thought I'd offer you a ride home."

I blinked. "You have your bike back?"

"Picked it up this morning."

"And you want me on it? No thanks."

He shrugged. "Didn't say I wanted you on it. Just thought I'd ask."

I crossed my arms. "So what's the real reason you're here?"

His eyes flicked to mine. "I was bored."

"And that's my problem because...?"

He tilted his head, the smallest smirk tugging at his lips. "Because we both know you're just as bored as I am."

I hated how right he was.

I unlocked my car and slid into the driver's seat. "Last chance to get out of my way."

He stepped back, holding his hands up in surrender. "Fine. Your loss."

As I pulled away, I didn't look back.

But I felt his eyes on me the whole time.

That night, the house was too quiet.

Mom was working late-something about a last-minute client. The shadows stretched longer when I came home, and the air had that stillness that made my skin itch.

I headed to my room with a book and every intention of ignoring the world.

But my peace didn't last.

A soft knock came at my door about an hour later. I didn't answer at first. Then, it came again-two firm raps.

"What?" I called.

"It's Jace."

I sighed. "Obviously."

"Can I come in?"

I hesitated. Every rational thought screamed no. But curiosity-and something deeper-won.

"Yeah."

He stepped in, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed but gaze alert.

"Wow," he said, glancing around. "Very... Lena."

"Thanks, I think?"

He smirked. "What are you reading?"

"Dystopian fantasy. A girl trying to survive in a world that keeps trying to break her."

He nodded. "Sounds familiar."

I raised a brow. "What do you want, Jace?"

He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking less sure of himself.

"I need a favor."

That caught me off guard.

"I'm not writing your essays."

"Not school stuff," he said quickly. "Something else."

I set the book down, cautious. "Go on."

"I need a ride tomorrow. Into the city."

"The city?"

He nodded. "Just for an hour or two. I have to... handle something."

"Handle what?"

His jaw tightened. "It's personal."

I stared at him. "You can't just expect me to drop everything and drive you across the county with zero explanation."

"I'm not expecting anything." His voice was quiet. "I'm asking."

The vulnerability in his eyes was real. And that made it worse.

"Fine," I said finally. "But if this gets me arrested or murdered, I'm blaming you."

"You won't," he said with a faint smile. "I'd never let anything happen to you."

And just like that, the breath whooshed from my lungs... Because he meant it... And that terrified me most of all.

We left after breakfast, Jace giving vague directions as we drove through unfamiliar streets and neighborhoods that didn't show up on my GPS.

Eventually, we pulled up outside a weathered building with bars on the windows and peeling paint.

"Stay here," he said, already halfway out the door.

I opened mine too. "Not a chance. You said I wouldn't get hurt, remember?"

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "You really want to come in?"

"I really don't want to sit out here wondering if you're getting shot."

His mouth twitched-something between a frown and reluctant amusement. "Suit yourself."

Inside, the place smelled like cigarette smoke and stale coffee. A woman behind a plastic divider looked up briefly, then waved Jace through without a word.

We moved down a hallway until we reached a room with a metal table and two chairs.

"What is this place?" I whispered.

He hesitated. "Halfway house. My uncle used to run it."

"Used to?"

"He died."

I swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."

He nodded but said nothing.

A minute later, a man entered. Younger than I expected-maybe mid-thirties, with sharp eyes and a scar above his left brow.

"Jace." The man smiled. "Didn't think I'd see you again."

Jace stood. "Ray."

They shook hands like old war buddies-tight, brief, loaded with history.

Ray's eyes slid to me. "Friend?"

"Stepsister," Jace said evenly.

"Ah. You've got guts, coming here." He gestured for us to sit. "So what's the deal?"

They talked quietly while I stayed silent, absorbing fragments. Something about a favor owed. Something about a name-Marco. And a warning.

"She shouldn't be here if you're getting back into that," Ray said suddenly.

"I'm not," Jace said firmly. "I just need to make sure certain people know I'm not interested."

Ray stared at him for a long moment. Then nodded. "Alright. But if he hears you're asking around-"

"I'll handle it."

Ray looked at me again. "Keep an eye on him. He pretends he doesn't need it."

I met his gaze, startled. "Why me?"

"Because you're the only one he listens to."

I didn't know what to say.

On the way out, I finally asked, "Who's Marco?"

Jace's jaw clenched. "No one you need to worry about."

"That's not an answer."

"No. It's protection."

We drove in silence the rest of the way back... But my mind was racing... Because for the first time, I saw just how deep Jace's secrets ran... And I had the sick feeling I'd only scratched the surface.

Back at home, the silence between us stretched taut like a fraying wire. Jace hadn't spoken since we left the city, and I didn't push. I could tell he was lost in whatever memory had clawed its way to the surface during that meeting with Ray.

But I wasn't going to pretend I didn't have questions.

When we pulled into the driveway, he cut the engine and leaned back in the passenger seat, eyes closed.

"You okay?" I asked, my voice softer than I expected.

He opened one eye. "Define 'okay.'"

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

I waited.

He exhaled slowly. "You know that feeling when you're trying to outrun something, but no matter how far you get, it's still breathing down your neck?"

I nodded.

"Yeah. That."

I turned off the car. "Come inside. You need food or sleep. Or both."

He didn't argue, which surprised me.

Inside, I made grilled cheese. It wasn't gourmet, but it was warm, and it gave me something to focus on other than the storm brewing in my chest. Jace sat at the counter, elbows resting on the granite, head down.

When I slid the plate in front of him, he gave a faint smile.

"You didn't poison it, right?"

I rolled my eyes. "Only a little. Just enough to make you chill out."

He took a bite. "Tastes like sarcasm."

"That's because it's my main ingredient."

For a few moments, there was nothing but the sound of chewing and the rain starting to patter against the windows.

"You want to know who Marco is," he said quietly.

I froze.

"Yeah," I admitted.

"He's no one now. But he used to run with a crew I got tangled up with last year. Stupid stuff-boosted bikes, fake IDs, parties that got out of hand. It started small."

"And then?"

"And then it didn't stay small."

He looked up at me, and I saw the shadow in his eyes.

"Ray helped me get out. My mom didn't want anything to do with me by then, and my dad was in prison. Ray got me into that halfway house and made some calls."

I leaned on the counter, heart heavy. "And now Marco thinks you owe him?"

Jace nodded slowly. "More than that. He thinks I know something he can use. But I don't. And I'm not going back."

"So that's why you didn't want to come here."

He smiled bitterly. "This place isn't big enough for ghosts."

I didn't know what to say. For once, the sarcastic armor I always wore felt pointless.

"You're not alone anymore, Jace."

He blinked, caught off guard.

"You have this whole fresh start. You have... me. Even if we drive each other crazy."

His voice was rough when he answered. "You don't even know what you're offering."

"Then tell me."

He stood abruptly, pushing his plate aside. "No. Not now."

I followed him to the stairs. "Why not?"

"Because if I start, I won't stop." His eyes locked with mine, sharp and raw. "And I don't know if you'll still look at me the same."

There was a beat of silence, the rain now steady, like the world was holding its breath.

"I already don't," I whispered.

He froze.

"I already see you differently," I said. "And it's not because of what you've done. It's because of who you are when you think no one's watching."

His throat worked as he swallowed. "And who's that?"

"Someone worth trusting."

He stared at me like I'd cracked open something inside him. Like he couldn't figure out if he wanted to shut the door again or walk through it.

Then he stepped forward. Just a single step. But it was enough to shift the air between us.

"Lena," he said, voice low. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"What isn't?"

"This. Us. Whatever this tension is."

I took a breath. "It doesn't matter if it's a good idea."

He looked at me like I was made of fire and he wasn't sure if he wanted to burn or run.

And then-

A key turned in the front door.

We both jumped back just in time as Mom called, "I'm home!"

I cleared my throat, stepping away as Jace turned toward the stairs.

"I'll be in my room," he muttered.

I watched him go, heart pounding like it was trying to break free of my chest... Because the truth was, I didn't know what scared me more- How close we'd come to crossing that invisible line... Or how badly I wanted to do it again.